The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  As the dimness began to thicken into darkness and the desert became indistinct, he fancied that he saw the furtive shapes of men out among the dunes. He wondered if Kamose would send scouts as far as the Delta. The phantoms dissolved as he tried to focus on them, but one took on solidity and became an advance scout who came up unhurriedly and passed through the line of cheerful blazes on his way to report to Kethuna.

  Early the next morning they set off towards Ta-she. Each soldier had been warned to fill his water skin and to drink only when rest halts were called. There was no danger in the trek, for the path was well travelled during Inundations when the river road was flooded and an ample supply of water waited for them. Still, by the end of the first day there was grumbling in the ranks. Many of the soldiers were too exhausted to eat, preferring to cast themselves down in the sand and go immediately to sleep. Many had surreptitiously disobeyed their officers and had emptied their skins long before the fiery desert day relinquished its hold.

  They had become more sensible by the time a camp was made on their second evening, but Ramose, noting blistered feet and the angry red swellings of sunburn on exposed shoulders and faces, felt an impatient scorn. Apepa’s generals were idiots. Their troops had not experienced desert drilling. Delta-born and raised, or fresh from the temperate country of Rethennu, their training limited to mock battles within Het-Uart, they were too soft to embrace the rigours of hot sand and a sun undiluted by any sweet humidity.

  He himself was tired. His muscles ached from the march, but that was all. The soldier to whom he was tied had not suffered much, but he also complained of a mild headache and chills to one of the army physicians who moved among the men with salves. When the physician had gone, the man hailed a passing officer and asked if he might be released from Ramose at least during the day, but the officer, returning from the General’s tent, told him that Kethuna had refused his request. “They could at least tie you to someone else and give me a rest for a while,” the soldier said resignedly. “I hope they remember to cut you loose before I need both my arms to heft my axe.” Ramose found the situation suddenly very funny but he knew better than to laugh. It occurred to him that the desert might prove a more implacable enemy than Kamose and his hardened troops.

  Ta-she appeared on the horizon soon after sunrise on the seventh day out from Het-Uart, but it was not until late in the afternoon that the vast oasis was reached. By then the soldiers broke ranks without waiting for permission and ran towards the glint of water between the clustered palms, ignoring the shouts of their officers. Ramose watched them go with a secret delight. Hot and thirsty himself, he walked forward calmly, his soldier stumbling beside him. Once among the cultivated fields the Tjehenu villagers came out to stare at this wave of undisciplined military might and Ramose scanned them quickly for someone familiar, sure that here at Ta-she there would certainly be Kamose’s spies. But he recognized no one among the dark, withdrawn faces.

  The army remained at Ta-she for the next day and night while equipment was checked and the men enjoyed a brief respite. They swam, ate and slept with renewed and noisy good spirits but their hurts were not healed in such a short time, and although the next leg of the march began optimistically, the unforgiving earth beneath already blistered feet and the brazen heat pouring on peeling skin soon reduced them to a plodding misery.

  Ramose found himself enveloped in a deepening peace as the miles slid away under his sandals. Life in the desert was still life. Aware of each hot breath he drew, each grain of sand clinging to his calves, each bead of sweat that trickled down his spine, he marvelled at the mystery that had been his existence, the memories that were his alone. This desert journey would be his last before the one whose gate opened onto the Judgement Hall. It would end as no other he had ever taken, yet he was not afraid. I will not live to see Kamose victorious and crowned in Weset, he thought, unperturbed. I will not greet my mother again until I stand beside my father to do so. I will never hold Tani naked in my arms or see my offspring grow like sturdy weeds in the garden of the estate that might have been mine. Yet I am content. I have loved. I have kept my honour. I have proved my worthiness in the sight of gods and men. Will the desert, this place of a unique and arid magic, preserve my body so that the gods may find me? All I can do is pray that it might be so.

  The army spent the night of the fourth day out from Ta-she in a state of battle-readiness. The oasis of Uah-ta-Meh loomed close, an ominous wide blackness against a star-strewn sky. Word had come down from the General that his scouts had detected no activity there, but they had not ranged too close for fear of discovery. Nothing could hide the approach of sixty thousand men in any case, but a few hours’ warning was better than a whole day. The infantry was now formed up in fighting blocks, each division behind its squadron of twenty-five chariots, its standard bearer before.

  The men slept uneasily without breaking ranks. Ramose did not sleep at all. He knew that Kamose and all his troops had gone, that Kethuna would find no one but villagers in the oasis and would have to begin yet another long trek across the punishing sand, this time towards the Nile. His men had nerved themselves for action in the morning. When it did not come, the let-down, coupled with the prospect of more heat and pain, would be demoralizing. Kamose and Paheri, fresh and eager, would be waiting for their dispirited arrival. I wonder whether I will still be alive by then, Ramose thought. I doubt it. Kethuna will order me killed when he finds the oasis empty. Well, at least my bonds will be loosed!

  10

  AT DAWN the men were roused and told to eat and drink. They did so quietly, each turned inward upon his own thoughts as the time of battle drew nearer. Some prayed. Others fingered amulets or charms while they stowed the remainder of their rations and tightened their sandals.

  An officer appeared and to Ramose’s great relief severed the thong that had bound him to the soldier. The feeling of freedom did not last long, however. Curtly he was told to accompany the man to the front ranks, where Kethuna already stood in his chariot behind his charioteer, his squadron around him. New sunlight flashed on the spokes of the vehicles as the restless little horses shuffled and tossed their plumed heads. Already the boulder-strewn desert gave off a blinding glare. Ramose shaded his eyes as he looked up at the General. Kethuna surveyed him impassively for a moment. “My orders are to set you in the forefront of my troops,” he said. “I am commanded to do no more than that. If you are recognized by the foe before you are killed, then so much the better for you. But if I discover that you have lied to the One or misrepresented the situation here at the oasis, I am to execute you at once. Walk beside the horses.” For answer Ramose bowed and took his place in front of the chariot. Outwardly calm, his thoughts seethed. There would, of course, be no one to give battle. The oasis would be barren of soldiers. Would Kethuna blame him, or would he simply presume that they had set out too late to intercept Kamose as he moved towards a siege of Het-Uart, and it would be up to Pezedkhu to engage his combined army along the Nile? Would there be an opportunity to disappear into one of the villages in the oasis during the first moments of confusion? The word to march was being shouted down the lines and the standards were being raised. Ramose mentally shrugged. I will not allow myself to hope, he told himself. Today will unfold as the gods desire and with that I will be satisfied.

  The chariot began to roll and doggedly Ramose went with it, inhaling the comforting, sane smell of horseflesh and leather. The oasis slowly took form, becoming smudges of green on the ground and haphazard clusters of palms against the blue sky. Nothing moved out there where the horizon shook in waves of heat. Ramose’s responsibilities as a scout had been carried out along this track and he saw that the tents once sprouting at this northerly approach had gone. The horses stumbled as they trod the sharp gravel that lay black and glinting under their hoofs. The charioteer spoke to them soothingly. The sound of the thousands of men behind was a low susurration of footfalls.

  For perhaps two hours they marched, while the oasis
grew and continued to fill their vision. It lay silent and peaceful. No cries of warning echoed from its limpid palms. No forms scurried to give an alarm. A collective murmur began to rise from the infantry behind Ramose and he heard Kethuna curse and then say, “He has gone. The oasis is empty.” Raising his voice, he called a halt, and gratefully Ramose sank to the ground in the shade of the two sweating beasts. The General seemed to have forgotten him for the time being. A scout was summoned and Ramose watched him vanish along the pebbled track that led between high dunes and into the village.

  A babble of conversation broke out, a tide of cheerful excitement as the men realized that no engagement would take place that morning, and their optimism was confirmed by the return of the scout much later. Ramose, still crouching by the chariot, smiled slowly at his words. “Lord, I have been longer than I should,” he said breathlessly to Kethuna. “There is a mystery here. The oasis is abandoned. No soldiers, and no villagers either.”

  “What do you mean?” Kethuna snapped. The man hesitated. Ramose could see his feet as he shifted his weight uncertainly.

  “The villagers have gone,” the scout repeated. “The huts are empty. So are the fields. There are no animals, just a few goats.” The scout, and Ramose, waited. The silence lengthened. Ramose could almost feel the General thinking while the officers around him shuffled and whispered. Finally Kethuna dismissed the scout and called Ramose.

  “Either Kamose has already withdrawn to Het nefer Apu or he is sitting beyond the oasis, waiting for us to occupy it so that he can surround us,” he said crisply. “The oasis is not easily defensible. Yet the scouts ventured far afield yesterday and reported no movement of troops at all.” He fixed Ramose with a hostile stare. “Which is it, son of Teti?”

  “There is no point in asking me,” Ramose retorted. “I told the King the truth. Kamose and his army were here when I left. If he has changed his plans in the weeks since I saw him, then how would I know?” Kethuna was breathing heavily.

  “Kamose’s scouts could have detected us days ago and alerted him,” he said. “I must choose whether to risk the oasis or go around it and continue on towards the river.” One of his officers spoke up.

  “The men need water, General,” he reminded him. “They cannot hope to reach the Nile otherwise.” Kethuna continued to scrutinize Ramose’s face, his gaze pensive.

  “It seems obvious that we are simply too late to trap Kamose here,” he said slowly. “Yet I am uneasy. Something about this situation is not right, not clear. What am I missing, Ramose?”

  “You are the General, not me,” Ramose shot back at him recklessly, though he also felt a curious threat emanating from the tranquil scene beyond. “As I have told you, I know nothing of my Lord’s plans beyond another siege.”

  “If he has gone, why did he take the villagers with him?” another officer queried. “What did he need them for?”

  He did not need them, Ramose thought suddenly. But he could not leave them. Why? The reason is there, prowling in the back of my mind, but I cannot bring it forward. Oh, Kamose, implacable and devious, what have you done? He dropped his eyes so that Kethuna would not see them light up.

  “Perhaps he took their flocks and herds, not them,” Kethuna mused. “Perhaps he was short of food and the villagers were forced to follow him or starve.” He shook his head in annoyance. “These speculations are vain,” he said irritably. “I must decide on a course of action. The sun is close to its zenith. Have the men rest here and eat. By the time they have finished, I will have made my decision.” His officers bowed and scattered and he himself got down from the chariot. “Watch this man,” he ordered his charioteer, pointing at Ramose, then he too strode away.

  Ramose regained his spot in the shade. The shadows cast by the patient animals were shorter now and paler. Opening his pack, he took out some bread and his water skin. It was more than half-empty. He shook it, wondering whether to drink or not, then chided himself for being foolish. Kamose was on his way to link up with Paheri and the springs and wells of the oasis lay waiting for Kethuna’s thirsty troops, including himself. Yet he paused, the skin to his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the other men drinking copiously, tipping the precious liquid over hot faces, obviously reasoning as he did that abundant water lay close by. One of the horses, smelling the water being spilled all around it, whickered softly.

  Ramose lowered his skin. His heart had begun to pound. How much water is left for the horses in the donkey carts? he wondered. Horses hate the desert. They have no stamina for arid places. All around me the men are wasting water because they believe that there is plenty more to be had a mere stone’s throw away. Hor-Aha would never allow such presumption, but Hor-Aha is a child of desert places and Kamose himself was raised on the edge of a pitiless barrens. Not like these sore, sunburned sons of the Delta.

  Sore.

  Sunburned.

  And soon to be thirsty again.

  Ramose sat very still. But is it even possible? he asked himself as the unformed thought that had been stalking him sprang forward and took on the shape of fear. Could it be done? And sufficiently completely that a whole army would be destroyed? No wonder you took everything with you, even the animals, my ruthless friend. Never in his moments of wildest conjecture could Kethuna arrive at such a startling conclusion. Pezedkhu might, but even if Pezedkhu was here instead of Kethuna, even if he suspected the truth, he would still find himself trapped at the point of no return.

  But was it the truth or was he having a fit of insanity? Ramose’s gaze travelled the sun-drenched road, the humps of the rock-strewn dunes, the half-hidden trees. His throat was parched and he longed to drink but he did not dare.

  It was not long before Kethuna returned, his officers straggling behind him. A decision had obviously been made. Shouts rang out and the soldiers began struggling to their feet. The standards waved. Kethuna mounted his chariot. So they were going forward. Ramose checked the stopper of his water skin as he stood, and Apepa’s army began to cover the last few miles between it and the oasis.

  Just before they passed between the dunes, Kethuna’s vanguard surged ahead and fanned out, the chariots rolling swiftly, their occupants with bows unslung and arrows at the ready. Glancing back, Ramose saw the loose lines of soldiers draw together and become a thick snake in order to keep to the track, its rear winding to be lost to sight in the dust. A mixture of anxiety and exultation gripped him as he himself was forced to walk closer to the horses. Putting out a hand, he touched the nearer animal, its flank warm and wet. At once he felt the sting of the charioteer’s whip on his wrist and he withdrew.

  The northern village was in view now, a collection of mud huts beyond the hectic green of sturdy crops, the small dwellings half-obscured by palm trunks and sparse shrubs. Nearer was the pool where Kamose’s tent had been pitched, the ground around it disturbed and littered with the detritus of the departing troops. Kethuna’s horses, once again smelling water, picked up their pace so that Ramose was forced to break into a run. The charioteer was trying to hold them in, without much success, and Kethuna, clinging to the swaying sides of the vehicle, was shouting at him angrily.

  Panting and stumbling, afraid of the lick of the whip, Ramose strove to keep up. The pool was closer now, they were almost upon it, and in spite of his discomfort a puzzlement grew in Ramose. The shrubbery around the water had been cut down. Raw stumps showed yellowish above the sand. In many places the plants had been actually ripped up by the roots, leaving untidy depressions where they had been growing.

  The horses came to the verge of the pool and halted. Their heads went down. Behind the chariot the soldiers broke rank, water skins at the ready, hands cupped and knees already bending. Breathing hard, Ramose scanned the surface of the scummed water. Twigs and white petals floated on it gently and thicker branches, crushed to reveal the fibres within the bark, stuck out like brown bones. Someone has killed the shrubs, hacked them up and tossed them methodically into the pool, Ramose thought.
But why? It looks like an act of petty spite but to what purpose? The horses’ muzzles were hesitating just above the murky liquid, their nostrils distended, whinnying softly. Soldiers were kneeling to lift the glittering wet life to their lips. Behind them their fellows waited eagerly for their turn to quench their thirst. The whole area was crowded with cheerful, jostling troops.

  But Ramose, catching a whiff of sweet flower perfume brought to him on the hot breeze, drew back on a wave of horror, his own knees suddenly weak. It was death that the horses scented in their distress, death slipping down the throats of the men leaning over that seemingly innocuous expanse. Frozen to the spot by sheer dread, he watched the happy confusion. The oasis is full of it, he thought. From here to the southern village, around every spring it grows in profusion, beautiful and harmless unless, of course, its leaves are inadvertently chewed, or its seeds crushed, or one eats honey made from its flowers.

  Or unless one drinks the water in which it has been immersed.

  A bubble of hysterical laughter expanded in him and he clenched his teeth against it. How perfect, he thought again. How amazingly, logically, damnably perfect. Oleander, so white and delicate, yet even touching it can make a man’s palms itch. Did the inspiration come to you, Kamose, or to Ahmose, or perhaps to Hor-Aha? No. This is not the work of the Prince or the General. This bears the stamp of a sophisticated mind that revolves coldly and inexorably around a victory at any cost. Kamose, I salute your cunning.