There was a thud behind him as Kethuna jumped to the ground, then the General was beside him, his charioteer’s whip clutched in his hand, his face gone suddenly haggard. “Get away from the water!” he shouted, his voice hoarse with panic. Rushing to the edge of the pool he began to flog the men who were already drinking, the ones pressing forward. “It’s poisoned, you fools! Get back! Get back!”
Ramose came to himself with a jolt and looked swiftly about. Already the soldiers who had been first to the water were lying doubled up on the ground, retching. The horses were neighing, the perplexed officers milling about, and the thousands flowing in from the desert, not knowing what was happening, were noisily demanding to fill their skins. When Kethuna regained control of his army, he would send scouts through the oasis to the south to see if the wells there were pure, but Ramose knew that the spiking would have been thorough, that Kamose would not have left one spring, pool or well unsullied in all the fifteen miles that comprised Uah-ta-Meh, and Kethuna and his men were doomed.
True there was another oasis at Ta-iht, a hundred miles farther south, but once there the General’s army would be trapped. From Ta-iht to the Nile the distance was almost twice as that from Uah-ta-Meh, and even if the troops could endure the trek to Ta-iht without water and then by some miracle survive the even longer march to the Nile, they would emerge from the desert near Khemmenu and be faced with dragging themselves north to where Kamose waited at Het nefer Apu. No, Ramose thought, as he backed away from the chaos of vomiting, terror-stricken men, Kethuna will try to cut his losses. He will make straight for the Nile, taking the track to Het nefer Apu. And without water, most of these men will die.
Using trees and the tumble of boulders everywhere, Ramose gradually worked his way towards the deserted village. He was little better off than the soldiers who had not drunk the contaminated water, although his instinct had been to conserve the meagre supply remaining to him while the others had been almost literally pouring it onto the ground. He knew that he did not have enough to sustain him until he reached safety. He also knew that Kethuna would send officers to ransack the village for any pure water the villagers might have left, and he wanted to find it first. It would be hours before the General could re-establish any sense of order.
Going from hut to hut, Ramose searched every corner, peered into every pot, but only succeeded in adding perhaps half a cup of stale and brackish liquid to the precious drops in his water skin. He had not drunk since early morning. His whole body screamed for relief, but he knew the symptoms of a thirst that has become life-threatening and he was not yet in such extreme danger. The mud shacks were dim and cool, but he forced himself to leave them. When Kethuna came to his senses, he would want Ramose’s blood, believing that Ramose had known from the beginning what Kamose would do. Walking out behind the village, Ramose found a semi-circular dune with a scattering of black rocks at its foot. Here he curled up in such shade as it afforded, digging himself a depression between sand and stones and pulling his tattered cloak over his head. He fell into an uneasy sleep.
He was woken by the sound of voices close by, and lifting a corner of his cloak he saw the desert flooded in red light. The sun was going down. The ground transmitted the vibration of the soldiers’ heavy footfalls as they sought him and he lay very still, trying to breathe quietly, until they went away. Then he crawled out of his hole and came cautiously to his feet. Stiff and sore, he stood for a moment while the blood flowed back into his limbs before scrambling to the top of the dune and peering carefully down into the village and beyond it to the pool. The whole area seethed with activity but it was now brisk and purposeful. Kethuna had obviously reimposed his authority. Soldiers moved in and out of the villagers’ huts and to and fro by the water, but Ramose, after observing them for a while, realized that the scene was strangely silent. No one was laughing or talking. No cooking fires had been lit. Poor devils, he thought. Are they aware yet that they are already dead? Sliding back down the dune, he unstoppered his water skin and allowed himself one scant mouthful, then he settled down to wait.
Twilight and then full darkness came. One by one the stars winked into life until eventually the great dome of the sky blazed with glimmering points of light. The moon was new, an indistinct sliver among the brilliant clusters around it. Ramose lay with his knees up and his arms outstretched, caressed by the blessed coolness of a desert night. He heard shouts now and the subdued, formless sounds of the thousands of men preparing to march. The horses were protesting, their neighing edged with an animal pleading. They would die also in a mute incomprehension somehow more pitiful than the vision of the men stumbling to their end. Kethuna was taking the only solution open to him. He was leaving the oasis while the sun was down. He would lead his army a little way south until he struck the track to Het nefer Apu and then he would head east. And I will follow, Ramose told himself. I have no intention of trudging ahead of them to perhaps be caught and put to the sword. I alone have a chance to survive. He had no desire to watch them go. He continued to lie quietly looking up at the sky until the last sound of their passing had died away.
It was hard for him to repress the urge to jump up and pursue them at once, but they would be travelling more slowly than he could alone and he had no wish to catch up to them. He was afraid to be the only living thing left in that accursed place, afraid of the heat of the day when he would have to struggle against the temptation to drink his meagre supply of water, afraid of whatever ghosts and spirits were now free to roam the oasis invisibly, but he said his prayers to Thoth, and leaving his hollow he went into the village.
Utter silence reigned. No dog howled, no tethered ox rustled, no child cried out in its sleep. The doorways gaped like black mouths and the beaten earth before them lay stark and bare in the starlight. Ramose had decided to spend the rest of the night in one of the houses but their daunting air of abandonment changed his mind. Entering one, he quickly dragged out a reed mat and a blanket he found and he passed the remaining hours until dawn under a tree.
When the first rays of the sun smote him with its fire already stoked, he retreated to a hut that welcomed him in daylight with the promise of shelter and coolness. He ate some of his bread and allowed himself another mouthful of his water. He knew better than to expend his strength by wandering about. Resigning himself to the boredom interspersed with bouts of near panic that the interminable hours of heat would bring, he sat in a corner of the bare little room and made his mind fill with thoughts of Kamose, of Tani, of the wonders of the palace at Het-Uart. He imagined himself standing in the warm humidity of a bath house, walking in a flower-burdened garden, leaning on the deck rail of Kamose’s boat while the tumult of his army swirled happily around them.
Only once did he start up, his heart beating wildly, at the sound of someone’s approach beyond the walls. Creeping to the doorway he peered out, but his visitor was only a goat that on seeing him bleated twice and trotted away. Goats were immune to the poison of the oleander, Ramose remembered, with an inner laugh at his moment of trepidation. Goats could and did ingest everything without harm. He wondered how Kethuna’s troops were faring and the thought sobered him. He returned to his corner.
He slept again, out of boredom, not tiredness, while the day wore away, and at sunset he emerged, took bread and more water, then shouldering his pack and slinging his water skin about his neck, he set off along the path that ran down the centre of the oasis. Not until he turned onto the Het nefer Apu road did he breathe a sigh of relief, for the way had been bordered by springs choked with smashed oleander shrubs, and broken branches littered his progress.
He walked steadily in the smoother sand beside the turmoil left by the multitude of sandalled feet that had plodded over it such a short time ago. Occasionally he stumbled where the chariots had veered from the firmer earth of the track and left deep ruts. As Ra sank redly into the horizon and the desert took his colour, Ramose’s shadow grew long and misshapen before him, a reassuring vanguard flowing
over the hillocks and darkening furrows. Far in the distance, he thought he could discern a patch of haze that might be the rear infantry of Kethuna’s miserable army, but he could not be sure. For a while when the sun had gone and the stars were still pale he doubted his way, for the light was uncertain and the whole land seemed in silent agitation, but soon the shimmer of the stars strengthened to a white, pulsing brilliance and he struck out with confidence. The air was pleasantly cool. He measured his breath and his stride carefully, not wanting to prompt a thirst, and refused to translate the irregular depressions all around him into pools of dusky water.
He had no way of telling the hour. Time meant nothing out there where there was only rock and sand in the night. It had taken him a little more than two days to reach Het nefer Apu in a chariot. He knew that he could cover the same distance on foot in about four days if he kept up his pace and did not run out of water, but what of the soldiers? Tired, afraid and dehydrated, what would their speed be? How soon before they began to falter? He gave the survivors six days to stagger into the waiting arms of Kamose’s men. And stagger they would. He smiled grimly to himself as he plodded on. Fighting would be the last thing on their minds. They would die with throats swollen with their need and the smell of the Nile in their nostrils. But I don’t want to overtake them, he thought suddenly. I must resign myself to their speed and therefore ration my own water still more severely. His heart sank and all at once the soft sound of his sandals became ominous. I can do this, he told himself firmly. Providing I do not succumb to panic, I will easily be able to reach the river.
Shutting his ears to the rhythmic inexorability of his progress, he forced himself to think of Pezedkhu. It would take him approximately ten days to march his thousands from Het-Uart to Het nefer Apu. He left the city at the same time as Kethuna. If Kethuna’s soldiers used up six days trudging across the desert having already spent eleven days journeying to the oasis by way of Ta-she, it meant that Pezedkhu had already been at Het nefer Apu for seven days. Had he attacked Kamose? Or, on discovering that Kamose had linked up with Paheri, would he gather in his forces and wait for the reinforcements he presumed Kethuna would bring him from the oasis? Gradually Ramose became wholly absorbed in his figures and suppositions, so that the first glimmering of dawn took him by surprise. Coming to a halt, he raised his arms and gave thanks to Ra for the god’s majestic rebirth. Then, realizing that he was hungry, thirsty and very tired, he looked about for a place to lie and sleep the day away.
A cluster of rocks on his left offered him some shelter, but walking towards them he was all at once reminded of the scorpions that liked to lurk in the same shade he was seeking. He thought of their ugly bullish heads, their scuttling legs, their stiffly curved tails. With a shudder he thought of their stings and how he would grow sick and weak and be unable to walk any more if he became their victim. The intensity of his fear blinded him for a moment, but he quickly regained his sanity and berated himself. It was better to take a chance with the scorpions than lie exposed to the sun. Going forward he purposefully explored the tumbled stones, turning the smaller ones over, and finding nothing living he lay down, pulling his cloak over his head. I must be alert for a return of such dread, he thought as he closed his eyes. The desert can drive a man mad if he travels alone. Now let me sleep and forget that I want to eat and drink.
He slept deeply for a while and then more fitfully, forcing himself back into unconsciousness each time he woke and saw that the sun still shone in the sky, but at last he sat up to another sunset. Stretching, he rose and shook out his cloak. A pale scorpion tumbled to the sand and scurried back into the damp shade. With a shudder Ramose hurried back to the track. As he walked, he chewed a little dry bread and washed it down with a scant mouthful of tepid water. Neither was enough, but he felt a surge of optimism nevertheless. Once more his shadow preceded him as Ra slipped into the mouth of Nut, and twilight briefly confused him. Then it was full night and he set himself grimly to his task.
As far as he could judge by the degree of his fatigue, he had walked half the hours of darkness when the breeze brought him the acrid scent of charred wood. Coming sharply alert from the trance into which he had fallen, he peered ahead, but the desert ran on, still and silent before him. For a long time he continued on his way with his senses straining. The odour grew stronger. At last he could discern a huddle of angles that did not match the harmonious flow of the dunes, but it was many minutes until he came up to it. Then he stood and stared.
Kethuna had burned his chariots. They lay in a great mound of smoking ruin, blackened axles pointing at the sky, splintered shafts poking through the ashen shreds of wickerwork, great broken wheels whose spokes looked intact until Ramose gingerly kicked one and it crumbled in a shower of hot charcoaled dust. Twelve divisions with twenty-five chariots in each squadron, Ramose thought. Three hundred chariots. There are the ruins of three hundred chariots here. Gods. What Kamose could do with them! But of course that’s why the General fired them. His plight is desperate, and he knows that if he simply abandoned them, Kamose would send men out to retrieve them. What a waste! Yet under Ramose’s shock was a core of pure delight and his step was lighter as he left the pitiful destruction behind.
Towards the second dawn he came across the first bodies. In the cold grey hue that heralded Ra’s approach he saw them lying sprawled over one another, perhaps twenty of them, before a donkey cart. There was no sign of the animal and the water kegs it had hauled were lying in the sand, but before he examined the corpses, Ramose went straight to the kegs. They were not only empty but completely dry inside. Ramose thought that they must have been left where they had fallen at least a day ago.
Disappointed, he turned to the soldiers. These men had not died of thirst. It was obvious to Ramose that they had fought and killed each other over the water that had been intended for the horses. Most of their wounds were erratic, but many of them had died from the arrows still protruding from their chests. So Kethuna is managing to maintain some discipline, Ramose thought as he systematically ransacked the bodies. I presume that his officers were ordered to distribute whatever water was left in the kegs but the men were too thirsty to accept the dribble they received and they began to attack one another. After all there was no water at the oasis to fill the horses’ supply. Horses drink a great deal and I would wager that almost nothing remained of the hekets taken on at Ta-she. Not enough for six thousand men, let alone sixty thousand. Poor Setiu. Poor Delta lovers. And poor Ramose, he finished mockingly as he tossed the last water skin away. Not a drop for me. They could have waited to tear each other apart until at least a few of them had lined up to get what I need so badly. I have worked through them for nothing. I am sweating and exhausted and they are forcing me to keep going until they are well out of sight, for the hyenas and vultures will come to feast on them with the morning and I do not want to rest where I can hear them being consumed.
Frustrated and resigned, he walked on into the increasing glare of the rising sun. At last, glancing back for the hundredth time, he realized that there was nothing to see any more. He was too tired to seek shelter. Anger made him reckless. Taking two swallows of water from his goat skin, he lay down where he had stopped, twitched his cloak over his face, and went to sleep.
In the evening he ate a little and moistened his mouth, briefly regretting his rashness of the morning as the skin hung flaccid from his grasp. Then he dismissed the thought and set off. He was already tired and dispirited. His stomach growled a protest at the unappetizing bread and it came to him that he might be better advised to throw the remainder away, seeing that it could only make him thirstier. He had no fear of marching hungry. Only the lack of water could kill him now.
It was not long before he came upon the first of the horses. It lay in the harsh blaze of starlight, a black hump angled across the track. Ramose presumed that it had fallen from dehydration until he bent close to it and saw that its jugular had been neatly and deeply sliced open. There were a few
patches of dark sand where it had bled, but not enough for the copious flow of blood that would have spurted forth. Straightening, Ramose looked about. More animals lay at random among the rocks and pounded sand. All of them had suffered the same fate. Ramose circled them thoroughly before setting off east again. He did not need a seer to tell him what had happened. The fools had slit the horses’ throats and drunk their blood. Well, it will not quench their thirst for long, he thought grimly. Blood is salty. All they have done is lengthen their agony and shorten their lives. Did Kethuna allow this or is he pressing on as fast as possible, leaving the stragglers to fend for themselves? And how soon will I begin to encounter a living rearguard? I do not want to overtake the soldiers. If I do, they will certainly kill me. But if I slow my pace, I am in danger of dying anyway. I am almost out of water. He cursed aloud, mentally shrugged his shoulders, and kept walking.
He had hoped to breathe more freely once the pitiful, drained remnants of the horses were left behind, but from then on he was not alone. He began to pass through a grotesque and silent company made more sinister by the stark contrast of form and shadow lying over the desert. Dead men lay haphazardly everywhere. Stiff fingers dug into the sand, cold eyes reflecting the starlight, some even propped against each other in a ghoulish imitation of comradeship, they populated the dreaming expanse with a motionless pollution. It was as though a war had been fought between human beings and some malevolent supernatural power able to slay without a blow.
The Oasis Page 29