The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  By evening the mustering was complete. All day the troops had been dribbling in from the farther reaches of the oasis where they had been billeted, an orderly stream of sun-hardened men carrying weapons as familiar to them now as the hoes and winnowing flails they had once wielded. Obedient to their officers, they ranged themselves along the eastern track in their several divisions, and sitting on their wooden shields, fell to gambling and gossiping as they waited for night.

  Just after sunset Ankhmahor returned to Kamose to report that Uah-ta-Meh’s water supply was now undrinkable. Kamose acknowledged the news coolly. He knew that he did not need to press the Prince. The pool before which he now paced was choked with the debris of the dying plants and the petals of the flowers rocked gently on the darkening surface, still glimmering white in the fast-fading light.

  The tent the brothers had shared would not be struck until dawn, and as Ankhmahor deployed the Followers around it and Kamose and Ahmose turned to enter its welcoming shelter, there was a commotion on the far side of the pool. With a snap of his fingers Ankhmahor directed two of his men to investigate. Kamose watched as the brawny soldiers walked to the place where a half-naked peasant was shouting at the officers who were holding him. After a moment the Followers returned. “It is the headman of this village, Majesty,” one of them began to explain. “He wishes to speak to you.”

  “Then let him come.” At the guard’s call, the officers released the man, who immediately sped across the cooling sand and fell in an ungainly heap at the brothers’ feet. “Get up,” Kamose said impatiently. “What do you want?” Before rising, the man planted a kiss on Kamose’s dusty sandal. Kamose found himself looking into a leathery, seamed face and one sunken brown eye. The other peered at him sightlessly, a pale blue, filmy orb.

  “Majesty, Great One, Favourite of the Gods,” the man blurted. “It is not for me to question your inscrutable judgements for you are infallible, chosen by the immortal ones …”

  “I have not eaten since this morning,” Kamose broke in, “and my meal sits within, getting cold. What do you want?” The headman pursed his lips and looked at the ground.

  “The people of my village have lived in harmony with your soldiers for many months,” he stammered. “We have shared meat, grain and water. We have not stolen from them. And in return they taint our pools and command us to leave our crops and our homes and follow them into the wasteland. We are bewildered and afraid. What is to become of us? What is your immaculate purpose for us, Beloved of the God of Weset?” Ahmose tensed and opened his mouth to speak but Kamose held out a hand and forestalled him.

  “The God of Weset is Amun the Great Cackler,” Kamose responded equably. “Today you have learned something new, headman. As for your concerns, it was necessary to taint the water. I do not need to explain myself to you but I choose to do so. A force of Setiu is on its way here to your precious oasis to destroy me and very probably you. By poisoning the water, I trap them. I had no wish to condemn innocent Egyptians to certain death also; therefore I ordered the evacuation of your village. When we reach Het nefer Apu you will be placed in the care of the mayor of that town.” The headman swallowed, his adam’s apple working convulsively against the scrawny skin of his neck.

  “But, Majesty, we do not want to live by the Nile. How soon may we return to our homes here?” Kamose sighed.

  “Find one of the army physicians and ask him when the waters will be cleansed,” he said. “It is that or die of thirst. Be grateful that I have spared a thought for your fate in the midst of weightier matters.” Signalling to one of the listening Followers, he turned towards the glow of lamps spilling out of the tent. “Well?” he snapped at Ahmose, as they sat before the laden table and Akhtoy moved to serve them. “Are you satisfied? Was I magnanimous enough? Will the peasants love me now?” His tone was savage. Ahmose held out his cup to be filled and did not answer.

  They had crossed the desert in four days without mishap and were welcomed eagerly by Paheri and Abana. Kamose ordered the army bivouacked on the edge of the cultivation, set up a strong perimeter of sentries, and ordered scouts back along the track to watch for the approach of any Setiu survivors. No word as to Ramose’s fate had come to Paheri. Kamose knew that if his friend had managed to escape, he would have found a way to let him know; therefore it was likely that Ramose marched with the Setiu and would perish with them. Yet Ramose is no fool, Kamose told himself as he sat outside Paheri’s tent in the shadow of the ships while the daily reports were read to him. If anyone can win through, he will. I must put him out of my mind for the present and concentrate on what is, not what might be.

  For one day he and Ahmose moved among the troops that had been left at Het nefer Apu, met with all the Princes and the commanders of both arms of the army to discuss every contingency of engagement should a large force of Setiu win through to the Nile, dictated letters to the women at Weset, and swam and drew bow together.

  Then Pezedkhu had come. Just before dawn on the second day, Kamose was woken by a hand on his shoulder. Ankhmahor’s worried face loomed in the dimness and a taller shadow filled the tent’s opening. At once Kamose sat up. Ahmose was groaning and reaching for the water by his cot. A flame flared, momentarily blinding them. Akhtoy replaced the now burning lamp. Ankhmahor bowed. “Majesty, the enemy is here,” he said without preamble. “Your scout waits to give you the details. I have taken the liberty of alerting all your commanders. Hor-Aha is already outside.”

  “Bring him in.” Kamose ran a furred tongue over his teeth. As he stood, Akhtoy quickly wrapped a kilt around his waist then turned to Ahmose. The scout stepped up and bowed, and behind him Hor-Aha’s black face appeared suddenly in the yellow light, his hooded eyes swollen with sleep, his thick braids dishevelled. “Speak,” Kamose invited the scout. The man nodded.

  “Majesty, it is the General Pezedkhu,” he said. “He sits just north of here with perhaps ten divisions. At present he is deploying his troops west to east from the edge of the desert to the river, with the bulk of his army concentrated by the desert. His sentries and ours are so close to each other that they could exchange conversation if they shouted. He has a full complement of chariots. You can hear the horses if you walk twenty paces along the riverbank. There is no attempt at secrecy.” Kamose folded his arms, cradling his naked chest. The air in the tent was chilly.

  “How do you know it is Pezedkhu?” he demanded.

  “I stripped off my insignia, left my weapons with one of my soldiers, tied back my hair, and joined the townsmen who had begun to congregate to see what was going on,” the man said laconically. “There does not seem to be any desire to come to battle readiness yet. I had no opportunity to talk to any of the Setiu. The officers soon drove us all away.”

  “Thank you,” Kamose managed. “You can go. Hor-Aha, direct the Princes to gather outside Paheri’s tent. Akhtoy, rouse the cooks. We need hot food. On the way, tell Ipi to wait on us with the army scribes. Send in my body servant.” The steward bowed and left with Hor-Aha. Ahmose, Kamose and Ankhmahor were left. For a long moment they simply stared at one another. Then Ahmose blew out his cheeks.

  “Why has Pezedkhu not attacked?” he wondered aloud.

  “Because his scouts are in every way as good as ours,” Kamose replied. “He has been told that the infantry is here, not at the oasis. He knows that no engagement took place there. If he had arrived before us, he would have attacked Paheri and been victorious, then he would have sat and waited for either the other half of Apepa’s force to arrive from Uah-ta-Meh having defeated us, or for us to march out of the desert with that same force behind us and an equally large army in front. As it is, he has calculated his odds and found them wanting. He has his sixty thousand men. We now have a combined force of eighty thousand.”

  “He will consolidate his position,” Ankhmahor put in. “He will do nothing until his fellows join him.”

  “And if all goes as we planned, they are even now dying of thirst,” Ahmose remarked with an unc
haracteristic relish that betrayed both his fear of the Setiu General and his relief that the odds were now overwhelmingly in the Egyptians’ favour.

  “We can be sure that the plan to trap us in a pincer was not Apepa’s,” Kamose said. He was rubbing his upper arms vigorously. “Gods, it is cold this morning! Leave us, Ankhmahor.” The body servant had entered and was waiting with a bowl of steaming water. Behind him his assistant carried towels. Akhtoy had returned and was laying out clean linen. As the Prince lifted the tent flap, Kamose saw his frame clearly outlined against the sky beyond. The sun was rising.

  Less than an hour later, washed, dressed and shod, the brothers joined the crowd of commanders waiting in front of Paheri’s tent. As they were reverenced, Kamose noted the bent back of Abana’s son Kay. “What are you doing here?” he addressed him sharply, taking his seat and motioning the others to do the same around the large table. The young man smiled at him apologetically but with a hint of polite defiance.

  “They say that the Setiu General has a fleet of powerful ships hidden on the Nile, Majesty,” he replied. “If my marines are to engage the enemy, I want to be well prepared.”

  “The ship North turned in the worst performance of all during the mock battle,” Kamose remarked dryly. “Besides, it is not true. Pezedkhu brought no ships. The Medjay and the marines will be fighting on land. And you, Kay Abana, are not a senior commander. Stop wasting my time here.” The other men were listening to the exchange with barely concealed and superior smiles. All at once Kamose felt sorry for Kay. “Still, you are a talented ship’s captain, highly regarded by your superiors,” he conceded. “You may stay as long as your mouth remains closed. Now have us served, Akhtoy. We will debate our situation while we eat.”

  As food was placed before them, Kamose related the report, and they had barely begun the meal when they were interrupted by the first in a steady stream of scouts bringing a swiftly multiplying picture of Pezedkhu’s deployments. The General was not preparing an attack. As Kamose had surmised, he was posting sentries and sending out a stream of his own scouts who would bring him word when the rest of Apepa’s army appeared. “I want the Medjay off the boats and free to manoeuvre in the desert,” Kamose told Hor-Aha. “They will harry the flanks of whatever force does come from the west. Paheri, the remaining marines must stay on the river to strengthen my eastern detachments should Pezedkhu try to push through that way. Intef, Mesehti, Iasen, your troops and most of the chariots are to muster along the edge of the fields, looking west. I am not so concerned with the ground in between. It is very difficult to push across fields of crops slashed with irrigation canals and lines of trees. But we will have a small force placed north of the town just in case. I do not think it will be needed. Pezedkhu will come against us in an arc, heavy at either end and thin in the centre. His western arm will contain the bulk of his troops.”

  While he was speaking, the area in which the men sat became gradually full of limpid morning light. A breeze sprang up, the air tinged with a warmth that would rapidly grow to heat, and the surrounding vegetation rustled and quivered at its touch. All along the bank the soldiers were rising, moving towards the water to wash, and the cooking fires of the night before were being coaxed back into life. For a while Kamose answered the Princes’ questions as the details of their deployments were elucidated, then he dismissed them to their duties and they scattered. “Will you attempt to parley with Pezedkhu?” Ahmose asked him as they left the table and walked along the shade-dappled track to their tent, the Followers around them. Kamose glanced across at him sharply.

  “No, of course not. What purpose would talking serve?” he asked. Ahmose shrugged.

  “I’m not sure. It was just a fleeting thought. Pezedkhu, more than his master, will know that all of Egypt but for the Delta is in our hands. He might be persuaded to change sides.” Kamose chuckled, startled. “It is an interesting idea,” he replied. “But I suspect that the General is a loyal man. It would be as if Apepa tried to corrupt Hor-Aha. Beyond imagination. Let us see what happens in the next few days. If we enjoy a total victory, we will shake Pezedkhu’s confidence and perhaps his fidelity also. Let us set up our own watch in the sand, Ahmose, but first we must pray.”

  That had been two days ago. Now Kamose, trying to quell his irritation at the sound of his brother’s formless humming, sighed inwardly. Pezedkhu had made no further moves. The dust cloud sent up by the daily activities of his army hung in the distance like a mildly menacing threat, neither growing nor abating. His scouts could often be spotted, black specks that trembled far away on a horizon distorted by the heat and the glare of light on the desert dunes. Kamose’s scouts ranged those miles also, gaining solidity as they approached him and then slowly vanishing back into the wasteland after reports that held little substance.

  After so many hours spent peering towards the oasis, Kamose’s eyes had begun to trouble him, but he was reluctant to relinquish his perch, and he knew that all his men, from Ankhmahor to the lowliest infantryman, felt the same undercurrent of tension. He also knew that none of them could maintain this attitude of interior watchfulness coupled with physical inactivity for much longer. The edge of their battle-readiness would become blunted. Fear of the unknown would creep in and fantasies would begin to weaken them.

  Each morning Kamose held a meeting with his commanders and the Princes, but there was little to say. All preparations for engagement were complete, and Kamose was beginning to wonder secretly what he would do if Pezedkhu simply continued to sit there passively, if the army trudging from the oasis by some miracle did not arrive at all. Would he himself take the initiative and attack the General? The prospect was enticing. His fingers ached to draw his bow. The weapons hanging from his belt, dagger and sword, protested their impotence. If he shifted his gaze from the shimmering sand, he could see his men strung out thickly along the irregular line where green met beige, thousands of them sitting or lying in the scant shade of the palms and acacia, gossiping, gambling, dozing under the eye of the patrolling officers, all of them waiting, like him.

  But, at last, in the middle of the afternoon of the third day, when the citizens of Het nefer Apu lay on their cots sleeping away the worst of the heat and Kamose’s head swam with the need to join them, he saw a chariot come careening along the track, its spokes flashing in the sun. It came up to his knoll and halted in a shower of dirt, the horses lathered and panting, and the scout jumped from its rear and ran towards him. Kamose came to his feet. “They are here, Lord!” the man shouted. “Two hours away but no more! They are in terrible condition! It will be like killing cattle in a pen!” Kamose felt the drowsiness seep away. His head cleared and his heart settled to a steady, strong stroke. Ahmose and Hor-Aha had come up to stand beside him.

  “How many?” Kamose barked back. The man was almost dancing in his excitement.

  “Not enough!” he called. “You will take the day, Majesty! My horses need water. Give me leave?” Kamose dismissed him and turned to Hor-Aha. The black eyes squinting into his were alight, the white teeth gleaming between parted lips.

  “It worked, General,” Kamose breathed. “It worked. Alert the commanders. Get the Medjay moving. I want them circling out there to keep the enemy bunched together as they approach the river. Send to Paheri to stand ready, and form up my divisions here on the track. Warn the officers closest to Pezedkhu’s forces first. He will have received the news also and I expect him to strike quickly.” Ahmose was already striding away and yelling for his chariot. They had argued regarding Ahmose’s place in the forthcoming clash. Kamose had wanted him to lead the divisions that would in a very short time be pouring out onto the desert but Ahmose had wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “I do not want to be safe,” he had retorted in answer to Kamose’s importuning. “I intend to captain the divisions facing Pezedkhu unless you give me a direct order to the contrary, O Mighty Bull. Stop trying to protect me!” Kamose had given in with poor grace and he regretted it now, watching his brother swing himself
up behind the charioteer and the vehicle wheel away in the direction of the massed and hostile forces to the north.

  Well, it was too late to reverse any orders now. Already the long line of men to his right was wavering and re-forming as the soldiers scrambled for their weapons and began to converge on the track under the yells of the officers. More men had begun to pour out from the trees behind Kamose, the crowd parting as the chariots raced through it to roll ahead. Kamose walked down to join them, and seeing him come, his own charioteer picked up the reins. Kamose sprang up behind him and at a word they began to move to the forefront of the noisy throng.

  The horizon to the west was no longer clear. It was marred by a wavering grey haze. Kamose imagined that he could discern shapes within it, but their nature was not yet clear. Did any horses survive? he wondered anxiously. Chariots? How many officers are still on their feet? Are they captained at all or have they become nothing but a rabble? And is Ramose among them? He had no more time for conjecture. Hor-Aha’s chariot had come abreast. “All the divisions are moving into their appointed positions, Majesty,” he called across. “Pezedkhu’s men have also come to readiness but as yet no arrows have been fired. His Highness has control on the northern front. Scouts are hurrying into the enemy’s area.” Kamose acknowledged the General with a gesture. Pezedkhu is learning even now that the tables have been turned against him, he thought. Now he is the one outnumbered. Will he act rashly, throw himself at us? If he does, then Ahmose will be fighting the real battle.

  The cacophony around him was abating. The officers’ orders came crisp and clear in the hot air, a chorus of calm, controlled voices. To right and left his squadrons rolled, and behind him as he glanced back the divisions marched, the sun glinting off the forest of spears and sliding along the blades of the thousands of drawn swords. Pride swelled in him. You have done this, Seqenenra my father, he thought with a lump in his throat. These men, these sturdy brown Egyptians marching steadily towards victory with their black hair swinging and their white kilts swirling, are here because you dared to defy the power of the usurpers. Your vision has transformed the face of this country, turning peasants into soldiers and lifting the shamefaced gaze of Princes from the ground to the rich vista of a rediscovered dignity.