Sweat began to trickle from beneath the rim of his helmet and he raised one gloved hand and wiped it away. Reaching behind him, he withdrew an arrow, holding it loosely, his eyes on the distance where the haze blurred the sky. The shapes within it were now clearly men but how many and in what condition he could not say.
He could see the Medjay now, strung out and loping effortlessly ahead of the chariots. Here on their own ground, their bare feet impervious to the burning sand, they looked like lean black hyenas. Even as he watched, Hor-Aha’s chariot broke away and began to angle to the right. Leaning forward, he spoke to his own charioteer and their vehicle veered left, away from the track, Ankhmahor and the Followers turning with them.
Now Kamose could see the full panorama of the impending engagement, Medjay in seeming disarray but moving to outflank the enemy, chariots spread out to either side, and in the middle the infantry, rank upon rank of marchers churning the earth in their inexorable progress. Kamose spared one thought for his brother then pushed the familiar protective concern away. Ahmose would command well, and he was supported by fine officers and disciplined men.
Someone began to sing, the light tenor voice rising above the creak of harness and the low swell of the thousands of plodding sandals. “My sword is sharp but my weapon is the vengeance of Wepwawet. My shield is on my arm but my protection is the power of Amun. Truly the gods are with me and I shall once again feel the waters of the Nile embrace my body when the enemy of my Lord lies lifeless at my feet …” Others took up the words, the song swelling through the ranks. Kamose smiled across at the captain of his bodyguard.
“That is no farmer’s song, Ankhmahor,” he called. “It belongs to the serving soldier.” Ankhmahor grinned back.
“They are all soldiers now, Majesty,” he answered, his words almost drowned in the flood of music. But before long a command for silence rang out and the stirring sounds died away.
Now Kamose’s attention was no longer on the cloud of dust but on its cause, a wide body of men coming slowly towards him, engulfing the track and the sand to either side. At first Kamose felt a twinge of fear, for they appeared to be marching in formation, but as they drew closer he saw that they were stumbling over hummocks of land any healthy soldier would have ignored and their pace was painfully ragged. As he watched, he clearly heard an order issue from somewhere in their front ranks and swords were drawn, but the actions were clumsy and unco-ordinated and Kamose distinctly noted one man on the outer perimeter who was desperately and drunkenly trying to obey without the strength to pull the weapon free of his belt.
They are almost spent, Kamose thought with a rush of uncharacteristic pity. I should order them surrounded and disarmed, it would not be difficult, but then how to feed them and what to do with them afterwards? Besides, my men crave action, they need to fight, and I need to send an uncompromising message to Apepa.
The Medjay were now ranged in a half-circle to either side of the enemy, bows unslung and arrows fixed. Hor-Aha’s chariot had slowed and Hor-Aha himself stood looking in Kamose’s direction, his arm raised, waiting. Kamose lifted his own arm, for one moment powerfully aware of the relentless force of the sun, pouring heat and a dazzling light on the glistening sand, of the grim silence that had fallen on his troops, of the salty taste of sweat on his lips, then he gestured. With a shout Hor-Aha signalled the Medjay and his cry was answered by a roar issuing from the throats of his tribesmen. Kamose turned and his sign was acknowledged. Hoarse shouts filled the air, and with a howl his army flung itself on the Setiu.
It was no battle but a slaughter of men half-insane with thirst, weak and emaciated, who dazedly tried to obey the commands of officers as exhausted and confused as they. Staggering and reeling, swords dangling from shaking hands, they were cut down remorselessly. Kamose, watching the brutal massacre from his chariot, felt nothing as all the pent-up frustration of his troops was released in one deafening torrent of bloodlust and the Setiu fell in their hundreds, scarcely uttering a sound. They had no chariots. They had obviously survived this far on the water intended for their horses, and when Kamose realized that there would be no resistance, he waved his own chariots back. The Medjay also, after waiting in vain for running targets, simply stood with their bows in their hands beside the chariots, visibly disappointed.
Long before sunset it was over. As the noise began to abate, Kamose had himself driven around the edge of the carnage, Hor-Aha and Ankhmahor beside him. His men were picking over the dead for any booty they might acquire, treading carelessly through the dark pools and rivulets already sinking into the greedy sand, their own half-naked bodies mired in blood. Ankhmahor glanced up. “The vultures are circling,” he said, and Kamose heard his voice quiver. “The scavengers waste no time, Majesty.” He returned his gaze to Kamose’s face. “This was more terrible than anything we have done so far.”
“Hor-Aha, let them keep whatever they can find,” he said. “Remind the officers to take the hands. I want to know exactly how many Setiu fell here today. Send scouts back along the track. I also want to know where the chariots are. If they are still whole, we can use them.” Hor-Aha nodded and jumped down and presently Kamose saw the officers disperse among the dead. The axes began to rise and fall, chopping off the right hands of the dead for the body count. Kamose let out his breath. “Well, Ankhmahor, it is done,” he remarked with a deliberate lightness he did not feel. Indeed he felt only a kind of numbness as though he had drunk too much poppy. “Bring the Followers and we will find Ahmose. There is no point in mustering these men to reinforce my brother unless he and Paheri are faring badly. I am worried that no word has come from our second front.” He thought the Prince would speak. Ankhmahor’s kohlrimmed eyes were huge and troubled. A shard of anger pierced the armour of Kamose’s indifference and he grasped Ankhmahor’s wrist. “Perhaps now we can afford the luxury of an honourable war with rules that both sides recognize,” he hissed. “But I doubt it, Prince. This has been a revolution fought without a code and it will continue thus. I am well aware that when the history of Egypt is written I will not fare well. Yet surely there will be readers who can grope behind my actions to the principles I hold dear.” He thrust a finger at the carnage just beyond them. “Those Setiu were soldiers. Soldiers understand that they are paid to fight, but also to die. No one tells them in what manner they may die. I salute the bravery of those men who crossed the desert dying with every step and stood to be finished off by other soldiers, but I hold no sentiment towards them. They did their duty.” He released the Prince and as he did so a wave of mental fatigue flooded him. “I love you, Ankhmahor,” he said dully. “I love your devotion to Ma’at, your intelligence, your steady, quiet support. Do not remove it from me, I beg you. I need your heart as well as your outward obedience.”
A small smile came and went on Ankhmahor’s mouth, and nodding once, he stepped from the chariot. Bowing low, he walked to where his own charioteer waited. Kamose watched him spring up onto the floor of the vehicle, white kilt swirling about his long thighs, golden commander’s armbands flashing in the brightness of the afternoon. “Let us go,” Kamose said to his own charioteer. With a jerk, his chariot pulled free of the clotting sand, and with Ankhmahor and the Followers behind he set off towards Het nefer Apu.
He had just rolled in under the shade of the trees when he saw his brother’s chariot coming towards him. He had scarcely come to a halt before Ahmose began to shout. “Pezedkhu has pulled his troops! He is leaving, Kamose! The scouts told me that you have made a massacre. Re-form your divisions and let us give chase! Eighty thousand men against his sixty! Look!” He was pointing excitedly north to where clouds of dust were blowing. Kamose thought quickly.
“Did you engage him at all?” he snapped.
“A few skirmishes, nothing more. Kay Abana took his men off his ship and chased Pezedkhu’s eastern flank as it withdrew. There was some bloodshed but I have no details yet. Pezedkhu would not commit to a battle, Kamose. He knew the state of the men coming
out of the desert. He weighed the odds and decided to flee. Hurry!” The chariots were abreast now. Ahmose was beating the rim of his vehicle with the flat of his hand in an agony of impatience, his entourage tense behind him, their faces upturned to Kamose. A dozen scenes were played out in Kamose’s mind before he spoke. He shook his head.
“No, Ahmose. Let him go. It would not be eighty thousand against sixty. Four of our divisions are out there tired and filthy, with blunt swords and spent arrows. They need rest and refurbishment before they can chase any more Setiu. That leaves forty thousand men. Of those, twenty-five belong to the ships. We would have to take them from the river. Pezedkhu will be moving fast. Have him scouted, but I think we must let him return unharmed to Het-Uart.”
“The coward!” Ahmose blurted. “He did not send one man to help his fellows. Not one, Kamose!”
“Of course not,” Kamose replied quietly. “And neither would we. He knew that they were doomed and he would not send good men to die as well. He will have a disturbing report to make to his master, Ahmose. I pity him. But think. We have reduced the Setiu strength in Egypt by at least sixty thousand. Turn your chariot around and I will meet you in the tent.”
They were cheered as they approached the Nile. Townsmen as well as the troops that had waited with Ahmose set up a cheerful clamour. Paheri and both Abanas stood before the brothers’ tent. Only the younger Abana looked sour, his expression pained as he rose from his obeisance. Kamose paused and looked him up and down. “I am told that you emptied the North and pursued the enemy,” he remarked. “Who ordered you to do that, my impulsive young firebrand?” Kay flushed.
“Majesty, I could see them flitting through the trees, angling west towards the desert,” he answered hotly. “Our orders were to remain where we were for the present, but my ship was berthed in the most northerly position on the river. I saw the Setiu moving to enter the desert fray. I could not wait to be told what to do! I had to harry them!”
“They were in fact retreating towards the desert so as to leave Het nefer Apu and return to the Delta,” Kamose pointed out gently. “Did you lose any of my marines?” Kay was affronted.
“Certainly not, Lord! We managed to kill twenty-eight Setiu. They refused to stand and fight. They kept running away.”
“And you were compelled to restore the reputation of your ship after its poor showing at the mock battle,” Kamose said. “Did you take the hands?”
“No, Majesty.” Kay’s face lit up. “But we stripped them of some very fine swords and axes.” There was a burst of spontaneous laughter from the assembled men.
“It was bravely done but very foolish, Kay,” Kamose warned. “In the future I expect you to follow the orders of your superiors, who might perhaps know a little more than you regarding the strategies of engagement. Do not be impatient. Your day will come.” He pushed past them, knowing that unlike theirs, his laughter had been forced. The anger that had burst forth at Ankhmahor was the only spurt of emotion he had felt and his heart had returned to a stony insensibility.
Ankhmahor had followed them inside while the Followers took up their station around the tent. Kamose motioned him to a stool and himself sank onto the edge of his cot. “Wine, Akhtoy,” he requested. “But not too much. We must absorb the reports that will begin to pour in soon from the battlefield.” There was a silence fraught with a sense of anticlimax while the steward poured. Then Ahmose stirred and raised his cup.
“A thanks to Amun,” he said solemnly and they drank. The bitter liquid caught in Kamose’s throat, scoring its way into his stomach and spreading its instant warmth, but it did not quench his thirst. With a strange compulsion he reached for the jug of water kept fresh beside his cot and drained it, allowing the last few drops to splatter onto his neck and trickle down his chest. “What happened out there?” Ahmose wanted to know. “Have we lost any men?”
Kamose did not reply and after some hesitation Ankhmahor spoke.
“I do not think so, Highness, but we will know better when the officers make their reports,” he said. “Nor do we know what strength we defeated. The hand count will tell.” Kamose grunted.
“Defeated?” he said harshly. “I will not use that word until Het-Uart is ours and Apepa strung up on his palace wall. No one was defeated. Many men were slaughtered, massacred, butchered, however you wish to say it.” He emphasized his speech, trying to take its meaning into himself, but it remained without and himself invulnerable. “I want to know what fate has overtaken Ramose. None of this would have been possible unless he had seduced Apepa.”
“We may never know,” Ahmose said. “What now, Kamose? Do we march north and institute a belated siege on Het-Uart? Do we have any idea how many soldiers Apepa still has?” Kamose sighed. The jug was empty, yet still he craved water.
“We will assess this day, allow the men to celebrate and sleep, hold a meeting with the Princes, and then decide what to do,” he told his brother. “I must dictate a letter to Tetisheri, but later. Truthfully, Ahmose, all I want is to be lying in our bath house in Weset while the masseur pounds scented oil into my skin and my skiff waits by the watersteps with my fishing rod and throwing stick.” A voice requesting admittance came muffled through the tent flap and Kamose roused himself with a sigh. “The first report is here,” he finished. “Let him come in.”
For the rest of the afternoon and long after sunset the brothers listened to a steadily multiplying account of the victory. First in the tent and later in the coolness of the evening beside the river they received one officer after another. The hand count had finally been made. Ten thousand and nineteen Setiu lay slain, their bodies now food for the desert predators, their weapons in the possession of the exultant Egyptians who began to drink and sing as soon as the cooking fires were lit. There were no serious injuries among Kamose’s divisions. Not a man had been lost.
The Princes began to gather under the torchlight where Kamose and Ahmose sat sipping their wine, answering Kamose’s queries with the assurances that weapons were being cleaned and sharpened, harness repaired, and the soldiers fed. “They will whore and carouse until dawn,” Intef grumbled, “but I suppose they deserve it. I only hope that in their drunkenness they do not antagonize the townspeople.”
“The officers patrol the town tonight,” Iasen answered him. “I do not think we need to worry. Indeed, the citizens of Het nefer Apu seem almost as relieved as we are to see the Setiu destroyed. Pezedkhu would not have been kind to them if he had won.”
“What a noise!” Makhu exclaimed, looking beyond the area of peace around them where the Followers formed a circle of protection to the darkness under the trees and the fitful glare of the fires along the bank. “They will be a sorry sight tomorrow. Will you give them a day of laziness, Majesty?”
“Yes.” Kamose straightened in his chair. “One day to sleep. Perhaps two. I am waiting for word regarding the Setiu chariots before we quit this place.” He smiled. “I envy the soldiers their celebration,” he went on. “If we get drunk, it must be politely, in the privacy of our tents and at a time when we expect no threats. Where is your son, Ankhmahor?”
“Patrolling the streets,” Ankhmahor told him. “Majesty, I think I speak for all of us when I ask to know your mind regarding the remainder of the campaigning season. The month of Pakhons is now far advanced. In another three the river will begin to rise. You command a vast number of troops, and if you intend to continue north to Het-Uart, you will have little time for a siege.” He hesitated and Intef stepped in.
“We are your nobles,” he said bluntly. “Your mind is opened to us first.” He cast a sidelong glance at Hor-Aha sitting quietly on the ground just out of reach of the light from the two lamps flickering on the table. “In return we are honoured when you seek our advice. May we give it now?” Kamose sighed inwardly, seeing the anxious set of their faces.
“Very well,” he responded. Intef leaned forward eagerly.
“We have struck a formidable blow against Apepa this year,” he be
gan. “Not only has Pezedkhu been forced to retrench but there is no longer any doubt that all Egypt but for a portion of the Delta is in your hands. We wish you to relinquish any thought of another siege until next year.” His gaze travelled across his companions. Iasen nodded. “We have all been receiving regular letters from our nomes and our families,” Intef pressed on. “We are needed elsewhere, Majesty. The harvest approaches and the men who should be in the fields are in your army. The task is too great for the women alone. Every grain of wheat, every bulb of garlic is precious, given the depredations of the campaign last year.”
“So you want me to disband the army, temporarily of course, and let you take your peasants home for the harvest.” There was something in Intef’s avidity that Kamose did not like. The man’s eyes, feverish in the yellow glow, were roving restlessly and his beringed fingers scraped against one another. “When did you have the time to discuss this proposition, my lords?”
“While we waited for the arrival of Apepa’s eastern army, Majesty,” Iasen explained, his voice soothing. “We debated the matter and decided that if we were victorious we would ask this of you.”
“And if not?” Ahmose’s tone was cold. Iasen spread out his hands in a questioning gesture.
“We did not doubt that His Majesty’s plan for the destruction of the enemy would work, therefore we spent little time on the alternative,” he said. “As it happens, the plan did work.”
“You have not answered His Highness,” Kamose said curtly. “And do not forget that my brother and I were only responsible for the details of the plan. Its overall conception belonged to the Prince Hor-Aha.” There was an uncomfortable hiatus. Intef looked down at his busy fingers. Iasen made a small moue. Mesehti, Makhu and Ankhmahor simply watched Kamose, who after a moment began to smile slowly.
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