The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  “I have had time to absorb the shock, Majesty,” he said. “Since I stood before her in that luxurious room and saw her so beautiful, so unapproachable … Since then I have walked with death holding my hand. Her words will remain as sharp as a serpent’s fangs in my memory, but I will no longer dwell on the time when I loved her and we planned our future together. To do so would be to reject the gift of life the gods allowed me in the desert. I am resolved to keep my attention fixed on the present as far as my wounded ka will bear.”

  “But I do not understand it!” Kamose roared. “I will never understand! She is a Tao! How was she able to jettison her family pride in favour of that … that …” He was being strangled. He could not breathe.

  “Our revenge will be in driving every Setiu from our borders, Kamose,” Ahmose said urgently. “We will not dissipate our energies in recrimination. We will not lose sight of our goal. Now, Ramose. We need to hear of Het-Uart, the palace, the troops still quartered there, your experience with the eastern army.” His words were calming but his voice shook. “Who commanded the army that perished out there?” Ramose nodded and glanced at Kamose.

  “The General assigned to the eastern army was one Kethuna,” he said. “He is dead. I saw his body on the battlefield as the scouts were bringing me in yesterday. Pezedkhu did not like the plan, you know, but Apepa insisted on it. He is truly a fool. The one hundred and twenty-four thousand troops that left Het-Uart represent perhaps one-half of Apepa’s combined forces. He has been sent reinforcements by his so-called brothers in Rethennu. They continue to enter the Delta along the Horus Road …” He talked on.

  Kamose did his best to concentrate on what Ramose was saying, but the fires of his rage and hurt continued to scorch him and it was not until Ramose began to recount the panic and dismay of the army when it found the waters of the oasis undrinkable that he came completely to himself. Then he listened attentively.

  “I wish I had been with you as you walked towards the Nile,” he said with malicious fervour. “The chariots fired, the soldiers staggering and falling and gasping for water. I wish I had been there. I gloat, Ahmose. I rejoice. Forgive me but I cannot help it.” Ramose had paused to drink again, his voice hoarse from so much talk. “We will go home now,” Kamose went on. “The scouts will return today with the news that the chariots are irretrievable. The hand count is complete. The enemy’s weapons are in our possession.” He rose carefully, nursing the sudden pain that had blossomed in his gut. “Thank you, Ramose,” he managed. “You are a brave man, an Egyptian worthy of this mighty country. You have earned a royal wife, a princely title, a fertile estate. It is my shame that I cannot yet bestow these things upon you.”

  Ramose stood also and faced him. “Majesty, I am tired in body and soul,” he half-whispered. “It is said that the gods take those they love and hone and temper them until they become as bright and pure and indomitable as new swords in the hands of mighty warriors. Perhaps they love me inordinately, for I have taken all that any man may be expected to bear, yet I survive. I want them to leave me alone now. Let me swim and hunt duck in the Weset marshes and make love to faceless women. Let me hold my mother in my arms.” He gave a twisted half-smile. “Take me home with you, Great One, take me home. I need to heal.” He bowed, placed both palms tenderly on Kamose’s chest, and left the tent.

  12

  TWO DAYS LATER, the army set out for the south. Thirty-three thousand jubilant men received the news that they were to be returned to their homes until the harvest and the next Inundation were over, and they stowed their packs and struck their tents with alacrity. The eleven thousand remaining at Het nefer Apu were less pleased, but Kamose had wisely decreed that any leave they had accrued might be taken in staggered periods of time, during which they might go back to their villages temporarily. He intended to keep all the Medjay close to him, quartering them on the west bank opposite Weset. He had told Hor-Aha that he would indeed mount a punitive expedition into Wawat, but that it would be after the celebrations at Weset. Hor-Aha had received the news with his customary cool attention. Kamose had seen no trace of the spark of arrogance the General had betrayed before, but unlike Ahmose, he did not dismiss what he knew Hor-Aha had inadvertently revealed. He filed it away in the back of his mind for future contemplation.

  After much deliberation he had decided to leave the navy, too, at Het nefer Apu, suggesting to Paheri and Baba Abana that they rotate the marines to allow them also to spend some time in their villages. But he insisted that the captains of the ships, including the two friends, accompany him to Weset together with all the Princes and their senior officers. The bounty from the treasure ships he had captured lay waiting in Amun’s treasury and there were rewards to be handed out and promotions to be honoured.

  He forced himself to fill the hours with the details of departure—dictating scrolls to his family and Amunmose to warn them of his coming, reading the final inventories of weapons and supplies, inspecting the horses, meeting with the mayor of Het nefer Apu to hear any complaints the townsmen had regarding the continued presence of a portion of the army and to grant him the right to requisition idle soldiers to aid in the coming harvest. He did not give himself time to grieve for Tani. He recognized the danger in turning his inner gaze upon the glowing embers of pain and rage that still smouldered deep within him. There would be time to let it engulf him when he closed the door of his own room in the house at Weset and was at last alone.

  So the great mass of men, chariots and animals began to wind south, some in the boats, some marching on the shore, with much singing and laughter. As the days passed, the ranks gradually thinned, men saying farewell to their companions and melting away to come at last to their own houses, and it was a comparatively small flotilla that approached Weset in the bright heat of a summer afternoon. This is almost how we began, Kamose thought as he stood in the bow of his craft with Ahmose and Ramose silent behind him and the Princes clustered on cushions in the shade of the cabin. We had nothing but five thousand foreign archers and a wild hope to sustain us. Now Egypt is almost ours, with only Het-Uart remaining like one spot of decay on a plump grape. Above him the lateen sails bellied out on the hot north wind and the wake of his craft folded away in foaming crystal below. White ibis stalked in the rushes by the bank with a slow, lordly dignity, and beyond the tangle of shrubs the crops of his nome stood thick and golden. For one ecstatic moment his heart swelled with joy and pride but such emotions had become alien to him and he was unable to make them stay.

  Long before the town became visible the men craning forward began to hear it, a low mutter of confused sound that grew as the rowers beat their way upriver. The Princes scrambled to their feet and came to stand elbow to elbow along the railing. The noise grew louder, became a constant roar, and suddenly Kamose could see the people lining the east bank of the river waving and shouting a welcome, throwing blossoms that rained down on the undulating water. The Medjay answered their tumultuous greeting, yelling back at them and dancing delightedly on the deck. Kamose raised an arm in acknowledgement of their frenzied homage and the noise rose to a mighty crescendo.

  As the royal craft drew level with the canal leading to Amun’s temple, Kamose saw that the priests had gathered, their loose white robes blowing and gleaming in the strong sunlight. They were silent, but as Kamose’s boat drew level with them they knelt with one accord, arms outstretched, and pressed their foreheads into the earth. Ahmose drew in a sharp breath. “I had thought that our victory was real to me,” he half-whispered under the continuous din, “but it was as though I dreamed it until this moment. We did it. We did it, Kamose!”

  Kamose did not reply. We have not done it, Ahmose, he thought clearly, coldly. Like skilled physicians we have contained the rot but it can still spread. Oh why can I feel nothing? I eat and sleep and breathe and yet I am dead inside. The fever of my townspeople, the excitement of the Princes, does not touch me at all unless it is with the chill finger of fear. What of next year? How may we bre
ach Het-Uart’s defences? What counter measure is Apepa plotting? Do these fools imagine that the worst is over?

  The crowd had thinned and the dense growth between the limits of the town and his own estate was drifting past. Kamose tensed. He heard Hor-Aha give the command for the Medjay’s boats to begin to angle towards the west bank where their barracks still stood. All at once he wanted to crouch down, to hide his eyes so that he need not receive the burden of his family’s faces. Panic assailed him. Now there were the massive ruins of the old palace baking in ravaged splendour behind its crumbling walls. His watersteps were coming into view, glittering as the water lapped over them, and above them the pavement, the short path disappearing into trees, the bulk of the rambling house beyond.

  They were there, his kin, with the servants clustered behind them, even his grandmother and Ramose’s mother, Nefer-Sakharu, anxiously smiling, wigs and linens stirring in the breeze. As the captain began to issue orders and the craft nosed in to the steps, Aahmes-nefertari struggled out of the chair in which she had been sitting, her sheath stretched tightly over the swollen belly of her pregnancy. At another word from the captain a rope was flung to shore and the ramp was run out. They were home.

  But Kamose could not move. Heavy and stone-like he stood rooted to the deck while Ankhmahor and the Followers walked down the ramp, up the watersteps, and formed a protecting avenue along which he knew he must go. Ahmose touched his arm. “We can disembark now, Kamose,” he whispered. “Why do you wait? Is something wrong?” Kamose could not answer. Panic began to seep into his mind. I do not want to be here, he thought. This is the womb from which I have already crawled. This is the dreamland from which I may never wake again. “Kamose!” Ahmose said sharply, and at that moment Behek came bounding down the steps in a shower of spray. With a leap he gained the ramp, skidded, righted himself, and to a ripple of laughter from the gathered men he flung himself on his master. Kamose felt the cold nose thrust into his hand and found himself looking into the shining brown eyes of his dog. The spell left him. Bending, he rubbed the soft head, and when he straightened he was able to make his legs carry him across the planking, along the ramp, and onto the hot paving, Behek padding delightedly at his heels.

  Soft arms enveloped him. Perfumed hair brushed his cheek, his neck. Murmurs and cries of welcome filled the air. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ahmose and Aahmes-nefertari locked together, rocking to and fro, and Ramose embracing his mother, and he wanted to weep for the hollow place inside him where there was nothing but emptiness. Tetisheri, after pulling him briefly against her desiccated body, surveyed him calmly. “You are burned as black as a desert peasant,” she said at last. “But you seem well, Majesty. It is very good to see you again.”

  “I am very well, Grandmother,” he replied dutifully. “As for you, I think you will live forever. You do not change at all.” She gave one of her sudden, rare laughs.

  “The gods only claim the virtuous,” she chuckled. “I see that you have brought the Princes with you. Where shall we put them all? But come. Uni has set up canopies by the pond. We will eat and drink and I will assess the worth of these men crowding us. Have you turned them into effective commanders, Kamose, so that you will be able to stay at home while they campaign next season? Have you any plans yet for the taking of Het-Uart? And Tani. Your reports said nothing of her, although Ramose spent some time in the palace. It is bad news, isn’t it?” They had begun to walk along the path towards the lawns. Aahotep had come up and slipped her arm through his, and behind them the rest of the entourage drifted in excited conversation. Kamose wanted to tear himself from the grip of the two women and run into the trees under whose shade they were passing.

  “Not now,Tetisheri,” he said tersely. “This is not the time. I, we, all of us need to rest. Amun must be officially thanked, rewards must be bestowed, we must all be nourished with diversions before we return to a contemplation of the future!” His voice had risen.

  “Forgive me,” Tetisheri said, and he stopped and turned to her in desperation.

  “No. It is I who must apologize,” he managed. “You are right. The news regarding Tani is very bad and neither of you should have to wait to hear it. Yet the Princes must be fêted this afternoon. I will tell you everything tonight.”

  They had come to the pond and the pleasing, leaf-dappled grass surrounding it. Large canopies billowed in the heat. Cushions had been piled on the shaded ground beneath them. The family settled themselves while Uni, with many bows, directed the others under the adjacent shelters. Servants appeared from the house bearing trays laden with dishes, napkins and jugs. The musicians took up their stations by the lily-choked water. Tetisheri rose and held up an imperious hand. At once the chatter ceased. “Princes of Egypt, commanders and friends,” she began. “I welcome you here to the heart of Egypt. Victory has come out of great suffering and despair. Now is the time for celebration. Let us eat and drink together and remember that if it were not for the courage of my son Osiris Seqenenra this day would be like any other. My steward Uni is at your disposal while you are here. Long life and happiness to you all.” She sat down again amidst a storm of clapping. The servants began to fan out. The musicians sent a lilting melody piping through the air.

  Aahmes-nefertari was sitting in a chair. Ahmose, who had made himself a nest of cushions at her feet, knelt up and laid his face against her belly. “I have missed you so much,” he murmured, reaching for her hand. “I am so glad that this baby waited to be born until I returned. Has your health been good, my sister?” She stroked his head then pushed him gently away.

  “Ahmose, did I not dictate many scrolls to you, full of how boringly predictable this pregnancy was?” she teased him. “Now that you see me so fat and ungainly do you still love me?” Her gaze met Kamose’s. What is she saying to me? Kamose wondered. Her mouth smiles but not her eyes. Has her health not been good? A servant bent before him offering food and the connection between Aahmes-nefertari and himself was broken.

  He ate the fruit of his nome and drank its wine, feeling a fragile equilibrium return to him as his nostrils filled with the summer odours of his childhood and his ears received the voices that had meant security and peace to him in his growing years. Before him the house squatted, its whitewashed walls protecting its memories, its doorways inviting inhabitants who would create even more, yet he knew that when he stood and crossed the grass and entered his home, it would no longer recognize him. It had not changed. It was he who had sailed away with a dark spawn growing inside, and now it exuded from his very pores, an invisible cloud that diminished the glory of the golden afternoon and made the cheerful crowd around him seem like dull paintings on brittle papyrus.

  He watched Ramose and Nefer-Sakharu sitting knee to knee under the canopy where the Princes drank and laughed. Man and mother were leaning towards each other, their expressions solemn, their unheard conversation obviously serious. His glance strayed to Ankhmahor beating time on his folded ankle with one finger as the drums pulsed their rhythm over the garden. Beside him his son Harkhuf was talking to him animatedly, and occasionally the Prince would nod or smile briefly, but his thoughts were not on his offspring’s words. Kamose sighed, and in an effort to shake off the mantle of depression and dislocation still enfolding him, he sat straighter and called for more wine.

  As appetites were assuaged, the Princes began to leave their canopy and come one by one to pay their respects to Tetisheri, bowing before her and kissing her hand. She spoke to them all, enquiring about their families, asking them what division they commanded, what they had done, and Kamose thought what a great lady she was, intelligent and gracious, indomitable and proud. In his detached frame of mind, however, he did not fail to notice that Prince Intef and Prince Iasen, after exchanging these polite pleasantries with his grandmother, made their way to Ramose’s mother and spent the remainder of their time speaking with her. Rousing himself, he beckoned to Baba Abana, Kay and Paheri, and when they had come, he presented them to his famil
y. The stern lines of Tetisheri’s face relaxed at their names. Bidding them sit, she began an animated discussion involving Nekheb, shipbuilding and the strategy of warfare on water. Kamose’s mood lifted a little. Excusing himself and calling to his dog, he left them all.

  In the evening the members of the family gathered in Tetisheri’s quarters. Akhtoy and a harried Uni had found accommodations for the guests and appointed house servants to them. Hor-Aha had crossed the river to report that the Medjay were settled in their barracks and glad to be back on dry land. Anhkmahor had taken charge of the household guards, putting them under the command of the Followers and ordering the watches before choosing to sleep with his men in their compound.

  Ramose had asked to be allowed to share his mother’s rooms and after some hesitation Kamose had agreed. He knew that the pause between Ramose’s request and his granting of it had hurt and puzzled his friend but something about the way the two Princes had approached Nefer-Sakharu and the way in which she had greeted them troubled Kamose. He could not say why. After all, he had told himself irritably, Teti made himself a friend to almost all the Princes up and down the Nile. Intef and Iasen have known his widow for years. It must have been a joy to her to see them again, to be free to talk about Teti with them and with Ramose, to relive happier times. By all accounts she has not been able to find much peace here with the family of her husband’s executioner. Yet his reasons sounded forced to his own ear and the tiny kernel of anxiety did not go away.

  However, he had dismissed it temporarily by the time he sent Behek back to the kennels with a servant and made his way through the quiet torch-lit passages of the house. Uni admitted him to his grandmother’s quarters. The rest of the family was already there. Tetisheri sat by her table, her feet on a footstool, her ringed fingers curving loosely around the winecup beside her. Opposite her, Aahmes-nefertari also occupied a chair. The girl had had her paint removed and her own black hair cascaded to her shoulders. She was wrapped in a thin white cloak which she held close to her across her stomach. Kamose thought that she looked like a tired child. Seeing him come, she gave him a slight smile. “Raa caught Ahmose-onkh dragging the house snake through the reception hall,” she told him. “He had it in his fist, just behind its head fortunately. He screamed when she took it away from him and tossed it into the garden. He could have been bitten, the silly little boy.” She made a face. “I pray that the snake will not take offence and refuse to come back. That would be very bad luck indeed.” Again Kamose caught a look from her, half-speculative half-fearful, before she looked away.