“You sent for me, Majesty?” Kamose nodded.
“Take a message to all the Princes and commanders,” he said. “They are free to go home and see to their harvests and their family affairs. I shall expect regular reports from them on the state of their holdings, to be addressed to my grandmother. They must be prepared to be summoned after the Inundation. My permission extends to Prince Ankhmahor in particular. Tell him to delegate his authority over the Followers to his second. Prince Hor-Aha will not be leaving yet, however. I will speak with him myself later. That is all.”
“You will miss Ankhmahor,” Ahmose said when the herald had gone. “But at least you are keeping Hor-Aha. I wish you would change your mind about Wawat. I hate the south. Unbearable heat and uncivilized tribesmen. I do not want to go there.” Kamose was removing his kilt and sandals. Naked, he moved off along the path to the river.
“Neither do I,” he called back over his shoulder. “But think of the gold, Ahmose!” Yet it was difficult for him to keep his own mind centred on the gold. As he plunged into the tepid water of the Nile, he was imagining the miles that would separate him from Weset, the amount of time it would take for reports from Tetisheri regarding the Princes to reach him far away in the desert wastes of Wawat, the dangerous void he would leave that anything might fill. Anything. Or any one.
There was still no news from the house when the brothers had scrambled, dripping, onto the watersteps and had made their way back through the garden. Once painted and dressed, Kamose asked Ahmose to accompany him to the west bank to see how the Medjay were faring. Together they were rowed across the river and carried in litters to the stark site of the barracks. No grass grew here on the sweep of hard-packed sand beneath the western cliffs. No trees afforded shade. Yet the Medjay did not seem to care.
Hor-Aha came out to greet Kamose and Ahmose from the doorway of the small house Kamose had ordered built for him, and the three of them walked between the rows of dun-coloured mud dwellings, greeting the archers and listening to any complaints they might have. There were few. The Medjay were an unquestioning, pragmatic group of men, easily controlled by a firm hand, but Hor-Aha warned Kamose as they paced side by side in the blistering heat under the entirely inadequate shelter of the sunshades held over them by their servants that his countrymen were restless. They wanted to go home to Wawat and see for themselves how their villages were faring under the onslaught of the Kushites. They would submit to his command but eventually they would begin to slip away. “They have heard rumours that the Princes are going,” Hor-Aha said frankly. “They say that they have fought more bravely than the Princes. Their officers wear the Gold of Favours. Why can they not go home?”
“They wear the Gold?” Ahmose queried, amused. “It is not supposed to be actually worn! What odd savages they are!”
“I know that they deserve to leave,” Kamose said. “But, Hor-Aha, I am afraid that they will not come back.”
“They will return to fight again if you go with them into Wawat and set their land to rights,” Hor-Aha insisted. Kamose wiped a trickle of sweat from his temple and squinted across at his General.
“We will go at the end of this month then,” he capitulated abruptly. “That will give us time to look at any maps of Wawat that still exist in the temple archives. Apepa knows the gold routes but they have been lost to us for a very long time. I must leave some defence at Weset, Hor-Aha! Surely you see that!”
“Then let local soldiers do their duty, Majesty,” Hor-Aha finished emphatically. “My Medjay must go home.” Kamose felt Ahmose’s quizzical gaze on him. He wanted to reprimand the General for his disrespectful language but he resisted the urge. He recognized the fuel of his ire. It was fear, not offence.
He and Ahmose ate the noon meal together in the coolness of Kamose’s quarters. The women had not appeared. The house was quiet. Kamose expected Ahmose to go to his own rooms for the afternoon sleep but to his surprise Ahmose simply stretched out on the floor, a headrest under his neck. “If I am alone, I will worry,” was all he said before closing his eyes. For some time Kamose, lying on his couch with his head propped on one palm, looked down at his brother, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest under the loosely crossed hands, the flutter of his eyelids as he dreamed. I love him, he thought fondly. In spite of all the tragedies the years have brought us I take him for granted because his nature is so constant. He is always present, always in the moment, his steadiness seems rock-like and I rely on it without reflection. Yet he deserves more. He deserves to be treasured and told that he is precious to me. His brother’s regular slow breaths were soothing. Kamose rolled over onto his back and fell asleep.
When they woke, the long, hot slide towards sunset had begun. Slaking their thirst, they wandered out into the garden and sat drowsily watching the fish in the pond now shadowed by the surrounding trees break the surface of the water with mouths agape to snap up the first mosquitoes. “There is something about the summer that returns me to my mother’s womb,” Ahmose murmured, yawning. “I feel ageless, timeless, unconcerned about anything. I feel utterly lethargic.” And I feel like a ghost haunting an illusion, Kamose thought. He did not reply.
At sunset the house stirred. Appetizing aromas began to waft from the kitchen to the rear. The clatter of the servants as they prepared for the evening meal brought a return to normality. Kamose, realizing that he had not eaten all day and that he was at last hungry, was making his way back inside when Ankhmahor came up to him. “I have done as your Majesty requested,” he said in answer to Kamose’s question. “My son will stay and command your personal guard. He is eager to do so. I will return as soon as the harvest at Aabtu is over. I can come by the desert route if the Inundation has already begun.” Kamose’s heart sank. Even though he knew Ankhmahor deserved to be released, he wanted to beg him to stay. Five months without him to order the Followers was a very long time.
“There is no need for you to hurry back,” he said. “I am going into Wawat soon to set the Medjay’s villages to rights. I will not be back until the force of the Inundation has lessened.” Akhmahor looked at him thoughtfully.
“Your pardon, Majesty, but is that wise?” he offered. “What might Apepa do if he learns that you are far away and cut off from Egypt by the flood?” Kamose shrugged.
“The flood will hamper him also,” he reminded him. “The country becomes a vast lake and all troops must move on its perimeter. I think I will go down by boat so that I may use the shrinking waters to return home more quickly.” He blew out a gust of breath. “I do not want to do this,” he confessed. “Everything in me screams a warning. But I must. It is a matter of obligation.” Ankhmahor opened his mouth to voice what would obviously be a protest but closed it again. There was a moment of silence before he spoke.
“That I do understand,” he said. “It is a part of the harmony of Ma’at that must be maintained. I have been talking to the other Princes. They are concluding their preparations to leave. They would make their farewells if it were not for the imminent birth in the house.” He smiled. “It is a great day for your family.” Kamose embraced him.
“May the soles of your feet be firm, Ankhmahor,” he said. “Take my greetings to your wife.”
“Make my farewell to your grandmother,” Ankhmahor requested. “I will not disturb her now. I wish you a bountiful harvest, Majesty, and a safe journey into the southern lands.” Kamose watched him stride away with a deep sense of regret.
Aahmes-nefertari gave birth to a girl an hour later, and Kamose and Ahmose left their evening meal to answer Uni’s summons. Their sister had left the birthing stool and was propped up on her couch with the baby already at her breast when they entered the room. Sweat-dampened hair straggled her cheeks and hung in strings over her bare shoulders. A thin haze of incense from the burner before the image of Bes lingered in the hot closeness of the air and Raa was in the act of raising the window hanging as Kamose approached the girl and kissed her hot forehead. “Well done,” he said and s
tepped aside. Ahmose sank onto the disordered sheets, and taking one of her hands in one of his, he began to stroke his daughter gently with the other.
“Look at the black mop she already has on top of her head!” he said admiringly. “And what a delicate little snub nose! She is already very pretty, Aahmes-nefertari.” His wife laughed.
“She is red and wrinkled and very greedy,” she replied. Then her features became solemn. “Ahmose, I know you wanted a son,” she half-whispered. “Please forgive me. Do you think that I was carrying a boy and that perhaps my rage at Tani caused him to become so distressed that he retreated behind a female form?” Ahmose leaned forward and enveloped them both in a tight embrace.
“No, my dearest,” he said emphatically. “And do not fret. I love you. I love this child. We can make many more babies, male and female. How can this tiny one not be precious whatever its sex? How can you blame yourself for something the gods have decreed? We will rejoice together in your safety and her health. She is perfect, is she not?” They went on murmuring to each other while the baby let Aahmes-nefertari’s nipple slip out of her mouth and fell asleep. Kamose, after watching them fondly for a while, quietly retreated into the passage and from there into the coolness of the reception hall. Here he found his mother and grandmother already eating.
“Aames-nefertari looks well, doesn’t she?” he remarked.
“Yes, she does,” Aahotep replied as he folded himself onto a cushion beside her and pulled his own neglected platter forward. “However, the labour was long for a third pregnancy and the heat did not help.”
“It is a pity that the child is female,” Tetisheri cut in. She looked tired. The network of fine lines criss-crossing her face seemed more pronounced. Her blue-painted eyelids had swelled and beneath the kohl her eyes were darkly patched. But the glance she darted at Kamose was as keen as ever. “One male offspring is not enough. Ahmoseonkh is thriving but one never knows. We need another two or three for the line to be secure.”
“Not now, Tetisheri,” Aahotep begged with weary humour. “I need to finish this meal and then sleep for a very long time. We will consult the astrologers. They will give the baby a name and a prognostication for the future, but neither will matter very much. You know as well as I do that Aahmes-nefertari will be pregnant again by the time the Inundation sinks. There will be male Taos in plenty.”
“I hope you are right,” Tetisheri said dourly. She chewed reflectively for a moment and then turned to Kamose who was scouring his dish with a piece of black bread. “The Princes and their retainers have gone,” she stated. “I heard the commotion of their leaving from Aahmes-nefertari’s quarters. It is already the beginning of Epophi, Kamose. Have you really decided to go into Wawat? Ankhmahor seems to think that you should not go.” Kamose nodded. Reaching past her, he poured himself a cup of beer.
“I know,” he commented. “He intimated as much to me. Do you and the Commander of my Followers have secrets, Grandmother?”
“Not really,” she said with evident relish. “But we like each other and we have a concern for your welfare in common. Did you ask him for his opinion?”
“Really, Tetisheri, your urge to control us all is sometimes intensely annoying,” Kamose responded, not sure whether to be irritated or amused. “The decision is not Ankhmahor’s to make.”
“No, but his advice is sensible. He is a wise man.” Kamose drained his beer.
“I do not need his advice,” he retorted. “And I am not going to ask you for yours either. Wawat cannot be ignored if we want to keep the Medjay happy.” His mother had been listening quietly to their interchange. She broke in quickly.
“The concern is defence,” she said slowly and firmly. “For two campaigning seasons Tetisheri and I have ordered the soldiers here and watched the river. We have organized spies in Pi-Hathor. We can do it again, but it is a great responsibility, Kamose.” Kamose fumbled his cup and almost dropped it.
“You have spies in Pi-Hathor? But why didn’t you tell me?”
Aahotep shrugged. “There was no need. You had too much weighing on your mind already. Besides, Het-uy, the mayor, has been honouring his agreement with you and will continue to do so given your overwhelming success this winter. You asked us to watch and it seemed sensible to us to do a little more. That is all. And speaking of spies, have you considered recruiting men in Het-Uart? There must be some way to breach those walls. No defence is completely impregnable. Besides, spies could bring you the mood of the citizens there, the number and disposition of Apepa’s remaining troops, what trade is still going on, all sorts of important information.” She smiled thinly. “You might even find men willing to whisper words of sedition and uncertainty in the city. All Egypt knows that Het-Uart is the only thing standing between you and a united country. Demoralize them, Kamose. Give them bad dreams.”
She glanced at Tetisheri and a spark of mutual complicity passed between them. Kamose saw it with wonderment and a tiny chill. For a fleeting second he ceased to recognize them, these women who had governed his childhood and ruled the household. Briefly their sex and even their age had vanished to leave an impression, there and instantly gone, of two fleshless predators facing each other in an emotionless agreement that shocked him.
“I think I will leave that matter in your hands,” he said somewhat dazedly. “You are obviously more than capable of administering such a scheme. It is true that women far outstrip men in the practice of subterfuge, manipulation and deceit.” His mother laughed.
“You look like a bewildered sheep, my dearest,” she chided him. “I do not know whether to be flattered or insulted at your astonishment. We may be women, but we are also Taos. We do not lack for courage or intelligence. Shall I pour you more beer?” He nodded dumbly, his gaze fixed on her long, graceful fingers as she tipped the dark liquid into his cup. “That is why I will never forgive Tani,” she went on conversationally. “Never. Now, Tetisheri, we should take to our couches and later we will visit Aahmes-nefertari. Should we engage another nurse, do you think, or will Raa be able to cope with the new baby as well as Ahmose-onkh?” She was rising to her feet as she spoke, and Tetisheri, with many groans and complaints regarding her stiff joints, followed suit. Bowing to him absently, they passed out of the hall, still talking lightly, and Kamose was left to stare pensively into a dimness that seemed decidedly smug.
14
KAMOSE SENT IPI to the temple archives for any maps of Kush and Wawat that might have survived the turbulence of the years since his ancestors had built forts in the south and established regular trade routes. Originally the lowliest Setiu had obtained permission to pasture their flocks in the Delta during Rethennu’s dry seasons, after which they would return to their own land. Gradually they stayed longer in the Delta’s unfailing vegetation and established permanent villages. They were followed by their more affluent brothers, men of ambition and intelligence who took an active and predatory interest in Egypt’s weak administration. They had been known throughout the world as traders, disseminating goods between the islands of the Great Green and venturing as far away as Naharin in the quest for wealth that had earned them the Egyptians’ contempt. They were middlemen, purveyors of commodities, hagglers and shopkeepers whose ships and caravans supplied anything to anyone for the right price.
Pragmatic to the core, they adapted their gods, their way of life and their ideologies to suit whatever nation welcomed what they offered. Like chameleons their colours changed depending on the circumstances in which they found themselves, but underneath their polite camouflage they were a race alien to everyone but themselves. When their eyes had alighted on the Delta, rich and secure and central to their business affairs, they had lulled the lazy and complacent Egyptians into a sense of security and then gradually, almost imperceptibly, had lifted the reins of government, and control of the trade routes, from the King’s fingers.
The forts in Wawat and Kush meant nothing to them and were allowed to sit empty, slowly crumbling in the fierce southe
rn climate. But the wealth of those countries, the gold, leopard skins, elephant tusks, spices, ostrich eggs and feathers, drew them like flies to honey. So did the supply of slaves. Egypt had no word for the full ownership of another human being until the Setiu taught it to them. Helplessly the Egyptians watched the abundance of the south pass quickly and efficiently into the grasp of their masters.
But now they would take it back. Ipi had returned from the temple with three maps, the most recent still many hentis old, having been drawn up by the great King Osiris Senwasret, the third of that name, who had hacked a canal called the Way of Khekura through the first cataract leading south so that his soldiers and treasure boats could come and go more easily. He and his predecessors had built the chain of forts on the border between Wawat and Kush to protect the gold sources from local marauders, but they could not have foreseen my own necessity, Kamose thought grimly as he bent over the brittle papyrus. “This information is scanty,” he remarked, letting the map roll up. “Hor-Aha, in what condition is the largest fort at Buhen?” The General hesitated.
“Buhen is the northernmost member of the chain,” he replied, “but it marks the southernmost limits of Wawat territory. I have not seen it for some time. It has been taken over by native villagers who will not have a significant means of defence. They can easily be routed if Your Majesty desires to repair and man it again.”
“I may do so,” Kamose said. “However, putting Wawat to rights must come first. Is my ancestor’s canal still navigable?”
“That I cannot say.” Hor-Aha shook his head. “I and the Medjay travelled overland to and from Wawat. Perhaps the sailors at Nekheb will be able to tell you.”
“Gold has still been coming up from Kush by water,” Ahmose pointed out. “The Setiu have been mining it. Did they bring it past the first cataract by caravan or use the Nile the whole way?”
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