The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  But her fragile equanimity deserted her and she scrambled to her feet with a cry as two vague shapes materialized out of the dimness and came inexorably towards her. “Aahmes-nefertari, I have been searching for you everywhere,” her mother said breathlessly. “You must go back into the house at once where the Followers can watch over you. There is trouble in the barracks. The soldiers are deserting. They have killed Amun-nakht and several others of our officers.” The ghosts fled. Aahmes-nefertari looked from her mother to the worried face of Hor-Aha.

  “I will go to the parade ground immediately,” she said. “What of our own troops, General? Are they running away also?”

  “Some of them, Highness,” he replied hoarsely. “The Medjay under Prince Anhkmahor are attempting to restore order, but the deserters must not be allowed to get far. Such panic and disaffection will spread to every nome if we do not move at once to stop it.”

  “Why is this happening?” Aahmes-nefertari felt ready to panic herself.

  “They do not trust my words,” Aahotep said grimly. “They are afraid that the same fate the Princes met will be meted out to them when I have had time to reconsider the enormity of their blame. The fools! Now they will certainly die.”

  “What must I do?” Aahmes-nefertari asked, her mind already filling with things she could say to the men remaining, but her mother shook her head.

  “Not this time,” she said emphatically. “You must stay with your husband. You are not expendable, Aahmes-nefertari. You and Ahmose are Egypt’s future. Hor-Aha and I will go together. Send a herald after Ramose. He must be told what is happening. Mesehti and Makhu must be coerced into providing forces to prevent the deserters from spreading north, even from reaching their homes at Qebt and Badari if possible. Hor-Aha will take the loyal soldiers that are left and pursue them from here.”

  “The herald can go by water,” Hor-Aha put in. “The deserters will be disorganized on land and they will not dare to steal boats. I will send Ankhmahor to you with more guards for the house, Highness. Assign them where you see fit.” He was obviously anxious to be gone.

  “Is there a chance that some of them might attack us here?”

  “No, I do not think so,” Aahotep assured her, “but it is better to be prepared. Hurry, Aahmes-nefertari. And say nothing to your grandmother. Someone will bring you word later.” She did not tarry and Aahmes-nefertari did not wait to see her and the General melt into the darkness. She ran towards the house, her fears forgotten. Reality had provided a far more dangerous threat.

  Akhtoy was dozing on his stool outside Ahmose’s room. He had insisted on taking up his station there during the night as well as by day while Ahmose remained unconscious and Aahmes-nefertari was never more grateful than when she saw him rise at her abrupt approach. “Akhtoy, go and fetch me a herald as quickly as you can,” she ordered. “One that is able to carry a message in his head. There is no time to dictate to Ipi.” The steward hurried away and the girl sank onto his stool. Amun, keep my mother safe, she prayed. Do not allow me to be left alone with a sick husband to protect and another rebellion to quash. It is already too much! But probing herself she discovered a steady constancy in her ka and her thoughts were clear.

  When Akhtoy returned with a tousled and sleepy herald, she gave her instructions succinctly, and later, facing the twenty soldiers Hor-Aha had sent her, she helped Ankhmahor draw up the hours and positions of their watches without indecision. More than half of them were Medjay and Aahmes-nefertari was glad. She no longer trusted the men of her own nome.

  Before settling herself beside Ahmose, she toured the house. All was quiet. The children and Raa slept peacefully and she could hear Tetisheri snoring through her closed door. Reception rooms and offices, bath house and apartments, greeted her intrusion with mute, empty familiarity. Reassured, she made her way back to Ahmose. Akhtoy had resumed his seat, and bidding him not to rise and telling him swiftly what had befallen, she was at last free to walk through the friendly lamplight to her perch beside the couch.

  She knew instantly that he was awake. It was in the slight tension of his body, the dawning of a faint intelligence on his face. “Ahmose,” she called softly, leaning over him. “Ahmose. You have come back to me. Can you open your eyes?” She saw his cracked lips move. His tongue appeared and his eyelids fluttered. Snatching up a cup of water, she held it to his mouth, lifting his head, but he winced and drew away, so she dipped a piece of clean linen into it and pressed it gently between his teeth. He sucked at it greedily.

  “I tried to open them before,” he whispered brokenly, “but the light hurt too much. My head aches intolerably, Aahmes-nefertari. What has happened to me?” He was trying to touch his skull. Aahmes-nefertari caught his hand and pressed it back onto the sheet.

  “You have had an accident, dearest,” she began, not wanting to tell him the truth for fear the shock might send him back into the shadow world but also admitting to herself that she shrank from the things he must eventually know. He frowned and winced again.

  “An accident? I remember holding up my fish for Kamose to see. I remember him running towards me. I saw Meketra, and there were soldiers coming out of the garden.” He was becoming agitated. His fingers tightened around hers. “Did I fall, Aahmes-nefertari? Is that it?” She began to stroke his brow, hoping that her hand did not tremble.

  “Hush, Ahmose,” she soothed him. “You have stitches in your scalp. You must not dislodge them. I am so happy to see you awake, but now you need proper sleep. I want to go to the door and ask Akhtoy to bring the physician. Would that be all right?” He did not reply and she saw that he had lost consciousness. Hurrying out into the passage, she spoke briefly to the steward, then returned in trepidation to the couch. Ahmose was breathing deeply and evenly and he had been cool to her touch. When the physician arrived, he confirmed her conviction that he was now sleeping normally.

  “Have him carefully watched, Highness,” the man reminded her. “Let him drink water if he needs it, but no food yet. I will make an infusion of poppy for his pain.” He smiled. “Now it is simply a matter of time for his healing.”

  But we may not have time, any of us, she thought as the door closed behind him. Mother has been gone for too long. She said that she would send me word and I cannot leave Ahmose to go to the training ground. Nor do I dare ask Ankhmahor to go. I need to know that he at least is here, standing between us and the dark.

  She was unaware of the dawn until Akhtoy and Ahmose’s body servant came in, the latter with hot water. Akhtoy snuffed the lamp and rolled up the window hangings. Pale early light flooded the room, and Ahmose stirred and sighed. “Your mother has just returned,” Akhtoy said to Aahmes-nefertari in a low voice. “She met us as we were approaching this door. She is too fatigued to greet you, Highness, but I am to tell you that General Hor-Aha has taken a thousand soldiers after the deserters and the men who are left are burying bodies. There was a skirmish on the parade ground but all is now under control.”

  “If Hor-Aha has gone, then who is in command out there, Akhtoy?”

  “The Lady Aahotep is acting Commander, Highness. I gather that the General has left her in charge.” A pang of pure jealousy shook Aahmes-nefertari. Once again I am relegated to the house while greater deeds are accomplished without me, she thought bitterly, then laughed at her pettiness. I am here with Ahmose and he will get better and that is all that matters.

  “Put the water down,” she instructed the body servant. “I will wash him myself this morning. Akhtoy, have fruit and bread brought to me for I am suddenly starving.”

  At the first brush of the warm linen against his skin Ahmose opened his eyes. He lay watching her as she lightly and methodically bathed him and when she had finished and offered him water he drank it eagerly. “I was dreaming that I sat by the pool and a dwarf came striding along the path towards me,” he said as she laid his head back on the pillow. His voice was thready but stronger. “He was dressed all in military garb, leather and bronze, and I was afr
aid of him. It is a bad omen, Aahmes-nefertari. It means that half my life will be severed. I would like to speak to Kamose after he has eaten. Or has he gone north without me?” She was saved from answering by a knock on the door. It was Akhtoy with her meal and a small alabaster vial. Setting both on the table, the steward bowed.

  “I am very happy to see your Highness has returned to us,” he said to Ahmose. “The physician has provided poppy for your Highness’s comfort should you need it.”

  “What are you doing here, Akhtoy?” Ahmose asked sharply. “Why are you not with Kamose? Has he appointed a new steward? How long have I been lying here unconscious?” Akhtoy and Aahmes-nefertari exchanged glances and the steward drew away. “What are you hiding?” Ahmose demanded. His tone had become fretful. “Give me some of the poppy, Aahmes-nefertari. My head hurts abominably. And then you can tell me exactly what has been going on.” Aahmes-nefertari gestured and Akhtoy left the room. Pouring a few drops of the milky white liquid into some water, she held it to Ahmose’s mouth. He took it all and presently his eyelids began to droop. “Tell me later,” he murmured. “The pain is easing and I cannot stay awake.” It was with a weak relief that Aahmes-nefertari saw him fall into the sudden sleep of the convalescent.

  She had a pallet brought into his room so that he would see her each time he woke, and lying on it she too fell asleep. Akhtoy roused her later and she was amazed to see that she had slept the whole day away. Ra was about to enter the mouth of Nut and his dying light filled the air with a diffused scarlet glow. Ahmose slumbered on. “Your mother is outside,” Akhtoy told her. “She wishes to speak with you. I will sit with His Highness.”

  Aahotep was talking to the guard on the door when Aahmes-nefertari emerged. She turned to her daughter with a smile. “I hear that Ahmose is awake,” she said. “That is wonderful news. I wanted to tell you in person, Aahmes-nefertari, that we are safe for the moment. It will be some time before messages arrive from Hor-Aha and Ramose but I believe that the worst is over.” Aahmes-nefertari looked at her curiously. Her voice was slightly hoarse. A wide graze ran from below her ear to disappear beneath the neckline of her sheath and the palms of her hands were raw. Seeing her scrutiny, Aahotep’s smile grew broader. “I cannot say that they are battle scars,” she admitted. “When Hor-Aha and I arrived at the training ground, Ankhmahor was already hotly engaged in the fight that had broken out between the men who were trying to leave and the soldiers whom Ankhmahor had rallied. Hor-Aha ran to take his place. Ankhmahor was attempting to extricate himself so that he could defend me but it took him some time.” She lifted her wounded hands ruefully. “I remained standing too close to the conflict. It was brutal and appalling, Aahmes-nefertari, but strangely compelling also. I could not move. Not until it suddenly swung my way and I found myself in the path of a spear. I threw myself to the earth and fell awkwardly, then I rolled beneath the reviewing stand and there I stayed. Not a dignified position for Egyptian royalty. Your father would have been dismayed.” She paused to clear her throat, which she did with difficulty. “There was much shouting and cursing,” she went on. “I was not aware that I too was yelling until Ankhmahor appeared and pulled me from my hiding place. We stood together and watched the end.” She grimaced. “It was an experience I trust I will not be forced to repeat. I think that from now on I will be more grateful for the small tasks a woman is required to perform in her own house.” Aahmes-nefertari stared at her.

  “But, Mother, I always presumed that you were content,” she said. Aahotep shrugged.

  “I was. I am. But I have discovered that even a citizen of the city of the moon, if she lives long enough with hot-blooded southerners, will find a little of that fire running through her veins. I am on my way to the temple now. I feel the need to purify myself of Meketra’s blood. The rage has gone, Aahmes-nefertari, and sadness for Kamose is taking its place. Give Ahmose my love and tell him that I will visit him tomorrow.”

  Nothing can surprise me any more, Aahmes-nefertari thought as she returned to Ahmose’s room, now filling with evening shadows. I gaze into my copper mirror and no longer recognize the woman who gazes back at me. I meet my mother’s eyes and see a stranger. How unpredictable our lives have become! Our very cores have been melted in the heat of suffering and necessity, only to be poured into new moulds whose shapes will define a future that is still hidden from us.

  Her reverie was interrupted by Ahmose’s voice and she found that she had been standing motionless in front of the uncovered window. “Please light the lamp, Aahmes-nefertari,” he said. “My head feels easier. It does not throb as much and my eyes are not paining me any more.” She did as he wished, trimming the wick on the pretty alabaster lamp and moving to lower the window hangings.

  “Would you like more poppy?” she asked him, half-hoping that he might drink and then sleep again so that she could defer the awful necessity of her news but he waved a hand dismissively and she knew that the time had come.

  “No,” he said. “I want to see Kamose. Bring him to me if he is still here and if he is not, then I must read his dispatches.” Aahmes-nefertari lowered herself onto the stool beside him.

  “He cannot come, dearest,” she began hesitantly. “He is dead. He was killed as he ran towards you. He was trying to warn you that the Princes had rebelled and your life was in danger but an arrow found him instead. He died in your arms. Can you try to remember that?” He had been lying on his side, his eyes fixed intently on her, and as she spoke she saw his face change. It was as though something inside him was sucking the flesh towards itself, leaving him all pallid skin over jutting bones. The hand that had been resting on his naked chest now crept towards the sheet and clenched it tightly. He rolled onto his back.

  “Gods,” he whispered. “No. I can feel the string holding the fish. I see him rushing along the path. I see Meketra. I see … I see …” He was visibly struggling to recall everything and Aahmes-nefertari watched him, numb with misery. “I see, I feel something in my arms, heavy, it is a big fish … No, it is too heavy for a fish. I feel stones under me. I am kneeling, yes.” His hands came up to cover his face. “I cannot remember, Aahmes-nefertari!”

  “It will come back to you,” she said urgently. “Do not try to make it come. Your wound was grievous. Meketra clubbed you as you held Kamose. The blow would have killed you if Mother had not managed to deflect it. She stabbed him twice.” His fingers had returned to the sheet, kneading it in a slow, intense rhythm.

  “Mother? Aahotep? She killed Meketra? With a knife?”

  “She did. There is so much more, Ahmose. Try to be calm while I tell you.”

  Long before she had finished her account of all that had happened he had begun to cry silently, saturating his pillow. She did not interfere with his grief until she too fell silent. Then she wiped his face, took both his hands in hers, and laying her head on his stomach she closed her eyes.

  Much later she felt him begin to stroke her hair, and at the sweetly familiar touch she herself came close to tears. “All this while I lay helpless,” he said. “Helpless and useless and even now I am unable to sit up for the pain it causes me. Forgive me, my dear one, for leaving you alone to face the army, for causing you to stand against a situation no woman should have to confront.”

  “Don’t be foolish,” she chided him. “What choice did you, did any of us, have? I am not just any woman, I am a Tao. So is Mother, by marriage and by her own stubbornness. We did well and we are proud of it. Hor-Aha and Ramose will round up the deserters. It is over, Ahmose. Do not begin to worry or your recovery will be hampered.” She sat up, pushing her tangled hair out of her eyes, but he did not release his hold on her.

  “You have heard nothing from either of them,” he said. “We can presume nothing until we do.”

  “It is too soon for any dispatches,” Aahmes-nefertari reminded him. “But we are safe for the present. Ankhmahor is still here.”

  “I will want to see him, but not today,” he mused. “In a moment I will ta
ke more poppy, for my head has begun to pound. Tell me what you think of Mesehti and Makhu. They withdrew their troops and ran. Does it mean that they can still be trusted?”

  She answered him in the same vein, aware that in discussing practical matters he was delaying the moment when he must begin to accept his brother’s death. The dam of denial was still firmly in place, holding back the flood of grief, guilt and remorse she knew must eventually come, but for now it was necessary for his sanity that they speak of other things and she was thankful.

  From then on his recovery was slow but sure. The physician removed his stitches and his hair began to grow back around the scar that he would carry for the rest of his life. He began to take a little nourishment. But Aahmes-nefertari, who had temporarily abandoned all responsibilities that might take her beyond the confines of his room, would often wake to the sound of his crying in the night and lie rigid on her pallet while he wept out his agony. She had Akhtoy bring the children to him and holding Hent-ta-Hent seemed to comfort him.

  Aahotep was a frequent visitor. He had thanked her for saving his life in his own simple, straightforward way but he wished for no more details of that day and Aahotep with her usual sensitivity did not supply them. Tetisheri also came, but there were strained silences between them that often stretched into minutes before one or the other of them offered some trite morsel of polite conversation. “She wishes that I were dead instead of Kamose,” Ahmose remarked to Aahmes-nefertari, “and she is gracious enough to feel guilty because of it. I pity her.” To that, Aahmes-nefertari could make no reply.