by Anton Gill
‘But you must know them.’
‘Of course.’
‘Did you dine with them?’
Kamose looked at him again, as if trying to fathom what was behind the question. ‘Not often.’ He hesitated. ‘I have not been sociable in recent times.’
‘But is it not a function of your office to entertain and be entertained?’
‘Yes – but I do not indulge in it more than is necessary. I do not enjoy it, and I am in mourning.’
‘So Cheruiri told me. I am sorry.’
Kamose was silent.
‘I share your grief,’ said Huy.
‘There is some hope that your son lives,’ replied Kamose roughly. ‘And mine lived here, with me.’
‘You were close?’
‘Since his mother died – yes.’
‘But you have a daughter.’
Kamose smiled grimly. ‘Did Cheruiri tell you that too?’
‘Is there any reason why he should not?’ asked Huy, surprised.
‘No.’ Kamose paused, ceasing his pacing for long enough to give Huy a direct look. ‘She is married.’
‘When did your wife die?’
‘Many years ago. before I came here.’
‘And you live alone?’
‘I have not remarried. I have three concubines. Of what interest is this to you?’
Huy spread his hands. ‘None. Forgive me. I was simply interested. And I have never ceased to miss my own son.’
Kamose leant on his work table. ‘What do you mean to ask Senofer and Meten?’
‘I mean to ask them about Heby. They may have some idea about what happened. I would like to get an impression of my son.’
‘Did not Aahmes give you one?’
‘A man can be a greater stranger to his family than to anyone else.’
‘Menuhotep loved him.’
Huy was silent. Perhaps he should have asked more questions, but in that decaying house, with the tension of unspoken feelings crowding in upon them, it had been difficult to do so. He would be more at ease with Heby’s friends. They could tell him, too, and in a detached way, what had impelled Heby to join the army. Clearly it was an ambition they had not shared.
‘Was Ipur a rich man?’
Kamose lowered his eyes. ‘I do not know.’
‘Come! You must know that.’
‘He had enough.’
‘What? Ships? Land?’ insisted Huy.
‘He ran the temple fleet. Senofer was his deputy. I do not know what other interests he had.’
‘And you must know the merchant, Duaf.’
‘Yes,’ said Kamose.
‘Meten works for him.’
‘Yes – I can see why you have the reputation you have.’
‘You sound as though you would rather I had found nothing out. But all I am doing is seeing where I am.’
Kamose relaxed slightly. ‘Duaf is simply a merchant here. He is successful, because he was able to lay in a good store of cedar wood before the war. With supply scarce, the prices went up. You know this, Huy.’
‘Yes. So – one man who will be sorry to see the war end.’
‘Duaf has many interests. Cedar wood is not his greatest. He has five wheat granaries. And Punt ships on the north shore of the Eastern Sea.’
‘We have had good Floods,’ said Huy.
‘Yes.’
‘The price of wheat is low.’
Kamose shrugged. ‘Wheat is like gold – better. There will always be more of it, and you will never starve while it is there.’
‘Thank you,’ said Huy.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To sleep. It is the hot time of the day. Later I will visit the garrison.’
‘Will you not speak to Senofer and Meten?’
‘Yes – but I must visit Userhet first. I have letters for him from the king.’ This was a fraction of the truth. Huy knew that Ay’s agents in the town would be watching him, to make sure he did the work Ay had sent him to do. He would therefore have to make himself known to the town’s military commander as soon as possible; but how much of a friend Userhet was of Horemheb’s it was impossible to know. Did Ay seriously expect him to be able to find out more than his own spies, who in any case would also be present in Horemheb’s retinue, and therefore in a far better position to discover the general’s plans? Or had Ay, as he so often did, kept his true purpose to himself? Was Huy’s presence merely valuable as a means of keeping the agents in the City of the Sea up to the mark? Well, whatever the truth was, Huy would report back anything he discovered. If it did no real harm. For himself, he felt that it was unreasonable and impractical to fight the will of the gods. They would have their way, whatever man did. And he was here not to help Ay in his political struggle, but to find out what had happened to his son.
The sun was low in the sky, dipping just above the surface of the massive sea, and dyeing the crests of its waves a deep orange, so that they seemed to be on fire, when Huy rose from his couch. He had not slept, but neither had his heart been much given to thought. He summoned Psaro and went through to the bathroom at the back of the guest house, where his body-servant bathed and dressed him.
‘Official robes,’ said Huy. ‘And for you too. We are going to the garrison.’
This time they took the litter which Kamose had placed at their disposal. Huy did not inform the mansion that he was leaving, for he did not wish to be escorted by Cheruiri, and though this caused some concern to the house servants and to the soldiers who were to escort him, he waved their objections aside with as much authority as he could muster. Their route lay westward out of the town, and as he rode, with the linen screens of the litter rolled up, he watched the sunset, and listened to the sound of the sea. After a while he realised how soothing it was. Could it be that already he was dropping his guard against it? It was the gateway to travel and undiscovered mysteries. Perhaps it would have been better to have discovered it as a young man; not now that he was older: but why should age be a bar to adventure?
The military encampment was a town in itself. First, under guard, they came to the corrals where the chariot horses were kept – small, light beasts which darted around their enclosure, rejoicing in the revived energy brought them by the cool of evening. The biggest of them was no more than twelve and a half hands high, and could not have borne half a donkey’s load. Their heads had the look of the horses that had come with the shepherd-kings who had conquered the Northern Black Land long ago, of which Huy had seen carvings in relief. They held their heads high, and their manes fluttered like pennants in the north wind as they galloped and veered.
Beyond them the chariots were drawn up, so small and light that you could scarcely believe they would hold two men, but as he drew closer, Huy could see how skilfully and strongly built they were. He counted fifteen of them. Would they still be needed for the war? The sea, he noticed, had withdrawn from the shore, leaving a great field of flat, wet sand behind it. His litter skirted the landward edge of this, and looking out over it in the direction of the sound of cheering, he saw five more chariots, each drawn by two horses. They darted along the beach at a speed Huy could scarcely believe possible, suddenly stopping and changing direction, wheeling and circling almost more quickly than the eye could catch. The driver needed to exert only the slightest pull on the reins for the horses to obey his commands, and his massive shield was designed to protect both him and his companion, the warrior who stood next to him with raised bow, arrows at hand in a quiver beside him.
The chariots seemed to dance on the sand, but Huy could see that there was a system in their movements. Set up along the beach was a series of copper targets, and as they flew past these, the drivers throwing all manner of feints and turns into their approach, the bowmen loosed their arrows. More often than not they hit, though how they managed it was beyond Huy, who, though there was not a drop of soldier’s blood in him, watched with involuntary admiration as the bronze-tipped arrows hit home.
As they app
roached the site of the main encampment, they passed a troop of soldiers clad only in penis-sheaths drilling under their standards – Huy made out the insignia of the Horus and the Anubis platoons – altering direction and breaking from a fast march into a shambling run in obedience to a series of raucous signal-calls from their heralds’ trumpets. They carried clubs, bronze headed spears and battle-axes. Only the officers directing them were men out of their teens. Huy noticed that the two soldiers of his own escort were watching these manoeuvres with a mixture of misgiving and awe. Would any of these men actually have to go and fight? Beyond the infantry a unit of archers – dark-skinned men from UatUat – was lined up. They drew their bows with slow deliberation and yet there never seemed to be a moment when an arrow was not flying, nor one when it did not find its mark.
‘What will we say? We are not expected,’ said Psaro as they approached the guards on duty at the gate of the camp.
‘They will recognise Kamose’s litter,’ said Huy. ‘I have the letter, too, with the king’s seal. And besides, you can be certain that Kamose will have already sent word to Userhet of my intention to visit him.’
In truth they were waved through. The camp was outlined by widely spaced wooden stakes linked by ropes, for wood was an expensive commodity, and the bulk at the disposal of this reserve company had been used to construct the two jetties which Huy could just see in the gathering gloom, a little beyond the perimeter of the camp enclosure. They projected well into the sea, so that even at low tide it would be possible to moor a seagoing vessel beside one, if she were not too deep-keeled. A ship whose outline was unfamiliar to him was making ready to sail from one of them. A foreign ship, perhaps? He thought for a moment that he caught the noise of shouting coming from it across the wind, but he could not be sure.
On either side of them, and ranged in severely neat rows, were the soldiers’ tents. Outside every fifth tent a small dung fire glowed, with a knot of men grouped round it. Their escort guided them to a larger tent in the centre of the camp, erected on a small artificial mound. The sides of the tent were rolled up, so that it gave the appearance of an open canopy. A wood fire burned in a low brazier before it, and torches tied to its corner-posts lit the interior, for the gloom of dusk had deepened. In the centre of the floor under the canopy was a trestle table and five or six folding stools stood haphazardly around it. At the table stood a broad-shouldered man of about thirty, with a heavy, wide head resting on a neck just as wide. Around it hung two gold decorations: The Three Flies for Perseverance, and The Lions for Valour. His hair was cut short and grew in tight curls, and though he was clean-shaven it was clearly necessary for him to shave twice a day to keep his cheeks and chin smooth. His arms were short and powerful, the forearms sheathed in leather and copper guards, and on the central finger of his right hand he wore a heavy gold ring of office. Huy noticed that two fingers of the left hand were missing. The eyes were haughty, but quick, too. This was a man more used to being listened to than listening. In truth he was in the act of giving orders to three junior officers as Huy approached.
‘Greetings, Scribe Huy. I was expecting you earlier,’ he said.
‘Userhet.’
‘I can offer you goat’s milk or red beer. There is nothing stronger in the garrison. And bread - but barley bread only.’ He was already gesturing to an attendant who disappeared to fetch the food and drink.
‘Thank you.’
Userhet rolled up two of the papyri on his table and handed one each to two of the officers, who stood back, then turned and left. The third officer stood silently by.
‘I know what you’ve come about. Your boy. Well, I can’t help you. I don’t know what’s happened to him. Don’t think I’m not sorry too. He was just trained – and he was good, too – eager to see action.’
‘I am glad to know that.’
‘I hope he turns up – and has a good story when he does.’
‘You don’t think he deserted?’
Userhet looked startled. ‘Can you think that of your own son?’ He shook his head. ‘No, he didn’t desert. He wasn’t the type. Too solid.’ Userhet gave Huy an appraising gaze – was it that he could hardly credit that this was the father of such a son?
Huy drew himself up under the commander’s gaze. ‘I am glad to hear you say it. It would be unthinkable behaviour for the son of a senior official who has the ear of the king. If I had even suspected it, I would have ordered his death myself.’
‘We are not so severe,’ said Userhet. ‘We just cut off their ears and nose when we find them, and send them packing.’
‘I have a letter from Ay,’ replied Huy, keeping his face stony. Psaro stepped forward and put it into his hands. He passed it to the commander, who took it without a word, and opened it, spreading it out on the table and holding it down with both large hands while he read it.
‘The commander-in-chief would like to know when the war will end,’ he said finally, half to himself. His eyes met Huy’s. ‘It will end when it is over; but by my guess and the latest despatches from General Horemheb, he will be sailing home before we send any more men to join him.’
‘May it please the gods.’
‘May it indeed so please them,’ replied Userhet, formally, but there was a hollow tone in his voice which did not escape the scribe. Still, war was the man’s business. Perhaps he regretted not having the chance to see action himself. Huy watched while the commander glanced in the direction of the sea, as if a thought had occurred to him, then turned and spoke softly to the third officer, who inclined his head and darted out into the flickering darkness of the camp.
‘Have you fought in this war?’
‘No,’ replied Userhet gruffly. ‘I was a bowman once. My charioteer was killed and I had to take the reins. Then I myself was hit and fell off. We were travelling fast. My fingers were caught in the reins.’ He held up is left hand. ‘You’ve no doubt noticed this. I see you have a sharp eye.’ He grinned. ‘I have two wooden fingers to take with me into the tomb. My ka is complete, its body is whole. I fight my battles on paper now.’ He slapped his work table.
‘What happened in that battle?’
‘Where I lost my fingers?’ Userhet grinned again. ‘We won it. They were Khabiris under Aziru. I was younger than your son Heby then. We trapped them in their town and burnt it to the ground. As for the men we caught, we tied them up, we cut their pricks off and put them in their mouths and left them for their womenfolk to find. It was in the desert. Where we’re fighting now. Nothing changes.’ He turned and spat. ‘Horemheb was a staff officer then; but he’s turned into a good front line soldier.’
‘You admire Horemheb.’
‘As a soldier, yes.’ Userhet’s voice was immediately careful.
‘I am sure he is a good commander.’
‘He has won this war. He has won land back for the king which was all but lost to us. The Black Land is his debtor.’
‘The Black Land is the king, and the king is nobody’s debtor.’
Userhet looked at him with dark, expressionless eyes. The torchlight flamed in them. Huy sent him the thought: I outrank you and I represent the king. Userhet returned the thought to him: I know it but I will not withdraw; and here you are far from home.
The attendant came bearing bread, milk and beer, and placed it on the end of the table away from the papers.
‘I will prepare a reply for you to take back to the pharaoh tomorrow,’ said Userhet.
‘Do so; but your letter had better travel with a courier on the next falcon-ship to go up to the Southern Capital,’ said Huy.
‘You are not returning?’
‘No.’
Userhet smiled, moving closer to the scribe. He was taller and younger. His skin glowed. ‘We will do all we can to find Heby. Your son was a great admirer of the general and would have found favour with him. If it has been the gods’ will that he has died, we will make sure that he is buried with all the honour due to a soldier.’
‘That is reassu
ring, but the king has given me leave to make my own enquiries. And besides, Kamose has placed another burden upon me.’
‘Yes. He mentioned it to me. My belief is that we can also take care of the matter of finding Ipur’s killers.’
‘I did not know that the army ran investigations.’
‘None is necessary. It was the work of a Khabiri commando.’
‘Then why Ipur?’
‘An unfortunate circumstance of fate.’
Huy said nothing. Such deaths were rarely the result of coincidence, and was already persuaded that the killers were Khabiris only in their dress.
‘Leave it, Huy. I have given orders, as you must know, for soldiers to guard the great men of the town. Kamose was ill-advised to seek your help in this.’
‘What do you mean?’ retorted Huy sharply.
‘Only that such a matter is a waste of your time.’ Huy was pleased to see that for all the commander’s grandeur, Userhet still respected his rank. But the officer was almost too quick in his conciliation.
‘Did you know Ipur?’
‘He was a priest here.’
‘The High Priest.’
‘Yes.’ Userhet paused. ‘Of course I knew him, but we have little to do with the town. I have my duties to attend to.’
‘Of course.’
‘I am sorry I cannot help you; but in truth I believe you are wasting your time.’
‘Kamose is my superior; I must obey him.’
‘I am surprised that the king can spare you.’
‘For a time he can. I have his dispensation.’
‘I would like to see the Southern Capital again. It is long since I was there.’ Userhet turned to the table again. ‘Perhaps when the campaign is over. I am sorry. I have not offered you refreshment.’
Huy raised his hand. ‘I will take only a cup of goat’s milk. Thank you.’
He drank it hastily, while they exchanged the pleasantries that convention demanded. As soon as he could, Huy rose and beckoned Psaro to have the litter made ready.