Appealing to the Hyksos was out of the question. If they intervened, they would use the opportunity to seize Kerma. So Nedjeh must resolve the situation himself. He was beginning to realize what it was that prompted Queen Ahhotep to take so many risks: the taste for conquest.
Seeing that Nedjeh was not reacting, she would think he was at bay and attack his capital like a famished beast. A beast which would fall into a deadly trap.
30
The sound of drums thundered throughout Miu, but they were not the drums of war. Nubians from every village in the region had laid down their weapons before Pharaoh Kamose and Queen Ahhotep.
The reputation of the great, invulnerable sorceress had spread quickly, and the tribal chiefs had chosen submission in preference to annihilation, particularly since the pharaoh had promised to pardon them, so long as they became faithful allies of Egypt. And every tribe had suffered great cruelty at the hands of Nedjeh, that unscrupulous predator.
Long days of debate proved necessary to establish a clear hierarchy, acceptable to everyone. Several times, Ahhotep’s skilful diplomacy averted a split between rival factions, and they were eventually happy to stand together beneath the banner of the young king who would ensure their safety.
The queen is truly an extraordinary woman,’ said the Afghan to Moustache as they gazed at incredible scenes of Egyptian soldiers and Nubian warriors fraternizing: instead of killing each other, they were celebrating, drinking beer and date-wine.
‘The only problem,’ Moustache pointed out, putting an arm round the nurse who took such good care of him, ‘is that the conquest of Nubia isn’t our goal. They’re waiting for us up there in the North.’
‘You are never happy about anything! Take your time, because no one knows what tomorrow will bring. Or rather they do: we shall have to face Nedjeh.’
‘You’re right. Let’s not talk about that tonight. Let’s have another drink.’
‘What is the situation?’ Nedjeh asked the official in charge of defences.
‘You should be pleased, my lord. We have dug many ditches, which are perfectly hidden. At the bottom, we have placed well-sharpened stakes. Hundreds of Egyptian foot-soldiers will be impaled upon them.’
There was still much to be done, but the work was going well. The Egyptian army would meet only feeble resistance on the outskirts of Kerma and, blinded by its successes, would think that the great Nubian city was defeated in advance. Nedjeh would sacrifice a few men who would fight to the death to defend the main road.
At the head of his troops, Pharaoh Kamose would charge towards a new triumph, and all the Nubian traps would be sprung simultaneously. The Egyptian advance guard would fall into the ditches, and the rear guard would be wiped out by Nubian archers hidden in the trees and fields. As for the main body of the army, it would be trapped by Nedjeh’s foot-soldiers. Terrified by this ferocious attack, the Thebans would seek salvation in flight and would be wiped out to the last man.
The skulls of Kamose and Ahhotep would end up in the prince’s tomb, and Apophis was certain to congratulate him. At the thought of the joyful times ahead, the fat man moved with more ease than usual. Ahhotep was wrong if she thought her magic was stronger than his. If he had the good fortune to take her alive, he would make her suffer unspeakable tortures before granting her the mercy of death.
*
The celebration were still under way. The Nubians rivalled each other in magnificence, wearing red wigs which contrasted with their black skin, gold earrings and kilts decorated with floral patterns. With their necklaces of many-coloured pearls, and bracelets at their wrists and ankles, the Nubian women were irresistibly seductive.
Only Moon and Neshi did not yield to the intoxicating atmosphere. Moon inspected boat after boat, while Neshi was permanently preoccupied with supply matters. Both were perfectionists and thought only of the next battle, which was bound to be terrifying.
This was not the case with Moustache, who had fallen in love with the province of Miu and almost forgotten the Delta of his birth.
‘You should settle here and start a family,’ suggested the Afghan.
‘Me, have children? Are you serious? Live idly here while the Hyksos occupy my country? Sometimes you don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Enjoy the rest of the evening and try to have a clear head tomorrow morning. The senior officers have been summoned to the flagship.’
Kamose and Ahhotep listened attentively to the detailed reports given by Moon and Neshi. Moon’s appointment had been well received by all the troops, who were also delighted with Neshi’s efficiency. Neither man had any problems to report. The war-fleet was ready to set sail for Kerma and attack its ruler, the Hyksos’ ally.
This time, most of the soldiers had no fear of the coming battle. Per-Hathor, Elephantine, Buhen, Miu … the growing list of their victories gave rise to a solid feeling of comradeship, sustained by Queen Ahhotep’s magic.
Kamose himself dreamt of coming face to face with Nedjeh and killing him in his own palace. All that remained was to gain the agreement of the queen, who had consulted the moon-good for a large part of the night.
All eyes turned towards the Wife of God.
‘We are retracing our steps,’ she declared.
‘But, Mother, why not deliver the decisive blow?’ asked the king in astonishment.
‘Because Nedjeh has set a trap for us and we would not escape unharmed. We would be wrong to think he will not fight back, and that he is resigned to submitting to us. On the contrary, he thinks only of destroying us by means of trickery. We have achieved our objective: Nedjeh is isolated in Kerma. If he tries to leave it, he will come up against our forces in Miu, together with the Medjai and Buhen. What matters most is to make him believe we do indeed intend to capture his kingdom.’
Kamose could not oppose her argument. And he was burning to drive north at last.
‘However,’ added Ahhotep, ‘there is one last thing we must accomplish in Nubia.’
The fleet halted near Aniba, to the north of Buhen. Immediately a caravan was formed and it set off into the western desert, to a quarry begun by Pharaoh Khafra, builder of one of the great pyramids on the Giza plateau. The queen had asked her son to remain on the flagship, and she was accompanied only by fifty men guided by Way-Finder.
As they neared the quarry they saw grey and green stones lying here and there; they also saw unfinished stelae and statues. Warned of the Hyksos invasion, the sculptors had abandoned the quarry, which had lapsed into sleep beneath the burning sun of the Great South.
Seeing that their goal had been reached, Way-Finder halted. Ahhotep gave him and Laughter water to drink. His thirst slaked, the giant dog ran around in all directions, then returned to his mistress.
Ahhotep had obeyed the moon-god and come here, but she did not yet know why. She looked wonderingly upon the unfinished masterpieces and promised that she would reopen this quarry as soon as Egypt was liberated. One day, Nubia must be covered with splendid temples so that the gods might dwell in this proud, burning land.
Alone with her dog at the heart of this overheated stone world, the queen gazed at the seams that had been so carefully cut. They reminded her of the necessary steps that separated her from the final triumph, which was still so far away and unattainable. She would surely need the patience and solidity of stone to wear down the emperor’s terrifying strength.
Laughter growled. A royal cobra had slithered out of a crack in the rock and was coming towards Ahhotep. The dog was well aware of the danger, so, despite his courage, he kept his distance while he looked for an angle of attack.
‘Stay away, Laughter,’ said Ahhotep. This is the lord of the quarry. I have come to meet him, so I have nothing to fear.’
Only half convinced, the dog remained wary.
The cobra did not rear up as if to strike. On the contrary, it stretched itself out flat on the ground.
Ahhotep seized it firmly behind the head.
‘Look, L
aughter! The power that runs through the earth agrees to become my weapon.’
The snake had been transformed into a staff of cornelian, stiff and light.
The dog sniffed it for a long time. Then, satisfied with his examination, he led the queen back to the encampment.
31
After a night disturbed by his itching skin and one of his wife’s bouts of hysteria, which he had cured with a slap, High Treasurer Khamudi got up much earlier than usual.
It was the time of day when one of his Egyptian slave-girls cleaned the rooms, making not a sound so as to avoid disturbing the couple.
What Khamudi saw took his breath away. Unaware that he was there, the slave slipped into a cloth bag a valuable mirror the emperor’s wife had recently given him. The slave was actually daring to steal from him in his own home!
‘Curse you, what do you think you’re doing?’
The girl was so frightened that she dropped the bag. As it hit the stone floor, the precious mirror shattered.
‘Forgive me, Master, forgive me! I wanted to sell it so that I could take care of my parents. Believe me, I beg of you!’
Khamudi grabbed a wooden stool and smashed it down on the girl’s head. She collapsed to the floor. Maddened with rage, he trampled her underfoot, shouting so loudly that the whole household was aroused. The other servants watched, powerless, as he killed a young woman born of an excellent family in Sais. She had escaped deportation only to die by the hand of an enraged torturer.
‘Stop, Khamudi, stop!’ shouted Yima, trying to pull him back. ‘She’s dead!’
Eventually he emerged from his frenzy and calmed down. ‘Have hot branding-irons brought to me and summon all my staff.’
Terror-stricken, the slaves were herded into a corner of the room by Hyksos guards.
‘The thief who tried to steal my mirror has been suitably punished,’ declared Khamudi emphatically. ‘So that no one else will try the same thing, I am going to brand everything that belongs to me, whether slaves or objects. You, come here.’
The assistant cook Khamudi pointed at tried to run away, but two guards pinned him to the ground. As Khamudi branded him on the back, the young man let out a heartrending cry of pain.
Although he usually had a hearty appetite, Khamudi merely toyed with his food.
‘Are you ill, my darling?’ asked Yima.
‘No, of course not.’
‘But … you’re all yellow.’
‘ Don’t talk nonsense.’
‘Look at yourself in a mirror, I beg of you.’
Khamudi had to face facts: he did indeed have jaundice.
Emperor Apophis was eager to examine an interesting discovery made in the library at the temple in Sais: papyri devoted to geometry, mathematics and medicine. He enjoyed nothing more than the world of figures and calculations, which excluded all human considerations. A thousand deportees, a hundred executions … It was so simple and so entertaining to write these quantities on a papyrus, which took on the force of law without his having to listen to cries or protestations. Reducing people to numbers, and manipulating them in the tranquillity of his palace: that was surely the summit of power.
Life, divided up geometrically; the state, directed by mathematics; the economy, subject to equations: that was the goal the emperor had attained. Egypt, the supreme land of the gods, was his own private workshop, where he could experiment as he wished.
The festering stalemate at Qis amused him. Little by little, the army of liberation was rotting on its feet, wondering when the Hyksos troops would at last launch a major offensive. Without the support of Queen Ahhotep and Pharaoh Kamose, the rebels would eventually turn on their leaders.
Apophis’s only real concern was the rebellion by the Anatolians, tough fighters whom Jannas was tracking in their mountains, where they had innumerable hideouts. As ever, Jannas was proceeding patiently and methodically: he was quartering the terrain and advancing step by step, avoiding the ambushes the enemy laid. In view of the difficulty of the operation, Apophis had sent him reinforcements taken from the regiments stationed in Palestine. Just like the pirates in the Mycenaean islands, the Anatolians would be wiped out to the last man.
As he was preparing to attend his Great Council, the emperor was informed that the High Treasurer was suffering from severe jaundice. He was vomiting and unable to take any food.
Was this the moment to rid himself of Khamudi and replace him? Carefully doctored medicine would send him discreetly to the tomb before his charming wife was entrusted to the tender care of the lady Aberia. But whom could he find who would be more servile and more skilful? No one knew more secrets than the High Treasurer, who managed the empire’s interests—and therefore the emperor’s—supremely well. Khamudi had no wish to take the place of Apophis, who allowed him to indulge his corruption and depraved vices and never censured him for them.
No, the emperor could not find a better right-hand man. So he consulted an old treatise on Egyptian medicine.
Lukewarm water and oil injected into the anus with an ivory horn: these were the only remedies Yima would allow, fearing her husband would be poisoned. But Khamudi was fading away under her very eyes and complaining of pains all over.
‘Lady Yima,’ a frightened servant informed her, ‘it is the emperor!’
‘You don’t mean … The emperor is here, in my house?’
‘Yes, my lady. He has just arrived.’
The servants rushed to open all the doors to Apophis, whose dragging gait seemed to embody heavy threats. Whenever she saw him, Yima could not prevent her stomach gurgling ridiculously.
‘Majesty, I am deeply honoured.’
‘Your husband is fond of luxury,’ said Apophis in the harsh voice that froze the blood of even the bravest man. ‘But that is normal—my High Treasurer should be a rich man. Khamudi must be cured quickly, so I have brought him a remedy prepared at the palace. It is composed of wine, powdered sisyphus, figs, lotus-leaves, juniper-leaves, fresh incense and sweet beer. The proportions recommended by the doctors of the Old Kingdom have been strictly adhered to. Have him drink it immediately.’
As she took the phial, Yima was rooted to the spot. It was impossible to oppose the emperor’s will, but she could not help but realize that he was forcing her to kill her own husband.
Up to that moment, she had believed that Khamudi was so vital to the smooth running of the empire that Apophis would not move against him. But a plotter must have sprung up in the shadows, like a poisonous plant, and it was too good an occasion not to get rid of the current High Treasurer.
‘What are you waiting for, Yima? The sooner Khamudi drinks that remedy, the sooner he will recover.’
‘Must he drink all of it?’
‘Of course. According to the old papyrus, four days’ treatment are necessary. The three other phials will be delivered to you tomorrow.’
Yima was covered in gooseflesh. Not only would there be no other phials but she would be accused of murder and executed.
‘Now hurry up, and come back and tell me what the effects are. You know very well that I have no time to lose.’
Biting her lip, Yima entered Khamudi’s chamber, where he lay almost unconscious. With a trembling hand, she opened his mouth and poured in the reddish, odourless liquid.
Supporting himself on the shoulder of a servant, Khamudi entered the vast reception chamber. The emperor, who disliked the light, stood in the darkest corner.
Yima walked behind her husband, still not believing her good fortune. Khamudi had drunk the potion, and not only was he not dead but he had immediately felt so much better that he had insisted on getting up to greet his illustrious guest.
‘I am still rather weak,’ he said, ‘but I have my appetite back. Majesty, you saved my life.’
Apophis’s satisfied smile did not reassure Yima at all.
32
Nedjeh was putting the finishing touches to his pitfalls. Soon, the Theban army would advance on Kerma, confident of an eas
y victory and never suspecting that they would scarcely have time to fight at all. After killing Ahhotep and Kamose, Nedjeh would take back Miu and Buhen. Should he then continue North and recapture Elephantine? Yes, but only to give it straight back to the emperor, in order to win his good graces and prove to him that his faithful ally was content with his own kingdom.
The whole city was on a war footing, and everyone was certain that the enemy would be struck a fatal blow, thanks to Nedjeh’s strategic skill.
A scout came in and bowed. ‘Majesty, I have just returned from Miu. All the tribes in the province have submitted to Ahhotep, and several times I was almost caught by Egyptian patrols.’
‘I should have slaughtered the tribes!’ roared the fat man. ‘Because of me they have all the food they can eat, yet they betray me in favour of those damned Thebans! When are they going to attack?’
‘Soon, or so it would seem. They are strengthening their positions and fortifying the villages while preparing for the attack. It will not be easy to get more detailed information, but Kerma must be their next objective.’
‘Let them come,’ murmured Nedjeh hungrily. ‘Let them come, and we shall give them the welcome they deserve.’
The young man was proud to be a member of the army of liberation which, although pinned down in one place, was managing to hold off the Hyksos. Despite a few fierce attacks, the enemy had not succeeded in breaking the Theban line.
Born in Qis, the son of peasants, and a peasant himself, the lad had learnt how to fight where he stood, beside Ahmes, son of Abana, who had taught him to dodge aside before crushing an enemy’s skull with a heavy wooden club. True, Hyksos helmets were strong, but the young peasant’s arm was even more so. Together with his comrades from his village, he could boast of having halted a murderous assault.
‘Duck down,’ advised Ahmes, who was crouched at the foot of the earthwork he had just built.
War of the Crowns Page 14
