by Andre Norton
Kheti and Rahotep backtrailed for a space, climbing a hillock to look over the countryside. They sighted a detachment of warriors doggedly following the trail they had left, just as they had planned.
"Wah!" The Nubian gave credit where it was due. "They know the desert land, brother. See the pace they set."
"So now it is for us to spread wings and fly," commented his captain dryly. "Have you a magic for the growing of feathers, Kheti?"
The Nubian chuckled. "Nay, but a magic for the growing of new feet, as you shall see, brother. Let us go!"
They returned to find the Scouts slashing at their water bags with their daggers, having poured all the remaining liquid into one container. With the flatted pieces of hide they had the means of confusing their back trail—an old Kush trick. And only those who had fought against those wily raiders and knew all their methods would be able to guess what had been done.
In turn two archers formed a rear guard as the small party made a sharp turn to the south at the edge of a bare space where no prints would normally show. As they kept to the sand, those in the rear beat at the loose earth with their leather flaps, erasing the tracks.
And it seemed that their ruse was successful, for, though they had to slacken their pace for the sake of the horses now suffering from heat and lack of water, they saw no other signs of pursuit. If they could reach the river without any interference, their expedition could claim a clean victory.
Grueling hours went by. It was a long time later that the largest stallion's drooping head came up. He sniffed eagerly, his nostrils flaring red. Then he gave a high whinny and reared, tearing his lead rope from the astonished archer's grasp. And his fellows bucked and plunged until the men, in self-defense, had to free them.
"Water!" Kheti's voice was a hoarse croak, and they quickened their own pace, though there was no hope of retaking the now galloping animals.
They came down a cut in the limestone escarpment and saw that this was one of the places where the horny hills that walled the valley pinched in upon the bottom lands. The oily sunken stream of the Nile curled through baked mud flats less than a quarter of a mile away.
But they saw something else. A cluster of domed storehouses stood there, the harvest center of some nome. And back to back among these a party of bowmen were making a stand against odds. They were besieged by a small squadron of chariots, now driving in a ring about the buildings, while those who manned them used spears and arrows against the defenders. And so fast did that circle of vehicles move that it was a moment or two before Rahotep could see that there were only four of them, each with both a driver and a warrior.
One of the horses in that mad whirl gave an uncanny scream of pain and terror, and rose, pawing the air, the shaft of an arrow protruding from its barrel. It crashed back upon the chariot it drew, smashing the unfortunate driver in the wreckage. The warrior passenger sprang free at the last moment, just escaping by inches another form of death as a second Hyksos vehicle, unable to avoid the wreck, crashed into the crumpled chariot and still kicking horse.
There was a shout from the besieged bowmen. And two men who tried to crawl out of the tangle were shot. It would appear that the party by the storehouses was giving excellent account of itself. Only the enemy was about to receive reinforcements.
Those four chariots, which had pinned the bowmen down to their improvised fort, were but the scouts of a greater squadron. The drum of unshod hoofs on the baked clay, the rattle of turning wheels, the war cries of drivers and warriors, came like a roar from the north as another body of the Hyksos swept down, just as a scythe might slash across a field of ripe and ready grain.
The lead chariot had a standard planted in it from which whipped the coarse strands of a horsetail dyed black and red. And it was plain that the warrior in it, a throwing spear ready in his hand, was no common soldier of the host.
An arrow from the storehouses sheered off part of that flaunting plume. Two more horses in the charging line went crashing down, and one of those also fouled its right-hand neighbor in the bargain. But in return one of the archers reeled back with a spear in his shoulder.
The three stallions that had broken free from Rahotep's men came pounding across that end of the battle ground with but one thought—to reach the water beyond. And when one foolhardy charioteer attempted to drive between them and that water, they crashed him.
Rahotep's sistrum swung in a buzzing circle, and his men spread out in a gradually widening line. The chariots were now between them and the storehouses—they were beginning the same sort of encircling movement their scouts had used to keep the fugitive footmen pinned down. He glanced along the line of his own men. The range was great, almost beyond their best efforts. But to go farther into the plain was to ask to be ridden down before they had struck any sort of blow at all— as the Egyptians had been beaten in their first battles with these foes.
Arrows rested on bow cords. His line of archers was as steady as it had been before the Pharaoh two days earlier. The captain gave the order to fire. And the first shafts were still in the air as archers reached for their second. The rain of arrows clipped into the outer circle of chariots, bringing down both horses and men.
That sudden attack from a new direction came as a complete surprise, and the moving line of Hyksos tangled. It was then that their commander proved his worth. The chariot with the standard slewed around under the expert management of its driver and a shouted stream of orders sent men spreading out and away, breaking up the knot in which the arrows had been striking home.
Though they had now lost their initial advantage of surprise, the archer Scouts still possessed their training and their hard-won battle knowledge. Those by the storehouses were letting fly enough shafts to sting the enemy steadily from the other side.
There was one point in the Hyksos commander's favor—he cut off the party by the cliffs from the water they must have —he might even force them back into the desert lands for a distance they might not be able to retrace. Then the other party at the storehouse could be picked off with ease as their arrow supply was exhausted.
"Arrows?" Rahotep shot that demand at Kheti. He had some ten shafts left in his own quiver, but he knew that, in spite of his training and will to battle, he could not possibly equal the Nubians in the effectiveness of their shots.
"Eight!" "Five!" "Nine!" The count came back to him, man by man.
"Now if Dedun but smiles." Kheti bent his giant bow. "Let this fly straight, O Guardian of the Upper Ways and the Lower Paths!" His aim had no fault but that of ill luck, for the commander of the Hyksos was saved from death merely by the action of his horse. That animal swerved to avoid a broken chariot and Kheti's shaft went between the officer's outflung arm and his body, instead of into the flesh below the short ribs as intended.
Perhaps his leader's near escape disconcerted the driver, for the horse plunged foiward in a mad dash straight for the waist-high wall that bounded a now barren threshing floor. And seeing no avoidance of a crash, the Hyksos officer leaped free, landing on hands and knees within the storehouse enclosure.
He was on his feet again with the litheness of a man well schooled to chances of battle, only to front a shorter, younger man half crouching behind the shelter of a shield, a mace swinging in his hand.
The Hyksos officer gripped a battle ax, though he had no shield, and his footwork was clever and quick. But he was not speedy enough to sidestep the rush that drove him away from the open space and the backing of his men, back toward the knot of the besieged.
Deprived of their leader, the enemy tried to re-form, to start the drive toward the cliffs and Rahotep's party. The drive began, and then it broke, for the Nubians held their fire until their captain's signal and then tore the air with a volley aimed breast high at the animals.
Men jumped or fell from the chariots; some gained their feet to come on at a run, with ready slings and spears.
"Down!"
They had met that kind of warfare before. The l
ine of bowmen fell to earth escaping the ragged shower of those mixed weapons. Rahotep winced as a sling stone struck the cliff wall and ricocheted against his tender shoulder. He dropped his bow; his dagger was out and ready, as were the belt axes of every second man along that line. Then they were on their feet, springing out to meet the rush of the Hyksos while the other four archers covered them, picking off attackers.
The captain saw a bearded face, a horn-set helmet, looming over him, and ducked to avoid the thrust of a spear, stabbing up almost from knee level under the other's guard. The man roared in sharp pain and dropped his spear, clasping his hands to his middle as he went down. Rahotep stumbled, recovered, and leaped to the right as he caught sight of another metal blade.
"Ho!" That was Kheti's shout. "Back, brothers, back with you!"
Rahotep retreated with the others, their weapons to the fore, as snarling leopards might retreat to gather distance for another spring. Over them whistled arrows.
Three of the attackers were down and still. A fourth drew himself along by his hands, his legs trailing behind him. Two more pitched to the ground under the volley Kheti had directed. There were shouts, but the Hyksos drew back. The savage fury of the Nubians in battle was new to them.
Archer and spearman glared at each other across the black earth beaten into dust by their trampling. For the moment their own portion of the fight comprised the whole world. But they were shaken out of that preoccupation by the skirl of the same commanding horn Rahotep had heard sound in the horse camp. And, startled by the urgency of that call, he looked up —to see a haze of dust in the south and, through its curtain, horses coming at a gallop.
His first flare of despair changed to wonder and then to a warm rush of exultation as he sighted the standard in the lead.
"Scouts!" He turned to his own small command. "Out upon these sons of Set! Let them taste blade and bow!"
But the Hyksos, already disorganized by the mishap to their leader and sharply bitten by such bowmen as they had not met before, were withdrawing. Some five chariots turned northward, their drivers lashing the horses into a gallop.
Rahotep led his men across the flats as the rescuing Egyptian force broke into two parties, the larger pursuing the fleeing Hyksos, the other wheeling to the storehouses, while a second dust cloud heralded the arrival of footmen to police the field and drag the wreckage apart in their search for surviving enemies. His own command gained the small domes just as a figure, disheveled and bleeding from the shallow gash across the upper arm, put out a hand to the wall of the threshing floor and so pulled himself up to his feet.
"Prince!" The captain vaulted the wall and supported the other who grinned at him through a gray mask of dust.
"Behold how we hunt lions of another sort, kinsman—" Between panting gasps Ahmose got out the words, pointing to the man lying at his feet, his head back at such an angle that the oiled and curled beard pointed an accusing finger at the opponent who had brought him down. "Horfui does not ride again, and in Avaris there will be a gnashing of teeth—for this commander was the guardian of the south!"
Steadying himself with a grip on Rahotep's ready arm, the prince leaned over to pick out of the churned-up chaff and debris a fine belt ax, hefting it critically in his hand to test balance and grip, before he thrust it into his own belt, following the custom of one victorious in a personal battle duel. It was a beautiful copper weapon with a cedar handle, overlaid in gold and electrum, the head decorated with a griffin design set in carnelian and turquoise, showing plainly when the dust was rubbed from it.
"No Hyksos arm this," commented Ahmose. "It came from someone of the People of the Sea, some noble or prince of Minos. Perhaps it was Horfui's by right of war—as now it is mine."
"Yaaahhhh!" That was the victory shout of the troops. The chariots that had fled had been rounded up. A handful of men surrendered; the rest went down fighting. Then a plumed horse galloped to the storehouses and the Prince Kamose gave his reins to another, coming to join his brother. Ahmose greeted him with a wide smile.
"Here lies Horfui, brother. It is well?"
The elder prince showed no signs of elation as he regarded the dead Hyksos commander. But when he spoke it was with quiet commendation.
"It is well, my brother. Horfui was a mighty man in their ranks. This time his daring betrayed him—to our profit. But not always can daring win for us. Had not your messenger reached me—then what would have chanced with you?"
Ahmose shook himself as might a hound emerging from a swim in the river. "We have proved ourselves to some purpose—" He looked out over the tumble of chariots and dead horses and men. "Give me these archers, brother, and I shall undertake to go up against Avaris itself!"
Kamose's lips curved in a faint smile, and for a moment the weight of responsibility seemed to slip from him. There was a warm affection smoothing the usual sharp urgency of his voice as he made answer to the impulsive offer.
"In time, impatient one, in time. For this day the toll is sufficient. As for the archers"—he looked past the younger prince to Rahotep and the men who had followed him to join their fellows by the domes—"I will agree that the account they have set on the tallies is high. Captain!"
Rahotep saluted.
"Pharaoh shall hear of your stand. He has given you to be my men. Now I shall give you back to him for his own guard. Deal with him as you have dealt with my brother and your days shall be long and full of honor—"
"May the Son of Re live forever!" Rahotep acknowledged the promotion.
To be attached to the person of the Pharaoh was such an honor as no humble officer of a barbarian frontier force might hope for. But it was one he did not wish. A man ambitious to rise in royal service might well relish being under the royal eye, but Rahotep wanted army service in the field, even if it meant again the stark frontier posts of the south. He was ill at ease in the stultifying ceremony of a life for which he had not been trained and which to him was almost as alien as the life of Avaris or of a Kush village.
Kawak, the archer who had been speared in the defense of the domes, was not dead. Kheti and Rahotep, with a knowledge of rough field surgery that had come with experience, agreed together that he had a good chance of survival could he be transported to Thebes without delay or too much handling. With permission from the Prince Kamose, they commandeered a cargo boat that had followed the Hyksos' ill- fated expedition with supplies. Loading the archer and three other seriously wounded on board, they trailed the land forces back to the city.
Their spoil was mainly horses. Ahmose had held on to the mares taken from the picket lines. In addition, the fruits of victory numbered ten trained stallions. Six of these were in harness, and they and their chariots were simply incorporated into the Egyptian force, while in the core of the company of spearmen was their handful of prisoners, all of common rank. The archers had shared among them the weapons and ornaments of those they had slain.
"A good fight." Kheti sighed with satisfaction as he sat cross-legged beside Rahotep on the deck of the boat. "This is a lion hunt well to my liking, brother. May we have many such."
Rahotep shook his head. "Think you that the Pharaoh's guard forays into the desert?"
But Kheti remained cheerful. "These Pharaohs of Egypt do not send their men into the fight and lurk themselves behind shields—the first blow they strike with their own hands. I have heard their warriors speak of that, brother. When a town is to be taken, the foremost upon the siege ladder must be a Royal Son. When wheels turn and horses race, then does the blue crown advance at the crest of the attack. These are men that we serve, Lord, and the guards of such will see action aplenty."
Rahotep eyed the force paralleling them in march along the bank. Aye, by tradition those of royal blood must be leaders in body as well as in mind and spirit. But the foreboding he had felt within him since the Prince Kamose had named him to the guard remained, a cloud he could not throw off.
Chapter 9
THE JACKAL BARKS
/> The glory of Sekenenre's court was faded, slightly tarnished. But to one who had heard of the magnificence of the earlier Pharaohs merely in old tales, who had spent all his recent years in the stripped bareness of frontier posts, the outer courtyard with its red granite pavement, where were ranged the Royal Bodyguard statue stiff, and the inner audience hall with its seven-stepped black throne were at first overwhelming. Only later did they become the core of a growing and eternal boredom.
Pharaoh was more a prisoner of his divine duties than any Kush slave toiling in the mines. The hours of his life, from his ritual arising to his bedding at night, were rigidly numbered, and there was an assigned rite or duty for each. Even the food that passed his lips and the drink carried to him in the selected wine jars were prescribed by the physicians of the household as to land and quantity. He was no mortal man but the symbol of the link between Egypt and the Great Ones, and as such he was allowed no personal desires at all.
