by Andre Norton
He smacked his lips as he held it empty. “Truly drawn from the jars of the gods, Lord Treasurer. A mouthful of that washes away all dust of the road. So--this is your archer?”
Since he had not yet been named to the general, Rahotep stood to attention, looking beyond the man to the carpet stretched across the wall behind him. But he knew that he was being examined from head to foot and back again critically, and he willed himself not to flush under that cool evaluation, which was more searching--and perhaps more hostile--than that he had met from the prince that morning.
“Present him!” The order came as a growl, and Rahotep dared not relax outwardly, though he knew a tiny thrill within. The general was accepting him as an officer of the forces, no matter that his rank was humble.
“The Captain Rahotep of the Desert Scouts, out of Nubia, General.”
Nereb obediently made the introduction, and Rahotep saluted with palms at knee level.
“Nubia,” the general repeated thoughtfully. “Frontier service against the Kush, Captain?“
“Aye, lord.”
“Fal-Falm, Khoris, Sebra, Kah-hi--” That listing of forts came as a volley of arrows, and Rahotep replied as quickly, masking his amazement that a general in Thebes would be able to name such obscure frontier posts.
“Fal-Falm, Lord, and Kah-hi--”
“Nereb tells me that you have brought a detachment of your men with you--”
Now Rahotep did flush, forced to admit to one who commanded his thousands the smallness of his own force. “Ten only, Lord--and my Leader of Ten--they are all volunteers from Kah-hi--seasoned trackers and Scouts.”
“Aye.” The general was frowning. “That was a bad business, Sa-Nekluft, the naming of regiments in that order.”
The Treasurer of the North nodded. “They would consult the old rolls in spite of all advice--”
General Amony snorted with the contempt of a man of action for bureaucratic officials. “Pen fighters! Everything must be done as always it has been!” He clasped the goblet, which he had been turning in his fingers, down on his table, and a serving man hurried to refill it. “So because they consult old lists we lack men. But”--he took up the staff of office lying across his knees and tapped the palm of his left hand with its lion head--” ‘the power of righteousness is that it endures.’ “ Then his fleshy lips shaped a smile. “Surprised, Captain, to hear a warrior quote the Great Elder? But it is true. And this time when the Flail is lifted in battle, it will take more than the mistakes of scribes to hold back our chariots and the arms of our bowmen. Also I do not think we shall ever get three regiments from Nubia unless we pluck them forth with our own fingers! There is mischief brewing there--” His eyes, under their heavy, drooping lids, were intent upon Rahotep with the fixity of an inquisitor.
“You are Ptahhotep’s son, Captain?”
“His second son, Lord, not his heir.”
“So--well, I knew your grandfather, the Hawk, well. We were shield brothers when we were in the House of Captains as lads. He was first a warrior, and his last stand against the Hyksos has made a tale of valor for the camps to sing. He would look with favor upon a grandson who was a soldier on the Kush frontier and has now taken service with Pharaoh. To my mind he has left you a good heritage, boy.”
Rahotep understood. The burly Amony was not referring to the vanished nome where his grandfather had ruled, but to the blood in his veins, the determination that had held him to his duties at Kah-hi in exile. It was the same kind of determination that had led the Hawk to struggle--if hopelessly--against the invader.
“He revolted too soon.” Amony now gazed down the hall as if he saw not feasting but a sight far more grim. “But when that Hyksos lordling made a southern journey and demanded the Lady Tuya for his House of Women, then did Re-Hesy call out his men and raise the battle standard. He was crushed as millet is crushed in the grinder--too soon. Now those serpents have ruled in peace so long that they grow fat and sluggish, lolling in their high seats undisturbed, counting out their tribute tallies unquestioned, pinching out the lives of men between thumb and forefinger, bringing the blood and defilement of their devil god into sacred places.”
“To all things there comes an end in the chosen time,” Sa-Nekluft broke in. “Egypt has lain under shadows before and arisen mightier than ever.”
Amony nodded, his hand going out once more to the waiting goblet.
“Captain”--there was dismissal in his tone--”I would see more of these archers of yours, but this is not the hour for the display of skill such as Nereb has described to me. We can use you--of that there is no doubt. And to the Hawk’s daughter’s son--!” He raised his goblet to his lips, and Rahotep seized hurriedly upon another Nereb handed him to return the toast.
“To the Lord General,” he murmured as the tartness of the liquid spilled across his tongue.
Somehow he took the proper two steps backward without stumbling over any mat or bringing up against a stool, and then he was glad when Nereb steered him to the left, where, behind some pillars that provided an effective screen from their elders, he was brought into a gathering of nobles and officers closer to him in age and not so far above him in rank. Had he not been sponsored by a commander of Prince Kamose’s guard, he wondered if he would have met such ready acceptance in that group where clothing and arms so far outshone his own. But it seemed that here also Nubia was a magic password, and while some of the brightly clad courtiers were seemingly bored by the military talk of the officers, there were three or four who ringed Rahotep in, questioning him about frontier warfare and the methods of Kush raiding.
“Barbarians,” commented one of the nobles scornfully. His already large eyes were rimmed with malachite, and his be-ringed fingers smoothed his transparent shoulder cloak into the proper folds whenever he moved and dislodged their careful display, “Savages--”
“But fighters!” Nereb corrected as he clapped his hands to summon a servant with food for Rahotep and himself. One of the officers leaned forward to address the captain.
“Your men are all archers? And their bows are of unusual size. What is their far range--”
Nereb laughed and cut in before Rahotep could answer. “Would you know more than our lord, Seker? The captain and his command have not yet appeared before Pharaoh.”
“War--always battle and the range of spears, the massing of chariots,” cut in the young man who had commented upon the barbarian Kush. “This is a feast and not the barracks of the guard. And what is that?”
He pointed so dramatically at a spot halfway down the hall that all the group followed the line of his finger with their eyes. Something small and black, almost a blot of shadow, had detached itself from a pillar and was making its way determinedly among the clusters of occupied mats in a series of small rushes, crouching low at each halt.
Rahotep got to his feet even as a lady leaned forward, her lotus wreath drooping askew from her wig, to investigate the creature that had at that moment taken refuge in the lee of her somewhat substantial person. She reached out a plump hand with an exaggerated coo of delight and then gave a small shriek, which was neither coy nor affected, as Rahotep closed the distance between them in a few desert-trained strides.
He scooped up the leopard cub and made his apologies and explanations to the lady. She sucked a slightly clawed finger and smiled up at him, after a frank appraisal of his person, accepting his words with a very gracious smile, which faded quickly when he bowed himself away, the cub in his arms, now padding a playful paw at his dangling throat amulet.
The young men hailed the captain’s return with amusement and would have passed the cub from hand to hand, but, as usual, he snarled and swiped out warningly with unsheathed claws. Rahotep excused himself.
“Bis must be returned to safe keeping. He is not yet mannered well enough for company.”
But when the captain passed into the corridor leading to his room, he was in no hurry to finish his errand. The warring scents within the hall, the cha
tter and drone of many voices, the strangeness of the company, made him restless. Still holding Bis, he went on into the garden, busied in trying to sort out his impressions of the crowded day. When a low voice addressed him from behind, he reverted to frontier alertness and spun to one side in a half crouch, his dagger ready in Ills hand.
There was a dry chuckle from the man who had hailed him.
“I assure you, Captain Rahotep, I am no assassin. Rather am I messenger. You are summoned--”
“By whom and to where?” Rahotep countered. He was flustered, but he did not want the other to guess that.
“By one who has the right to command all within the boundaries of the Two Lands!” The note of humor had gone out of that voice now. “Come at once, Captain.”
Chapter 6: EYES AND EARS FOR PHARAOH
“Cover yourself, the head also!”
A hooded traveler’s cloak of the desert country was held out to Rahotep. But he was not ready to be so easily ordered about by a stranger. With Bis purring against him, he did not take the covering, but asked again, “Where do I go? I do not follow a no-name so quickly. In whose service are you?”
The other clicked his tongue impatiently. He stood, as Rahotep had already noted, carefully in the half shadow, out of the full beam of the door torch. But now he held his hand palm up into the light, and on that palm lay a flat seal. Rahotep bent his head to see it closer. There was no mistaking the curve of the royal cartouche--Pharaoh’s messenger--though why he should be so stealthily summoned after this fashion, the captain could not understand.
“I must return Bis to my quarters first--”
But the messenger flung the cloak about Rahotep’s shoulders. “You will have to bring the beast with you. There is no time, and we must not be seen leaving, boy! Come!” His grip closed about the captain’s arm and tightened, urging him toward the wall. Reluctantly Rahotep obeyed.
They came to a smaller gate half hidden behind a row of bushes and so out into a narrow lane. A chariot waited there, with a man, who wore a servant’s waistcloth but bore himself as a warrior, holding the reins, while a companion nursed a traveler’s torch.
Rahotep’s guide jumped to the floor of the vehicle, and the captain at his gesture followed a little gingerly. It was a bit like standing on one of the reed rafts used for bird hunting in the river marshes, he decided, bracing his body against the sway of the plaited floor as the groom sprang away and the driver loosened rein. The groom and the torch bearer sprinted ahead as Rahotep’s companion handled the nose ropes skillfully, bowling along between the blind outer walls of the noble houses of the quarter. Rahotep knew so little of the city that he could not guess in which direction they were heading. But if he was indeed obeying a royal summons, and no one would dare to use the Pharaoh’s seal except by his order, then they should leave Thebes altogether for the country beyond.
Though the princes of Thebes were lacking in the wealth of their ancestors, when Sekenenre’s father had assumed the throne with hope for his country’s freedom, he had followed the ancient custom and had erected his own royal dwelling palace beyond the old town. His son, confirmed now in the semi-divine rule, still lived there, but in time would build for himself another House of the Two Doors.
Rahotep was right in his guess at their destination, for they were outside the city. The driver let out the horse in a dash, which made the captain shut his teeth hard and close a fist about the side of the chariot bucket. Ahead was a dark bulk of building with a trace of lamplight showing faintly through window lattices. But they did not head for that. The chariot swerved, bearing toward the east in a sweep, which took them behind the building to a length of wall over which dropped the long leaves of palms.
A groom sprang from an angle of the wall to catch the reins, and the driver dismounted, jerking Rahotep’s cloak in a silent signal to accompany him. They were before a postern gate, and a figure stood there holding a small lamp in one hand and shielding its fluttering flame with the other. Rahotep saw it was a woman and, by the glint of jewelry at her throat and wrist, no common servant.
She edged back, her lamp a beacon to bring them on, and then the door curtain fell behind them and they were in what Rahotep judged to be a garden. The lamp flitted ahead, and they paced single file behind it to a house. Then they were in a corridor with painted walls and a score of lamps to light it.
The woman who had guided them was of middle age, her elaborately curled wig encircled by a band of gold ribbon. As she moved, double ankle rings set with inlays of dragon-flies in light green chimed faintly together. A fan hung from a cord about one wrist, and Rahotep’s eyes widened, remembering his mother’s stories. This could be no other than one of the senior ladies of the court, a fanbearer to one of the Royal Wives, or to one of the Royal Daughters! But why--
He studied the details of the corridor down which he walked. A painting of flowers in a garden with delicate winged butterflies at play over them caught light from the lamps. The lady reached a door at the far end and turned to face Rahotep and his companion, a critical gleam in her eyes. Rahotep’s guide pulled the cloak from the young man’s shoulders and pointed to the captain’s sandals with a swift motion.
Rahotep kicked his toes free of the thongs. One did not wear foot covering into the presence of a superior. Bis moved in his hold, and he looked down at the cub in perplexity. If he left the small feline here, it might wander into the garden and be lost. But if he was going to an audience with Pharaoh, dare he take the cub with him?
The lady waved them on. Rahotep tried to fit the squirming cub tight against his side and hoped for the best. He ducked beneath the door curtain and stood in a miniature copy of a great hall. The same dividing pillars, the same wall coverings, the same high seat dais at the far end as could be found in all noble houses, yet this one was both richer and on a smaller scale than any he had seen. And noting the serving maid adding fuel to the pottery brazier in the floor, the other girls standing in attendance about the group at the high seat, he halted with a sudden sense of foreboding. He was in the Women’s Hall of some great noble--or could it be the House of the Royal Ladies?
Fully alert, he used a Scout’s eye to catalogue the room and the people in it.
As yet it appeared that he went unnoticed, and he had those few moments for a quick survey. The two chairs before the end wall hanging were both occupied. And, as he caught sight of the blue-green sheen of the Vulture Crown on the elder woman, Rahotep bit his lower lip. One of the queens--Teti-Sheri the Royal Mother, or Ah-Hetpe the Royal Wife?
He was able to see them better as he advanced a step or two. She of the Vulture Crown must undoubtedly be the Queen Teti-Sheri, while the other, leaning over to move a piece on the Senit board, was much younger. A fragile circlet of gold wires studded with tiny blue and white gem flowers caught together with inlaid lotus blossoms held in place the long locks of her own wavy hair. Yet there was such a marked kinship between the finely cut features of both women that their blood relationship was plainly close.
The flower-crowned royal lady made her move and laughed, lifting her forefinger in a concede-defeat sign to the boy hunched over the board as her opponent. His sturdy body was in contrast to the willowy elegance of the ladies, for he had the broad shoulders, the stocky build of a wrestler. And his face, now expressing concentration as he looked upon the spindles of his board army, was not handsome, for his upper teeth projected slightly, raising his lip, and his nose was broader and lacked the straight line seen in both feminine faces.
But Rahotep had very little time to study the party as the lady who had led them to the hall moved swiftly toward the queens, where she “kissed dust” in the ancient form.
The Queen Teti-Sheri straightened in the embrace of the cushions that filled her chair. And Rahotep went down in the full obeisance in his turn as those keen eyes, rendered larger by the darkened lids and corner lines, fastened on him. He crouched on the pavement and then gave a little gasp as Bis broke from his nervous grasp,
flopped on the floor, and eluded, with his usual speed and grace, the wild grab the captain made in his direction.
The younger royal lady laughed again, but there was no mockery in that amusement. Rather it was an invitation to them all to join in her fun. Rahotep, scarlet under his weather-browning, heard the tread of feet but dared not look up to see who was approaching.
“Rise, kinsman!” It was a deep young voice, richly masculine, that gave that order, and he felt the tap of an honor stick on his shoulder. His head went up to see that the boy from the Senit table stood there smiling.
And, strangest of all, Bis, who steadfastly refused to show any friendship with any human other than the captain, was rubbing catlike on the other’s ankles. Then Rahotep noted the prince’s tassel on the band confining the other’s thick brown curls and knew this to be Ahmose, the younger of the Pharaoh’s sons.
Rahotep arose, astonished, as the sense of the other’s greeting words struck home. And he moved shyly behind the prince to the queens.
The Royal Mother Teti-Sheri was watching him eagerly, studying his face as if she sought there some feature she had once known.
“So you are son to Tuya.” She motioned him further forward when he paused at the proper distance. And then, noting his bewilderment, she explained. “Did you not know that the Lady Tuya was reckoned among our household when she was but a little maid? How else should it be when the Lady Heptephaas of the royal line was her mother? Ah, that was in the dark days when no man knew whether he would live from the Coming of Re in the morning to His Departure at night. The Hawk made a marriage for Tuya with the Viceroy of Nubia for her safety, for a prince of the Hyksos looked upon her and finding her fair, demanded her for his House of Women. So she departed from us--and we wept--” Her words fell into silence like the fading note of a silver-stringed harp.
