The Horus Road

by Pauline Gedge

  He became aware that Ahmose-onkh was tugging at his arm. “I want to go with you, Father,” he was piping. “I want to go to war.” Ahmose smiled into the eager little face.

  “I would gladly take you,” he said, “but you must be able to draw the bow and wield the spear and sword, and most importantly, you must be able to read.”

  “Read?” Ahmose-onkh made a face. “Why?”

  “Because before a battle all the generals and commanders gather round the maps the scribes have made, with the names of towns and villages and tributaries on them, and they decide what to do. Ipi writes it all down, but how would you know if he had made the right words and how would you tell those words to the men if you could not read them?” He went down on his haunches, straightening the warm black youth lock against the boy’s thin collarbone, gently caressing the sun-heated skin. “One day if Amun wills it, you will be King,” he went on kindly. “But a King must fight better than any other man in his kingdom and read and write better than any scribe. When you can do these things you can come with me. I shall miss you, my tiny Hawk-in-the-Nest.”

  “Well, at least tell Mother that I want a room of my own in the house,” Ahmose-onkh grumbled. “I am too big to share with Hent-ta-Hent any more.” Ahmose rose.

  “When you are five and start your lessons, you will have your own quarters,” he said. “I will have them built for you. Until then you must obey your mother and grandmother. A King must also learn self-discipline, Ahmose-onkh.” The boy heaved a gusty sigh.

  “Father, I am so glad you didn’t tell me to obey Great-grandmother!” he exclaimed. “She is always grumpy and her nails dig into me when she makes me hug her.” Ahmose bit back the admonishment rising to his tongue. I do not like her either, he wanted to say. All my life she has scorned me or simply tolerated me, depending on her mood. To her I will always be guileless Ahmose, innocent and rather stupid. The conversation we had all those months ago did not do much to change her mind, although we managed to arrive at a precarious truce, and when Kamose showed that he was strong enough to hold onto his sanity that truce dissolved. I should have acknowledged her in public yesterday, given her some trifling award, but the days of her active support belong to the Seqenenra and Kamose years, not to mine. I cannot count on her for sensible advice or even mute endorsement, but will she openly oppose me and my policies? It is too soon to say.

  “Nevertheless,” he said aloud to the upturned face whose features were beginning to mature into the likeness of his true father, Si-Amun, and therefore Kamose’s also, “she is a great and noble lady who deserves your respect. A King must learn to hide his feelings, Ahmose-onkh, and yet not become deceitful while doing so …” But Ahmose-onkh had lost interest and was batting at a golden scarab that was whirring by in a flash of glinting carapace.

  “Leave it alone, Ahmose-onkh!” his mother called. She came up to them and Ahmose kissed her painted cheek. She smelled of nutmeg and lotus oil.

  “Aahmes-nefertari, you are so beautiful!” he said impulsively. She smiled at him delightedly, her kohled eyes narrowed against the blaze of the sun.

  “Of course I am,” she teased him. “For am I not almost a goddess? Ahmose, this village I am to build for the soldiers, it will need a canal linking it to the river for rapid abandonment when necessary. It cannot rise by the existing barracks. They are almost directly behind the house. Nor should it go on the other side of the town. That is too far for efficient supervision. Where do you want it?” He considered for a while, his arm around her taut waist, his gaze on the gradually diminishing chaos on the river.

  “Put it to the south,” he said at last. “The cultivable land between the Nile and the desert is narrow so the canal will be short. The soldiers can use it to irrigate the fields already there. They can grow some of their own food when they are not fighting or training. Give the existing barracks to your household guards and their families.”

  “The fields are ours anyway,” she replied. “They were not included in the arouras Kamose promised as future payment to the men who built the reed boats so I will not need to move any peasants from their huts. Do you care what architect I hire to do this work?” He slipped his arm from her waist and began to stroke her hair, the burnished curve of her shoulder, the corded tendons of her neck, feeling an urgent need to store up memories of how she looked to him, how she felt to his touch.

  “No,” he answered. “Your judgement is sound. Bring one in from elsewhere if there are none qualified in Weset. Amunmose will recommend a man of experience.” A sudden thought struck him and he dropped his arm. “When you find someone suitable, take him into the old palace,” he told her in a low voice. “Ask him to draw up some plans for its restoration.” She glanced at him keenly.

  “You have been planning all these things for years, haven’t you, my husband?” she murmured. “Apepa’s defeat, bringing the old palace to life, making Weset the centre of the world and Amun its mightiest god. What if Kamose had lived?” A spasm of pain disfigured his face for a moment.

  “Kamose held the same vision for the future,” he said quietly. “We were as one in this. But long before the oracle’s cryptic pronouncement I knew that Kamose would not survive to sit on the Horus Throne. He knew it too. Remember the omen of the hawk, Aahmes-nefertari? From then on I began to turn over in my mind what I would do if power came into my hands.” He pursed his lips. “Do not mistake me,” he went on, and his voice broke. “I loved my brother. Not even the whisper of treason ever entered my thoughts. It was a painful thing, a dreadful thing, Aahmesnefertari, to prepare for his death, but I did. I know what must be done and how I will do it. This year will see another siege that will not succeed, but it will keep Apepa penned up in Het-Uart, and while he is rendered impotent I will clean out the soldiers of Rethennu from the rest of the Delta. Next year I will defeat him. Do not speak of these things to Mother and especially not to Grandmother,” he urged. The other women were approaching along the path with Uni and Kares, and Aahmes-nefertari nodded her agreement and drew away from him. He turned to find Hor-Aha at his elbow.

  “The men are all on board and the marchers are finally ranked, Majesty,” he said. “It is time.”

  “Amun himself is coming to bless us,” Ahmose reminded him. “We will wait a little.”

  Even as he spoke he heard the singing. Around him and out on the ships a sudden silence fell. The procession came into view, first the musicians with their finger cymbals and drums, then the singers. Behind them Amunmose was surrounded by his incense-wreathed acolytes, but for once Ahmose’s glance slid over his friend and fled to the litter beyond. Borne on the wide shoulders of eight priests, heavily curtained, its sumptuous trappings swaying and glittering in the sun, it advanced until it reached the paving. The bearers set it down with reverent care and its entourage surrounded it protectively.

  Amunmose stepped up and drew aside the curtain and at once the assembly went to the ground in worship. To Ahmose’s surprise it was Aahmes-nefertari who immediately rose again, and walking to the litter and bowing to the smoothly golden profile of the god within, she turned to the prostrate company. “Hear the words of the Greatest of Greatest from the mouth of his Second Prophet, O King,” she called, her voice ringing out clearly and proudly. “Thus says Amun, Lord of Weset. ‘O my son Nebpehtira Ahmose, Lord of the Two Lands, I am thy Father. I set terror in the northlands even unto Het-Uart, and the Setiu are a stain beneath thy feet.’” She paused, bowed again, and retreated.

  “When did you receive this oracle?” Ahmose whispered into her ear and she smiled.

  “Amunmose sent it to me this morning early. Hush now, Ahmose. He is going to bless the troops.” The High Priest had taken a censer and was holding it out in the direction of the ships, intoning the chants of benediction and protection, and two other priests waited with the flagons of milk and bull’s blood to pour upon the flagstones. All at once a sense of enormous well-being flooded Ahmose. Everything was going to be all right.

&n
bsp; It was a wrench to be separated yet again from his family and to see the panorama of the house in its shelter of trees, then the temple and the town itself, then the wide bend of the river pass out of sight, but there was none of the aching anxiety both he and Kamose had felt on previous partings. The fall of Het-Uart was assured. Next year or the year after would see Egypt united once more. It was simply a matter of time. Standing on the deck of his ship with Hor-Aha, Ankhmahor and Turi beside him and the long, uneven line of the other boats strung out behind, he had the strong impression that Kamose also hovered at his shoulder and in a moment he would hear his voice. “Well, Ahmose, we venture forth once more,” he would say with that familiar blend of resignation and fortitude.

  So powerful was the sense of his brother’s presence that Ahmose gave a start when a bevy of ducks hidden in the reeds rose squawking at their approach and the spell was broken. All the same, he thought, you see us, don’t you, Kamose? Your passion for our freedom will keep you here watching, your ba-self hovering invisibly as we go north. Oh how I miss you! I did not realize how comfortable it was to occupy a place in your shadow while the ultimate responsibilities of rule and command were yours. Now they are mine and I am naked under their weight. “We will not have long in the Delta this season, Majesty,” Turi’s words broke in on Ahmose’s reverie. “It is a tedious, hot march for the infantry divisions. They will not reach Het-Uart until the middle of Epophi. That leaves us a little more than Mesore to siege and turn for home again before the river road floods.” Ahmose gave his attention to his old friend. Turi’s angular, rather uneven features were drawn together in a frown under the rim of his blue-and-white linen helmet and his dark eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the verdant bank sliding by.

  “True,” Ahmose replied. “But it is time to change tactics, Turi.” He glanced at the sky, white with heat. “Come into the cabin, all of you. I will tell you what I want to do and you will give me your advice.” They retired into the relative coolness of the cabin with alacrity and for the rest of the afternoon drank beer and argued Ahmose’s strategy. By the time they emerged the sun was setting, a spreading pool of molten fire on the western horizon, and the sailors were manoeuvring the ships to a night mooring.

  Before he prepared for sleep, Ahmose received a message from Het nefer Apu. Paheri and Abana were eagerly awaiting him and the navy was ready for engagement. He sat on the edge of his cot with the scroll in his hands, looking across at the empty space where Kamose used to lie. Akhtoy had set up his travelling Amun shrine there but its shape seemed ephemeral, as though it were temporarily displacing the more solid contours of a rumpled sheet and a black head resting on a pillow.

  I am still lost without you, Ahmose spoke silently into the dimness. Despair lurks in these moments when I am idle or defenceless in that strange world between waking and sleep and I must fight it or it will render me impotent. Father, Si-Amun, and now you, all gone down into death, and I am alone. What satisfaction will there be in victory amid such ruination? Even if Aahmes-nefertari gives me a dozen male Taos to fill the house with their virile presence, it will never be the same. The past is a scroll rolled up and sealed and stored in some secret place. Inside it, where time has stopped, the hieroglyphs gleam slickly black, the colours hold their brilliance forever, but outside I am condemned to memories that gradually distort and fade until the recollections themselves are a lie.

  Suddenly annoyed at his own self-pity, he called for Ipi, gave him the papyrus for noting and filing, and sent him to his own cot. Lying down, he closed his eyes and brought his wife determinedly to mind, the way she had looked only that morning, the things she had said, but behind her image there was only a melancholy greyness and he could not rest.

  Their progress to the north was steady but slow, broken by the need to review the troops gathered from the towns and farms along the way and leave their new officers with them. Watching the chaos of jostling men and listening to the irate shouts of General Iymery’s subordinates as they struggled to establish some order along the riverbank at Badari, the centre of Prince Iasen’s holdings, Ahmose reflected grimly that it was a good thing the months of campaigning under Kamose had taught the peasants to fight. Those skills would not have to be learned, only honed after a winter and spring spent in their homes and fields.

  He had gone to Iasen’s house and confirmed Iasen’s oldest son in his hereditary position as the new Prince, but he had made it clear that the adviser he had yet to appoint would make every action of the young noble answerable directly to himself. He had required the same oath of fealty from the Prince and the rest of the family as he had received from those gathered at Amun’s temple. He had explained to the Prince that the newly created Division of Khonsu under General Iymery would be headquartered in Badari and the General was to be accorded every co-operation and respect. “But, Majesty,” the young man had protested. “Iymery was nothing but an assistant to my father’s Overseer of Cattle before your brother conscripted him into the army! I am now the Prince of the Uatchet-nome! The Division should be mine to command! My father died for his treason against Osiris Kamose, but I have just now promised my loyalty to you and I am insulted that you do not trust me!” Ahmose looked into the angry and bewildered face with an inward sigh.

  “You are indeed the Prince of this nome,” he said cautiously. “You are an erpa-ha. But my will for you is that you govern your nome with intelligence and justice together with the counsellor I shall send you from Weset, and my will for the army is that it be commanded by men who know how to fight, not govern. It is not a matter of trust. Can you fight, Prince?” The man looked at him coolly.

  “No, Majesty, I have not had the opportunity. But my father trained me in the art of bow and sword. Egyptian nobles have always led the army in times of war!”

  “I do not question your competence with weapons,” Ahmose persisted patiently, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “But for this war I must have men in command who have already tasted battle under my brother and who consequently know the Delta. I trust you to do what Princes have always done, that is, govern with the efficiency for which they were born. Generals do not need noble blood to deploy and lead troops. They need the authority that commands obedience and the humility that bows the head before their King.” Iasen’s eyes, scornful and defeated, gazed back at Ahmose out of his son’s proud face.

  “I understand, Majesty,” he said at last, and Ahmose received his bow and dismissed him. I can see that you do, he thought, watching him stalk away, his kilt swirling about his strong young thighs. But there is nothing you can do about it. I cannot afford the luxury of allowing you to prove yourself to me.

  “Khonsu will be disbanded when Het-Uart falls. It will not be a part of the permanent army,” Turi remarked as he and Ahmose were walking back to the river. “Perhaps that is not such a good idea, Majesty.”

  “You mean because of Iasen? Do you think that Badari will continue to be a weak link in my chain of control?”

  “It might. But Hor-Aha and Ankhmahor and I have been talking about the disposition of your permanent troops over our evening wine. It seems sensible to keep two divisions, perhaps Amun and Ra, on alert at Weset, but build permanent quarters for the other three in carefully chosen towns along the Nile.”

  Ahmose smiled across at him. “And I suppose the three of you have suggestions?”

  “Yes, Majesty.” Turi hesitated. “You will not be offended?” Ahmose came to a halt.

  “Of course not!” he exclaimed. “Gods, Turi, you and I have wrestled and raced our way from childhood together. We shared every thought until your father was sent away. Are you no longer my friend?”

  “I am not sure that divine beings have friends,” Turi replied. “You used to be the youngest son of the Prince of Weset, Ahmose, but now you are the King of Egypt.”

  “I need men who will give me their opinions without fear,” Ahmose retorted. “If you like, I will make you Chief Wrestler to His Majesty as well as General
of the Division of Amun. Let us walk on.” They turned together as Turi laughed.

  “I do not need another title,” he said. “Look, Majesty, establish homes for divisions at Khemmenu, Mennofer and Nekheb as well as Badari. Khemmenu is only ten miles from Nefrusi. Teti and Meketra ruled there and they were executed. A division at Khemmenu would give you peace of mind. Mennofer is close to where the Delta begins. Nekheb will guard your southern flank.” Ahmose nodded.

  “Thank you, Turi,” he said rather formally. “I will consider what you have said.”

  “You had the same response from Intef’s two sons when we put in at Qebt as you did here at Badari,” Turi pointed out. “Mesehti and Makhu know that they are on sufferance, but who can say what Djawati and Akhmin will spawn in the future if your campaigns are not clean and swift? Curb them also.”

  I intend to, Ahmose thought, as he regained the deck and lowered himself onto the cushions against the outside wall of the cabin. At once his body servant appeared, removing his sandals and setting hot water beside him so that he could wash his hands, but Ahmose scarcely acknowledged his presence. The Prince of Mennofer is still an unknown quantity, he told himself. I remember him well both from Apepa’s visit to Weset and from Kamose’s negotiations with him. I liked him, but that means nothing. As for Khemmenu, the princedom there rightly belongs to Ramose and I must give it to him at once, without the constraint of an adviser to spy on him for me.

  He smiled wryly into the thin shade of the canopy that flapped desultorily above him. New generals, new officers and an army that must be reorganized on the march, he mused. It could be worse. At least I do not need a sophisticated strategy in order to siege a city and chase foreigners along the dry tributaries of the river. I wonder what Paheri and Abana will say when I tell them there will be no rest for them during the Inundation?

  It was with an overwhelming sense of relief that Ahmose saw Het nefer Apu come drifting into sight on the twelfth day of Epophi. He felt that the weeks behind him had been spent in repairing some tattered piece of carpet, picking up the loose threads and weaving them back into the warp and woof of the design, cutting out the pieces too ragged to be saved, brushing away the accretions of grime so that the original pattern might be discerned.