The Horus Road

by Pauline Gedge

  He had made sure that each town received him with formality, each mayor, governor and noble was summoned to swear their loyalty, and every one of them was scrutinized and assessed for reliability. Some were dismissed. Ipi’s lists of administrative positions to be filled and the men who might possibly be trusted to fill them grew longer by the day and Ahmose found himself longing for his wife’s advice. Aahmes-nefertari would enquire into each candidate’s lineage and background, what they had been doing during the Kamose years, what god they served, what reputation for family stability and piety they might have. She would do so efficiently and objectively, without any need to repay a favour or promote a relative. I do not have time for the task, Ahmose thought. Yet it is a vital one. Perhaps I should send her the lists and she and Mother can gather the necessary information and make their recommendations to me when I return home. Dealing with Het-Uart will take all my energy and ingenuity, yet the management of Egypt’s affairs must go on. Crop assessments, taxes, court proceedings, local building projects, all of it. The government cannot lie fallow while I pursue the Setiu.

  Kamose destroyed Egypt’s structure. It was necessary and it has enabled me to reorganize far more than just the army, but the construction of a new order cannot wait. Aahmesnefertari can also assemble a delegation to travel to Keftiu. The Keftians do not care about Egypt’s politics. They are concerned with commerce, no matter what god sits on the Horus Throne. They must know what has been happening since trade with the Delta was disrupted, and I will wager that they feel no particular loyalty to Apepa and will be content to transfer their trading negotiations to Weset instead of Het-Uart.

  When Ahmose put in at Khemmenu, he discovered that Ramose had been living in a tent he had pitched on the city’s outskirts. “I had no right to occupy Meketra’s estate, Majesty,” he told Ahmose frankly, “and there was no other house available. In spite of Meketra’s ultimate betrayal he worked hard to restore Khemmenu. Many refugees from Dashlut and the other villages that were burned have settled here and the city is enjoying a burst of vitality.” They had met on the ship after Ahmose had been ceremoniously received by Khemmenu’s mayor and councillors and had spent an hour in prayer at Thoth’s temple under the wary eye of the High Priest who had so sharply refused Kamose and himself entrance to the inner court. Now he and Ramose leaned together against the rail, watching the bustle of Khemmenu’s wharves in the dusty red haze of sunset. No smell of burning flesh, Ahmose thought. No splashes of blood in the sand, on the white walls, no debris in the streets; it is as if we dreamed it all, Kamose and I. Time and the thrusting force of life itself has closed over the wounds.

  “What of Nefrusi?” he asked with an effort, wrenching his mind away from a contemplation of the past that was in danger of becoming a habit. Ramose laughed and shook his head.

  “Nefrusi has become a tidy little village full of competent farmers,” he said. “I believe that this year the Setiu soldiers are competing with one another to see who can thresh the most grain in the shortest time. Will you go there, Majesty?” Will I? Ahmose repeated the question to himself. Do I want to stand on the spot where your father fell, where thousands of bodies were dragged across the sand to be fired? I was sick to my soul almost every day and Kamose moved and spoke like someone who had been buried alive.

  “No, I do not think so,” he said slowly. “I will greet the officers in charge there, but on the bank.” He turned to his friend. “Ramose, I want you to assume the governorship of the Un nome. I have already drawn up the document making you an erpa-ha prince. Fold up your tent and take possession of the estate where you were raised.” Ramose paused for a long while before he answered. Then he looked Ahmose full in the face.

  “Such an offer is right and honourable, Majesty,” he said. “I deserve both the title and the property. I will indeed move into the house my parents loved and tended, and I will govern the Un nome under the edicts of Ma’at. But I know what you have done to every other noble in positions of administrative authority. You have emasculated them,” and here he used a common expression used by the peasants to describe the removal of a man’s testicles, “and the control over their jurisdictions has gone to the so-called advisers you are placing by their sides. I know what has caused your wariness and I think you are wise. But if I am to order Khemmenu and its nome I will do so with stewards and overseers of my own choosing, not yours. Either I am to be trusted or not.” He had not spoken angrily or resentfully. His features were as calm as his words. Ahmose nodded.

  “Good!” he said brightly. “I had no intention of having you spied upon, Ramose. Neither you nor Ankhmahor nor Turi. You will not hear me call my servants spies in public but I do so to you, for spies they will be until such time as my godhead is secure. Take the nome freely.” Ramose let out a gust of relieved breath.

  “Thank you for your confidence, Ahmose,” he said. “Let me reciprocate. Unless you give me a specific command, I will not take up my responsibilities here until the war is over. I desire to remain beside you.” Ahmose’s gaze narrowed.

  “You still hope to see Apepa dead and Tani back in your arms, don’t you?” he remarked quietly. Ramose’s mouth became a thin line. Stepping away from the rail he bowed shortly, turned on his heel, and walked away without replying. Ahmose watched him stride down the ramp and mingle briefly with the crowds on the dock before disappearing through the open city gates. You are either mad or holy, dear Ramose, he mused. Either way you are the most stubborn man I have ever known. It would never occur to you that perhaps Tani is no longer worthy of such frightening, uncompromising devotion.

  That had been two days ago, and now Ramose, together with Turi, Hor-Aha, Kagemni, Baqet and the other generals, sat around a large table under the shade of a canopy a stone’s throw from the Nile. Behind and around them the divisions continued to straggle into Het nefer Apu, where the Scribes of Assemblage were directing the men to their billets. Before them, on the river itself, the navy’s ships cast pale intertwining shadows onto the listless bushes lining the bank. The noon heat was oppressive. Soldiers standing their watch at the feet of the many ramps linking vessels to land were visibly sweating. Aboard the boats themselves the sailors were clustered under huge awnings, invisible to the gathering on the shore, but their lazy conversation and occasional laughter could be heard. The town itself, a short way to the north, lay quiet in the drugged lull of the afternoon sleep. “We will be at full strength by this time tomorrow,” Turi was saying. “The last contingents are drifting in. The Scribes of Distribution are already complaining about the amount of beer the late arrivals are drinking.”

  “It cannot be helped,” Ahmose said shortly. “Marching is hot work. Let them drink beer while they may. When we leave for the Delta, it will be water only. I have heard your report on the navy’s readiness, Paheri, and I am satisfied that you have not wasted the months I have been away. Now, Abana, tell me of the state of the Delta.” For answer the older man indicated his son.

  “Paheri and I have been fully engaged in the care and training of the eleven thousand marines here, Majesty,” he said apologetically. “I did not want to delegate the responsibility for the task your brother assigned us to anyone for whom I would be reluctant to answer. Therefore I sent Kay north.” The young man was flicking his whisk over his cup where a cloud of flies was trying unsuccessfully to settle. He put his hand over its rim and looked up with a smile.

  “My men and I made the journey three times, Majesty,” he said promptly. “Twice when the Inundation was at its height. Of course my ship is sturdy and my sailors entirely reliable, so I found the Delta tributaries to be reasonably navigable. We penetrated the Delta along its eastern branch, past the remains of the fort at Nag-ta-Hert, and then tied up some way below the Setiu strongholds. I sent out small sorties. Most of the swamps and lakes that become fully flooded are in the eastern portion of the Delta and the ditches and canals from which the water drains back into the Nile in the spring were full, but by making a detour around
Het-Uart and poling our skiffs across the canals, we were able to reach the Horus Road.”

  Ahmose watched him with a secret humour and a great deal of astonishment. Kay was speaking nonchalantly, almost carelessly, of a foray that must have taxed him and his crew to the utmost. Sitting back with one sandalled foot planted on a hummock of grassy earth, shards of sunlight playing fitfully on the one small gold hoop he wore in his ear as the linen above him billowed and collapsed, he was the picture of confident self-possession. “There was no point in exploring the western Delta,” he went on dismissively. “Het-Uart sits right on the eastern edge of the Nile’s great eastern tributary and between that and the western tributary the Inundation is more polite. There are orchards and vineyards and grazing for cattle and of course beyond the western waterway itself there are the marshes and then the desert. The Osiris One Kamose devastated it all two years ago to try and prevent the Setiu from storing much food. I believed that your Majesty would be more interested in any activity along the Horus Road.”

  You have changed, Kay Abana, Ahmose thought. Your brashness is no longer a shower of arbitrary sparks. You were an eager, boastful child, and although you are still full of overweening confidence, it is being tempered by the intelligence of an approaching maturity. Kamose did right to give you your own command. “It was a courageous thing to do,” he said aloud and Kay smiled delightedly.

  “It was,” he answered promptly. “But my men are fearless and I lead them well. Between us we only wish to please you, Majesty.”

  “The Horus Road,” Turi put in bitterly. “What a two-edged knife it is! A lifeline from the eastern trading centres straight into the heart of the Delta in times of peace but in times of war it becomes a channel along which every danger can flow. Your ancestor Osiris Senwasret built the forts of the Wall of Princes across it to control the influx of foreigners, Majesty, but now the Wall is in Apepa’s power and the Setiu pour into Egypt in a steady stream.”

  “I know,” Ahmose said. “Go on, Captain. What did you see?” Kay crossed his legs, leaned forward, and again applied the whisk, this time to the insects seeking salt from the sweat that beaded in the crook of his arm.

  “Setiu troops, heavily armed,” he answered promptly. “They do not march in formation, they advance in loose groups with much noise and little discipline, but they keep coming. They cannot all be contained in Het-Uart. There is no room in that pest hole for even another rat. They are camping in groups as close to the city as they can. The Delta is liberally sprinkled with them.”

  “If Het-Uart is to fall, we must somehow clear the Delta and then hold the Horus Road,” Hor-Aha said. “Kamose did his best to scour the Delta, but during the Inundation the Princes of the East sent more reinforcements along the Horus Road.”

  “Then the solution is obvious,” Ahmose summed up. “Kamose did not speak of this, but I think that in creating the navy and insisting on its competence, he was preparing to begin a full year of campaigning, not just during the dry months. We cannot afford to keep gaining ground only to lose it. We will move north at once, as soon as the last soldiers have arrived. Five divisions will deploy around the mounds on which the city rests and besiege them together with the Medjay archers. The flood plains are dry and hard. Chariots can be used to advantage. The other six divisions will patrol the Delta and engage the contingents of fresh Setiu troops wherever they find them. Again, the ditches and canals will hold only the merest trickles of water and movement throughout the Delta should be relatively easy. Kay, can you estimate the number of Setiu soldiers coming in from Rethennu?”

  “Not really, Majesty. I am sorry. A few days spent watching the road were not enough to give me an accurate count. But they came with regularity.” He emptied his cup, setting it back on the table with a bang. “And what of the navy?” he asked with relish. “What is your desire for your most faithful fighting men, Majesty? The North is manned, equipped and ready for engagement!”

  “The marines will become farmers until Thoth,” Ahmose replied firmly. “There are ten thousand men here, Kay, and a whole town to be fed. The harvest must be conducted as efficiently as possible. The infantry divisions will plunder the Delta villages as they go.”

  “And at Thoth?” It was Paheri who interrupted this time, and Ahmose swung to him.

  “Then if the gods will it, Isis will cry,” he said. “The Inundation will spread. But we will not go home. The navy will proceed into the Delta by water and we will give the Setiu no time to rest and regroup.” Paheri grunted and an expression of relief crossed Kay Abana’s face. “I wish to discuss the details now,” Ahmose went on. “Ipi, bring up the maps. Akhtoy, have the table cleared.”

  By the time each General had received his orders, questioned them, and had them elucidated, the sun had begun to set behind the town in a flood of molten bronze. Ahmose finally dismissed them, and walking wearily to his tent he passed his guards and entered, lowering himself into the collapsible travelling chair beside the cot with a sigh and lifting his feet so that his waiting body servant could remove his sandals. “Your feet are swollen, Majesty,” the man commented as he wrestled with the ties. “I will bring warm water and a salve.”

  He went away and for a time Ahmose sat alone in the gathering dimness. Outside footsteps sounded. Men came and went. His guard barked a challenge that was answered. Somewhere close by a donkey began to bray hoarsely. The pleasant odour of roasting gazelle wafted through the tent flap. I suppose the soldiers have been out on the desert hunting, Ahmose thought. He looked about him at the lamp, soon to be lit, the neatness of his cot waiting for him to raise the sheets, his clothes chest against one wall, his closed shrine against another. Flax matting had been laid on the earth under him. He was in a protected oasis of orderliness and silence, and all at once a wave of loneliness overtook him. Its source was not the uniqueness of his position as King, he knew. Nor was it solely the absence of his brother in a situation they had always experienced together, or a homesickness for Aahmes-nefertari. I miss the way it was, he thought despondently. I miss all the Princes, Intef and Iasen and yes, even Meketra, all of us around the council table, Kamose with his moodiness and harshness, the grumbles of the nobles, the uncertainties and horrors of that time but a kind of comradeship all the same. I fashion a new order but I long for the familiarity of the old.

  Akhtoy came into the tent with the body servant, and while Ahmose’s feet were soaked and massaged he moved quietly about, lighting the lamp, putting fresh drinking water beside the cot, and gathering up the day’s soiled linen. Ahmose watched him for a moment. Then he said, “Akhtoy, I do not want to be alone tonight. Please have another cot brought in and ask Turi to sleep here.” Imperturbably the steward bowed and went out. The body servant eased papyrus slippers onto Ahmose’s oiled feet and rose with the bowl of water in his arms. Ahmose thanked and dismissed him. A short time later Akhtoy returned.

  “The General Turi’s aides tell me that he has taken a bodyguard and gone night fishing with Idu, his Standard Bearer, Majesty,” Akhtoy told him. “Is there anyone else Your Majesty wishes to see?” Night fishing, Ahmose repeated to himself with an inward pang. And why not? It is a pastime we both enjoyed before he went away, before we grew up. We would sit in a skiff under the stars, dangle our lines in the dark river, and talk and laugh the peaceful hours away. He has not forgotten, but the nature of the affinity between us has changed. We can no longer be equals in friendship no matter how much we desire it, and he is forming bonds within the Division I have entrusted to him. Akhtoy was regarding him with an understanding sympathy that Ahmose could not find insulting.

  “No,” he said slowly. “No, Akhtoy, I rather think that a King must draw a circle of detachment around himself. He cannot incite jealousy.” Akhtoy’s expression did not change.

  “That is true,” he replied. “However, a mere servant will incite no man’s apprehension. With your permission I will bring my pallet in here.” Ahmose said nothing, and taking his silence for consent Akh
toy leaned out into the new darkness and shouted an abrupt command. Presently his under-steward bowed his way to the far side of the tent and proceeded to unroll Akhtoy’s mattress, laying sheets and a pillow on it before bowing himself out again. “Majesty, I have chores for the morning to perform,” Akhtoy said, “but I will return quickly. There are pomegranates and black grapes, newly picked, and your cook has baked freshly ground reed bulbs today, mixed with plenty of honey, the way you like them. Let me bring you a light meal.” Ahmose looked up at him reflectively.

  “You are a compassionate and tactful man as well as a superior steward, Akhtoy,” he said. “Tell me, are you happy?” Akhtoy’s eyebrows rose into his rigidly even black fringe of hair.

  “That is a large word, encompassing many lesser states of being, Majesty,” he answered. “I am deeply honoured to be first among your servants, even as I loved and served your brother. I am content with my wife and daughters at home in Weset. My life is full and satisfying and the work on my tomb in West-of-Weset is progressing well. All these things make me happy.”

  “Then I am pleased.” Ahmose got out of the chair. “No, do not bring me food, but if any scrolls have arrived from my family I want to see them before I retire.”

  Once Akhtoy had gone, Ahmose got onto his cot, and sliding between the cool sheets he lay back with a sigh. His depression had lifted. One day I will promote that man, he thought. We take the fidelity of our servants for granted but we ought not to. Their unobtrusive reliability deserves to be rewarded.

  He was drowsing when Akhtoy returned. The lamp was extinguished. Ahmose heard the small sounds as the steward lowered himself onto his pallet and composed himself for sleep, and bidding him a good night he closed his eyes and surrendered to the feeling of security the other man’s presence had brought. What is his wife’s name? Ahmose’s thoughts ran on. And his daughters? He keeps his other life very private, but I must ask him if there is anything I can do for them. I have a vague memory of two rather pretty girls holding his hands when I saw him once in the temple during a holiday. I wonder how my own little Hent-ta-Hent is faring?