Ahmose had already mapped out a strategy in detail with the generals who would command the action against the new Setiu soldiers. Nevertheless he stayed up for a few final words with them as their troops marched doggedly past. Consequently he was still asleep when the curve of Het-Uart’s southern wall came into sight, and Akhtoy woke him gently. Tying on a kilt and hurriedly thrusting his feet into his sandals, he left the cabin and walked across the deck through the group of protecting Followers to gaze out at Egypt’s bane.
Already the top of the high, sloping fortification was thick with soldiers who were being jostled by crowds of shouting, pointing citizens. The naked flood plain before the wall was deserted. Obviously the city had been warned of their coming. “Turi, Kagemni, Baqet, Khety and Sebekkhu wait for your permission to board, Majesty,” Ankhmahor said as he joined Ahmose at the rail. “They want your final orders. The Medjay have divided and the archers who are to surround the city are on the bank with the divisions. Hor-Aha is with the remainder.”
“Have them come.”
He watched his five generals run up the ramp, ignoring the furore from atop the wall and the hail of arrows being loosed hysterically in his direction even though he was well out of range. There was no sign of any threat from the ground. The six other divisions had entered the eastern Delta and any troops wandering outside the safety of their defences would have hurried inside the mounds hours ago.
The little throng strode up and bowed and Ahmose wasted no time. “Kagemni and Baqet, you are to take the Medjay waiting for you and deploy your men around the city to the south and east,” he told them. “Set up camp well away from the walls. Put troops on the gates at once but let the rest pitch their tents and settle down. Have the chariots begin to patrol the perimeter. The ground is solid. They should have no trouble. Have the carts with the provisions arrived?” Kagemni nodded. “Good. Khety, march the Division of Horus straight to the eastern side of the northern mound and begin to shoot at anything that moves on the walls. Make a fuss. Raise the dust. I want the men inside to be distracted from Kay and his ship on the western side. At nightfall you can settle in. Turi, you and Sebek-khu will take the western edge of the mound, between the wall and the tributary. Ten thousand men should be enough to seal the Setiu inside. Your men will be constantly in range of their archers so you will be covered by the Medjay in the boats. You will begin work on the docks at once. If there are boats tied up there, seize the cargo and burn them. That is all.” One by one they bowed and ran back the way they had come, and when they had gone, the ramp was drawn up. “Captain, take me closer in!” Ahmose called. Ankhmahor stepped up to him abruptly.
“Majesty, that is not wise,” he protested. “A stray arrow could end all our dreams.”
“Mine as well,” Ahmose retorted with humour. “Don’t worry. By the time we have rowed forward a little, the Medjay will have begun to pick the soldiers off the walls. Then see how quickly the cowards vanish. As soon as that happens, the North can slip past the city. I expect word on the irrigation channels by this evening.”
Cautiously the oarsmen responded to the captain’s command and the craft inched forward. Ahmose’s gaze travelled from the swarm of soldiers pouring along the left-hand plain to the Medjay’s boats moving swiftly ahead of them on their flank. In spite of the motion of the decks the archers were already at work, sending an erratic shower of arrows high into the cloud-flecked sky. Shrieks came from the walls as their arc disintegrated and they fell, finding their mark. Bodies slumped, some to tumble into the ranks of the Egyptians below. The press of people standing on the wide apex of the wall thinned suddenly and the Medjay sent up a triumphant yell.
Ahmose found his eyes straining to pick out individual faces from those still silhouetted high against the glare before with a mental shrug he lowered his attention to the progress of his two divisions. She would not be up there, exposing herself to danger, elbowed and pushed this way and that by excited commoners. Not Queen Tautha. Nevertheless he imagined her as a young girl leaning over the edge of that daunting slope and calling his name, waving at him frantically to attract his notice. Tani! He dismissed the spurt of anger and sadness.
Signalling curtly to his captain, he waited while his craft slowed and gently bumped the bank, then he ran down the ramp with Ankhmahor behind him. “Bring me a chariot if you can find one to spare,” he ordered. “I want a clearer view of the docks. And I had better carry my shield. I have no faith in the accuracy of the Setiu archers, but to be struck dead by a stray arrow would be an ignominious end indeed.” Ankhmahor pointed.
“There goes the North, Majesty!” he exclaimed. “She is beating past the Medjay, to their rear!” They stood watching for a moment until Kay’s proud flag fluttered around the curve of the tributary and was lost to sight, then Ankhmahor sighed with relief. “She has negotiated the first peril,” he said. “Khety will doubtless have engaged the interest of the troops on the northern mound by now.”
Ahmose was about to comment when a roar went up from the soldiers lining the top of the wall. The civilians had disappeared, leaving rows of black-bearded men lying or crouching gingerly under the hail of lethal fire from the Medjay and attempting to bring their own arrows to bear on the soldiers milling beneath them.
“We have begun to attack the docks,” Ahmose said. “How stupid the Setiu are! Boulders would effect more damage on our divisions than those arrows. Or perhaps hunks of stone from the cemeteries Sebek-nakht is dismantling.” He laughed but the sound caught in his throat. A familiar figure had materialized and was striding behind the frustrated Setiu soldiers, ignoring the missiles clattering around him. Swarthy, coarse-featured, moving with a compact, athletic grace, he seemed to be berating them, although Ahmose could hear nothing of his words over the widespread clamour.
“Pezedkhu,” Ankhmahor murmured. “What is he doing?”
“He is ordering them off the wall,” Ahmose answered thickly. “He knows that they are no match for the Medjay and he does not want to lose any more of them. He also knows that such losses are stupid, seeing that no matter what we do we cannot enter the city. Once more he is showing caution at the expense of saving face.” He swung to his commander. “Send to the Medjay to cease shooting but hold their positions,” he said. “And get me that chariot.” Do you think he saw me? he wanted to ask. Did his gaze light on me in recognition? Is that why I suddenly feel so naked? He watched Ankhmahor flick a hand at his Second as he walked briskly away and then the remainder of the Followers closed in around him.
The docks at Het-Uart were massive and numerous, great piers of wood thrusting into the tributary’s current, but it was summer and the level of the water was low, revealing the carelessness of their construction. Like everything else the Setiu build, Ahmose thought with grim satisfaction as he stood in the chariot behind Ankhmahor, the shield held between himself and the city on his right. They appear sturdy but they are as flimsy as a child’s twig house. What a waste of precious Rethennu timber!
Several large ships, some of reed, some of cedar, and one or two of clearly Keftian design with prows that curved into the likenesses of fish, lay berthed beside them. Fighting had broken out on their decks as the Egyptians boarded them. Many of their sailors, seemingly unarmed, were scrambling over their sides and jumping into the shallow water, and Ahmose was glad to see them struggle unmolested to the farther bank between the Medjay craft. However, those remaining who had weapons were trying to defend their charges. Small skirmishes could be seen on the decks, while around them the soldiers detailed to remove the cargo were ignoring them, flowing into the holds empty-handed and emerging again laden with sacks and boxes. It was impossible for Ahmose to determine what they held. Below and beside the ships men waist-deep in water were already clustering around the dock supports, axes glittering in the sun, waiting for a word from their officers to begin hacking them down, and on the bank a fire crackled. Critically Ahmose surveyed an apparent chaos in the midst of which his strategy was smoothly
being fulfilled.
All at once the steady thunder of noise increased. The thousands of men crowding the plain between the city and the docks began to sway and the standards of the two divisions, Amun and Montu, dipped and slewed before being righted. Axe bearers, torch bearers and cargo bearers faltered and turned towards the source of the disturbance. “Gods!” Ahmose shouted as Ankhmahor bent quickly and lifted the reins. “The gates are opening! They are going to try to defend the docks!” He stamped in a paroxysm of shock and glee. “Whip us forward, Commander! Khabekhnet! Khabekhnet!” His Chief Herald came running as the chariot picked up speed, and swung himself up beside Ahmose. “Beat your way through that mess to the generals,” Ahmose went on, unaware that he was still roaring. “Order them not to engage the Setiu. Order them to keep those gates open at any cost and push their way through, right into the city.” Khabekhnet nodded and leaped away, pounding across the dusty earth, already calling. Tense in every muscle, Ahmose watched him disappear into the milling, screaming throng. Ten thousand troops, he though feverishly, excitedly. Ten thousand to flood Het-Uart, and another fifteen to throw after them if the gates can be held. Oh please, Amun, give Turi and Sebek-khu the presence of mind to see what must be done!
“Send for the other divisions, Majesty!” Ankhmahor called back over his shoulder. He was pulling on the reins, slowing the horses, and Ahmose did not object. It would do no good to be closer to that seething, struggling mass of men. He could see everything quite clearly. Panting and shaking, he gripped the sides of the chariot.
“Not yet,” he said hoarsely. “We must not leave the North unprotected. The standards are moving, Ankhmahor. The Standard Bearers are closing on the gates. But will the troops be able to follow?”
Tensely they watched, oblivious of the noon sun pouring its heat on their heads, the sweat of apprehension trickling down their bodies, the stirring of the hot breeze in the blue and white ostrich feathers fastened between the twitching ears of the patient horses. At length Ankhmahor spoke. “The Medjay are trying to find targets but they are afraid of striking Egyptians,” he said expressionlessly. “Such impotence must be driving Hor-Aha insane.” Ahmose did not reply. He too could see the archers lining the boats drawn off from the conflict, arrows fitted to bows that jerked this way and that and could not be drawn. He glimpsed Hor-Aha standing with his fists pressed against his white-clad hips, his head down.
But in a moment the bows were raised as though the Medjay had suddenly been possessed by one thought. Ahmose looked up. Fresh Setiu soldiers had sprung onto the top of the wall, and kneeling, had begun to shoot down into the dense fighting. Pezedkhu was with them, and even from a distance Ahmose could sense his rage. The foray outside the gates was not his idea, Ahmose thought to himself immediately. Of course not. He would never command such rashness. Apepa must be behind this idiocy. Pezedkhu is trying to limit the damage, prevent us from storming the gates, slow us down. A surge of hope turned Ahmose’s attention from the arrow-filled sky and back to the melee below.
The conflict had intensified. The gates still stood open but the mass of men packed before them had thickened. To Ahmose’s dismay it was obvious that the Setiu, emerging to face a solid front of Egyptians, had been able to do no more than provide the gates with a human shield which the Egyptians were being forced to hack down before they could approach those mighty doors. The standards and the men following them could not circumvent the Setiu. The fighting had become fierce and merciless, the bodies of the slain crumpling to become yet another obstacle for the Egyptians who had now fallen silent and were wielding their weapons in a grim desperation to win through to that beckoning aperture that could mean the end of years of futility. “They will be forced to slay every Setiu soldier and clamber over their corpses before they can even touch the gates,” Ankhmahor said in exasperation, voicing Ahmose’s own surmise. “By then they will be too exhausted to do much more.”
“Then they will be relieved,” Ahmose said firmly. “Already the Setiu ranks are thinner. It is time to recall the other divisions.” But even as he turned to give the command to one of his heralds waiting with the Followers, he saw Pezedkhu running along the top of the wall towards the gates, his shield raised high against the Medjay’s arrows, his other arm ending in a fist. Coming to a halt he leaned over, and even above the noise of battle Ahmose could hear him screaming, “Close the gates you fools! What are you waiting for? Close them now! Imbeciles! Mindless dogs! Sons of perdition!” With a great gush of despair Ahmose saw the huge doors begin to inch shut. He cried out, and his exclamation of loss was echoed by the weary Egyptians. A howl went up. There was one last surge towards the wall, and then the boom of the gates coming together followed by the lesser sound of the mighty wooden beams falling into their cradles on the other side.
Within the next hour the last Setiu soldier stranded outside the city was cut down. Pezedkhu and his archers vanished. The axes resumed their work, biting into the precarious foundations of the docks. The cargo had been removed to be examined and stored by the Scribe of Distribution and the torch bearers waited their turn to fire the empty ships and thus whatever was left of the docks also.
The Medjay would remain in position until docks and ships were consumed and Kay Abana had brought the North back safely. Ahmose ordered the divisions back to their bivouacs for food and rest. He requested a tally of the Egyptian dead, reports on the wounded, a meeting with Turi and Sebek-khu, an inventory of the captured cargo, in a mood of bitter disappointment shared by the whole vast Egyptian camp.
Towards sunset the cooking fires were lit and the aroma of good food filled the air. Soldiers waded into the water to wash mired bodies and filthy linen or sat before their tents cleaning and sharpening dull weapons but there was none of the usual cheerful babble and banter. Ahmose, being driven along the lines before he himself ate, was enveloped in their dejection. He received their obeisances, speaking to them of their bravery and fortitude, and their answers were respectful but quiet. All of them understood the enormity of the chance that had been offered and then snatched away.
5
NO WORD HAD COME from Kay Abana. Ahmose, sitting later before his own tent, while behind him Akhtoy lit the lamp and before him the sun at last sank behind the profuse growth on the western side of the tributary, added that worry to his already dark mood. General Khety had sent word that his men had spent the day firing arrows and insults at the thick crowd of Setiu soldiers gathered on the walls of the northern mound and generally making a great noise and fuss, but in the late afternoon they had retired out of bowshot to make camp.
What were the orders for tomorrow? Ahmose did not know. He could formulate no plan for the Division of Horus until the North came sliding past Het-Uart. He did not expect any word from the divisions spreading out through the eastern Delta for some days. He was himself very tired but he sat on, a full wine cup on the small table beside him, a silent Ankhmahor and the Followers ranked watchfully in the shadows. Ramose had asked to be allowed to board the North and investigate the irrigation canals with Kay. Ahmose longed for his presence and added the fear for his friend’s life to the already crushing weight of the day’s discouragement.
But just as he had finished his evening prayers to Amun and was closing the doors of his travelling shrine, one of his heralds requested admittance. “The North has returned, Majesty,” the man told him when Ahmose had come to the front of the tent. “Even now she is running out her ramp.”
“Good!” Ahmose felt his bowels loosen with the intensity of his relief. “Then tell General Hor-Aha that the Medjay can stand down. Send Kay Abana and Prince Ramose to me as soon as the North’s crew has been given their rations and settled down.” The man saluted and vanished into the fire-pricked dusk and Ahmose turned back. “Bring two stools, a flagon of wine and whatever meat and bread you can find,” he told his steward. Akhtoy went out, and as Ahmose sank into his chair he was assailed by the first genuine hunger pangs he had felt in days.
It happened once, he thought with a resurgence of his customary optimism. It can happen again. Do not succumb to the gloom of the moment, you silly man! Amun will grant me the ultimate victory, I feel it in my very bones. The price has been paid. Father and Kamose paid it and the gods have willed that I may collect the reward.
By the time Kay and Ramose were admitted, Akhtoy had already placed wine and hot food on the table and had smoothly excused himself. Ahmose invited them to sit. They were both obviously freshly washed, their wet hair tied back, their clean linen rustling as they obeyed. Kay Abana had several cuts on the backs of his brown hands. His knees were grazed, like those of a child’s who has tripped and fallen onto stones. A bruise was swelling, purple and ugly, on his cheek, and blood had dried in a thin line along one shin bone and across his calf. Ahmose indicated the roasted gazelle meat, barley bread and crumbled cheese. “Eat first,” he advised. “Ramose, pour us some wine. I see that you have been behaving rashly as usual, Captain Abana, but before you tell me why, we will fill our bellies.” He smiled. “I am greatly heartened to have you both safe.”
Not until the platters were scoured and the wine jug empty did Ahmose speak. “Now,” he began. “Give me your report.” Kay tutted.
“It is not good, Majesty,” he said promptly. “There are indeed breaches in the wall, some twenty or thirty at most, where the irrigation canals inside the mound can be filled during the Inundation. They are of course closed up to keep water in at the moment but their locations are obvious. It appears that they are not large. Nor do they seem particularly firm, just mud and straw mixed perhaps with limestone powder and slammed into the gaps to harden without being smoothed. I would think that the Inundation itself would weaken them from the outside while the men within pick at them to make them crack.” He folded his legs gingerly, the bloodied one over the other, and turned to face Ahmose directly. “My men endeavoured to scratch at them but it was hard work. When they have been softened by the flood it will be easier, but then the soldiers will be forced to hold their breath and wriggle through them underwater for a short way, one at a time. Then sopping and panting, they must draw wet weapons and face strong opposition on the other side.” He shook his head. “The risk is too great.”
The Horus Road Page 11
