The Horus Road

by Pauline Gedge

  “The steering lamp had been lit on my vessel, Majesty,” Abana told her. “I could discern movement in the basket as it slid slowly down the wall. Without thinking, befuddled as I still was, I unslung my bow and fired an arrow at the vague shapes above the rim of the basket. It struck a man who screamed and toppled out, falling to the earth and taking with him a black cloth that had covered those concealed within. There was a shout and the basket was hurriedly drawn up again. I fired once more but the arrow went wide. A face peered down just as the basket was hauled over the lip of the wall. It was Apepa beyond doubt. One of my sailors remembered him from his progress upriver when he came to Weset to destroy your family.” The fists unclenched slowly and were offered to Ahmose, palms up. “Now you know why I must beg your forgiveness,” Abana said. “The usurper is back inside his stronghold and I am ashamed. I took my ship to the western wall but by then the small battle was over. We lost thirty men but the Setiu were all killed. I took the hand of the man I shot.”

  He fell silent and Ahmose sat back until his face was in shadow, thinking furiously. Beside him Aahmes-nefertari was breathing quickly and audibly, whether from anger at Abana’s ineptitude or a vision of Tani in that basket, he could not tell. No, he would not take Tani away with him, Ahmose said to himself firmly. If he took anyone, it would surely be his oldest son, the second Apepa, and perhaps Kypenpen, his younger son, as well. Queens can be easily made afresh but it is not so simple to create a successor. He cannot spring forth fully mature and healthy from his father’s seed. “The man you shot, was he identified?” he asked suddenly. Abana shook his head.

  “He was richly dressed in the garb of a steward,” he said. “White-haired and bearded in the Setiu fashion.”

  “His advisers should be executed,” Ahmose retorted. “A diversion was the last thing he ought to have decided upon. All it did was alert the whole army and navy, whereas one basket sliding quietly down the wall in the dead of night stood a good chance of being undetected. He has been thwarted. What will he do now?”

  Abana snorted. Having told his story without an explosion of rage from the King, he was beginning to recover his natural aplomb. “I think he will try again,” he said, “but not soon. His experience will have shaken him. But, Majesty, the situation inside Het-Uart must be very critical if he had decided to abandon the thousands of citizens under his care.”

  “I am tired of speculating about it,” Ahmose sighed. “How much water, how much food, how much disease, how much despair; what does it matter if those gates never open in an acknowledgement of defeat? Get up, Abana.” The young man did as he was bid. Facing him, Ahmose could see that both the food and the unburdening of himself had done him good. His face had lost its hunted look. He is not without sensitivity, Ahmose mused. It must have been terrible for him, the frantic journey from the Delta with such a weight on his conscience, not knowing whether or not I would punish him. “If the whole army and navy had been feasting and if you had been drunk while on duty, I would certainly be enraged enough to remove the noses and ears of my commanders and exile them,” he said. “But no such undisciplined behaviour occurred. Therefore no reprimand is required, although it seems that the generals’ vigilance is waning somewhat. Go with Akhtoy. He will find you a bed and have you bathed.” Abana bowed.

  “Majesty, you speak truly of your army’s conscientiousness,” he said. “I thank you for your magnanimity towards me, your eager and remorseful servant.” He backed away, still bent low, melting into the blackness between the lights surrounding the trio in the garden and the lamps burning in the house.

  “Ipi, did you record all that the Admiral said?” Ahmose asked. The scribe nodded. “Then you also may go.” Ipi gathered up his pens, closed his ink, and was gone. “I think it is time for me to return to the Delta,” Ahmose said heavily. “The troops need to see me again. Their enthusiasm for an admittedly boring task is fading.” He was vitally aware of his wife’s fixed profile, the tense immobility of her misshapen body.

  “I felt strange when it came to me that Tani might have been in that basket,” she said deliberately. “I cared and yet I did not care at all.” He put an arm around her stiff shoulders.

  “I know,” he said simply. “We should go in, Aahmesnefertari. You are cold.” Obediently she rose. He was not sure that she had heard him speak of leaving until shrugging her cloak around her she said, “You will do what you must, go north or stay. As for me, I am imprisoned by this body and must give birth yet again.” Her tone was biting, and wisely he did not reply.

  Once inside the house she kissed him, and wishing him a peaceful sleep she retired to her own apartments. But Ahmose stood irresolute in the passage just beyond the reception hall, hearing her voice come floating back to him as she paused for a few words with the guard on her door. He could not make out what was said but her tone was warm. She loves the soldiers she has chosen and shepherded, he thought. She knows the names of their wives and children. She knows which ones are standing watch and where. Every week she goes out to their barracks, and if she sees any lack she remedies it at once. The bond was forged during the days I have lost, when I lay unconscious and the fate of Egypt was in her hands. Hers and Aahotep’s. A piece of my life is missing forever, but hers went on, and I am eternally excluded from the many maturings that took place around me during that time.

  As if in response to his pondering his head began to ache, a subtle pulse warning him that he should go to his couch, but Abana’s news had disturbed him. He felt the stirrings of a belated anger, not at the Admiral but at a fate that had teased him with the promise of Apepa’s capture only to snatch it away again. Apepa roped to a chariot and driven round the walls of the city for all its inhabitants to see while Khabekhnet called “Your King is taken! Surrender!” It was an intoxicating fantasy, and all the more painful for almost coming true. This struggle has become as stale as water left to stand too long in a ewer, he told himself. Just the thought of it makes me tired.

  He walked to his quarters, past the salutes of the soldiers safeguarding the corridors, and as he came up to the door Akhtoy rose from his stool and bowed. Ahmose paused. He knew he should sleep or his headache would intensify but suddenly he could not face being shut up alone with his restlessness. “Send for Prince Ankhmahor,” he said. “Tell him to meet me on the watersteps and then you can go to your own couch, Akhtoy. I want to be on the river for a little while tonight.”

  “The flood has reached its highest level and the current is running very fast,” Akhtoy said dubiously. “Is it wise, Majesty?”

  “No, it is not,” Ahmose replied. “Fetch me a cloak before you go.”

  Ankhmahor’s presence was reassuring. The man had a calm self-possession about him that soothed Ahmose, and as both of them picked up a set of oars and backed away from the watersteps, Ahmose felt his tension and discouragement begin to flow away. The moon was coming up to the full, a misshapen bluish globe whose light was nevertheless bright enough to leave a broken silver trail on the Nile’s dark and swollen bosom. The half-drowned trees on either bank made a forest of dim mystery and beyond them on the east bank the city of Weset cast a faint but sinister orange glow against the thick blackness of the night sky. One tiny pinprick of light high above marked the roof of Amun’s temple and the reflection of similar lights, hung irregularly along the eastern edge of the flood where the ministers and nobles had their fine new watersteps, shivered and danced. Ahmose made all the quiet beauty his own with a slow intake of breath. “I wish we could fish,” he said wistfully. “A King must not offend Hapi, but I miss my favourite pastime.”

  “Where does your Majesty wish to go?” Ankhmahor asked politely as the current began to tug at their craft. Ahmose shrugged.

  “We can drift downstream for a while and then row back,” he said. “I need the exercise and besides, I simply cannot sleep yet, Ankhmahor. Het-Uart is driving me mad.”

  “The situation in the north cannot exist as it is forever,” Ankhmahor said reaso
nably. “If we remain patient, Majesty, the city must eventually fall.”

  “It could have fallen last month,” Ahmose groaned, and while the Prince kept his hand on the helm and they glided in the Nile’s blind grasp, he told Ankhmahor all that Abana had recounted. The Prince listened, commented, and before long the pair of them were deep in a conversation that ranged over every stratagem ever conceived for the downfall of Het-Uart. It did Ahmose good, but he was careful to remind himself that nothing new had been said. There was nothing new to say or to be done.

  The pull back to the watersteps was hard, leaving little breath for talking, and both men were tired and sweating by the time the skiff was moored and they stood once more before the gates into Ahmose’s garden. Bidding the Prince a good night, Ahmose had himself admitted, and skirting the house he entered towards the rear. The bath house was dim and empty, its damp air faintly perfumed with lotus and jasmine. Leaving the outer door open to let in a little moonlight, Ahmose inspected the tall water jars ranged along the walls until he found one full. Taking a handful of natron, he scrubbed himself down and then doused himself in the cold water, gasping and exclaiming as it met his hot skin. The servants had removed all linen to be washed and he found nothing with which to dry himself but he did not mind. A pleasant fatigue had overtaken him. Snatching up his soiled kilt and cloak, he opened the inner door to the house and padded towards his rooms, realizing as he went that his headache had completely disappeared.

  As he approached his door, he saw that it was open and lamplight was streaming out into the passage. Urgent voices were raised within, his wife’s and another, and his heart began to pound. Rapid footsteps were coming up from behind. He swung round to see Emkhu hurrying towards him. “Majesty, my men have been looking for you everywhere!” he panted. “Akhtoy said you were on the river but by the time I questioned the gate guards you had returned and disappeared. The Queen needs you.” As he finished speaking, Aahmes-nefertari herself called out.

  “Is he there, Emkhu? Have you found him?” Ahmose ran through the doorway.

  Aahmes-nefertari was clutching the folds of her sleeping shift to her neck and pacing and a man Ahmose had not seen before was standing by the window. He bowed as Ahmose came to a halt, blinking in the flood of lamplight, and Aahmes-nefertari turned on him.

  “Where have you been?” she demanded. “Why, Ahmose, you are naked and dripping! Akhtoy said you took a skiff. Did you capsize?” He did not answer at once. She seemed distressed but not ill, so he knew his first fear to be groundless. Walking to his couch he dragged a sheet from it, and only when he had covered himself did he face her.

  “I did not capsize,” he said evenly. “I went to the bath house and washed myself when Ankhmahor and I returned.” His glance went to the man who had stepped away from the window and was regarding him gravely.

  “This is Mereruka, the chief of my spies in Esna and Pi-Hathor,” Aahmes-nefertari explained. “I have spoken of him to you. He has five men and women under him and he himself lives at Pi-Hathor where he breeds and sells donkeys.”

  “A useful occupation for a spy,” Ahmose commented. Suddenly very weary he sat down in his chair. For a few precious hours I was a Prince again, he thought. Now once more I am a King. “Your news must be important to bring you to Weset in person.” Mereruka inclined his head. He was, Ahmose thought, the most nondescript man he had ever seen. Everything about him from his short black hair to his worn reed sandals was anonymous. He had no distinctive features. Even his gestures were unremarkable, being neither too elaborate nor too stilted. Ahmose spared a moment to marvel at his wife’s shrewdness in selecting someone who would always be nothing more than a face in a crowd even when he stood alone.

  “It is vital, Majesty,” Mereruka said. “I have been providing Her Majesty with regular reports, oral of course, on the growing unrest among the citizens of both towns for which I am responsible. I am sure Your Majesty does not need to be told how Esna and Pi-Hathor have suffered. Many Setiu live in those two towns. They used to be prosperous.” He may have a face that is easily forgotten but his intellect and manner of speech does not match it, Ahmose thought. Wherever did Aahmesnefertari find him?

  “I know,” he broke in impatiently. “Kamose managed to keep them quiet with threats and a pact.”

  “They are quiet no longer,” Mereruka said grimly. “Two days ago the mayor of Pi-Hathor was murdered and his house burned. Yesterday the mayor of Esna was also clubbed to death before a crowd of shouting citizens who had already flung up a barricade across the river and killed one of your heralds coming up from Djeb. They intend to waylay the gold shipments as they appear. They were disorganized and wild in their discontent, but now there are men who are controlling and channelling their dissatisfaction into one coherent force. Only four miles separate the towns. Already there are gangs stationed just north of Pi-Hathor to prevent anyone from leaving the area and warning you. I fear a concerted uprising.”

  “How did you get here?” Ahmose wanted to know. Mereruka waved away the question.

  “I took some of my donkeys towards Esna with my son, left him in charge of them between the towns, and took a raft across the river. I have sent a message to the Queens Aahotep and Tetisheri to stay where they are in Djeb until Your Majesty has resolved this situation.”

  “Have you indeed?” Ahmose said softly, aware of an irrational irritation. “That was farsighted of you. I presume that you wish to give me your advice?” The man glanced swiftly at Aahmes-nefertari, obviously taken aback by the King’s tone. Aahmes-nefertari stepped forward.

  “He presumes nothing,” she said forcefully. “But we would do well to listen to him, Ahmose.” She had tactfully avoided accusing him of an arrogant ingratitude by saying “we,” and Ahmose’s moment of pique died.

  “Yes, we would,” he said mildly. “Tell me what I should do, Mereruka. Will the malcontents exhaust themselves after a few violent acts, in which case I may wait and then send judges, or is it necessary to take an army south?”

  “Perhaps not an army, Majesty,” Mereruka answered carefully. “But in my opinion you have a small rebellion on your hands that will swell into something far more dangerous than it is already if you wait. A thousand men should be enough to quell it.” Ahmose got up, casting a longing look at his couch as he did so.

  “Thank you,” he said. “Will you return to Pi-Hathor tonight?” Mereruka bowed. He was already inching towards the door.

  “I must,” he said. “I have left my son and the donkeys in a quiet place beside the river, but if he is seen to dally there too long, people who pass by him will begin to wonder why. Am I dismissed?” Ahmose nodded. After another bow, this time in Aahmes-nefertari’s direction, Mereruka went out. To Ahmose it seemed that but for his words he had never been there.

  “What a remarkable man!” Ahmose commented rather uncomfortably. “Where does he come from?” Aahmesnefertari had walked to the table and was now facing him, her gown still pulled closed under her chin.

  “I heard about him from Uni who heard about him from one of the kitchen servants,” she replied. “He was living in Weset with his wife and son and working for a merchant who had hired him to gather information regarding the business dealings of other merchants. It seems that often the largest bribes obtain the richest trade agreements and his master wanted to know what the others of his profession were offering.” She smiled coldly. “But what attracted my interest was the fact that although he had become somewhat notorious among the servants of the various households no one could accurately describe his appearance or his habits. Ahmose, what are you going to do?”

  “Discipline Esna and Pi-Hathor of course.” He shouted for Akhtoy, then turned back to her. “I must teach them a lesson, Aahmes-nefertari. Kamose was uncharacteristically kind to them compared to his treatment of many other towns in Egypt and they have repaid his magnanimity with treachery.”

  “They are impoverished and wretched,” she interposed. He raised his eyebrows.
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  “Are you defending them? Most of them are Setiu, remember. They could have sent their mayors and delegations here to me to explain their plight and ask for help. I would have done my best for them, Aahmes-nefertari, you know that. But no. Like all Setiu they have behaved in a perfidious and bloody way. Their blithe disregard for any consequence to their actions is an insult to me. I will not have it!” Akhtoy had entered and was waiting impassively. “Get Abana out of his bed and send him to me,” he ordered, “and detain the spy. Wake up the kitchen staff. They might as well provide us with hot food. I do not think we will be sleeping tonight.”

  When Ahmose Abana bowed his way in, seemingly as alert and clear-eyed as ever in spite of his disordered hair and crookedly tied kilt, Ahmose told him what the spy had said. “You are to go south to Nekheb,” he commanded. “You should have little trouble as you pass Esna and Pi-Hathor. They are on the west bank of the Nile and Nekheb is on the east. In fact you can travel that far with the spy. I will give you both an escort. Bring three of the ships that were sent down for repairs after the battle outside Het-Uart. That should be enough to deal with the barricade, whatever it is. You can take a look at it as you go. I will march south with a thousand men from the Division of Amun. It will take me no more than a day to reach Pi-Hathor. It is only eighteen miles from Weset. How soon before you can bring the ships?” Abana was calculating, eyes narrowed.

  “Eighteen to Pi-Hathor, four to Esna, a further twenty-two to Nekheb,” he murmured. “Forty-four miles on foot. Three days if all goes well. Then a further day to round up sailors and such soldiers as will be necessary for this little undertaking.” His tone was caustic. “Moving with the current, the river being full and still fast, I should come in sight of Esna in a further day or less.”

  “Good. Then in five days I will fall upon Pi-Hathor and then meet you somewhere close by. Akhtoy will introduce you to Mereruka.” When Abana had left the room, he collapsed into his chair. “Oh damn them, Aahmes-nefertari!” he complained. “I had hoped that the last killing I would have to do would be in Het-Uart!”