“Tani,” he choked. “Tani. Tani. You have grown up. I hardly knew you. How beautiful you have become!” She was laughing and crying, hugging him, patting his back, babbling unintelligibly, but he was still incapable of speech, so full was his heart. For a long time they clung together. When finally he set her away, she turned to Ramose. He had been waiting stiffly, arms at his sides, but now she lifted them gently by the wrists, looking into his tense face.
“And you, Ramose. You lived. You lived! After you left here, there was no more news of you. I was forced to presume that Kethuna had put you in the forefront of the battle and you were dead.” He twisted his hands, and taking hers he kissed them before letting them drop.
“He intended me to die but he was thwarted,” he replied huskily. “Kethuna perished.”
“I am so glad.” She was reaching for her brother again, her fingers brushing his and then closing around them. “Tell me everything, Ahmose. How is Mother? Is Grandmother still alive? And Kamose? Is he here in the palace with you or down by the river with the troops?”
She knows nothing, he realized as he allowed her to lead him to a chair. We at least knew that she had survived and indeed been treated with every courtesy, but what must it have been like for her, with only the phantasms of her imagination for a herald? He sat and she lowered herself opposite him. “Ramose, come here beside me,” she called. Obediently he pulled up another chair and joined her, but her attention had returned to Ahmose. “So Kamose is the Horus of Gold, the champion of Ma’at,” she went on, the catch of a sob in her throat. “He is the victor. No one in Het-Uart believed it was possible.”
He found his voice then, and with her eyes fixed on him in an eagerness that quickly became horror he told her of the rebellion of the Princes, his wounding and Kamose’s murder, the death of his and Aahmes-nefertari’s children. He did not speak of his campaigns, the planning of the sieges, Pezedkhu’s defeat at Abana’s hands. She had been an observer of those things, although from a very different view. When he had finished, she sat bowed in her chair as though threatened, her body straining away from the shock of his words. “The Princes conceived that evil plot, Ahmose, not Apepa. Not him!” she insisted, her voice breaking. “He would have encouraged insurrection but not murder! Oh, Kamose, beloved!”
“Why not?” Ahmose snapped, unimpressed by her grief, his former sympathy evaporating. “He commanded the attack that left our father half-mute and paralyzed. Why stop there?” Tani straightened. Her face was flushed. She clapped softly and a servant appeared from the inner room and bowed. “Heket!” Ahmose exclaimed. “So you are still attending my sister.”
“I am,” the woman said promptly. “And I hope you can persuade her to go home now, Prince. I miss the desert and my family.” She knows nothing either, Ahmose told himself with a fleeting sense of impotence. Both of them have been existing in the bubble of time Apepa created here in Het-Uart while outside the whole of Egypt has changed.
“Of course she will go home now!” Ramose cut in loudly. “It is all over. She is no longer a hostage. She is free.” But Tani was shaking her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“Bring wine and cups, Heket,” she ordered. “There should be a flagon left, on the table by my couch. No, Ramose,” she went on miserably. “It is not so. I made a promise to my husband.”
“What do you mean?” he demanded. “What promise? Tani, the usurper has gone. All you need to do is have Heket pack up your belongings, get on a ship, and sail upstream to Weset! Or better still, to Khemmenu, where we will sign a marriage contract and you will enter my house as my wife at last!” His voice had risen. He was clenching his fists against his knees and leaning over them as though in pain. Ahmose made a motion to stop his flow of increasingly vehement words.
“What is it, Tani?” he said sharply. Her lips had begun to quiver.
“He wanted me to go with him,” she half-whispered. “Uazet, His Chief Wife, and his sons, and several of his other wives, they all went. But I begged to be allowed to stay in the city so that I might see you again, Ahmose, and Kamose. He gave in, but he made me swear an oath before my Amun shrine that I would not tell you where he has gone. As for marriage …” She swung round to Ramose, her mouth working so uncontrollably that her words became slurred. “I am already married. I have a husband. I signed a contract with him.” Ramose sprang from his chair and stood before her, hands on his hips. He too was shaking, but Ahmose, watching him, had the immediate intuition that the anger consuming him owed nothing to love or bewilderment. It was the pure rage of frustration.
“You are under no obligation to that man!” he shouted. “He tore your family apart! He made you a prisoner here! He seduced you in order to cause Kamose the greatest possible agony! You do not belong to him by any law of decency Ma’at decrees! You belong to me!” She put her face in her hands and began to rock back and forth.
“I am his wife!” she sobbed. “He is my husband! He has dealt honourably with me! I cannot desert him now that he has lost everything!” Ahmose, horrified, put a hand on her hot spine. His touch immediately stilled her and she looked up. “Ramose, I cannot marry you,” she said almost incoherently, stumbling over her words. “I was not forced to sign that contract. I was not threatened. I set down my name and title of my own volition.” He bent slowly until his face came level with her own. For a long moment he searched her eyes, then he straightened up.
“You love him,” he said dully. “I can see it but I cannot believe it. You love that abomination. Then curse you, Queen Tautha. You deserve each other.” He spun on his heel, strode to the doors, wrenched them open, and was gone.
Tani drew a shuddering breath. Heket, who had been waiting dumbfounded, came forward, setting out the cups and pouring wine. Tani lifted hers and drank quickly, both hands around the stem of the goblet. Ahmose did not move. “Is it true?” he asked her tonelessly. She nodded.
“Yes. Oh forgive me, Ahmose, and try to understand! I came to Het-Uart as little more than a child, terrified and alone, adoring Ramose, missing my family, and when I heard that Kamose had begun a new revolt I was sure that Apepa would execute me for his disobedience. But I was wrong.” She took another gulp of the wine then put it on the low table and pushed the cup away. “He was gentle and kind. He talked to me, gave me gifts, told me that he admired the Taos for their courage even though he was forced to fight them for their treason. He knew my confusion. He was so patient.” She rubbed both wet cheeks, then sat staring at her hands. She would not look at Ahmose. “I did not fall in love with him as I did with Ramose,” she went on in a low voice. “That love was fierce and all-consuming and when it died, as first love often does, it left an echo that brings me a small ache even now.” She smiled wanly. “My love for Apepa grew slowly. It is a solid and lasting emotion, Ahmose. I will not excuse it.”
“We expected the child who left us to return a child,” Ahmose responded woodenly. “It was a cruel and unreal hope. Perhaps you are not to blame. We have both loved and hated you since the news that you had married our enemy, but I see now that you did not deserve our hate. You managed to do more than just survive here and for that I am proud of you.” She turned to him and he took her face between his palms. “Ramose does not know it yet but he does not really love you any more,” he went on carefully. “He turned his love into a continuing fantasy so that he could retain his sanity through the dreadful bereavements he has had to endure. Now perhaps he will taste true freedom for the first time since Father agreed to let him court you officially. And you, Tani, are also free. You can go home.” She pulled away from him.
“No,” she said more strongly. “No, Ahmose. I do not want to see Weset again. I want to go to my husband.”
“Where is he?”
“I already said I cannot tell you. I made a vow.” Ahmose got out of the chair.
“Tani, I must find him, surely you see that!” he protested. “He cannot be left to raise a new army and try to recapture the Delta! I will neve
r sleep soundly again if he is left to roam Rethennu!” An expression of obstinacy crossed her features. Ahmose recognized it from her younger days and it gave him a pang of almost unbearable loss.
“What would you think if Aahmes-nefertari betrayed you in such a manner?” she asked. “Especially if she had sworn to you that she would not.”
“But, Tani, your silence is traitorous, can’t you see that?” he urged. “Apepa is an enemy of Egypt and if you aid him in this way, even indirectly by your silence, you are guilty of treason.”
“Then you will have to execute me,” she said resolutely. She rose also, folding her arms. “Not only did I give my word but I swore by Amun. It is a binding vow. If I break it, I am in danger of an unfavourable weighing when my ka enters the Judgement Hall and stands before the scales.” Her stubborn chin came up. “You must do with me what you will.” He pursed his lips and surveyed her.
“You don’t want to tell me, do you?” he said. “You really do love him.” She did not respond. He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture of futility. “I cannot release you to wander off alone in the direction of Rethennu, although I suppose I could have you followed,” he said, half-talking to himself. “Nor can you stay here. All I can do is put you in my tent and have you guarded so that you do not run away. Oh, Tani,” he finished bitterly. “You would run away, wouldn’t you?” She pursed her lips and her head sank. Ahmose deliberated for a moment before turning to the servant. “Heket!” he ordered. “Gather your mistress’s possessions together and I will send someone to take them down to my camp. Tani, come with me.” Without another word she walked to her cloak, picked it up, and wrapping it once more around her shoulders she went to the door.
Outside Ahmose collected the two soldiers and with Tani leading the way they made their way through the empty palace. Tani remained silent and Ahmose, his eyes on the coloured tassels of her cloak dragging along the floor at her heels as he paced behind her, wondered what she was thinking. He had become lost at once, but she strode on confidently through the dark, tortuous corridors, one hand brushing a wall, her leather boots making no sound.
Some time later Ahmose glimpsed light ahead and almost at once Tani moved to one side. Sebek-khu, Ankhmahor and the Followers were coming, haloed in the harsh glare of a torch. Ankhmahor was carrying a large box. Bowing briefly, Sebek-khu wasted no words. “The Horus Throne has gone, Majesty,” he said. “Also the Royal Regalia. We have searched for them as well as we could but found nothing.” Tani stepped forward.
“You will seek in vain,” she said. “My husband has taken the Throne and the Regalia with him, disguised in one of the carts. It is a small revenge, I think.”
“A small revenge?” Ahmose spat. “The seat of the Divine and the symbols of his power and mercy? What in Amun’s name is wrong with you, Tani?” He made himself become calm. “General, Prince, this is my sister, the Queen Tautha, wife to Apepa.” Their eyes widened in astonishment and then a swift, commiserating pity as he had known they would. He felt sick, and dirty to the marrow of his soul. “Ankhmahor, what do you have there?” he enquired through clenched teeth. Ankhmahor passed him the box.
“It was sitting on the dais in the great reception hall where I presume the Horus Throne had been placed,” Ankhmahor told him. He lifted the lid.
It was a bulbous headdress of starched deep blue linen that swept out in two flanges above the ears and was covered in small golden discs. Ahmose pulled it up into the light. Two ribbons, also blue, trailed from its rear. In the centre of the supporting band of gold that would rest on the forehead there was an empty notch. Ahmose fingered it cautiously. “What is this?” he said.
“It is a Setiu crown,” Tani answered him. “Apepa wore it often. He left it for you as a tribute to your victory over him.” Ahmose at once tossed it back in its chest. He wanted to rip it apart and grind its tatters under his feet as he had done to Apepa’s seal, but he knew that he must not lose the last shreds of his self-control. The desire to start mindlessly killing would then become too strong.
“It is no tribute,” he said thickly. “It is an insult. He takes the hedjet, the deshret, the heka and the nekhaka, Egypt’s most sacred royal possessions, and substitutes a piece of Setiu blasphemy. I suppose that he set the Holy Uraeus in the notch whenever he pleased, but of course that belongs with the Double Crown. He would not leave that behind.” He thrust the box back at Ankhmahor. “Take it down to my tent, and Queen Tautha too,” he commanded. “Detail some of the Followers to guard her. She is not to leave it. Tell Akhtoy to set up a couch for her.” Tani put a tentative hand on his arm but he shook it off. “I will find him if it takes me the rest of my life,” he said bitterly. “The thief must be made to return the valuables he took before I punish him.” Ankhmahor bowed and hesitated and Tani correctly interpreted his look. Before he could touch her, she pushed past him, and he and his men followed her into the dimness.
“We are close to the throne room, Majesty,” Sebek-khu said. “Come and rest for a while.”
I feel as though I have never slept and will not do so again, Ahmose thought as he allowed his General to lead the way. How can such a triumph be mingled with such grief?
A few soldiers with candles in their hands were wandering about the room as Ahmose entered, their voices echoing against the unseen ceiling high above. But Ahmose’s gaze was drawn to the naked dais and the row of pillars beyond it where the sky could be seen. The stars were beginning to pale. He went to the steps leading up to the platform and lowered himself, letting his muscles relax. “What a night it has been, Majesty!” Sebek-khu commented. “I still cannot quite believe that the siege is over.”
“I had hoped that it would all be over, everything neatly tied,” Ahmose murmured. “But it is not so. Must I mount a full invasion of Rethennu to put an end to this whole unhappy story, Sebek-khu? What does Amun desire? I wish I knew.”
He heard the commotion before he saw its cause, a din of excited voices coming nearer and finally bursting through the doorway in a blaze of lighted torches. Abana came striding over the tiled floor, Pezedkhu’s ring glinting on the gold chain about his neck, his cousin Zaa trotting beside him and a gaggle of sailors behind them, who were surrounding a man and three women. Their hands were tied before them. The youngest woman looked terrified. She was panting and crying.
“Majesty, I have news!” Abana was shouting even before he had come up to Ahmose and made his reverence. “These Setiu are my prisoners!” Ahmose remembered his order to have any Setiu still in the vicinity of the city detained, but one glance showed him that the man with the untidy beard and sullen expression was not Apepa. Prince Abana’s eyes were dancing in the orange flames held by his subordinates. Ahmose did not get up.
“Tell me then,” he said.
“You had sent for me,” Abana began with a flourish. “And I had received the command your Chief Herald was passing to every officer. Thus I deduced that Apepa was not to be found in the palace. But before I could answer your summons, I was forced to deal with a matter of some confusion. My sailors had been sleeping ashore, as you had so graciously permitted, and the ships were unmanned save for two sentries on each. We were unprepared for the sudden opening of the gates and the flood of humanity that followed. I confess that for once I and my men were taken by surprise.” He paused, looking suitably but entirely falsely crestfallen. “The North under Captain Qar had been berthed almost exactly opposite the Royal Entrance Gate and I myself was not far away. Both Qar and I were sleeping on the northern bank of the tributary. By the time I woke, the first mighty wave of citizens had flowed across the bridge the men of Montu had flung down and was spreading out beside the water, in reach of the ships’ ramps.”
“Admiral, you have missed your calling,” Ahmose broke in, amused in spite of himself. “You should have been a village storyteller.”
“Majesty, you offend me,” Abana rejoined airily. “It is necessary to set the scene for you. May I continue?”
“If you mus
t.” Ahmose had begun to smile.
“There was such a press of running, weeping people that neither Qar nor I nor any of your captains could see at first what was happening. You had decreed that the Setiu should be allowed to go away unmolested. They did not seem interested in the vessels. They were disappearing into the fields and orchards. But by the time their ranks had thinned, Qar realized that the North had gone.” Ahmose sat up, suddenly alert. “The bodies of the two men left on watch had floated to the bank. There was no sign of the North anywhere. Qar is not to blame,” Abana insisted earnestly. “There was so much chaos, and it was very dark. I realized at once what had happened. Apepa and his guards and perhaps his family had disguised themselves as peasants, slipped onto the North, and rowed away under cover of the exodus Apepa himself had engineered.” His voice held genuine admiration. “It was a bold scheme.”
“Certainly, if it is true.” Ahmose had risen, all weariness falling from him.
“Oh it is true,” Abana assured him proudly. “At that time the word to detain the Setiu had come. Zaa and I caught these three suspicious fish. One look at their soft hands and pale skin convinced me that they were no more peasants than I am. Furthermore, they are very bad liars. This man,” he reached behind him and pulled his prisoner forward by the rope around his wrists, “this man tried to pretend that he was a merchant but he had traces of henna on his palms. Zaa and I took them aboard the Kha-em-Mennofer. We upturned the pretty little one and hung her over the side. Zaa took one leg and I took the other. It was quite a view!” He grinned. “By the time she had finished screaming and her sister and mother had finished begging us not to drown her, her father had told us everything.” He bowed. “Majesty, behold Yamusa, Herald to Apepa. His Master is on his way to the city fort of Sharuhen in Rethennu, together with Chief Wife Uazet, Chief Scribe Yku-didi, royal sons Apepa and Kypenpen, and others of the royal brood. Unfortunately I think it is too late to catch them before they reach their destination. They will have headed straight out into the Great Green, turned east along the coast, and I believe that Sharuhen is a very short way inland.” Ahmose walked straight up to him and briefly pulled him close.
The Horus Road Page 37
