He woke to eat at sunset with the pulse in his head reduced to a dull ache, then slept again. There was nothing to do, no orders to give, no change in his army’s deployment. Akhtoy told him the next morning that Tani had come to his tent, been told that he was not well, and had gone away again. Ahmose was glad that he had been unconscious at the time. He did not want to talk to his sister any more, to sit with her in an atmosphere of awkwardness and hidden anger, to see her eyes slide away from his at the introduction of any remark other than the lightest observation. The poppy had left him with a slight nausea. He refused the first meal but drank some beer, had Hekayib dress him in the same sumptuous clothes he had worn the day before, and ventured out into the freshness of the early air.
Khabekhnet and Ankhmahor were squatting on the ground deep in conversation and Mesehti was sitting on the edge of Ahmose’s chariot, legs swinging, face turned into the morning breeze. All three straightened at his approach. “We will take up our station beneath the southern gate and we will stay there until Ra stands overhead or Sharuhen gives us an answer,” he told them as he stepped into the vehicle. He nodded at Khabekhnet who climbed in behind him, and once more they rolled towards the fort, coming to a halt almost at the gate. This time the wall was deserted. The citizens have been ordered to stay away from the summit, Ahmose surmised. Not to spare us the indignity of hours of abuse but to lengthen every minute we wait here in heat and silence. They will make no counter until the afternoon comes. Someone is watching us although we cannot see him, a sentry directed to record every bead of sweat, every shift of weight from one weary foot to the other, every sigh, until the commander deigns to appear. He settled his hip against the wicker frame of the chariot and closed his eyes, deliberately imagining himself sitting on his watersteps at Weset with the Nile running cool and shaded before him and the fishing skiff of his boyhood tugging invitingly at the pole to which it was moored.
As he had thought, the sun had travelled half the sky before there was movement on the wall above the gate. At first Ahmose and his men had talked sporadically, but before long all conversation had been sacrificed to the need to remain upright and still. Ahmose, having exhausted all visions of his home, had fallen into a grim trance when Khabekhnet leaned forward and whispered, “They are here, Majesty.” Ahmose lifted his head. The same three men had come out and were bending over the waist-high lip of stone that ran around the battlements, but this time the figure in the middle had a tall bird’s feather stuck in his headband and the one to his right lifted a horn to his mouth. The tone, when it came, was shockingly harsh and Ahmose felt his exhaustion blow away with its strident blast.
“Ahmose Tao, self-styled King of Egypt,” the man in the centre called down. “I am the hik-khase of this fortress city. My word is the law. You insolently demand the surrender of Awoserra Apepa, true ruler of Egypt whom you hounded from his country like the desert dog you are. He is here under my protection and so he will remain. I laugh at your presumption and I mock your boastful threats. Take your toy soldiers and go back to the hovel from which you came. Sharuhen will never open to such as you.” Then he was gone as quickly and quietly as he had come and Ahmose found himself staring at nothing but the rim of the wall.
“He did not even bother to tell us his name, Majesty,” Ankhmahor said in a strangled voice. “We are certainly in a country without Ma’at when the lord of a city, even an enemy, treats with another lord in so rude a fashion.”
At that moment something struck Khabekhnet on the side of the head. He cried out and raised a hand and as he did so the whole top of the wall came alive with people screaming, shouting and throwing missiles that Mesehti, bending to retrieve one that had fallen with a soft thud into the chariot, identified with a spasm of disgust.
“It is donkey dung!” he exclaimed, flinging it away and rubbing his palm on his kilt. “They are pelting us with animal excrement, Majesty!” Tightening the reins, he jerked the horses savagely around. Several Followers jumped into the chariot to shield Ahmose from the barrage and with Ankhmahor and the remainder of Ahmose’s guard they dashed out of range of the hysterical crowd.
Once safely dismounted by his tent, Ahmose told Mesehti to wait. Taking up a handful of waste he walked unsteadily to where Tani’s small tent had been pitched and wrenching up the flap he strode inside. She was standing by her cot in a loose robe, her hair falling down her back, obviously about to take her afternoon rest. Ahmose came right up to her and thrust the offending matter under her nose. “This is donkey dung, scraped off the streets of Sharuhen and showered on me when I was placed before the gate to hear the answer to my ultimatum!” he ground out. “This is the insult your fine husband and his Setiu brother commanded to be heaped on me and my nobles! These are the brutes you have chosen above your own family, above Ramose, an honourable man who loved you!” He tossed it onto the carpet at her feet. “Have Heket pack up your belongs and leave this camp at once. Mesehti will drive you to the gate. I do not want to see you any more, Tani. Your presence is an affront to every loyal Egyptian here.” She had gone pale and was beginning to tremble at this furious outpouring of his wrath. Tears slipped down her cheeks and Ahmose was too enraged to care whether they were from fear of him or shame for her husband’s race.
“Ahmose, I am so sorry …” she stammered, but a wail from Heket, cowering in a corner, cut her off.
“Majesty, I do not want to go to the Setiu! I want to go home to Weset!” she cried. Running to Tani she flung herself down. “Release me from your service, I beseech you!” She twisted towards Ahmose. “Divine One, have pity on me,” she sobbed. “I am not a slave. I have been faithful to your family, even within the stinking confines of Het-Uart. Please, let me go!” Ahmose answered before Tani could speak.
“I would not order the scruffiest cur that scavenged for food by the docks at Weset to enter that accursed place,” he said. It was a deliberate affront to his sister and she gave a strangled whimper. “Put your mistress’s possessions in order and then you are free. I will arrange passage for you on the next ship sailing to the Delta.” He stepped away from the grateful mouth that was seeking his foot. “As for you, Tani, I do not think that I wish to kiss you goodbye.”
“Ahmose, please … For the sake of our youth together …” She was weeping openly now, her neck and the front of her robe already soaked with her tears. “We must not part like this. If you send me forth without your blessing, I will be walking unprotected under the eyes of foreign gods. You may regret such withholding in the days to come.“ He spun on his heel and stalked to the tent opening, his heart so full of pain, anger and sadness that he felt it would choke him.
“My only regret is that Ramose did not strangle you when he saw what you had become,” he snarled, and pushed his way out into the warm afternoon.
He did not see her go. After a brusque word to Mesehti he shut himself up in his tent. His eyes burned, and although he washed his hands, he fancied that the stench of the donkey excrement still clung to his skin and fouled the air around him. He sat in his chair, and after a long time he heard his chariot’s harness rattle as Mesehti drove her away. He was still sprawled in the same position when his charioteer returned to tell him that the gate had opened for her and a small contingent of soldiers had hurried out to pick up her belongings and usher her quickly inside.
The evening was warm and Ahmose was eating his meal just beyond the door to his tent so that he could enjoy its unusual softness when Ipi came up to him and bowed. The Chief Scribe had a scroll in his hand. “From Weset, Majesty,” he said. “The herald saw me as he was crossing to you. He will rest and then present himself to you for a reply.” Ahmose nodded and pushed his plate away.
“Read it to me,” he ordered. Ipi sank to the earth at once and broke the seal.
“It is from your esteemed mother,” he said, unrolling it and peering at the characters in the fading light. “‘My greetings to you, Ahmose, Lord of All Life. Know that on the twelfth day of Mekhir your wife g
ave birth to a daughter. Aahmes-nefertari has recovered well but the baby is thin. She vomits back her nurse’s milk and cries a great deal. I have obtained goat’s milk for her which she seems able to retain a little longer than the other but the physician’s prediction for her survival is not good. Neither is the name chosen for her by the astrologers. I have waited to dictate this to you so that I could include it. Also I had hoped that Aahmes-nefertari would give you this news herself but she refuses to communicate with you. She has seemed very melancholy since Tetisheri and I returned from Djeb and I fear for her health also.
“‘The astrologers insist that the baby be called Sat-Kamose. Aahmes-nefertari received their decision with an apathy that is quite unlike her, but I and your grandmother were angry. We sent the men back to the temple to cast the horoscope again and I questioned High Priest Amunmose regarding their qualifications, all to no avail. The astrologers are knowledgeable, seasoned priests. They did recast the baby’s horoscope but they refuse to seek another name. I believe that your distress at this tragedy will be as deep as mine. If it is, I entreat you to come home. I gather from your last missive that you have settled into yet another siege; therefore it should be possible for you to leave your generals in charge of the army for a while. If you cannot leave Sharuhen for your daughter, perhaps you should do so for your wife.’” Ipi looked up. “That is all, Your Majesty. Apart from the Queen’s titles and signature of course.” Ahmose met his eye. Sympathy and concern were there behind the good servant’s expression of politeness.
“Thank you, Ipi,” he managed. “I will send a reply tomorrow.” His tone was dismissive. Ipi retrieved his palette from beside his knee, got up, bowed, and disappeared into the gathering dusk. “Clear away this mess and then leave me,” Ahmose said to Akhtoy, and rising himself on legs gone suddenly weak he took the few steps back into his tent, pulling the flap closed behind him.
Hekayib had lit a lamp while Ahmose was eating. Ahmose stood staring into its alabaster radiance, unable to go any further. Oh gods, poor child, poor Aahmes-nefertari, he thought incoherently. The Seer warned me, he was emphatic, “death” he said, but somehow I had hoped that this time there would be a reprieve. Sat Kamose. The two words rang through his brain and reverberated in his heart like a funeral dirge. Sat Kamose, one a name that belonged to a murdered man, the other owned by a goddess who stood at the portal to the Underworld and poured the water of purification over the deceased. She was doomed even before her birth, his thoughts ran on. Marked for Osiris in her mother’s womb. And what of Aahmes-nefertari?
He moved woodenly to his Amun shrine, opened its doors, and sank to the floor before the delicate golden image of Weset’s totem, but he found that he could not pray. His mind was too fractured. Aahotep’s letter had held a note of criticism as well as concern, he realized. “Should” and “entreat” she had said. It was true that nothing would be gained by his presence here. The monotonous routine of the siege would continue without him. Heralds would keep him informed of any changes in the situation. He did not anticipate a swift conclusion to the problem of Sharuhen. But terrible changes were taking place at home without him, events that would slide into the past weeks before their pain struck at him. This time you must be by Aahmesnefertari’s side when that baby dies, his heart whispered. This time you must not fail her, for if you do, she will be lost to you for ever. At last he was able to get up onto his knees. Closing his eyes and raising his hands, he begged his god to stand between Sat-Kamose and the Judgement Hall until he was able to hold her just once as a living child.
Summoning Akhtoy, he gave orders that his chests should be packed. He sent to Mesehti at the stables to have his chariot ready just after dawn and he told Ankhmahor to prepare the Followers to leave for Weset. Ipi and Khabekhnet were also warned. The herald who had brought Aahotep’s scroll was dispatched at once to the Delta with a request to Paheri to have a swift ship waiting with double the usual complement of rowers so that there would be no need to stop anywhere along the Nile. When Akhtoy had closed up the last chest, Ahmose went to bed, lying on his cot in the denuded tent while the need for haste continued to grow in him, a lump of stone more forbidding than the blocks that kept him from Apepa.
By the time the sun rose, he was fed and dressed. Leaving the horse-drawn carts containing his servants and his goods, he had Mesehti drive him to where the Division of Amun was already drilling, the soldiers’ kilts swirling as they marched, the tips of their spears glinting red, the brisk commands of the officers carrying clearly in the cold, early morning air. Turi was watching critically from the small dais that had been set up beside the parade ground. When he saw Ahmose dismount and come towards him, he jumped down and bowed. “Majesty, I did not expect to see you today!” he exclaimed. “Have you come to personally put the division through its paces?” Ahmose shook his head.
“No. I have received word that my daughter is born but she is dying. I must go home.” Turi put out a gloved hand.
“Oh, Ahmose, I am sorry,” he said. “Tell Aahmesnefertari how sorry I am.” There was no formality in Turi’s words. He had known the family for a long time. Ahmose smiled briefly.
“I am Commander-in-Chief but you are the General commanding my pre-eminent division,” he said. “I want you to take my place while I am gone. You have my authority to make whatever decisions are necessary regarding the efficiency and well-being of the army, Turi. The water supply has been dealt with. Consult often with Abana. Give the Keftians anything they desire within reason. I expect regular reports, but I don’t suppose they will contain anything new. Detail soldiers to hunt at the foot of the mountains. They might as well occupy themselves in providing whatever fresh meat they can find. But impress on them the need to stay away from the tribes. I want no battle front opening on our eastern flank.” He took a deep breath. “I will return when I may, but not until I am sure that Aahmes-nefertari does not need me.”
“I understand. How will you travel?”
“By chariot as far as Het-Uart and then by boat. It might be faster to board one of the water carriers at the Great Green, but I should inspect the runners I have positioned along the land route into Egypt as I go. Meet with the other generals every week, Turi. The mood of a besieging army can become downcast very quickly. I think that is all, unless you have a query.” On impulse he embraced his friend. Turi hugged him unselfconsciously before bending to kiss his hand.
“May the soles of your feet be firm, Majesty,” he said. “Do not worry about Sharuhen. Greet your mother for me.” There was nothing left to say, but Ahmose was suddenly reluctant to go. For a moment he scanned the wheeling ranks of his troops, now brilliantly lit under a fully risen sun. You would be proud to see how these peasants have been transformed into soldiers, Kamose, he thought, and mounting his chariot he spoke a word to Mesehti and began the long journey back into Egypt.
15
AHMOSE REACHED HET-UART in eight days, having satisfied himself that the stations of runners he had positioned along the land route into Egypt were secure and efficient. He paused briefly to consult with Generals Iymery and Neferseshemptah whose troops were manning the Wall of Princes and patrolling the eastern Delta, pleased to see peace and order growing everywhere in the newly sown fields and dense orchards surrounding the villages. Het-Uart itself was a hive of industry. The walls of both mounds already resembled the crumbled ruins of some ancient monument, although they would not be completely demolished for several months, and of the palace there was scarcely any sign save for a huge area of scorched red earth, a few blackened trees and the wall built by Ahmose’s ancestor Senwasret, standing proudly and now pointlessly between the vanished building and the road to the Royal Entrance Gate.
Many citizens had crept back, but the majority of mud houses were occupied by the soldiers of the Montu Division. Khety’s Horus troops had similarly drifted into abandoned homes on the northern mound. Ahmose noted the strategic advantage of the city for both trade and as a military base for any incurs
ion he might choose to make into Rethennu in the future. I shall build a new, fortified palace on the site of the old one, he decided. Not as my capital of course. Weset will remain the centre of Egyptian administrative power. But Het-Uart will serve as my northern bastion.
Three ships were waiting to take him and his entourage south and it was with a feeling of both apprehension and relief that he boarded the North, Abana’s old command, with Ankhmahor, Ipi and Khabekhnet, greeted captain Qar, and leaned on the rail to watch the other two craft being loaded. He had spoken to Paheri and Baba Abana, who were engaged in co-ordinating the convoys of water for the troops at Sharuhen from the Delta end. He had made a brief inspection of both his naval and divisional officers. There was nothing left to do but wait for Qar to shout the order to cast off.
The journey to Weset that ordinarily would have taken at least a month was accomplished in a little over half that time. Paheri had provided two teams of rowers and, while Ahmose slept, the North continued to beat its way slowly south. Khemmenu was approximately halfway between Het-Uart and Weset and Ahmose was tempted to put in there. He missed Ramose and he was curious to see the Setiu girl, Hat-Anath, framed against the setting of Teti’s old house, but overriding his inquisitiveness was a growing sense of urgency and he resisted the temptation.
In the middle of a bright late spring morning the North rounded the long, sweeping curve that heralded the approach to Weset, and with a mixture of excitement and inner cringing Ahmose saw the familiar sprawl of closely packed houses along the bank beyond the river path dappled in the shade of the palms and sycamores that meandered throughout his town. Amun’s temple rose warmly beige above its own sheltering trees. As the ship beat ponderously towards the eastern bank, his watersteps drew nearer, with the old palace bulking grey above the high new wall encircling the whole estate and a little farther along, the closed and guarded gate to his garden. Qar issued a flurry of orders. The oars were lifted in unison from the water and the North drifted gracefully to bump gently against its mooring poles. Sailors picked up the ramp and prepared to run it out. Ahmose was home.
The Horus Road Page 41
