All at once Apepa’s eyes opened. He was panting rapidly, each outward breath a whimper, but he was struggling to speak. Slowly he focused on Ahmose. In spite of Ahmose’s revulsion he bent lower, seeing Tani grasp her husband’s hand on the edge of his vision. “Ahmose Tao,” Apepa whispered. “Little did I know on that day when you stood before me in Weset what forces of bitterness and desperate obstinacy I was releasing with the pronouncement of my sentence against you and your family. I have paid dearly for my blindness.”
“So did my father and my brother, Awoserra Apepa,” Ahmose replied. “So did a great many Egyptians. It has been a bloody and vicious few years.”
“And now you are King. I underestimated both your pride and your perseverance. My gods have deserted me. They have left me to die in your tent like an unwanted beast. I fled to Sharuhen but I am back in Egypt. I am back in Egypt!” His voice trailed away into a series of cries and mumbles and his eyes rolled back in his head. Ahmose straightened.
“Give him the poppy if he can swallow it,” he ordered. The assistant was behind him with the bowl. Ahmose stepped away. He did not think that his stomach would allow him to watch the maggots being caught without rebelling in disgust. Holding his breath, he left the tent.
Turi and his soldiers were still clustered protectively around the second litter. Ahmose strode to it, taking in deep breaths of the warm, unscented air as he went. He nodded once and the curtains were pulled open. The red light of the westering sun struck the Horus Throne, turning its gold to fire. A ripple of amazement ran through the men. Some of them knelt. “Lift it out,” Ahmose ordered. Several soldiers raised it gingerly, set it on the ground, and hastily stepped away. Two boxes lay on its seat. Ahmose hesitated before exposing their contents, then gathering his courage he opened the first. The Double Crown lay beneath his gaze, the smooth, conical white hedjet of Upper Egypt glowing a delicate pink with the red deshret beside it. He touched them reverently.
“It is the pshent,” Turi exclaimed in awe. Ahmose could not answer. His heart was too full. Lovingly he opened the second. Banded in gold and lapis the heka and the nekhakha nestled in their beds, bathed in Ra’s scarlet glory. Scarcely able to believe that they were there before him, Ahmose traced their shapes with one adoring finger.
“The Crook of Mercy and the Flail of Justice,” he breathed. “Amun, I thank you for these gifts though they come in the midst of pain and death. I pray that I may always be worthy to wield them, remembering that though I am your Incarnation I myself am but a servant of Ma’at.”
He did not sit on the Throne. The temptation never crossed his mind. It was neither the time nor the place and the beautiful chair itself seemed to forbid him to do so. But hungrily he scrutinized every intricate detail: the turquoise and lapis wings of Isis and Neith on the gold of its sides where the goddesses raised their arms to protect and enfold the King, the backrest of finely tooled gold inlaid with jasper and carnelian made into the likeness of the stool of wealth and the staff of eternity from which many ankhs hung, the mighty Eye of Horus at the rear and the snarling lions’ muzzles on which his hands would lie. “Turi,” he called, his voice thick with emotion. “Have these things packed securely and escorted to Weset with a suitable number of troops to guard them. See me when you are ready to go. I will dictate a scroll to the Queen to go with them.” He thought of the room in the new palace where the Throne would sit on its lordly dais, its aura of power and splendour filling the awesome space, the light of dozens of lamps sparkling in the traceries of pyrite on the lapis floor and being magnified by the golden walls. He could not quite believe that all the symbols of his kingship were here, sitting on the uneven gravel of a foreign desert, exuding a dignity that rendered their poor setting completely insignificant. For some minutes he simply stared at them, unwilling to move out of the circle of their mute influence, and he stumbled when finally he turned away and took the few steps into his tent.
Suddenly hungry, he asked Akhtoy to bring him food, and he had just finished his meal when the physician was announced, a faint odour of decay wafting with him. The man bowed. “The patient has fallen into a coma,” he told Ahmose. “He will not wake again, I think. I could not help him, Majesty. I am sorry.”
“Stay with him though and have more poppy ready in case he does become conscious,” Ahmose said. “I promised Queen Tautha that he would be cared for until he dies.” The physician heard the hint of a query in his words.
“I will be very surprised if he survives until dawn,” he offered. “He is rotting even before his ka leaves his body. He does not look strong but he has a great determination to live.”
“That is strange considering he has lost everything.” Ahmose paused. “Thank you. You are dismissed. Send the Queen to me.”
It was some time before Tani was admitted. Dusk was falling and Hekayib had trimmed and lit the lamp, removed Ahmose’s sandals and kilt, and helped him into a sleeveless tunic before taking up his post outside. Ahmose saw her approach him with a concern which he hid. She looked exhausted, her eyes hollowed, her lips pale. “Come and sit,” he said. “You need sleep, Tani. Are you hungry? Let me pour you some wine.” She found a chair, took the cup from him listlessly and sat staring into the depths of the liquid as though she was not sure what it was.
“The physician told me that he will be dead by morning,” she said tonelessly. “I am bereft, Ahmose. Without him I am utterly adrift. To the Setiu I am an Egyptian foreigner and to Egyptians I am a woman who has relinquished her birthright. He loved and protected me. What can I do now?” He eyed her cautiously. She was not usually given to self-pity.
“What do you want to do?” he asked noncommittally. “I presumed that you would take his body back inside Sharuhen and rejoin his family there.” Her head shot up.
“Take him back inside Sharuhen?” she repeated as though he had said something insane. “But, Ahmose, he must have a fully royal Egyptian burial!”
“What?” He set his cup down on the table with such force that the wine slopped over his hand. Roughly he shook off the drops. “Will you add blasphemy to your foolishness, Tani? The man not only came from a long line of usurpers but he was Setiu. A foreigner. Let his own people burn him or dig a hole for him or whatever the inhabitants of Rethennu do with their corpses. What is the matter with you? Have you lost your wits?” He had spoken as though Apepa were dead already, and Tani’s mouth set in a thin line.
“You have no choice,” she said calmly. “If you refuse him a royal interment, you will be casting doubt upon your own divinity.”
“How so?” He wiped his fingers on his tunic with quick, fierce movements. If grief is poisoning her mind, she will come under the special protection of the gods, he was thinking. As a madwoman her person will be sacrosanct and I can take her home and end this absurdity. Everyone at Weset will pity her for living among the Setiu so long that she has become unhinged. Oh, Tani, to see you sitting laughing on the verge of the pool with your bare feet dangling among the waterlilies and Ahmose-onkh beside you! She had taken a judicious sip of her own wine and he noticed critically that her hand was trembling.
“It is like this,” she went on. “You are a King by right of lineage, are you not?” He nodded. “And I am a fully royal Princess. The right of legitimization passes through the female blood, not the male, Ahmose. You married Aahmesnefertari, also a fully royal Princess. You had to in order to become eligible for divinity. Apepa married me. That made him a fully royal Egyptian King.” Rage boiled up in him and he clenched his fists.
“How dare you suggest that Apepa had any claim upon the throne of Egypt at all!” he shouted. “I wait for Amun to strike you dumb! Does all that the family has been through mean nothing to you? When did your Egyptian soul desert you in shame and leave a Setiu ka to slither into its place?”
“He was not so until he married me,” she said loudly, emphatically, cutting across the explosion of his anger. “But as soon as I signed that contract, Apepa became a rightful K
ing of Egypt. If you refuse him the full honours due to such a King, you will be calling your own legitimacy into doubt.” Ahmose sat back. All at once he had gone cold.
“You whore,” he whispered. “I see the logic in your argument but it is evil, perverse.” Her face puckered but she did not cry. “I will do anything to ensure that his ka is not annihilated,” she said passionately. “He is a good man, Ahmose. A kind man. If the Setiu bury him, our gods will not recognize or acknowledge him, and that I could not bear! I want him to reach the fields of Osiris and sit under the sycamore tree in peace for all eternity! I am ruthless in this desire!”
A soft tongue of admiration licked him briefly. She may be Setiu but the blood of her stubborn grandmother surges through her veins, he thought. And she is right. To fling Apepa onto a dung heap somewhere is to deny her royalty and my divinity. Damn you, Tani!
“He cannot be beautified,” he reminded her crisply. “There is no House of the Dead here, no sem-priests, no natron enough for embalming. He rots even as he dies, and when he dies the process of putrefaction will be swift.”
She answered him eagerly, obviously sensing victory. “He can be packed in sand and transported quickly to Het-Uart,” she urged. “There is a House of the Dead in the city, built for the Egyptians who lived within its walls. Surely the sem-priests are still there! They could do something, and then I could lay him in the tomb outside Het-Uart with his ancestors.”
The irony was not lost on Ahmose. Moodily he tipped more wine into his cup.
“Supposing that I agree to this … this travesty,” he said. “I will allow you to travel with him, but not the rest of his family. I want no Setiu Princes loose again in Egypt.”
She drank, twirled her cup between her fingers, and raising it to her breast she held it there like a shield. “I do not care if you leave them here,” she said woodenly. “I only care about Apepa. His family never truly accepted me. His Chief Wife was jealous and his sons treated me with barely concealed disdain. Now they have repudiated me altogether for lowering myself so far as to beg for your help. They wanted him to die like a warrior.”
“Warriors do not die by falling down a set of stairs,” he retorted caustically. “Congratulations, Tani. It seems that you have managed to earn the contempt of Egyptian and Setiu alike. That is quite a feat.”
She flushed. “You are cruel, Ahmose,” she half-whispered. “Do you also hold me in derision?”
The soft tongue of pity licked him briefly. “No,” he said more gently. “You have sold the pride in your blood and heritage you once had and for that I can no longer respect you, but you are still my sister. There is still the affection of one family member for another.”
“Cold comfort,” she murmured. “But I suppose it must be enough.”
“Enough? It is a great deal considering the depths of selfishness and stupidity to which you have fallen!” he snapped, his moment of compassion gone. “Now tell me of Apepa’s sons. I need to know what they are like.” He saw the question in her eyes and the caution which forbade her to give it voice.
“He has several by his concubines,” she said, “but only two by his legitimate wife Uazet. Apepa the Younger and Kypenpen. Kypenpen is very like his father in temperament, mild and intelligent, but Apepa the Younger is arrogant, brash and impulsive. Before my husband had the fall that has destroyed him, his elder son pestered him constantly to confront your army, issue challenges, open the gates and fight. It was a ludicrous idea and Apepa knew it, but he could not silence his son’s loud importuning. I do not like Apepa the Younger, and he has hated me for being your sister.”
“Why was the idea ludicrous?” Ahmose pressed. Something in his tone alerted her and she closed her mouth, fixing her gaze on the tip of her sandals under the folds of her patterned robe. “Let me guess,” he went on slowly. “Could it have been because Sharuhen is mostly full of common citizens and its garrison is very small? Rethennu as a whole is decidedly denuded of soldiers. My army killed most of them when they ventured into the Delta. Am I right?” She continued to stare at her feet without answering. Ahmose regained his chair and crossed his legs. “Look at me!” he demanded sharply. Reluctantly she met his eyes. “I am willing to command a royal burial for your husband,” he said. “A box full of sand will be waiting outside his tent within the hour. As soon as he expires, you will set out with him to Het-Uart and I will give you a scroll to General Sebek-khu giving you permission to go to the House of the Dead, mourn formally for seventy days, and engage whatever High Priest you can find to perform all the necessary rites before the tomb of Apepa’s ancestors. Then you are banished. You are never to return to Egypt. If you do, you will be killed. I will instruct Abana to arrange passage for you to Keftiu with sufficient gold to enable you to live comfortably. Marry again if you choose. In return you will tell me how many troops are stationed inside Sharuhen.”
She had gone very still while he was speaking. Even her breathing became almost imperceptible. But her eyes were fixed on his face with a persistent intensity.
“And if I refuse?” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Then I will have your husband’s body burned as soon as he is dead and I will imprison you at Weset for the crime of treason.”
“Ahmose!” she burst out. “You would not!”
“Yes, I would,” he replied with cold force. “Make up your mind now, Tani. The night passes.”
“What a magnificent choice,” she said bitterly. “What glorious alternatives. Damn my husband’s ka to annihilation or betray my benefactor the Chieftain of Sharuhen and go into exile. How merciful you are, Son of the Sun, upholder of Ma’at! How benign! Once more you have rubbed salt into a wound already throbbing with unbearable pain. Very well.” She rose, drawing her robe around her with graceful, regal gestures. “The garrison within Sharuhen holds no more than five thousand soldiers. They are well armed but not well disciplined. They are certainly no match for your army, as Apepa knew when he refused to listen to his son’s rash pleading. But they will not come out, Ahmose. The Chieftain will not release them.”
“Who rules in Sharuhen?” Ahmose urged. “Does the Chieftain or his brother to whom he gave sanctuary?”
“The Chieftain will bow to Apepa the Younger’s authority,” she admitted. “Now let me return to my husband’s bedside. I hope we will not meet again.” She did not wait for a dismissal. Gliding to the tent flap with head down, she left him.
I refuse to feel ashamed, he told himself sternly. I did what I had to do. I did more for her than many in my position would have done. Perhaps one day she will realize that my own choices were as limited and terrible as hers, and she will forgive me. Going to the tent opening, he shouted for Khabekhnet, and when the herald appeared and bowed, he issued his instructions. “I want a coffin full of sand for Apepa delivered at once,” he said. “See the Scribe of Distribution about it. Tell General Turi that as well as the Throne he will be escorting Queen Tautha and her husband’s corpse as far as the Delta. Send Ipi here at once and then find Prince Abana if he has returned.”
It did not take long for Ipi to appear, settle his palette across his knees, and prepare to take the dictation. Ahmose composed a letter to Aahmes-nefertari regarding the recovery of the Throne. He could not avoid describing Tani’s part in it but he did so as tactfully as possible, his mind filling with a vision of his wife and his beautiful little boy. The sanity of their images served to calm him, and he finished the letter to Sebek-khu at Het-Uart in a more collected mood.
Abana was already waiting by the time Ahmose had finished, and bidding Ipi stay and record the conversation, he invited his Admiral to enter. Abana bowed and took the chair Ahmose offered. His weeks at sea had etched a few lines more deeply into his face and turned his brown skin even darker, but he filled the tent with an aura of wellbeing and masculine vitality that Ahmose drank in with gratitude. “The shipments of water are to cease in three days,” Ahmose told him. “Before they do, I want you to fill every barrel we have
. I am withdrawing the army.”
“So I hear.” Abana stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and regarded his King speculatively. “But the army will not need so much water to simply march to the Delta where there is plenty. Your Majesty has a plan.” Ahmose smiled at him.
“I have indeed. I have learned that the garrison inside Sharuhen is small and the city itself is commanded by a very arrogant, very rash young man. I intend to take three of my five divisions back to Egypt, leaving one in full view of Sharuhen and one hidden a few miles away behind the dunes to the west. I want you to become an infantry soldier for a while, Prince.” Abana nodded equably.
“I am yours to command,” he said. “This sounds intriguing. You will attempt to lure this stupid young man into pitched battle and, having persuaded him to come out, reinforce your troops and defeat him. Is Sharuhen to be sacked, even though Apepa is as good as dead?”
“You are the one who will entice him out of his stronghold,” Ahmose said. “You have a way with impudence, Prince. Every day you will parade beneath the walls shouting insults. It is only a matter of time before the gates open.” Abana looked thoughtful.
“How many troops does the fort have?” he wanted to know. “And who am I mocking?”
“Five thousand, which is why I will leave a full division, five thousand men, in plain sight and another five thousand secreted in the dunes. The man who will not be able to resist your challenge is Apepa’s eldest son, Apepa the Younger.” Abana’s eyes narrowed.
“You cannot afford to let them live, can you, Majesty?” he said softly. “Apepa dies but his sons live on, a threat to everything you have accomplished. When the battle is over and I am victorious, I am to execute them?”
The Horus Road Page 47
