The Oasis

by Pauline Gedge

  “I was thinking of Teti,” Kamose answered. Tetisheri glanced at Ramose’s mother, now apparently but sullenly mollified, a dish of herbed fish before her.

  “No you weren’t,” Tetisheri retorted. “I agree with you, Kamose. She will have to be observed while the Princes are here. She is an ungrateful peasant and a nuisance. It is a pity. I remember her so well in the days when she was a gracious hostess and a kindly governor’s wife.”

  “The war has changed us all,” Kamose said. “We have travelled a long, dark road to reach this hour, this gathering. We rejoice, but all the same we are wounded.”

  “Not as severely as Apepa,” she said tartly. “He has lost this country. And speaking of that serpent, did you know that the house snake has not returned? Aahmes-nefertari is concerned. She sees the rejection as a curse upon her pregnancy.” Kamose laughed.

  “Dear sister!” he chuckled. “No matter what, she will always be overly superstitious. I pity any new snake lured by the scent of milk. It will have Ahmose-onkh to contend with.” He rose and nodded at the herald perched on the edge of the dais and at Akhtoy hovering behind him. As he stood up, the level of noise in the room began to drop and at the herald’s strong voice it ceased altogether.

  “Silence for the Mighty Bull of Ma’at, Vivifier of the Two Lands, Subduer of the Setiu, Beloved of Amun, His Majesty King Kamose Tao!” In the immediate hush Kamose surveyed the sea of upturned faces, indistinct in spite of the torches flaring around the walls. The orange light picked out an earring here, a hair ornament there, the gleam of a silver cup, and sent long shadows reaching across the dishevelled company. The prevailing mood was still one of vibrant joy.

  “Citizens of Weset, servants of Amun, lovers of Egypt,” he called. “Tonight we celebrate the culmination of two years of struggle, heartbreak and victory. Tonight we see, as though we peer through the blinding force of a desert storm towards an oasis, the end of Setiu domination and a return to the sanity and glory of a Ma’at fully restored. All of you have followed me in faith. You have given me your trust. Your weapons have been raised on my behalf. Therefore I pledge to you in return a fair and just administration when the Horus Throne rests once more in its place of honour here at Weset and a true and holy Incarnation sits upon it.” He paused, aware suddenly of his brother’s eyes upon him. Turning, he signalled to Akhtoy who placed a small, fragrant cedar chest in his arms. “In the days of my ancestors, before the Setiu came with their corrupt gods and forced us to fight like wild beasts instead of men, it was the custom for the King to reward the warrior with the Gold of Favours and the brave with the Gold of Flies. I am proud to revive this ancient and honourable practice.” Lifting the lid of the box, he drew out the first necklace, weighing it deliberately in his fingers. “The jewellers of Amun, in anticipation of our victory, have created the Gold of Favours once again. They are here tonight. To them I offer my thanks for the beauty of their work and for their belief in me and in the power of Amun that never wavered.” A murmur of surprise and admiration went up as he held the necklace high. Its wide, tight rings were worth ten years’ grain harvest on any one of their holdings and they knew it. “Ramose!” Kamose shouted. “Come forth and be the first to receive the gratitude of your lord. I bestow the Gold of Favours upon you for voluntarily putting your head between the serpent’s jaws so that the routing of the enemy in the desert was made possible. Be assured that when our conflict is finally won you will find yourself among the most powerful in all Egypt.” Ramose had left his mother and approached the dais. He stood awkwardly looking up at Kamose, a smile on his lips.

  “This is most unexpected, Majesty,” he said. “I only did my duty.”

  “And in doing it, you lost everything,” Kamose replied quietly. “Come closer, my friend. This gold will suit you perfectly.” Leaning down, he slipped it over Ramose’s head. “Receive the Gold of Favours and the favour of your King,” he said loudly. Those words had not been heard in Egypt for hentis and everyone knew it. A reverential hush filled the hall. For some moments no one moved, then all of a sudden a gale of clapping broke out, accompanied by cries of “Ramose, Ramose!” and “Long life to your Majesty!” A hail of wilting blossoms torn from the battered remains of the festive garlands rained on Ramose as he bowed and sought his place beside Nefer-Sakharu. She was staring at him bewilderedly. Her arms went around him as he sank down beside her.

  “Now it is your turn, Prince Ankhmahor,” Kamose said. “All evening you have been pacing the room, watching that the Followers are alert. Have you even eaten? Come here.” Ankhmahor had indeed been at the far end of the hall, peering out into the palm-tossed darkness beyond. Startled, he swung round at the sound of Kamose’s voice and skirting the crowded disorder in the centre of the hall he moved forward. “Ankhmahor, Commander of the Followers of His Majesty,” Kamose said. “You followed me without demur although you had a great deal to lose by doing so. Your presence has been a comfort and a bastion of strength to me. Your courage in battle is unsurpassed. Receive the Gold of Favours and the favour of your King.” Ankhmahor gravely lowered his head and the heavy necklet settled on his breast.

  “Your Majesty is generous,” the Prince said quietly. “I do not deserve this honour, but I vow to serve you as long as I have breath. I and my family are your servants always.”

  “I know,” Kamose told him. “It is pointless for me to offer you more land or greater riches for you are already a wealthy man, but to you I promise a vizier’s position if the god wills that I become the One. You are wise and trustworthy.” He scanned the hall as Ankhmahor melted back into the shadows on the periphery of the multitude. “Kay Abana, are you here?” he called out. “Where are you?”

  “I think I am still here, Majesty,” Abana’s voice boomed out from somewhere to the rear. “But I confess that the quality of your wine has made me doubt my very existence this night.” Amid a gale of laughter he struggled to his feet. Kamose regarded him with mock solemnity.

  “Who is the woman clinging to your leg and attempting to whisper warnings in your arrogant ear?”

  “This is my future wife, Idut,” Kay responded promptly. “The females of Weset are indeed very comely. I have been admiring them since we arrived here. Idut is the loveliest of them all and I shall be taking her home to Nekheb with me. A ship’s captain should have respectability.”

  “Be sure that her father approves,” Kamose said, amused. “Now come here.” Kay moved unsteadily to the dais. “You deserve a show of my royal displeasure,” Kamose went on. “You were the only officer who disobeyed an order.”

  “I displayed initiative,” Kay protested, affecting an injured look. “I behaved as an officer should.”

  “Then you have my royal thanks and that should be enough for any man,” Kamose shot back at him.

  “But, Majesty, did I not captain one of your ships in a most excellent display of competence?” Kay objected jokingly. “Was I not the only officer to lead my men against the fleeing Setiu? Do I not also deserve a show of your royal gratitude?” Kamose began to laugh. There was something so clean, so sane and reassuring about Kay. He forced a severe expression.

  “Paheri tells me that you are a man of modest means, content with your little house and your work building boats and your two arouras of land on the outskirts of Nekheb,” he said. “You do not need rewards. You prefer a simple life.” Abana bowed somewhat unsteadily.

  “Paheri perhaps overstates the degree of my contentment,” he drawled. “Nekheb is as close to the paradise of Osiris as I could wish to come in this life, but perhaps there is somewhere closer. As for building boats, what would your Majesty have done without my expert knowledge and that of my father?”

  “What indeed?” Kamose agreed, returning Abana’s wide grin. Amid cries of, “Nekheb is an arid pit!” and “Boatbuilders stink of rotting reeds!” Kamose settled the gold around the man’s neck.

  “Receive the Gold of Favours and the favour of your King,” he intoned. “And as an added punis
hment, Kay Abana, I deed to you seventy acres of land in your home district and nineteen peasants to work them. Once Het-Uart falls of course.” Kay bowed again.

  “Of course, Majesty. Therefore as night follows day it is certain that I will be able to claim your Majesty’s generous gift. I wish you life, health and prosperity.” He wove his way back to his place considerably more sober and allowed Idut to pull him to the floor. Kamose squared his shoulders and continued with the awards.

  One by one the remaining Princes came up to have the gold slung around their necks. Kamose told them that like Ankhmahor they had no need of more land, but he promised a redistribution of governorships in time and with that they had to be content. They received their accolades with mute composure.

  Hor-Aha was the last Prince to be honoured, and Kamose, seeing him striding confidently to the foot of the dais, found that he had no words for his greatest strategist. Placing the gold over the General’s black braids, he touched the dark cheek before stepping away and their eyes met. Hor-Aha raised his eyebrows and smiled. In spite of his festive kilt, the carnelian Eye of Horus on his chest and the bulky rings on his fingers, he still wore the plain leather belt with its worn pouch containing his secret totem, the blood of Seqenenra, and with a thrill of distaste Kamose willed himself not to let his gaze stray to it. Then he was gone and those commanders worthy of the Gold of Favours took his place, Paheri among them.

  Finally it was the Medjay’s turn. Two of them had been singled out for bravery. They glided to the dais on their light, soundless feet, looking up at Kamose with bright eyes like shiny beads, their cheap clay necklaces and the gaudy ribbons they had tied in their hair in honour of the feast making them seem even more incongruous among the nobles and Weset notables than they were. Kamose smiled at them, speaking of the Medjay’s skill and fearlessness and thanking them for what they had done, but he could not ignore the embarrassed silence that had fallen or the resentful mutters that filled it.

  “To Set with them!” he grumbled at Ahmose when the ceremony was over and he sat down and gestured for Akhtoy to fill his cup. “Their fine lineage chokes them! Why can’t they see that without the Medjay they would still be out there hacking their way towards Het-Uart and perhaps in danger of actually having to spill some of that precious blue blood of theirs? Sometimes I actually hate them, Ahmose.” His brother let go of Aahmes-nefertari’s hand and turned to fully face him.

  “We have been over this a thousand times before, Kamose,” he said in a low voice. “Their suspicion and prejudice cannot be changed. All we can do is limit it as best we can by taking care not to rub their noses in your preference for Wawat warriors and a black General. Keep them feeling safely superior and it will not matter.” He pursed his lips and tapped Kamose on the knee. “There was no Gold of Favours for Prince Meketra,” he went on. “He is not even here. Why?” Kamose shifted restlessly.

  “He fought no battles for me,” he answered roughly. “All he did was betray Teti. The Gold of Favours is not for such as he.”

  “He should at least have been invited to the thanksgiving and the feast,” Ahmose urged. “All his fellow Princes are here. Word will reach Khemmenu soon that there were great celebrations in Weset from which he was excluded. How do you think he will feel? Glad that he was left in peace at Khemmenu? No. He will be bitter and offended. He will not consider that he does not deserve the Gold of Favours. He will believe that you have deliberately slighted him, that you hold him of little account.”

  “Then he will believe the truth,” Kamose returned. “I have not deliberately slighted him, Ahmose, but I neither like nor trust him. I cannot help it.”

  “I agree with your assessment of his character,” Ahmose sighed, turning back to his wife. “I only hope that we are not creating trouble for ourselves later. You do not trust Intef or Iasen either, but they are here.” To that there was no answer. Kamose hurriedly finished his wine, and bidding the guests continue to enjoy themselves, he quietly left the hall. He had had enough.

  There was nowhere in the house to which he could retreat from the crescendoing din of the feast. Even in his own quarters with the door closed he could still hear the drunken squeals and laughter of his guests, and the garden, when he escaped outside with a cloak over his arm, was no more peaceful. Light and noise streamed out from between the pillars of the reception hall to be slowly dissipated in the shrubbery between the house and the protecting outer wall. Wandering towards the river, answering the challenge of the guards as he went, Kamose came at last to his watersteps where the family’s barge and a couple of skiffs rocked peacefully against the mooring poles. A distance away to right and left the larger ships lay, dark hulks whose masts reared into the starry sky. For several moments Kamose considered crawling onto the tiny cot within the cabin he and Ahmose had shared for so many weeks but he was wary of the desire to retreat into so comfortable and familiar a place, both physically and mentally. With a word to the patient soldier watching the river he wrapped his cloak tightly around him and lay down in one of the skiffs. He was asleep almost immediately.

  He did not hear the hall empty as towards dawn the drunk and satiated crowd dispersed towards the town or the accommodation Tetisheri had provided for them. Nor did he stir when with the first rays of the new sun the servants began to prepare for another day. He came to consciousness only sluggishly to find Akhtoy bending over him, sheath held high around his thighs to keep his linen out of the water, calling his name. Kamose sat up blinking in the bright morning light. “I have been searching for you for hours, Majesty,” the steward said with a note of irritation. “Her Highness’s labour began shortly after she retired for the night. The physician and her mother are with her. His Highness is breaking his fast by the pond if you wish to join him.”

  “Thank you, Akhtoy.” Kamose stepped out of the skiff. The water lapping over his feet felt cool and his head began to clear. “I will eat with Ahmose. Please send my herald to me. And do not look at me like that. I will bathe later.” With a bow Akhtoy regained the paving above, slipped on his sandals, and disappeared along the path. Kamose followed more slowly.

  He found Ahmose sitting on the grass under a canopy, bread and cheese and a bowl of fruit beside him. He waved Kamose into the shade. “She woke me just as I was falling asleep,” he said without preamble. “She is not worried, only glad that she does not have to endure another day of pregnancy in this heat. Mother will make sure all goes well and a priest is there to burn incense for Bes.” He deftly sliced open a pomegranate and began to spoon out the seeds. Kamose looked at him curiously.

  “And you,” he said. “Are you worried?” Ahmose set down the spoon and frowned.

  “Not for Aahmes-nefertari,” he decided. “This is her third child. She is young, healthy and strong. But I worry for Egypt.” He turned anxious eyes on Kamose. “We still face the possibility of death in battle,” he went on soberly. “You or me. If we are both killed, the only heir to the Horus Throne whether we have recovered it or not, is Ahmoseonkh. Children are vulnerable, Kamose. They die easily. They die suddenly.” He pushed the plate of fruit away. “Ahmose-onkh is fine today. He toddles about happily molesting snakes and driving the servants to distraction. But tomorrow he may have a fever and the next day be carried to the House of the Dead. Then who is heir to Egypt? You refuse to marry and get sons. We Taos must have sons.” He scowled. “If Aahmes-nefertari gives birth to a girl, we are in a precarious position.”

  “I know,” Kamose admitted, his mind filling with the memory of his father and Si-Amun. Seqenenra had produced three sons. Two were left. And one of us will not survive, he thought grimly. According to the oracle it will be me, but have I not always known somewhere deep in my ka that to Ahmose alone will go the glory of a long life at the pinnacle of Egypt’s nobility? “You can take a second wife, Ahmose,” he said carefully.

  There was a long silence. Both men fixed their gaze on the cloud of flies that had begun to hover and then crawl over the disembowelled p
omegranate and its oozing purple juice. Then Ahmose cleared his throat.

  “You do not believe that you will live much longer, do you, Kamose?” he said softly. “You know about the oracle. So do I. Aahmes-nefertari told us both. Yet I pray fervently that it may be a mistake, that we are fretting over a phantom future.” With savage, quick gestures quite unlike him he began to slash at the flies with his whisk. “I have thought about taking another woman,” he grunted as he flayed the air. “But I will not tempt Ma’at. Not yet. You may reconsider your duty, Kamose, and marry yourself, and give us royal sons.” He tossed the whisk onto the grass and at last looked directly at his brother. “Besides, no matter what my legitimate right may be, Aahmes-nefertari is not ready to accept the planting of my seed elsewhere. She has suffered a great deal, losing Si-Amun, losing her first child, being handed to me instead of to you, trying to come to terms with Tani’s betrayal. She and Tani were close in a way that brothers cannot understand. Her life has been one deprivation after another. If she seems weak and prone to emotional outbursts, we should not be surprised.”

  “She has changed,” Kamose broke in unthinkingly. “When I talked with her after I gave the news about Tani, there was something in her I had not seen before. A steadiness. Almost a detached coolness. Whether for good or not I can’t say. She said that she has grown up.” The flies were back mindlessly circling the fruit and this time Ahmose ignored them.

  “The waiting is hard,” he remarked, and Kamose realized that the subject under discussion was now closed. “Shall we swim, Kamose? Already the garden is like a furnace. Or will you eat?” Kamose shook his head, looking with distaste at the stiffening bread and sweating chunk of brown goat cheese. Glancing up, he saw his herald approaching. He and Ahmose came to their feet as the man bowed.