“I can promise you nothing at present but an empty title, General. I cannot even give you more bread and beer.” Hor-Aha shrugged.
“I have sufficient for my needs, and General is a title that will do very well. For now. Later, if Amun smiles on your Highness, you may care to make me Commander of the Braves of the King.” Seqenenra grinned at him weakly and he smiled back.
“I would like nothing better,” Seqenenra agreed. “Now may we discuss practical things? I want as many new Medjay recruited as possible. Can you trust your men?”
“They are content to follow my orders.”
“Good. Send them to their tribes in the desert. I need many young men. But they cannot be quartered here. I must build a barracks out on the desert or perhaps on the western bank behind the dead where people seldom go, so that they may be trained without attracting too much notice.” Hor-Aha’s hands reappeared, lifted the beer, and the cup was drained. He licked his lips carefully.
“Perhaps you might ask Prince Si-Amun to visit the nomes and conscript peasants,” he suggested. “They will do what they are told.” He forestalled Seqenenra’s next question. “I will approach your craftsmen. We will unlock the secrets of the bow. But, Highness, although you can order more chariots, you cannot obtain horses. We must just steal them as we move north.”
They talked for a while of fundamental things, including the possibility of obtaining axes and knives made of the new metal, bronze, that the Setiu used with such success, but neither voiced Seqenenra’s greatest worry. How was he to pay for this explosion of activity? By the time Uni requested admittance to tell him that the noon meal was ready, he felt completely separated from himself, unreal, as though his ka had discussed treason and rebellion with Hor-Aha while in the real world he himself was swimming or checking the accounts with his scribe or sitting with Aahotep by the pool. He dismissed his Commander and followed Uni on unsteady feet.
Before the end of the week Hor-Aha and the majority of the soldiers had vanished unobtrusively from Weset, leaving a token bodyguard for the family. Summer was a time of lethargy and only Kamose noticed the same faces day after day by the main gate to the estate and in the passages. Puzzled, he found Si-Amun. Together they went to their father with an idle query, and Seqenenra, his dice thrown, told his sons everything.
“Si-Amun, as my heir I want you to travel the nomes and conscript men,” he ordered. “Hor-Aha is even now deep in the south, trying to persuade the Wawat wildmen that joining my army will secure them freedom from Teti-the-Handsome, Prince of Kush, and much booty. You and he will command together under me.” Si-Amun had lost colour as his father was speaking. Now he was grey, his nostrils pinched, his eyes huge with shock. He put out a hand, then let it drop.
“Father,” he said urgently. “You cannot do this thing. Please! As you love me, as you love us, do not do this! It is blasphemy. It is death for us, surely you see that?” His voice had risen and then cracked. He was trembling. Abruptly he sank into a chair.
“We have been over this ground enough,” Seqenenra put in harshly. “I know how you feel, but the time has come to put your personal opinions aside and stand with me. You are my son. Your loyalty must go first to Amun and to me.”
“I can’t!” Si-Amun bit his lip. His hands were clenched into fists in his lap. “As an Egyptian my first loyalty is to the King. So is yours. It’s treason, Father! Forgive me, but I can’t!” Seqenenra went and stood over him.
“Are you saying that you will not fight for me?” Si-Amun’s long-lashed black eyes rose and met his. He was on the verge of tears.
“If you give me a direct order, I will of course fight for you, Prince,” he choked, “but I will not go to the nomes and help you to hasten the moment of our destruction. I abase myself before you. I humble myself. But I will not go.” Seqenenra struggled with his anger, sympathy and an overwhelming sense of betrayal. Sympathy won. He pulled Si-Amun to his feet.
“Very well,” he said curtly. “I honour your decision because I know that my son does not speak from cowardice. Leave this room.” Unhappily Si-Amun drew himself up, and stalking past a silent Kamose, went out. For a moment Seqenenra and Kamose could not look at each other. Then Kamose straightened his shoulders.
“He has great courage,” he reminded his father. “He is a good warrior. You must not blame him.” Seqenenra, hurt and aching, did not respond.
“I will go to the nomes and conscript men,” Kamose went on grimly, “but I think your reason is impaired, Father. How long will it be before your rashness reaches the ears of the One? He has spies in the house, that is certain. I wish with all my heart that you could build the temple instead of an army. I do not want to die.”
“I am terrified for all of us,” Seqenenra replied, “but you have an inner strength that will never betray you. It is for Ahmose and Aahmes-nefertari and Tani that I grieve.” Kamose’s lips had thinned. He was livid under his deep tan.
“How will you pay for it all?”
“I must take Uni into my confidence. And Amunmose. He must beg Amun for the greatest favour he has ever shown this family.”
“Why not climb onto the roof of the sanctuary with a horn and announce your intentions to the whole of Weset?” Kamose shot back caustically. “It will come to that anyway, Father, and you know it. You must move very fast if you want to strike even the feeblest blow before Apepa sends a fraction of his horde south and demolishes us all.”
“Will you help me?”
Kamose clenched his fists. “Of course. The blood of the god is in my veins, too.”
Seqenenra looked at him curiously. It was the first time Kamose had ever referred so directly to his lineage. I hardly know you, Seqenenra thought. I hardly know you at all.
With an effort of self-control Si-Amun forced himself to walk to his quarters, answering the greetings of servants affably as he went. His head was whirling. Why are you so surprised? he asked himself sternly. You knew it would come to this, or you would never have made the agreement you did with Teti. Then why this feeling of stunned disbelief? Did you think that Father would wake from his fantasy?
Si-Amun had not communicated with Teti since his return home. Life had seemed to settle into normality and his father had been his usual taciturn self. Si-Amun, with a curious sense of relief, had allowed himself to smooth away the memory of the lunch with Teti under the fig tree, but now as he reached his own door and entered his bedchamber with weak legs and a pounding heart, it came back to him in horrifying detail. Why horrifying? he thought as his steward came forward and bowed. “Bring me a piece of papyrus parchment and a palette,” he ordered, and the man went away.
Si-Amun pulled off his kilt, then tore the sheet from his couch and began to rub down his sweat-streaked body. Horrifying, because you doubt Teti’s good intentions, he said to himself. There. I have formed the words. I am not a wide-eyed innocent. Teti may wish me to spy on my father for his own ends. Yet he may be sincere. We share blood through Mother. He has always been a good friend to this family and I cannot rely on my own misgivings, caused surely by nothing but guilt at going behind Father’s back. Father must be stopped and Teti is the only one to whom I can turn. Grandmother would tear out Apepa’s eyes if she could. Mother does whatever Father wants. Kamose also. Ahmose cares for nothing but his freedom. It is up to me to save us all.
The steward returned with the scribe’s palette and parchment. “Find Mersu and ask him to come,” Si-Amun said, taking the things. “And then tell my wife that I would like to walk with her for a little by the river. You can go.”
He sank cross-legged onto the floor, settled the palette across his bare knees, and selecting a thin brush he began to write carefully on the papyrus, willing his hand not to tremble. ‘Father has received another letter,’ he printed. ‘He is raising an army. Please come before he goes too far. I do not know what to do.’ He did not sign it. Rolling it, he tied it with a piece of string, sealed the knot with hot wax, and painstakingly drew a crude hippopo
tamus in the wax.
By the time he had finished, Mersu was bowing himself into the room. Si-Amun, still naked, held out the scroll. Mersu looked at him enquiringly but took it. “I believe you are a friend of Teti’s Chief Steward,” Si-Amun said. Mersu nodded.
“He and I were raised in the same village, next door to one another, Prince,” he replied guardedly. “We attended the local scribes’ school at the same time.”
“I see.” Si-Amun folded his arms. “I want you to make sure that this scroll reaches him. It is for Teti. A private matter.” He had been going to lie, but if he had said that the scroll was for Ramose, Mersu would have wondered why it had not been given to a regular messenger plying the river. Try as he might, Si-Amun could come up with no good excuse for his request. The older man was gazing at him steadily, a question in his eyes. Impatiently Si-Amun dismissed him. He did not bother to wash. Rummaging in his chest he pulled out a clean kilt, wrapped it on, and hurried out to find Aahmes-nefertari. He needed to feel her arms around him, reassuring him that he had done the right thing although she herself was ignorant. Teti would come. Father would listen to his relative’s appeasing words. All would be well.
4
BEFORE THE MONTH was out, gangs of peasants from Weset were raising barracks on the desert behind the western cliffs. Hor-Aha and his soldiers returned, and soon dark, quick men began to trickle across the Nile and disappear into the hills. Seqenenra made his fifty seasoned retainers officers to form the core of his army, and set them over the new recruits. There was no time to train them properly. They would have to sink or swim on their own. Those with the new bows must teach those receiving the ones Hor-Aha was feverishly trying to construct. All must be marched and drilled, issued spears, axes and clubs, fed and watered. Seqenenra made no attempt to answer the King’s letter. It would be at least two months, he knew, before Apepa began to wonder why no word had come from the south.
When matters could no longer be hidden from the family, he had told them what he had decided to do. “I do not have time to organize this thing properly,” he said to the bewildered little group. “I have few career officers, no seasoned Scribes of Assemblage and Recruits, no skilled charioteers. Forgive me for doing what has to be done.” Tetisheri had said nothing. Neither had Aahotep. Kamose was away touring the nomes, but Ahmose had exclaimed immediately, “Kamose and I will fight, of course. Ma’at is on your side, Father. We will see the Horus Throne returned to us before next New Year’s Day!” Looking into the sixteenyear-old’s bright eyes Seqenenra wondered whether Ahmose indeed believed that the Setiu would be driven out of Egypt by then or whether he was offering cheer to the despondency he sensed in his father.
Aahmes-nefertari tried to control her tears and could not. Sobbing, she struggled to her feet, flung her arms around Seqenenra’s neck, then fled the room. At his father’s nod Si-Amun went after her. Tani clung to her mother, her eyes huge and frightened.
“Father, this is treason,” she whispered. “The gods will punish you. What will I do without you? Why are you doing this to me?” There was nothing he could say. To Tani this suicide must seem the height of selfishness.
“What can I do?” Tetisheri asked quietly.
“Keep the estate running as normally as possible, you and Aahotep. Make excuses for my absences. Deflect questions.” His shoulders slumped. He had been about to say that it did not matter in the end, but the sight of Tani’s disfigured, uncomprehending face had stilled his tongue.
Uni had spluttered and expostulated when Seqenenra had told him why he needed a full accounting and a revision of the budget of his governorship.
“This is madness, Prince. Madness!” he had shouted. “I shall have to purify myself of this stain every day so that the gods will not punish me!” Wearily Seqenenra heard him out without rebuking him for his insolence.
“Uni, I know that like Mersu your ancestors were Setiu,” he said. “You are free to leave my service and do what you wish with the information I have given you, but please know that I need you.” Uni had bowed shortly and turned away sullenly.
“I will make a report on the state of your holdings, Prince,” he had muttered. “I will also glean a list of new sources of revenue. If there are any.” He had stalked away stiff with anger and Seqenenra had let him go. In spite of his outrage he had indirectly given Seqenenra the answer he craved.
He did not have much time to reflect on his undertaking. His days were spent with Ahmose in the burning heat of the desert behind the western cliffs watching Hor-Aha and his new officers try to beat and cajole the new men into soldiers. New bows were coming out of the craftsmen’s shops. A substitute for the unobtainable birch wood had been found. Hor-Aha had experimented unsuccessfully with various possibilities until out of desperation he had applied his glue to the stripped ribs of palm branches. The results were surprisingly good, and once full production was underway, he had left the task to the military craftsmen and had turned his attention to the recruits.
Seqenenra and his younger son sweated with the rest, enduring Hor-Aha’s taunts and insults as they struggled to draw the bows. Both had experience with the weapons but had only used them for an occasional friendly competition. Now they worked in earnest, Ahmose glorying in his swift progress, Seqenenra grimly drawing and loosing, cursing under his breath, feeling time flow by him like the river in flood while Ra tried to boil his blood and blister his skin.
Sometimes Si-Amun came to the practice ground and stood beside his father and brother, handling the bow with silent preoccupation or racing in his chariot during the mock charges Hor-Aha had decreed, but he did not appear often. Seqenenra tried to force aside his disappointment in his son and behave as though all was well, but Si-Amun had withdrawn into an icy arrogance. At meals, in the temple, during the informal moments of each day when the family gathered by the pool, Si-Amun’s eyes slipped past the gaze of his relatives. He talked readily enough when the conversation remained general, but at any mention of the activity beyond the western cliffs he quietly closed his mouth.
Seqenenra ached for him. His refusal to do any more than fight beside his father had not seemed to influence Aahmes-nefertari’s attitude towards him and for that Seqenenra was grateful, but Tetisheri was openly cool to him.
“That boy is hiding something,” she said emphatically to Seqenenra one evening as they sat over the remains of the last meal of the day, too indolent to stroll outside before going to bed. “It is understandable that he should be defiant around us, prepared to defend his position, but the Si-Amun of the shifty eyes and long silences I do not know.” She leaned back and put both hands on her knees. “His behaviour conceals some sort of guilt.”
“He is hardly a boy, Mother,” Seqenenra answered. “And surely a little guilt is not surprising. What conflicting loyalties lie behind the respectful faces of our servants, let alone a member of the family? The situation is terrible for everyone. Si-Amun feels it keenly.”
She slapped her knees. “Guilt! He should be angry, hotly defending his position, arguing whenever plans are discussed. I know my grandson, Seqenenra. This dumb brooding creature is unnatural. It is not the Si-Amun I know.” Her voice dropped. “Have him watched, Prince.”
Seqenenra was horrified. “You cannot possibly believe that my own son, my heir, would betray me? Sometimes I think that you are a disciple of Set, Tetisheri. I will not spy on my own flesh.”
Tetisheri was unmoved. “Something is eating away at him,” she insisted. “I love him and so do you, but don’t trust him.”
Seqenenra pushed his table away and rose. “It is a long step from familial disagreement to treason,” he said. “The web of your mind is too complex, Mother, too dark. Your thoughts are dishonourable.”
“And yours are dangerously innocent!” she called after him as he walked away. “Love him, Seqenenra, but don’t trust him!”
Later, when Isis had slipped her sleeping gown over her head and pulled back the sheets on her couch, Tetisheri sent the wo
man for Mersu. When Isis returned, the steward bowing behind her, Tetisheri spoke to both of them.
“I am a suspicious old lady,” she said, “but I will sleep better if you will both perform a small task for me. You know that Prince Si-Amun is against the coming war. I do not know whether or not he is so against it that he would betray us all. Therefore I want you to take note of his doings, where he goes, who he sees, and particularly to whom his correspondence is addressed. Oh don’t look so shocked, Isis,” she said irritably as the servant gaped at her. “I love the young idiot, as you well know. Mersu, you seem unmoved by this command.” Mersu bowed slightly.
“I am not unmoved, Highness, and I will, of course, fulfil your request, but it does seem a trifle dramatic.” Tetisheri dismissed them with a curt wave.
“It is not important what you think. Simply do as you are told.”
Yet when they had gone and she was alone under the sheets, her eyes fixed on the shadows hanging in the ceiling, she was almost inclined to agree with him. Si-Amun has always been drawn to power, influence, all that is fashionable, she thought. It has not made him weak, only restless and occasionally envious. His heart is sound. Perhaps I am indeed an evil old woman. She turned on her side and closed her eyes but sleep eluded her. She felt ashamed of spying on her grandson, but uneasy also, and the unease had no roots. Stoically she prepared for a long night.
Seqenenra dismissed his mother’s warning and thought no more about it. He was feverishly preoccupied with the slow drawing together of his rebellion, and with its coming to gradual fruition it brought a darkness of mind and a continual apprehension that seldom lifted. One incident served to lighten his heart, however. He was lying on his couch one afternoon while his body servant massaged oil into his aching muscles when Uni announced that the mayor of Weset wished audience.
“He and his deputies have been escorted to the reception hall,” Uni told him. Seqenenra signalled for the man still kneading his protesting flesh to take the dish of oil and go.
The Hippopotamus Marsh Page 8
