It was no use. Behind the images of success with which he tried to lull himself to sleep was the fear, a black pulse beating like a muffled oar on the lightless waters of the Underworld. He sat up, felt for his sandals, and wrapped his discarded kilt around his waist. On impulse he crept to Aahotep’s side of the couch, and bending, he kissed her temple then her cheek. She groaned a little and opened her eyes. “Seqenenra,” she murmured. “Can’t you sleep? Shall I go to my own quarters so you can have the couch to yourself?”
“No,” he whispered back. “I think I will walk a little, and pray. I love you, Aahotep.” Wide awake now, she heard the loneliness in his voice. Reaching up, she drew him close and kissed him on the mouth.
“If I could fight beside you I would,” she said. “Come home safely, my lord.” Gently he pushed her back onto the pillows.
“Go back to sleep,” he replied.
The passage was dark. Two of the torches had gone out and only one sputtered beside Uni’s door, open in case his master called him in the night. Seqenenra heard him mutter as he passed. No soldier stood on guard where the corridor branched. All men were sleeping across the river. Seqenenra hesitated, looking along each untenanted, drowsy arm, then turned towards the garden and the crumbled cleft in the wall through which he could clamber and so come to the old palace. He slipped past the door to Mersu’s room. His mother’s steward had lodgings close to the way to the women’s quarters so that Isis could rouse him if Tetisheri needed him. The door was ajar. Glancing in, Seqenenra saw a hump on the couch. It was hard to imagine the stately and silent Mersu with limbs disordered in sleep. Seqenenra smiled and went on.
The night was hushed, hot and still. As he padded across the garden, skirting the black square that was the pool and ducking in under the dry trees, he spared a glance for the sky. The moon was already setting, a stark white sliver in a spangle of stars whose sharp brilliance held his breath for a moment. He paused, whispering a prayer to Thoth, god of the moon and its soul, before stepping carefully over the almost invisible rubble that had tumbled from the wall of the palace and squeezing through the hole.
The palace loomed above him, a jumble of sharp angles high against the velvet sky. He was not intimidated. Many feared the night because of the dead, but here Seqenenra felt only the welcome of ages gone, time peopled by his own flesh and blood. He had a right to be walking across the churned courtyard and plunging into the shadowed great reception hall. He crossed it swiftly, moving more by instinct than by the faint grey light filtering down from the clerestory windows. In the audience room he did not look towards the throne dais. I will rebuild this place, he thought as he passed on. I will bring the Holy Throne from Het-Uart and place it here.
At the foot of the stairs leading to the roof of the women’s quarters he suddenly stopped, listening. It seemed to him that he had heard a sound behind him. “‘Is anyone there?” he called quietly, but the darkness was undisturbed. “Osiris Mentuhotep neb-hapet-Ra, if it is the flutter of your ba-wings I hear, please bless me and protect me, I beg,” he called again, but if the bird with Mentuhotep’s head had left his tomb and was exploring the ancient King’s derelict home, it did not show itself. Still, Seqenenra was comforted. He mounted the stairs quickly and came out on the roof.
As he folded onto the still-warm brick, he felt his tension flow away. He had imagined that to come here would be to order his thoughts, but in the end there were no thoughts to order. Only a dreaming reverie that calmed and raised his spirits. His house was in darkness but for one pale light in the women’s quarters that he knew was Aahmes-nefertari, unable to rest. A night bird sang briefly and harshly. Down by the river he caught the whicker and shuffle of the tethered horses, and the water itself drifted on towards the north, in the direction he himself would soon go, faint moonlight greying its surface. As usual, he turned for a moment towards the desert, but the horizon was indistinct. I talked to Tani today but not Aahmes-nefertari, he thought. I meant to go to her, my quiet one, but I was afraid that my farewells would only upset her further. Better a brief embrace in tomorrow’s chaos. His eyes were drawn back to the faint glow of her lamp and he began his prayers to Amun.
He prayed for bravery in battle, for a public vindication of his claim as Amun’s Incarnation, for the safety of his sons. He was just beginning the thanksgiving when again he fancied that he heard a noise behind him, this time the rattle of a piece of dislodged brick on the stairs. The words died on his lips. A sudden foreboding swept over him, prickling his scalp and running down his spine, and the dread of a terrible certainty seized him even as he swung round and began to scramble clumsily to his feet. He did not complete the movement. There was a rushing shadow between himself and the black stairwell, the dull glint of waning moonlight on the blade of an axe, and a blow so swift and stunning that he did not have the time to raise his arms in defence or to cry out.
The sun had already risen above the eastern horizon, dispelling the strange grey shadows of dawn, when Seqenenra’s body servant knocked on Uni’s door. It was customary for the Prince to be woken, bathed and dressed before the steward was summoned to accompany his master to Amun’s ablutions, and Seqenenra had left instructions that he was to be roused a little earlier than usual on this morning. The body servant, bowing his way into the Prince’s bedchamber before dawn, had found only Aahotep breathing quietly, lost in unconsciousness. Waking her timorously he had enquired whether the Prince had already gone to the bath house. Aahotep muttered that she did not know, and went back to sleep.
The servant accordingly searched the bath house, and thinking that the Prince might even now be enjoying an early breakfast, he hurried to the reception hall. Kamose and Si-Amun were eating fresh black bread and dried grapes, standing silently while they were served. Tetisheri was there also, the remains of her meal before her, already painted and wigged in order to face the army’s farewell. The servant questioned them nervously. His duties never extended beyond the chores of the bedchamber. But they answered him absently. Having wandered throughout the house, he went to Seqenenra’s steward.
Uni was already up, kilted, fed, and waiting for the Prince’s summons. Seqenenra had given him instructions for the running of the house in his absence and they had discussed what Uni, together with Mersu, might do if the King’s armies came, but there were always last-minute matters to be aired even when the family made short trips, and Uni had a scribe squatting in the passage outside to accompany him and the Prince to the temple and take notes if necessary on the way.
“Have you looked in the women’s quarters?” Uni asked after hearing the servant’s complaint. “The Prince was intending to visit the Princess Aahmes-nefertari for a moment.” The man nodded. “Well, what about the kennels? You know how the Prince loves his animals.” The servant spread his hands.
“I have looked everywhere, Master.” Uni considered. Perhaps the Prince had gone to the temple early and alone on this fateful day. Perhaps Hor-Aha had called for him with some military problem. Uni dismissed the servant.
“Send Isis to the Princess if she is not yet up,” he ordered, “and then you can take the linen to the wash house and begin the cleaning. Do not bother to put fresh linen on the Prince’s couch.” The man hurried out and Uni followed him more slowly.
As soon as he reached the end of the passage, he saw how high the sun already was. A din of men shouting, horses neighing and donkeys screaming reached him from the opposite river bank where the army was beginning to rank for the coming march. As Uni stepped from the portico down into the garden, Kamose and his brother hurried by, bows slung over their shoulders and quivers bouncing against their backs.
In the garden Aahmes-nefertari turned at the steward’s approach. She was swathed in wafting linen to modestly hide her pregnancy but she had tied a white ribbon around her sleekly brushed hair and her eyes had been kohled. “Uni, have you seen my father?” she asked. “He promised to meet me here before we all went to the river to say goodbye. Has something de
tained him?” Uni bowed.
“I do not know, Princess,” he replied, “but I will find him. You should not stand here in the sun. Send Raa for a mat and a canopy.” Aahmes-nefertari spoke to her companion and as she did so Uni’s eyes found the cleft in the wall and the palace beyond, its walls now warm beige in the morning light. He smiled sourly and walked towards it. Of course. Where else would the Prince go to snatch a few minutes of peace before the day’s events claimed him? But he should have kept watch on the sun, Uni thought, annoyed, as he strode across the empty courtyard, now full of blinding light that made him squint. By now he should have completed his duties in the temple, said goodbye to his family, and be gone. It is not like him to keep the soldiers waiting under this sun.
Uni did not like the old palace. As he walked into the cooler dimness he wished that he had a charm hanging between his shoulder blades. He touched his amulet, crossed the audience chamber as Seqenenra had done, and turned towards the stairs he knew his master favoured. A sudden flurry above him and a thin piping made him shrink against the wall, his face distorted with disgust. Bats. It would be necessary to speak to the peasant detailed to drive the beasts into the open each morning in case the Prince needed to mount these steps.
Uni pressed on and up, coming at last to the chipped and broken doorway. Heat beat at him as he emerged blinking, and he stood for a moment until his eyes had adjusted. “Prince, are you here?” he called politely. There was no answer, but answer was not needed. Uni saw his master almost immediately.
Seqenenra was lying face down in the dust and blown sand, his cheek against a chunk of brick, his arms invisible beneath him. His splayed legs were in full sunlight and the edge of his kilt stirred in the erratic puffs of breeze. Uni felt his heart stop, then lurch in his chest. Scrambling forward he touched Seqenenra hesitantly, and it was then that he saw the smashed skull, the brown, dried stain of blood pasted across the grey face. “Ah, gods, gods,” he whispered.
Straightening, he looked around desperately for help. Soldiers from the eastern barracks were milling under the trees by the river, a confused mass of brown limbs, white kilts and sun-fired spears waiting to embark for the west bank. He could not call that far. No one would hear him. Then he caught a flicker of movement passing the cleft in the wall surrounding the garden. “Here!” he shouted, but his voice was a croak. He took a deep breath. “Here! Up here!” He continued to shout. Presently a figure appeared, leaning through the gap and looking up, shading his eyes with one hand. It was one of the gardeners. “Run as fast as you can and bring servants and a litter!” he ordered. “When they are on their way, find the Princes Si-Amun and Kamose. I saw them going towards the river. Send the physician to the Prince’s bedchamber immediately. Immediately! Run!” The man looked bewildered, but at Uni’s hysterical tone he disappeared.
Uni crouched by the body. There was nothing more he could do until the litter arrived. Hesitantly he ran his fingers across Seqenenra’s shoulder. The skin was harshly dry and cold. Is he dead? Uni thought, sudden nausea making him pant. He could see no more than part of the Prince’s face, but one eye was glazed under a lid that was only half-closed. The sun was rapidly dispersing the shade the Prince lay under. Uni removed his kilt and laid it over the exposed flesh. As he did so, he realized for the first time that one does not tear open one’s skull by tripping and falling, nor can one fall up steps. Someone had crept up behind the Prince and done this terrible thing.
“Uni!” a voice shouted. He looked down. Aahmesnefertari was leaning through the gap. “What is happening up there? What are you doing?” He knew that he must persuade her to go into the house, that she must not see the thing lying behind him, but something about his stance must have alerted her. Before he could remonstrate, she was forcing her distended body through into the courtyard.
“Princess, no!” he shouted. “I will talk to you in a moment! Please return to the house!” But she ignored him. After her, Uni saw the litter bearers come hurrying. He went down to meet them.
He could not stay at the foot of the stairs with a pale and anxious Aahmes-nefertari. He left her and returned to the roof to supervise the Prince’s transference to the litter as gently as possible, sensing from the glances of the men that they considered such care pointless. Seqenenra was dead. They were probably right. He ushered them back down the stairs, acutely conscious of the Princess’s upturned face at the foot, and he was powerless to prevent her from drawing close as the litter reached the ground. She bent over her father, puzzlement evident in her gestures, then the full significance of what she saw struck her. She screamed once, swayed with one hand pushed into her cheek, and Uni took her shoulders and forced her gently onto a step. “Stay here, Princess,” he said. “I will send you Raa.” She wrapped her arms around her protruding abdomen, looking up at him with huge, frightened eyes.
“Is he … is he dead?” she managed.
“I do not know. Stay here.” He bowed without being aware of the obeisance, an unconscious act of long habit, and ran after the bearers.
For fear of jolting him, they carried Seqenenra out through the huge, gateless aperture at the end of the courtyard that had once been hung with copper and had seen the resplendent passing of kings and nobles. Uni, watching the limp for anxiously, saw not the slightest evidence of life. The eyes were partly open but dull. Dried blood had oozed from between the slack jaws and dribbled down the chin to dry in the hollow of the neck. The scalp was a mess of crinkled skin. Uni was beginning to suffer from the effects of the shock he had sustained. His legs were shaking and his head swam. He was very glad to see Kamose and Tetisheri hurrying along the passage towards the bedchamber at the moment the litter turned from the hallway. The physician was already waiting within. While the servants lifted Seqenenra onto the couch, Kamose gripped the steward’s arm. “Speak to me!” he grated.
“No one could find the Prince,” Uni explained, beginning to shiver, “but I thought that he might be in his favourite spot so I sought him there. He was lying on the roof of the women’s quarters,” he pointed into the room, “like that.”
Kamose indicated the stool by the door. “Sit,” he ordered. “You look ill. When you feel recovered, send a servant to Si-Amun and Hor-Aha. Si-Amun is on the west bank hitching horses to the chariots. He must come at once. Hor-Aha is to ferry the troops back across the river. They may rest today, and have him give them plenty of wine. Then command Mersu to wait upon me. You are excused for the day, Uni. You have done well.”
Uni looked curiously into the hard, set face. Kamose’s lips were a thin line, his nostrils pinched, his eyes completely black. The steward had known the Prince since the time of his birth. He had been a quiet baby, a brooding youth and a self-contained, self-controlled young man. He could talk lightly and easily of many things, and his slow smile had warmed the heart of many a guest. Uni suspected that he was deep, that Kamose’s true life was lived far beneath the tranquil, graceful gait and tolerant conversation. Now he knew instinctively that Kamose was in the grip of a vast rage. The young Prince’s words had the sharp edge of complete authority. Uni did as he was told.
In the bedchamber there was a tense, unbelieving silence broken only by the physician’s soft movements. Kamose and Tetisheri stood rigidly side by side. Aahotep had pushed past Kamose while he spoke to Uni and was kneeling by the head of the couch, tears running down her freshly painted cheeks, but she was obviously in command of herself. For a long time they all watched the physician make his examination, their eyes moving with his hands as though mesmerized, then Aahotep stirred. “Is he alive?” she asked. The man checked his motions and regarded her with surprise.
“Of course he is alive, Princess, or I would not be doing this. I would have called in a sem-priest. See for yourself.” He drew a small copper mirror from its wooden case and held it close to Seqenenra’s mouth. It misted with a thin film of condensation.
“Ah, Seqenenra,” Aahotep breathed. “Who has done this to you?” At the question the
others loosened. Tetisheri stalked to the couch.
“What is the extent of my son’s injury?” she barked. The physician put his mirror away.
“When he is washed, Princess, you will see that, apart from a graze on his cheek where he fell against something sharp, his only wound is this dreadful blow to the skull. The axe penetrated so far that the contents of the pan are exposed.”
“Axe?” Kamose exclaimed tersely. “He was attacked with an axe? How do you know?”
“I can tell by the shape of the wound,” the physician answered. “I can also tell you that the axe was made of bronze. One of our own axes would not have been able to penetrate so cleanly. It would have been too soft, and the force of the blow would have resulted in many splinters of bone embedded in the brain. There are splinters which I shall have to remove, but not many.” He would have gone on, but there was a commotion at the door and Tani’s voice rose above the remonstrations of Mersu.
“Father! What is it, what is going on? Let me pass please, Mersu!” Aahotep rose quickly. Her hands, as she pressed them against the sheet, were trembling.
“Amun forgive me, I had forgotten about Tani,” she said, and before the harassed Mersu yielded she was across the room and out the door. Kamose turned back to the physician.
“Will he die? What hope is there?” The physician raised his eyebrows and his shoulders.
The Hippopotamus Marsh Page 11
