Soon Seqenenra was sitting upright against many pillows. Tani piled flowers on his lap and danced for him the steps she was learning in order to take her turn as a priestess of Amun in a few months. But Seqenenra grew restless. At last he was able to take a scribe’s brush in his hand, and while Aahotep held the piece of potsherd, scrawled “Kamose. Hor-Aha.”
Aahotep exclaimed, “Oh not yet, Seqenenra! I do not think you are strong enough yet. Wait a few days more.” He growled, his signal that he was impatient.
“Now,” he said. Aahotep rolled her eyes. “Oh, very well. Uni! Fetch Kamose and General Hor-Aha. You need not wave at me like that, Seqenenra. I am going into the house.” She kissed him swiftly and swayed towards the shady portico.
Seqenenra kept his eyes on her until the shadow claimed her. He heard her speak sharply to someone, heard her sandals slapping in the hall beyond. The garden was riotous with birdsong, and close by a bee was hovering over a white, waxy bloom. Behek was snorting and running in his sleep and Seqenenra longed to wake him up, imagining that he bent down, rubbed the rough stomach, said “Come on Behek! They are only the devils of nightmare!” but he could not move.
His head ached today. It ached most days with a constant, dull throb. Sometimes it itched, but the physician had warned him not to touch the wound, even through the linen that was changed every day. He did not remember the blow, did not remember going into the old palace, did not even remember the things he had said and done the day before he was attacked. Perhaps it was a merciful forgetting. His life before the blow and his life now were entirely separate. He did not know why he had not been allowed to die there on the roof of the women’s quarters. He did not think it was Amun who had spared him. It was Set, cruel wolfish Set who had intervened in a mood of cunning and revenge so that he, Seqenenra, might be punished for his sacrilege.
No. Seqenenra leaned forward to where his left leg was slipping from the cot, and struggled to lift it. Set would never commit an act of such horror on an Egyptian unless someone had deliberately insulted him deeply. Surely his pride revolted against the slow coupling of himself with the Setiu Sutekh. No, Seqenenra thought. Amun has spared me so that I might finish what I began. They tell me that they cannot find my attacker. I am not surprised. The arm of Apepa is longer than I imagined, and it struck, and was withdrawn. I have been warned, and if I lie quiet now, lick my wounds and behave myself, nothing more will happen. Must I admit to myself that I have failed, and not only failed but been defeated?
At the image of the King gloating self-righteously in Het-Uart he groaned, and his body servant, standing patiently beside him, began to flick him with the whisk. It is not the flies! Seqenenra wanted to snap at him, but could not face the effort of making himself understood. My body has become a living tomb, he cried out silently, pushing away the panic that always waited to engulf him in such moments. My thoughts can no longer reach my tongue or my limbs. The way has been sealed against them. I look at Aahotep, at her anxious eyes, at the loneliness behind her forced cheerfulness, and I want to fold her in my arms and protect her, but those days are gone. Do not dwell on them. Do not see yourself balanced in the chariot, arrow to bow, with a lion bounding ahead of you across the desert. Try not to feel the glorious tensing of muscles and the rippling caress of water against your chin and shoulders as you strike out farther into the river.
And do not think, oh, never again think of Aahotep lifting the sleeping robe, letting it slide down her arms, her thighs, stepping towards you with eyelids swollen and a lazy smile. Sweat was trickling down his temples. He shook his head vigorously at the servant, then cried out in pain. The man laid aside the whisk, and taking up a cloth, wiped his face. Gods, Seqenenra thought, must I suffer these indignities for the rest of my life?
Voices reached him. Kamose, Hor-Aha and Si-Amun came round the corner of the house, Kamose and Hor-Aha keeping stride with each other, Si-Amun a little behind. His oldest son had been often at his bedside, particularly at night. Seqenenra would wake to see him sitting, an indistinct shape in the faint glow of the night light, chin sunk in his hands and elbows on his knees, his face turned towards the bed. If Seqenenra stirred, Si-Amun would rise and bend over him, lift him gently to shake the pillow, call Uni if he was able to make it clear that he wished to relieve himself, yet he seldom addressed his father directly, though his hands betrayed his concern. His presence there in the night sometimes made Seqenenra uneasy, he did not know why. Perhaps, he reflected, watching them come, it was just the nightmares. My dreams were terrible.
They skirted the pool, came in under the shade, and bowed to him. He waved them down into the grass. Kamose and Hor-Aha sat close together, but Si-Amun took a place on the other side of the cot where, Seqenenra thought with a flash of irritation, I will have to turn my head to see him. He put away the spurt of an invalid’s querulousness. “I am well enough now to hear the state of the army,” he said slowly and carefully, forcing his distorted lips into exaggerated movements. At the sound of his voice Behek woke, sat up, and licked his arm before sinking into the grass once more. “Tell me how it fares.” Kamose and Hor-Aha were watching his mouth intently. There was a puzzled silence. Then Kamose put a hand on Seqenenra’s ankle.
“I am sorry, Father, but we cannot understand you. Shall I send for Mother?” Rage flowed over Seqenenra, followed by a feeling of helplessness that he abruptly refused. Struggling into a sitting position he signalled to Ipi, squatting motionless just out of earshot. The scribe came, laying his palette across Seqenenra’s legs and holding it steady. Seqenenra took a brush with his right hand, dipping it in the ink and writing “how is army” before tossing the piece of pottery to Kamose.
“You wish to know about the army,” Kamose said. “We are still feeding it at great expense, Father, and Hor-Aha is still training it. Si-Amun and Uni have already begun to assess this year’s planting with regard to its continued support.”
“Things do not look good,” Si-Amun broke in, and Seqenenra rolled his head in order to see him. “The flood was bountiful and the planting has begun, but as you know we had to open the family’s personal treasury to help support the soldiers last year in spite of the wonderful harvest. Must we continue to impoverish ourselves in this way?” Seqenenra took up the brush again and Ipi set another piece of potsherd before him. “Their health, readiness, prowess,” he wrote, all at once tired and wanting to sleep. He lay back, pulled his left arm onto his stomach, and cradled it. Ipi handed the piece to Kamose who glanced at it and passed it to Hor-Aha.
“The health of the soldiers is good, providing the officers keep them working hard,” Hor-Aha responded, his dark face upturned thoughtfully, his long black braids stirring on his naked chest. “But, Prince, it seems wasteful to have them on battle alert continually. They are drilled every day and more and more of them are becoming proficient with the bows the craftsmen are turning out, but they grumble and often fight among themselves. They want to go home if there is to be no war.” Seqenenra considered, watching a scarlet butterfly hover over Behek’s oblivious head before fluttering erratically in the direction of the blue lotus blooms resting on the limpid surface of the pool.
“Disband them, Father.” The voice was Si-Amun’s. He had risen and was standing over Seqenenra, his shadow deepening the shade in which Seqenenra lay. “Your dream of rebellion has come to nothing. The gods considered, and moved against you. They are content with Apepa, and if you take your plans to the limit, their retribution will be final. I am afraid of a curse falling on us all, I am afraid of Apepa’s loss of patience. Besides,” he cast a glance at his brother and Hor-Aha, “we cannot afford a standing army. We never really could. Every day that goes by drains our emergency stores. I, for one, would be relieved to see Weset return to its state of peaceful somnolence.” Kamose laughed with amusement.
“I never thought to hear you of all people plead for a peaceful life!” he joked. “Yet there is truth in what you say. Amunmose should be consulted as to the will of the
gods for us.”
“He only knows the will of Amun,” Seqenenra put in, “and I believe his will to be clearly against a letting-go.” At their polite, expectant expressions he cursed inwardly, grabbed another piece of potsherd from Ipi’s dwindling supply, and applied the brush furiously, feeling his face redden with exertion and frustration. “Send them home for own sowing,” he wrote. “Bring back end of Pharmuti.” He flung the message at Si-Amun.
“No,” the young man said, passing it to Kamose. “No, Father, please.” He sank beside the cot, kneeling in the warm grass, his hands rising to grip Seqenenra’s arm. Seqenenra turned to him with difficulty. He was frowning, his lips pursed, his eyes troubled. “We have braved loss of wealth, the King’s anger, the disapproval of the gods,” Si-Amun went on passionately. “You have been grievously wounded, perhaps for ever. I have lost a son. All this to pursue the righting of what you see as a wrong.” He glanced at his twin and away again. Kamose was staring at him without expression. Hor-Aha’s gaze had gone to his smooth, folded knees. “Fate has answered your dream with the sternest suffering. Turn back and do not fight it any more. Please!”
Kamose broke in. “It was more than that, Si-Amun,” he said. “The letters, the knowing that we were, we are, being driven. That has not changed.”
They all turned to Seqenenra. Suddenly he was too tired to pick up the scribe’s brush. Gathering his energy, he said, “No. We … go … on.” This time they understood. Kamose came to his feet, Hor-Aha after him.
“I am sorry, but I will of course obey,” Kamose said. “I will send the conscripts and the men of Wawat home, and the officers can round them up again at the end of the planting season. It may be that the King, seeing us send the soldiers home, will be mollified and cease to suspect us.” He smiled across at his brother, and Seqenenra, lying under them, watched Si-Amun try to answer Kamose’s gesture of optimism. For a moment they were still, their identical profiles etched against the softly moving leaves of the sycamore and the densely brilliant sky beyond like two figures from a painting on some palace wall. Then Si-Amun said curtly, “Father’s assassin was not caught. We do not know who did this terrible thing, but if we have been warned and do not heed the warning he may try again. I for one do not want Father’s blood on my conscience!” He spoke with such fervour that Seqenenra was surprised, and the uneasiness of the nights returned.
“But Father has made the decision, not us,” Kamose objected. “We are not responsible for his death in any case, because he will stay here and you or I will command in the field, Si-Amun. Supposing we have been warned by Apepa. How does that change anything? He is determined to destroy us whether or not we choose war.”
Si-Amun answered hotly and the two of them began to argue over Seqenenra’s head, chins almost touching, necks taut and fists clenched. Kamose’s voice stayed controlled, but Si-Amun’s rapidly became shrill. Hor-Aha stood with his eyebrows raised and his brawny arms folded, his woollen cloak loose about him. Seqenenra waited, and then, reaching up, he slapped each cheek smartly in turn. Kamose stepped back.
“I am sorry, Father,” he said. “We forgot where we were. May we be dismissed?”
For a moment Seqenenra bitterly resented Kamose’s formality. He waved them away.
Now he had the garden to himself. He knew that before long someone would come, Tani perhaps, to wriggle onto the narrow cot at his feet and talk to him as though she were chattering to a friend, or Aahotep with Isis or Mersu in attendance, or perhaps Tetisheri. Ahmose would be on the river in the late afternoon with rod and throwing stick and would bring his catch to display before his father with beaming pride. I am becoming like a household god, Seqenenra thought wryly. They come to me bringing the gift of their words and thoughts. But we no longer revolve around each other. Soon I will be able to stand, yet still my progress through the house will be occasions of fuss and proclamation like a divine journey. I should have told them that I intend to ride with the army in the summer. I cannot send them out to fight and perhaps to die while I hobble about the estate like a lame horse. I can no longer dream of the Horus Throne, power and might for myself, the unifying of Egypt under my strong hands, but I can end this agony with honour and pray that Si-Amun wears the Double Crown.
He was tired and uncomfortable. Signalling to the servant that he wished to be laid down, he began to turn onto his side, but he saw Aahmes-nefertari leave the dimness of the portico and come quickly towards him. “Oh, I see you are tired,” the girl said, lowering herself beside him and taking his useless hand. Her pale linen floated into the grass around her and her thick copper bracelets clinked. Seqenenra, receiving her kiss, thought that she looked drawn under the blue eyepaint and hennaed mouth. “Don’t try to speak to me,” she went on. “I could hear Si-Amun and Kamose shouting all the way to the reception hall where Mother and I were making lotus wreaths. It was inconsiderate of them to tire you.” Seqenenra felt his left eyelid begin to twitch as it usually did when he had attempted too much. He put a finger to it and the impulse stopped. He turned his right hand palm upwards and Aahmes-nefertari nodded. “I just came to tell you that I am pregnant again, Father. You are the first to know. I haven’t even told Si-Amun yet.” She paused. “I hope he will be pleased. So little pleases him these days.”
Seqenenra felt a surge of joy coupled with anxiety. He knew that she was still grieving for the little corpse whose beautified body lay alone in Si-Amun’s tomb. Doubtless Aahotep had urged her to have another child to help erase the old memories. He thought of himself being carried down from the roof of the old palace, of her standing there at the bottom, of how terrible the sight must have been. Kamose had told him. She herself had not mentioned it.
He reached over with his right hand and squeezed her fingers, smiling his lopsided smile. She responded. “You must not worry about me,” she went on. “We are a tough family. All of us are strong. I must go now. Shall I dismiss Ipi and tell the servants to take you back to bed?” He nodded gratefully. He had forgotten his scribe who still sat cross-legged somewhere behind him. Aahmes-nefertari spoke briefly, smiled at him again, and walked away.
I am guilty, Seqenenra thought, as Ipi bowed and left him and other servants came hurrying with a litter. She thinks it is all over but it is not. It has only just begun. His head was throbbing, and though the servants were reverently careful he could not help crying out as he was lifted from the cot to the litter. Before he was rolled onto the couch in his bedchamber, he had fallen into a light doze.
He insisted on being carried out into the fields to see the peasants complete the sowing, lying under a canopy with Uni beside him and his servants ranged around him, watchful in case his litter should sway and tip him into the warm mud. Sometimes Ahmose accompanied him, running along the dykes, weaving in and out of the date palms with Behek at his heels, and Seqenenra found comfort in his youngest son’s vigour and unquestioning lust for life.
As his strength improved, he tried to return to his former routine: being woken early so that he might be carried into the temple for the morning rites where Amunmose as his delegate performed the ceremonies he could no longer attempt, receiving Men who came from the Delta with the twice-yearly report on his and Amun’s cattle, and feasting with the heralds and other ministers of the King who plied the river between Het-Uart and the vast holdings of Teti-the-Handsome, Prince of Kush and Apepa’s friend.
He did not try to hide his condition from these men. It was good that they should see him maimed and disfigured, should go back north to Apepa with tales of the proud Seqenenra’s twisted mouth and drooping eye, his leg and arm like a doll’s limbs stuffed with straw. Let them gloat, he thought in the evenings when he sat in the reception hall, propped in his chair with pillows, his left arm supine in his lap. Let Apepa hear of me chastened and cowed, my lesson learned. The laughter and chatter flowed around him on these occasions. The harpist sent rippling music over the throng, the dishes steamed in the hands of the servants, his women arrayed themselves in t
heir best linen and jewels. Seqenenra presided mutely, Aahotep close by, Uni at his right hand to anticipate his every need.
The soldiers had gone back to their villages, Hor-Aha’s Medjay to see to their tribal affairs in Wawat and the Egyptians to till and plant their tiny fields. Seqenenra knew that this word also had gone north.
But the bows of palm ribs continued to come from the hands of the military craftsmen and pile up in the armoury, and in the granaries, grain from the last harvest was laid aside for next year’s assault. Hor-Aha had sent a scout to buy horses, a few here, a few there, and chariots were being made. This time, Seqenenra reflected grimly, we will be prepared. The men will be better trained, the stores more plentiful. Kamose and Si-Amun will be older and hardier. Yet by the time he allowed Aahotep to usher him to his couch at night, he was always feverish and consumed with a despair that he hid from them all.
The hole in his head that he came to regard with a mounting disgust and horror was closing slowly. New bone was growing on the old, jagged teeth of the wound. Yet to him it was a symbol of everything he now was, an object of concern and pity to his family and an affront to himself. He would not allow Aahotep to kiss him on his lips, or anyone but his body servant to touch his face. At night, with throbbing head and anguished heart, he wished that Apepa’s crafty tool, whomever he might be, had struck a little deeper.
The months of Mekhir and Phamenoth passed. The crops began to spring up lush and thick in the fields. The canals, still full of calm, stagnant water, became playgrounds for the brown peasant children who leaped and splashed in them with innocent abandonment. The nights were soft, the stars gentle in a black sky.
Aahmes-nefertari had announced her pregnancy to the family and once more Taurt was honoured, but Seqenenra, watching her come and go, sometimes with her arm linked through Si-Amun’s but more often followed by Raa, sensed her unhappiness. She was afraid. He did not try to draw her out. Words could not soothe her. Only a healthy baby would restore her confidence.
The Hippopotamus Marsh Page 14
