By the end of Epophi all preparations were complete. The soldiers were back in their village on the desert. The donkeys were corralled by the river ready to receive their load of victuals. The horses were trained and groomed. The officers were closeted with Kamose and Hor-Aha, receiving last-minute advice.
On the last night Seqenenra, tired, obstinate and in a mood of fatalism intensified by the baking darkness, sent for Ahmose. The summer was at its height, the land acquiring its other identity of barren ugliness. The gods seemed hostile at this time of the year. Ra the supreme burned his subjects. The wisdom and gentleness of Amun paled in the fierce days and stifling nights. Cow-headed Hathor was too drowsy to answer the prayers of the women who beseeched her for beauty and vigour in the midst of a heat that wrinkled the skin and drained energy from her supplicants.
Because of his ailments, Seqenenra did not like to go naked as so many did. He was wearing the long gown of a vizier as Ahmose requested admittance and came to him over the tiles. Ahmose’s hair glistened with water. His skin, as he embraced Seqenenra, was damp and cool. “You have been swimming,” Seqenenra observed unnecessarily. “Would you like beer?” Ahmose nodded and poured from the jug on Seqenenra’s night table, sinking onto the floor with the cup in his hands where he settled, one arm along the couch. Seqenenra stood as close to the window as he could, but the night air hung motionless, a palpable thick curtain. “Do not be insulted that you must stay home,” Seqenenra said frankly, watching the minute shifting of Ahmose’s tight muscles as he drank and adjusted his position. “Someone must stay and order the women and see to a governor’s duties.” It took Ahmose a moment to decipher the halting words, his eyes concentrated on his father’s mouth. Then he shrugged and smiled good-humouredly.
“I have perhaps wasted more time than I should in hunting and fowling,” he admitted, “but being the youngest son I never expected to have to consider the responsibilities of an active princely rule. I have had fun, Father. I have loved my life. Eating, sleeping, getting drunk on long winter afternoons under the palms, knowing that nothing was required of me save to exist. Every god has indulged me, not to mention my dear mother and my sisters. But life is strange, is it not?” Seqenenra agreed, a lump in his throat. Ahmose with his carefree cheerfulness had always somehow leavened the family, shrunk without knowing it the cares and troubles that regularly arose. “I gave my tutors a difficult time in my childhood,” Ahmose went on. “All I cared about was fishing, knocking ducks out of the sky and stalking hyenas. But I am not stupid. I think you worry about leaving the governorship in my hands.” He swallowed the last of his beer and set the cup on the floor beside him, beaming up at Seqenenra. “I daresay I shall make a few mistakes but my instincts are good. They are after all the instincts of a ruling house. Besides, there is Grandmother to cuff me if I falter, and Uni to prod me if I weaken. Do not worry, Father. I shall not let you down.”
No, you will not, Seqenenra thought, looking into the handsome face that glowed with vitality and good humour. You are an honest man and the seeds of the kind of greatness that compels men to follow you are already sprouting. I wish that I could live to see them blossom.
They talked a little more, both unwilling to acknowledge the passing of time and neither referring to the coming morning until Ahmose scrambled up. “I am sweating again,” he said. “I think I will swim once more before I try to sleep. The Nile is beautiful by starlight, the water dark and the ripples silver.” Awkwardly he looked at his feet. “Father, I will not be at the assembling tomorrow to see the army leave,” he muttered. “Amunmose will perform the rites in your place while you are gone, but I think I will join him tomorrow.”
“I understand.” Seqenenra hobbled to him and kissed him warmly. “I love you, Ahmose. You are dismissed.”
“May the soles of your feet be firm, Prince.” Ahmose smiled tremulously and was gone.
Seqenenra knew that Aahotep would be coming to him soon. He dreaded her brave front, her lingering touch, the fear and bereavement her eyes would not be able to conceal. He loved her deeply but he wanted to lie alone on this, his last night. He could not face giving comfort yet again when he needed to gather in his meagre resources. His body servant entered, washed him and helped him into his sleeping robe. He endured the man’s ministrations mechanically and absently, frowning over the details of tomorrow, and had just collapsed onto his couch when Uni came in. “Si-Amun is here,” the steward said. “Will you see him?” Seqenenra’s heart sank but he nodded.
“Let him come.” Uni retired. Si-Amun closed the door behind him and came hesitantly to the side of the couch. There were black patches under his eyes and his skin had a sallow tinge. Seqenenra patted the sheets and Si-Amun sank down beside him. “You are ill?” Seqenenra enquired abruptly, wondering if this was some ploy of Si-Amun’s to avoid the march, but Si-Amun denied it.
“No, Father, I am not ill. I just wanted to tell you … to tell you …” His lips quivered. “There will be much confusion tomorrow and little time for idle talk in the days to come. I may not have a chance to say this again.” He glanced into Seqenenra’s face. “I love you, my Father. I regret deeply all the pain I have caused you. If I could bear your infirmity I would. Believe that I will fight beside you with all my strength, and willingly. Thank you for the life you have given me.” He was so distressed that he could hardly form the words. Seqenenra was shaken.
“The only pain you have caused me has been in seeing your misery and in being unable to help,” he replied, mystified. “Even now you suffer and yet keep it to yourself. Share it with me, Si-Amun.” Tears began to run down the young man’s cheeks.
“I cannot,” he said. “Believe what I have told you, Father. I am nothing as a man, nothing, but my arm will be raised in your defence. Forgive me.”
“But what for?” Si-Amun turned convulsively, teeth and fists clenched.
“Forgive me!”
“How could I not forgive you anything?” Seqenenra replied, deeply disturbed. “Calm yourself, Si-Amun.” For answer the young man smiled through his tears and ran to the door, wrenching it open and disappearing into the darkness beyond.
All at once Seqenenra was blindingly aware of the pain in his head. His eyelid was twitching. “Uni!” he shouted. “Go to the physician and bring me poppy. I cannot sleep with this pain!” He was answered by Aahotep.
“He heard you, Seqenenra.” She had slipped into the room, followed by her steward Kares, who was carrying a folding camp cot yhat he proceeded to set up beside the couch. Aahotep then waved him out. “We have not made love in months,” she said determinedly. “I understand why, even though I think you are wrong. I have not come to argue with you. I merely wish to spend the night here. Amun only knows when I shall see you again.”
He lay not speaking, watching her movements as she shed the thin cloak and reached for her sleeping robe. She was all smooth curves. Her hips quivered. Her breasts swung. Her skin was softly bronze in the light of the night lamp. Expertly she pulled a comb through her straight black hair, holding it in one hand while she worked at the knots, her head on one side, then tossing it back where it lay glossy and tamed beyond her shoulders. She lay down at last, pulling the sheet to her waist. “How hot it is!” she exclaimed. “As I was coming in I passed Si-Amun leaving your room. He almost knocked me down. What did he want?”
Seqenenra found his voice. He felt awkward and foolish, smitten as always by her natural sensuality yet cursing himself for his lack of faith in her love for him. What did she think when she looked at him naked now, with his lumpish, useless leg and the arm that slithered here and there of its own accord, the mouth that could not form a kiss, the eye closed in a permanent half-wink? No matter how she protested her affection, she was a mature woman accustomed to the attentions of the lusty man he had been. Surely somewhere behind those sooty eyes there was a shrinking, a contempt? “I do not know,” he answered slowly. “He told me he was pleased to fight beside me, and that he was sorry, and then
he left.”
There was a discreet tap on the door. Uni entered bearing a tray on which perched a small phial. Seqenenra breathed his relief. He tipped back the phial, tasting the bitter medicine, then closed his eyes. Uni padded out. Aahotep was silent but for her light breathing. Seqenenra felt the slow balm stealing through his body, and with it came drowsiness. The pain ebbed. His thoughts diffused, and he slept.
He half-woke at some time in the night to find Aahotep stretched out beside him, her lips moving leisurely over his chest. He grunted a protest but was too sleepy to do more. “Hush,” she whispered. “You can always pretend that I am a dream.”
“I am not that much of a coward,” he murmured back, “but do not give me your pity, Aahotep.” For answer she bit him.
“l know of no one less deserving of pity,” she hissed back. “Are you going to leave me with this hunger unsatisfied?” Her mouth was now questing his stomach and he felt himself responding. “Put your pride away,” she begged. “You do not need it with me. I love you, Prince.” With an inner twisting of despair he did as she had asked, but the passion he felt could not dispel his humiliation.
At dawn he was boated across the river and then carried to the large area of scuffed ground where the army was assembling, Aahotep riding beside him in her litter. They did not speak. There was nothing to say. Seqenenra had been dressed in a blue kilt and sturdy leather sandals. His head was enveloped in the stiff blue helmet of the charioteer. His spear lay beside him and a knife hung at his belt, but he had relinquished his bow and arrows.
As they swayed towards the temporary mustering ground, the distant babble of voices became a roar emerging from the dry dust cloud that powdered the brown trees and hung fine and white in the air. The bearers slowed. Seqenenra saw the women of the family clustered behind a protecting canopy. Aahmes-nefertari looked sleepy. Tani had dressed with care, wearing many of the jewels Ramose had given her, but her tight, simple sheath was blue, the colour of mourning. Tetisheri sat with Isis and Mersu to either side, her wig dotted with gold flowers and her earrings swinging. She had donned yellow, a triumphant colour full of promise, and Seqenenra smiled to himself in appreciation. His mother, of all the family, had no doubts about the outcome of the conflict.
The litter came to rest. Kamose hurried out of the murk, Si-Amun beside him. “You will have to address the troops in my place,” Seqenenra said to them as they helped him to stand. Uni eased the crutch under his arm. “Are the chariots yoked?”
“Yes. Will you wait here until the army has formed marching ranks?” Kamose urged him. “The High Priest has just arrived to give us Amun’s protection. When he has done so, I will speak.”
Si-Amun said nothing. As Seqenenra’s heir it was his place to talk to the soldiers, but he merely set his mouth in a thin line and beckoned impatiently for a chair. Seqenenra sank onto it. Kamose and Si-Amun melted away and presently Seqenenra could hear a barrage of crisp orders barked. “Captains of Fifty! Captains of a Hundred! Form up your men! Commanders to the dais!” He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. The girls had gathered by him.
“Father, as you pass Khemennu please tell Ramose how much I love him and try to persuade Teti to honour the contract,” Tani pleaded. She bent and kissed him. “Be careful. Stay away from the fighting. You are the Prince, you can command without danger if you choose.” Her voice faltered. Seqenenra nodded dumbly and reached up to stroke her face. Aahmes-nefertari was crying, the swollen eyes so like her mother’s huge with tears. He took her hand briefly, wanting to cry himself. Aahotep was at his side, still silent. Her linen stirred against his knee.
The shouts and scuffles around them grew, then slowly faded into a waiting silence. Gradually the dust cleared. Amunmose was mounting the dais in his long tunic and leopard skin, an acolyte beside him bearing a smoking censer. He began the prayers for victory and protection. Taking the censer, he moved it above the stiff ranks. By his side was a large gold cup brimming with bull’s blood that would be sprinkled on the soldiers as they marched past the dais.
Seqenenra listened to the clear, echoing voice of his friend, his heart constricting with foreboding, wondering if any but he knew the full fruitlessness of this gesture of his. He was the instrument of destruction for Tani, for Aahmesnefertari and her unborn child, for his wife. He dared not think of the twins, both standing tall and thoughtful on the dais in their battle gear. He dared not consider the King more than six hundred miles away. Only the thought of his own fate gave him peace. Selfish, he said to himself. I had no choice, yet I wish that he and I could have met in single combat before I became the useless hulk I am now.
Ra had lifted above the eastern desert to spark gold on the tips of the hundreds of spears forested on the plain and slide brightly along the spokes of the chariot wheels that rolled to and fro as the restless horses whickered and fidgeted. Beyond the Nile the walls of Seqenenra’s estate rose tall and the temple glowed sturdy and brown. On the shrunken surface of the river the light splintered and sank into the gentle, constant swells lapping the bank. The western cliffs lit suddenly, jagged and beautiful. Ah, Weset, Seqenenra thought. Quiet, hot and sleepy. A place where a man might dream his life away in perfect contentment. The pain of losing you is like a knife under my ribs. Farewell.
Amunmose had fallen silent. Si-Amun left the dais and came to assist his father who went slowly to meet him. Together they mounted the few steps, Si-Amun’s arm around Seqenenra. Kamose began his address but Seqenenra, balanced precariously on his crutch, hardly listened to his son’s powerful tones. Words of Ma’at, majesty and cause flowed over him. He surveyed the orderly lines, his eyes wandering from the stern faces of the Braves of the King directly below, bows slung over their massive shoulders, past the chariots with their blue-plumed horses and blue-helmeted drivers, to the files of infantry standing attentively and soberly beyond.
The Medjay stood out with their black bodies, a head taller than their Egyptian fellows. Their hair, like Hor-Aha’s, lay long and plaited on their naked chests. The Egyptian conscripts had also grown their hair, a soldier’s superstition and an attempt at protection, and it hung darkly gleaming to their shoulders. More bowmen than I had hoped, Seqenenra thought. That is good. How fine they look, how predatory! But how few, my Division of Amun that is not a division. Amun, you of the Double Plumes, be with us in the coming days and shield us with your might!
Kamose had finished. Hor-Aha called hoarsely and the men began to stride past the dais as Amunmose took the cup of blood and began to sprinkle them as they came. Their eyes fled from him to the Prince, his distorted face watching each one as they received the blessing and went to form marching ranks along the river road. Si-Amun touched his arm and obediently he left the dais, waiting at the foot while his chariot was brought. A chair had been tied to the chariot’s frame, with a high back against which he could lean. Over it arched a canopy. Aahotep and the girls came to embrace him and their hands followed him as he climbed into the chariot and Si-Amun settled him on the chair, tying him into it securely. Seeing him thus, immobile, his spear now in his hand, Aahotep flung herself into the chariot. Her arms went around him. “I love you, Seqenenra,” she cried out, her head pressed into his neck. “It is hard to see you go like this!”
For one delirious moment he inhaled her warm odour, then he pushed her away. “Ahmose will need you,” he said steadily, “and you must comfort the girls. See that a shrine to Montu is kept open in the house, and the sacrifices made. The god of war will listen.” She recovered herself and got out of the chariot. The girls stood with her. Seqenenra heard the order to march. Presently Si-Amun leaped up before him and picked up the reins.
The chariot jerked and began to roll. Si-Amun waved to his mother and brandished his whip. With difficulty Seqenenra looked back. They were still standing where he had left them beside the track in the dust churned afresh by the marching feet behind him. Aahotep had her arms around the girls. Tetisheri, well back and surrounded by her servants, had come to he
r feet in salute. They seemed so small against the backdrop of the river, their figures framed by the temple pylon beyond the water where the flags rippled in the new breeze. The farther bank was crowded with a sea of quiet citizens who had come out to watch their Prince go off to war. They had not cheered. There was no mood of joyous anticipation. Their faces were anxious and solemn.
After one long look Seqenenra turned away. Before him were the splayed legs and flexing back of his son and the thud of the horses’ little hooves in the hard-packed sand. Behind him some of the men were singing. He glanced back once more but a bend in the road led through a straggle of trees and hid his view. Only the tips of the temple flagstaffs could be seen, even now dropping to be lost in the jerking palm leaves. Weset was gone.
8
THEY MADE GOOD TIME that day. Spirits were high in spite of the fiery heat and three hours after Ra had been swallowed by Nut they made camp beside the river at Kift. Seqenenra was exhausted. They had stopped briefly once to eat, but he had nibbled his bread and drunk his water still tied in the chariot. In spite of the shade his canopy afforded he was weak and dizzy by the time Hor-Aha came to help him down. “A good day, Prince,” the General remarked as they entered the tent and Seqenenra’s body servant came forward. “If we continue to cover twenty miles a day we should arrive at Qes in another ten or eleven days. But, of course, we will not. We must allow for lame horses, sick men and other mishaps. Say twelve days.” Seqenenra smiled at Hor-Aha as he sank gratefully onto the camp cot.
“I will need twelve days to become hardened,” he admitted ruefully. “See to the men, Hor-Aha, and when you have eaten, bring me my sons. Qes marks the boundary of my governorship according to our ancient agreement with Het-Uart. We must decide how to proceed once it is behind us.” The General bowed and went out.
The Hippopotamus Marsh Page 17
