They swam for perhaps an hour, gliding back and forth, then Ahmose dived and came up with a handful of black mud which he hurled at Kamose, grinning impishly. Kamose was about to protest when suddenly he was seized with a reckless joy. He did not consciously think of this moment as the last of his freedom or as an overwhelming desire to retreat into the vanished years of his boyhood. He only knew that the sun was hot, the water like satin under his chin, and he had been sober for too long. Sinking, he grabbed up two handfuls of riverbed and surfaced, aiming at Ahmose and then lurching towards him to rub the mud into his face. Soon both of them were yelling and shrieking like demented children, helpless with laughter and covered in black mud. It was Kamose’s defiance flung at the King, the future and his fate and he gloried in it, deliriously aware of nothing but this hour. His madness was gone as quickly as it had come and he and Ahmose washed themselves off as best they could and propelled the skiff back to the watersteps, but Kamose felt scoured and content like a newly made pot and courage sprang freshly to life in him.
He rose before dawn the next day as was his custom and calmly made his way to the temple, washing and clothing the god and placing food and wine before him with hands that did not falter, while Amunmose stumbled over the words of the ritual and the sound of the systra held by the singers was ragged and slightly out of rhythm. Only at the Admonitions did the High Priest’s voice become more sure as he reminded Amun of the faithfulness of the Princes of Weset and called for the god to vindicate the years of trust. Afterwards in the outer court, both of them shod once more, Kamose invited Amunmose to feast at the house every evening until the King left. “We are proud of our God-of-Double-Plumes,” he said, “and we wish the King to know that we honour his servants also. You have been our supporter, Amunmose, and if you do not fear the King’s wrath, please represent Weset’s Protector.” Amunmose was nervous but no coward and he agreed.
Satisfied, Kamose sent a servant into the town to watch for Apepa’s approach and then returned to the family who were already gathered in the garden, sitting glumly in their finery as they waited for Apepa. Kamose knew better than to try and cheer them. With a murmured word of greeting he squatted in the new grass and fell silent.
For a long time there was nothing but the constant, scarcely noted babble of birdsong and the rustle of the breeze in the shrubbery. Lizards darted from shade to shade. A frog bounced to the edge of the pond, considered the water, and launched himself towards a lotus pad. “I feel sick,” Tani said. Kamose was about to offer a word when the slow sound of many voices began to overpower the music of the birds and grew to a thunderous ovation. At the same moment, the servant ran up out of breath, and bowed.
“He comes, he comes!” he panted. With one accord the family rose.
“My mirror!” Tetisheri snapped and Isis passed her the copper disk. Tani put her hands to her cheeks. Ahmose went to Aahmes-nefertari’s side and her hand slid into the crook of his elbow. Aahotep exchanged glances with Kamose.
“Weset is cheering him,” she said. Kamose shrugged.
“Our people are realists,” he replied. “They know that a few shouts mean nothing and may please the man they helped us to march against. Are we ready?” He regarded each of them in turn. The finest linen flowed against their limbs. They were wigged and painted, glittering with jewels. We could not pass for courtiers, Kamose thought with a lump in his throat. We have been too far from the fashions of the Delta for too long. But we have something timeless and unmistakable that we share, that I see today in Grandmother’s rigid back, in Aahmes-nefertari’s unconscious dignity and Tani’s regal yet unstudied gestures. The Setiu cannot imitate it. It is unique. “I am so proud of all of you,” he managed. “Let us not disgrace our father today, whatever happens. We will have courage. Shall we go?”
They paced in under the dappled shade of the grape trellis, Uni and Akhtoy, today in the long, pleated ankle-length gowns of their station, leading the way. Behind the family came servants bearing the formal greeting meal of bread, wine and dried fruit, on a gold platter to offer the King, but Kamose, after long deliberation, had decided not to present Apepa with any gifts. It would look too much like a craven desire to curry favour, and if Apepa interpreted it as stubborn pride, well, so much the worse. Besides, what could the Princes of Weset offer to the god who had everything? And I will tell him so, Kamose vowed as the pleasant coolness of the trellis gave way to the sun-drenched paved path and the area before the watersteps, if he asks why we do not give him anything. We have nothing to lose.
Yet under his bravado he was full of an uncertainty that grew as they halted facing the river road and a large canopy was unfolded over them. The cheering was subsiding. A small puff of dust drifted into view. Kamose spared a moment to glance across the river to the homes of the dead where Seqenenra lay in the dark cold of his tomb beyond the rugged face of the sun-drenched cliffs. Is your ba fluttering somewhere near, Father? he wondered, and is it distressed to see us clustered here like wary, defiant gazelles run to ground? Ahmose dug him in the ribs and Kamose with an inner stiffening turned to face the King’s vanguard.
Two chariots rolled into sight, the horses sporting blue and white plumes, the charioteers wearing blue-and-white helmets. Kamose, squinting into the dust cloud stirred up by the beasts’ hoofs, saw that the two men standing easily behind the charioteers sported silver armbands as well as the full regalia of war-spears in hand, bows slung behind them, axes and knives thudding against their linen-covered thighs. He wondered if one of them was the General Pezedkhu who had so soundly defeated Seqenenra. Behind the chariots were two columns of foot soldiers, Braves of the King, perhaps twenty of them, their faces solemn, their spears a phalanx of warning. Still far back, Kamose caught a glimpse of a litter whose closed curtains gleamed with the lustre of gold-wrapped thread. His heart gave a lurch.
The chariots came to a halt. The soldiers smartly divided to line the road. A gaggle of administrative servants was disgorged from two large litters. They stood for a moment, chattering to each other and shaking the grey dirt from their sandals, then one of them detached himself from the group and came forward. He was a tall man with a mild expression and a pair of alert grey eyes. He put his hands on his knees and bowed low, his obeisance somehow managing to include the whole family. “Prince Kamose?” he asked, after running his gaze swiftly over them all. Kamose nodded. The man bowed again, this time directly to him. “I am Nehmen, His Majesty’s Chief Steward.” His voice was soft and deferential without being obsequious and Kamose admired the training and control that must have gone into it. “I am responsible for seeing that the needs of the One are properly met while he is here. If you will be so good as to indicate your Chief Steward, I would like to confer with him.”
“Very well.” Kamose waved Uni and Akhtoy forward. “Akhtoy, my steward, and Uni, my grandmother’s administrator of household affairs. They are at your disposal.” Nehmen smiled at the two, then returned his mild gaze to Kamose.
“Thank you, Prince,” he said. Turning, he barked a crisp command, snapped his fingers, and the little crowd still hovering by the litters broke into individuals who hurried past the family sketching bows as they went and disappeared in the direction of the house. Nehmen, Akhtoy and Uni paced after them.
The way was now open along the road. The King’s litter was approaching, carried high on the shoulders of six brawny soldiers and preceded by acolytes sprinkling holy water from the sacred lake beside Sutekh’s temple and waving censers over the hard-packed soil, the fragrant smoke scarcely visible in the bright sunlight. Ahead of them a High Priest glided, his shaven brown skull bound with one red ribbon, his leopard pelt held to him by one gold-gripped arm. In the other hand he held a staff topped by the head of Sutekh in silver, its wolf snout snarling a warning to those who watched. He was flanked by we’eb priests who chanted praises to the god and to the King. These took no notice of the family at all.
The water sprinklers reached the broad paved area and b
egan to splatter every stone. Amunmose, himself decked in the garb of his office and attended by acolytes, moved to greet his fellow High Priest. The litter was almost upon them. Kamose felt the expectation and tension around him. The bearers came to a halt and lowered it carefully, then stepped away. Servants rushed to draw back the damask curtains, and as they did so everyone around the litter sank to the ground but for a man who came forward and halted beside the family. He was all in white. His kilt, helmet and sandals and the long staff he now raised were also white, ringed in gold. The Chief Herald, Kamose thought, a whiff of the man’s jasmine perfume reaching his nostrils. What was his name? He heard the man draw in a deep breath at the same moment that a brown foot contained in a heavily jewelled sandal appeared from the litter and sought the ground.
“The Mighty Bull of Ma’at, Beloved of Set, Beloved of Ptah, He Who Causes Hearts to Live, The Glorious One of the Double Diadem, Lord of the Two Lands, Awoserra Aqenenra Apepa, Living for Ever!” The herald’s strong, vibrant voice echoed against the angles of the house and was thrown back to the river. The King had emerged from the litter and was walking towards them. The Fanbearers on the Right and Left Hands had sprung to pace beside him, the white ostrich fans, symbols of divine protection, held high over his head and quivering against the blue sky.
In the second before Kamose reluctantly bent his knee, he studied the King. Apepa was taller than most of the men who waited on him. His legs were long and shapely, his shoulders, under the white, short-sleeved, loose-fitting shirt and fan pectoral of gold and lapis lazuli, seemed broad. His neck was perhaps a trifle long for the thinness of his face, giving him a pinched and precarious look as though he might lose his balance at any moment.
Kamose did not have the time to study his face. As he went to his knees and then prostrated himself, he had one thought and the rush of one indignant feeling. The King’s foreign roots were written all over his body and he had no right, no right at all, to wear lapis lazuli. The hair of the gods was made from the precious dark blue stone with its sprinkling of glinting gold, and only the divine ones, the god Kings and their families, had the right to display it on their persons.
Sheep herder, Kamose thought viciously. It was the greatest insult an Egyptian could conjure. The stone, still damp from the holy water, was warm under his nose and gritty beneath his stomach. He heard Tani’s quick, ragged breaths beside him and he hoped that Tetisheri, doubtless enraged at having to prostrate herself to anyone, would keep her mouth firmly closed.
A silence had fallen. Presently a shadow fell across Kamose but he did not dare to move. He could just make out the royal foot, a smudge of henna shadowing the arch that rose slightly from the gilded leather sandal, and a row of turquoise and gold beads across the toes. It was a slim foot. At last Apepa spoke. “Rise,” he said. The family scrambled up, not daring to brush the grit from their bodies. Kamose’s eyes sought the King’s face. He had not been able to remember its delineaments from the brief visit of years ago, apart from the fact that the young Apepa had worn a beard, but now he found he was gazing at someone familiar. He would have done better to keep the beard, Kamose thought, inspecting the high cheekbones and hollow cheeks that promised a firm chin but did not deliver it.
Apepa’s chin was a little too pointed, his eyes a little too close together, his eyebrows strong and black. The upper half of his face was indeed kingly, with the eyes, now meeting Kamose’s own with calm speculation, large and dark brown under a high forehead slashed by the gold band of the white-and-yellow-striped linen helmet he wore. His mouth curved like a bow, the corners downturned, making him look sullen, but the lines around it did not indicate a discontented nature. They had been carved by laughter. “Lower your gaze, Kamose Tao,” Apepa said evenly. Kamose did as he was told.
“Tetisheri!” the King exclaimed, and she came forward and bowed. “I have fond memories of my last visit to your house, in the year of my Appearing when I journeyed throughout my domain. I was comfortable here. It seemed to me then that you and your children lived a life of perfect contentment and ease. But we were all much younger and perhaps less foolish then.”
Tetisheri smiled frostily.
“Your Majesty is kind,” she responded. “But seeing that you are still a man of only forty-one, we may pray that you have many years left in which to grow even more wise.”
He did not react to the mild rebuke. He turned to Aahotep, commiserating with her on the loss of her husband as though he had died in some local accident instead of at the hands of first his assassin and then his soldiers. He spoke briefly with Ahmose, asked Aahmesnefertari how many children she had, and took Tani by the chin, lifting her face towards his own with his deft, graceful fingers. The colour drained from Tani’s cheeks but she did not flinch. She stared resolutely straight ahead. “Lovely, quite lovely,” Apepa murmured. “I remember you as a chubby urchin of five, dear Tani, but now I can see your father’s handsomeness and your mother’s beauty in you. You are betrothed to Ramose of Khemennu, are you not?”
“Yes, Majesty,” Tani whispered. Apepa released her and there was a slight hiatus.
Kamose beckoned and a servant came bearing the platter of the greeting meal. Kamose took it and knelt, holding it aloft. Apepa inspected it curiously, stirred it with one finger, then politely selected one dried grape and put it in his mouth. “Pezedkhu!” he called. Immediately one of the chariot riders strode forward and bowed.
“Majesty?”
Kamose stared at him. He was swarthy, large-nosed, with coarse features. He was also very young, perhaps still in his late twenties. He must be a military genius, Kamose thought dismally.
“Pezedkhu, clear out every local soldier in the house and grounds and confine them to their barracks while I am here. Set sentries out on the desert as well as along the riverbanks. Assign bodyguards to every member of this family.” He turned and smiled very sweetly at an indignant Kamose. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to any of you during my stay,” he explained. “My guards are well trained, do not fear. They will watch upon your doors at night and protect you during the day. Yku-didi!” The Chief Herald approached. “Clear my way into the house. I wish to eat and then retire for the afternoon sleep. Where is Itju?” The scribe at his heels bowed.
“Here, Majesty.”
“Take instructions for Nehmen. The Throne is to be placed in the reception hall and guarded at all times. Have my travelling couch erected immediately in whatever quarters are the best here. I want the Keeper of the Royal Regalia to sleep beside the throne, with the box in his arms. Have the Treasurer send his assistants into the town and distribute gold to the populace. Open my travelling shrine. I will pray to Sutekh before I retire.” He glanced across at his High Priest, deep in conversation with Amunmose. “Have Nehmen check the women’s quarters to see whether or not there is room for my wives. If not, pitch tents for these ladies,” he waved one languid hand at Aahotep and the others, “in the garden. All but Tetisheri. She is not to be disturbed. That is all for now.” The scribe, who had been scribbling furiously, picked up his palette and went away.
Apepa turned to Kamose. “You are right,” he said. “I do not trust you, and you need not be affronted because of it. You have an excess of pride, you Taos.” Kamose repressed a shudder. He had indeed been thinking with rage of the King’s restrictions. “I hope that I will be fed and entertained well tonight,” Apepa went on. “We will not speak of the matter that has dragged me here from the pleasant gardens of my palace until tomorrow. Then you will hear your fate.” He did not wait for a reply. Yku-didi was calling and sweeping his staff before him. Servants were already on their faces as Apepa began to move off towards the house. After him went a great procession of litters, runners and courtiers.
“Those must be his wives,” Aahmes-nefertari said in a low voice to Tani as the litters swayed past. “Or some of them, at any rate.” Kamose barely glanced at the richly hung conveyances, for in the rear, guarded by another phalanx of sol
diers, came a litter on which was a shrouded form that could only be the great Horus Throne. Kamose swallowed, thinking of his father as it jerked by. The Horus Throne, upon which none could sit but the gods of Egypt. Beside it paced a little man with a huge casket in his arms. The Double Crown, Crook and Flail. Kamose bowed to it reverently and joined the rest of the family.
“What a crowd!” Aahotep marvelled. “The house will never hold them all!”
“And we cannot feed them all, the parasites,” Tetisheri snapped. “I am almost eager to hear my sentence so that they will waft back to Het-Uart before the land becomes denuded of everything. What locusts!”
“He seems to be rather fond of you, Grandmother,” Ahmose put in mildly. “He certainly treats you with respect.”
“I should hope so!” Tetisheri retorted. “For some reason we found some common ground when he was here eleven years ago. I think strong women fascinate him. Either that, or he has a proper respect for the aged.”
“It is hard to tell what he respects,” Kamose mused. “I think his haughty pride covers an insecurity, perhaps even an envy of us, that makes him doubly dangerous. Our punishment will be harsh if that is so.”
“Yet he removed his beard,” Aahotep reminded them. “He knows the Egyptian aversion to body hair. He is not as immune to the opinion of the people as a King should be.”
“That is because he is not really a King,” Ahmose said loftily. “Let’s go into the house and see what is going on. Did you hear the way they talk, those courtiers? Their words so clipped as though their tongues got tired in a hurry? We must mingle with them, Kamose, and keep our ears open. We may hear something useful.”
The Hippopotamus Marsh Page 27
