Tetisheri made a soft noise, half-moan, half-exclamation, and turned towards the rear gate. The other followed. Kamose saw Dudu approaching across the practice ground and quickly turned away. Not today, he vowed, seeing Ahmose’s arm go around his sister’s shoulders. Today we grieve. “Uni,” he said as the steward came to meet him. “Keep the General away from me until tomorrow.” He strode into the empty, echoing house.
All that day the members of the family kept to their rooms while the servants swept and scoured the house of the remnants of the King’s occupation. Kamose lay on his couch, hands behind his head, listening to the industry going on around him and thinking of the coming four months with dread. Capitulation was out of the question, yet where was he to find more men, horses, chariots, weapons, food?
At noon Akhtoy brought a light meal but Kamose was unable to force it down. He wondered how Tani was, where the caravan had stopped for the noon meal, what Apepa was thinking. I am going to have to kill General Dudu, he said to himself, and forge my own dispatches to go north. I don’t want to kill him. He is only doing his duty. But he cannot be allowed to live, with the chance that he might find a way to let the King know what I am planning. I will let one dispatch through. I will watch how he seals it, how he addresses Apepa.
But Kamose’s thoughts did not stay long on General Dudu. Wearily they once more began to circle the problem of fresh troops and gold with which to equip them, yet under his pondering was the relief that comes after long tension. Apepa had gone. The noises and voices in the house were familiar. Much could be accomplished in four months. Kamose slept.
He had not dreamed of the woman who so often had begun to haunt his waking hours for a long time, but in the hot, slow-moving hours of afternoon, his mind still unconsciously engaged in possible troop tallies, his emotions dark with the loss of Tani and his grandmother’s accusations, he found himself walking behind her along the path that ran from Weset, past Amun’s temple, and towards the water-steps of his house. It was summer. The river beside him ran with a slow deliberation and the sun was beating on his bare head but he barely noticed his surroundings for she was there, perhaps ten paces ahead and almost abreast of the temple pylon, her long legs moving with supple sureness over the dusty, pitted ground. Light and shadow dappled her from the branches overhead.
She was dressed in nothing but a short, coarse linen kilt that swirled about her thighs. Her feet were bare, her heels grey with dust. Beads of sweat glittered on her spine and her straight shoulders were hidden under a shower of swinging black hair. Such a spasm of desire and longing shook Kamose that he cried out in his dream, but he knew better now than to try and catch up with her. If he ran, she would simply glide faster and the dream would end all the sooner. He wished to prolong this glorious pain. He padded after her. The shadow of the pylon began to engulf her.
All at once she slowed and glanced towards the temple and Kamose, unprepared, missed a glance at her profile. Cursing himself he tried to keep walking but found he could not. She also had come to a halt, waiting easily, one brown, oil-bedewed leg flexed.
Then Kamose’s breath caught in his throat, for between the solid, soaring stones of the pylon a tall figure was emerging. Kamose’s attention was riveted on two things. The figure had a garland of fresh winter flowers around its neck, lotus, persea, tamarisk blooms, all damp and quivering although it was high summer. It also wore a coronet of purple gold, that most precious and rare amalgam, surmounted by two white, gently trembling plumes.
Kamose was suddenly afraid. With bated breath, terrified and yet hoping that the figure might turn and pierce him with his mild, searching eyes, he stood still, captivated by the easy ripple of every perfect muscle in that regal body as it moved towards the woman. Will she turn and bow? Kamose wondered. Will I see her face? The god halted. The woman inclined her head, a reverent yet proud gesture, and held out her hands to the side. Only then did Kamose notice that the god held a bow and a dagger in his hennaed fingers, Kamose’s own bow, the one he had drawn in Seqenenra’s defence, and his gold-hilted dagger that had already drawn Setiu blood.
The woman took them, slinging the bow across her back, and began to move on. Kamose, released, stumbled after her, but by the time he too came abreast of the temple pylon, the god had gone. Glancing enthralled into the outer court, Kamose thought he glimpsed a flutter of goldtissued kilt and one gold-shod heel disappearing between the pillars leading to the inner court, but he had no time to follow. The woman held his dagger in her right hand. Sun glinted on it as she strode purposefully on. They were almost at the watersteps. The end of the grape trellis appeared on Kamose’s right, still with a few shrivelled leaves clinging to the vines.
The woman stopped. Her left arm rose in the direction of the river and Kamose noticed with a thrill that silver commander’s armbands shone on her upper arms. He followed her gesture. The river was crowded with craft of every kind—heralds’ skiffs, hunting skiffs, fishermen’s tiny boats, barges, all empty and gliding gently past on the current. The woman began to turn and Kamose’s knees became water. He felt himself buckling, falling towards her, unable to breathe. Then he was sitting up on his couch drenched in sweat, his legs tangled in the damp sheet. He was panting. Someone was rapping on his door and Akhtoy’s voice called politely, “Prince, General Dudu wishes to see you as soon as possible. He has been waiting all afternoon.” Kamose wanted to pound the door into slivers. If Akhtoy had not knocked and woken him he might have seen her. Seen her!
“Tell the General I will be in my office in one hour,” he managed thickly. “Send me drinking water, Akhtoy, and a bath servant.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Kamose pulled the sheets away from his legs and left the couch, standing unsteadily in the middle of the floor. He felt dazed, his body sticky and odorous, his mind drugged. Another knock came on the door and he said, “Enter,” his tongue obeying him reluctantly. His body servant bowed his way in holding an earthen jug and a cup. The water in the jug was cool. It had just been drawn from the huge jar always standing in the passage to catch the draughts passing through the house. Kamose could tell by the way the jug was sweating. He stared at it blankly.
“Water, Highness,” the servant said. “Shall I pour it for you?” He went to the low table and set it down. Kamose watched the transparent liquid slosh to and fro and at once it became more important than anything else in the world. He tensed, praying that for one moment the servant would not move, a bird would not cry, no sound would disturb the revelation he knew was about to burst into his consciousness. Water. Water. His bow, his dagger. The river. Boats, many boats, and a gesture as graceful and provocative as a dancer’s. The river and boats. Boats boats …
He began to shake. Of course! Boats! “Amun!” he said aloud, his voice a croak. “You have opened the door. Who is she then that scarcely bows to you? Hathor? Your wife Mut? An aspect of Sekhmet? She who takes my bow, my dagger … Boats!”
“Highness?” the servant enquired. Kamose turned to him, smiling.
“I will pour for myself,” he said. “You can go.” The man cast him a doubtful, worried glance and left. Kamose went to the table and lifted the jug, trying to pour himself a drink, but his hands were trembling so violently that he slopped the water onto the floor.
An hour later, bathed and clad in freshly starched linen, a circlet of gold on his head, he sat in the office and received the General’s curt bow. He still felt that an aura of dislocation surrounded him. His eyes were swollen, his hands puffy from the effects of the sleep that had been more than sleep, but he was happy and he greeted Dudu with a swift smile. “Why did you wish to see me?” he asked. Dudu looked nonplussed, then embarrassed.
“Highness, it is my unfortunate duty to insist that you confer with me on every decision you take regarding your family and the nomes for the next four months. Everything must be reported to the One.”
“An unfortunate duty, indeed,” Kamose replied dryly. “I make no decision today, Dudu.�
�� The man bowed shortly. “That may be so, Prince, but I also have a duty to accompany you everywhere. I am afraid I am to be your shadow.” Kamose felt a pang of sympathy for him.
“Do you wish a cot set up beside my couch?” he asked, a wicked innocence on his face. Dudu sighed, offended.
“No, Highness, that will not be necessary,” he responded stiffly. “One of my soldiers will guard your nights and your afternoon sleeps. With regard to your soldiers, I have released them from the barracks and paired them with my own fifty retainers. One of yours, one of mine. To keep them all locked away for four months would not have been practical.” Kamose for a moment admired such a strategy.
“No indeed,” he agreed. “Not practical at all. Dudu, I am going to walk to the temple now. You may accompany me if you wish.”
“Now?” Dudu blurted. Kamose could see the thoughts written on the bluff face before Dudu managed to control his expression. He was not allowed into the Holiest of Holiest, the sanctuary. Messages could be passed there through the High Priest and Dudu could do nothing about it except post guards at every exit and question all who passed. What foolishness! And who went to pray at this time of day anyway?
“Now,” Kamose affirmed, rising. “We are a devout people here in the south,” he went on. “Amun receives our regular homage, as does Osiris, Hapi, Ptah. I hope you have strong legs, General, for you will be standing regularly in the outer court for long periods.” Dudu bowed without replying and Kamose strode past him, calling for his guard.
He could have taken a litter but he wanted to walk, not to spite his shadow but because he had covered the same ground such a short time ago. The dream was vivid in his mind as he passed under the thick green shade of new leaves alive with nesting birds. The river rushed by, swollen and murky. The sun was hot but not unpleasant. Kamose wanted to sing. His escort, one of his own bodyguards accompanied by a Setiu warrior, tramped ahead stolidly. Dudu followed him three paces behind, his own guard bringing up the rear. A Weset woman holding a small boy by one hand and a donkey’s leading rope in the other drew to one side as Kamose passed. She bowed, smiling, and Kamose greeted her.
At the pylon he had a moment of awe and hesitation, remembering Amun’s stately appearance here. He ordered the soldiers to relax in the shade of the massive stone structure. He and Dudu went on into the outer court. Kamose stopped a young priest who was hurrying by in the direction of the god’s storerooms that ranged along one side of the temple. “Where is the High Priest? Find him for me and send him to the sanctuary. I wish to pray.” The boy bowed, nodded, and ran on. With a peremptory gesture Kamose ordered the General to wait. Dudu did not dare to follow him as he passed the gate to the inner court.
Kamose stood while a temple servant approached carrying a bowl filled with water from the sacred lake and a cloth. By the time he had removed his sandals and washed his feet, hands and face, murmuring the cleansing prayers as he did so, Amunmose was waiting by the closed doors of the sanctuary. Kamose answered his bow with a hand on the High Priest’s shoulder and together they entered the holy place.
It was dark there and refreshingly cool. Amun sat glowing dully, his smile fixed on his benign features, a smile, Kamose thought, of triumphant complicity. You are a great god, Kamose told him in his mind. You deserve to have the whole of Egypt placed in your open palms and it will be. I promise. He approached the god and knelt, kissing the smooth golden feet and clasping the solid ankles. Laying his cheek against Amun’s arched foot he closed his eyes and began to pray, thanking him for the message of the dream, so obvious and yet overlooked by them all, even Seqenenra, who had marched his men in the desert, marched and been defeated. The chance was slim but it was better than no chance at all and the god himself had provided it, therefore the task was not hopeless. Love for this deity, the protector of Weset, the one whose eyes lit the desert and who had turned his august gaze on his son, filled Kamose, and with it came a corresponding scorn for the wild undisciplined Sutekh and his royal sycophant. We will win, he told the god. You and I.
At last he rose. Amunmose stood quietly watching. Kamose walked to him. “I know how I am to defeat Apepa,” he said without preamble, “but it will take much planning, much gold. Amun showed me how in a dream, Amunmose, but I need your help. Send priests to every Amun shrine in the nomes and any farther north that you know of. Bring to Weset all the offerings, gold, silver, jewellery, anything that can be used to pay grain merchants and vegetable sellers. Do it secretly and store it here, in the temple.” Amunmose nodded in agreement. “I am being followed everywhere by the King’s representative,” Kamose went on. “This is the only place he cannot enter, therefore, with your permission, I should like to use the sanctuary to pass and receive messages with you as intermediary. It will not be for long,” he explained, seeing Amunmose’s hesitant expression, “and it will involve no sacrilege, that I promise. I will be able to deal with General Dudu in a week or so. In the meantime news will come to you, not to me, and I will come to the temple twice a day for it.” He paused, thinking. “I have already sent for Hor-Aha. Have a priest set up a tent out in the desert to intercept him in the unlikely event that he arrives before I have had time to get rid of Dudu. You can lodge him here. I will send Uni to you tomorrow. Tell him I want a list of every boat in the area—fishing vessels, skiffs, barges, all of them, and a list of boat makers in Weset.”
Amunmose smiled. “Is that all, Prince?”
Kamose grinned back at the bite of sarcasm in his friend’s voice. “That is all for now. Make sure Uni brings his information here and does not attempt to give it to me directly. I thank you, Amunmose.”
The High Priest inclined his head. “I am glad Amun afforded you this vision. I think he has great plans for his town. Who knows? One day Weset might be the chief and holiest city in Egypt!”
Kamose laughed, the glad sound echoing against the high stone ceiling. “Who knows indeed?” he said, thinking of the town’s huddle of mud houses, the noisy market and sleepy wharf. “I must rejoin my jailor.” Prostrating himself before the god and embracing Amunmose he strode out into the dazzling sunshine, forcing himself to swallow the song that rose to his lips.
General Dudu’s report to Apepa was dictated a week later to the scribe he had brought with him. Kamose was with his mother as she inspected the newly planted flower beds against the house when Ipi came with the news. “He dictated in private, in the rooms assigned to him,” the scribe said in answer to Kamose’s sharp question, “but I knew it was to happen because his scribe and I were talking together in the office when he was sent for. I followed but could not hear the message, for the General keeps his door guarded. I had to walk straight past.”
“Where is the scroll now?”
“His scribe is in his cell, making a fair copy to send north.” Kamose considered quickly. It was vital that he see the dispatch, not so much for what it said but for the manner of Dudu’s style in dictation, his opening address and the closing salutation he used.
“Can you lure the man away from his work for a few moments?” he asked Ipi. “Is a herald waiting to take it north immediately?”
“No, Highness,” Ipi told him. “There is a box filled with dispatches the King left to be carried into Kush and some for the northern administrators. The herald is due back from Kush tonight and will not start for the north until tomorrow.”
“Good. Dudu will be here at any moment, having done his duty. Run to Uni. Tell him I want him to inspect the scroll carefully and he doesn’t have much time in which to do so. Take the scribe to the river, give him wine from my own stock, anything, Ipi.” Ipi bowed and went away. Kamose saw him bow as he veered past the General who was just emerging from the house.
“What are you doing, Kamose?” Aahotep said in a low voice. Kamose pressed her arm.
“I cannot tell you yet, it is too dangerous,” he whispered back. “In a few days, Mother.” She nodded, lips compressed, and returned to her consideration of the new plants. A short dis
tance away a gardener was squatting in the wet black earth, his naked brown spine bent as he distributed his nest of seedlings.
“Of course we must continue to plant and see to the crop sowing as well,” Aahotep said more loudly as Dudu swung towards them. “There is time for that before we must leave here forever.” She turned to the General with a haughty smile. “Even though the King has appropriated our next harvest, we cannot see our peasants denuded also. Come, Kamose.” She linked arms with him and began to talk of something else, strolling in the direction of the grape arbour and leaving Dudu to bring up the rear.
By the time Kamose went to the temple the next morning to perform the rites, Uni had visited the High Priest. While Dudu sat in the shade of a pillar in the outer court and glumly watched the colourful comings and goings of the dancers and petitioners, Amunmose gave Kamose Uni’s message. “The opening and closing salutations are the common ones,” he said. “The King’s titles after the greeting and before the General’s signature.”
“A signature?”
“Yes,” Amunmose said. “The General likes to scrawl his name himself and he does not put ‘by the hand of my scribe so-and-so.’”
“That is bad news,” Kamose said, frowning. “A seal?”
“The General prefers uncoloured wax and he uses a cylinder seal. He must carry it on his person. Uni says that the signature is not difficult to forge, Prince, and he had a chance to try it twice. The General’s Setiu name is not a long one, the two syllables being repeated.” For a second Kamose reflected on the many skills that were needed to produce a good steward.
“Anything else?” This is the only chance we will get to try that signature, he thought. If I wait until the next dispatch, time will be running too short. I must trust Uni’s draughting ability.
“Yes,” Amunmose said. “The General’s dispatches are always wound three times with plain flaxen string and knotted once. The wax is placed on the knot.” If we get through this, I will make Uni a vizier, Kamose said to himself.
The Hippopotamus Marsh Page 31
