The Hippopotamus Marsh

by Pauline Gedge

  “In our position we cannot be too concerned with protocol and precedence,” he said. “Ability reigns supreme, Intef. Yet if anyone deserves elevation to the nobility for his service, loyalty and sheer craftiness, Hor-Aha does. Well, Kamose?” Kamose grunted. I should have done it a long time ago, he thought. Ahmose is right. Hor-Aha has not been greedy enough and I have been too selfish. He turned to his General, meeting the black eyes with a hint of amusement in them, the tiny smile.

  “Are you willing to carry a title, Hor-Aha?” he asked softly. “It means a final commitment to me and to this country, something stronger than your tribal oaths.” Hor-Aha nodded.

  “I do not need a title in order to serve you, Prince,” he answered equally softly as though he and Kamose were engaged in a private conversation. “But your brother is right. I deserve it. Later I will take the estates, servants and preferments that go with it.”

  “Very well. Please rise.” Hor-Aha did so, standing easily as Kamose drew close. Kamose touched him with slow solemnity on the forehead, shoulders and heart. “Hor-Aha, General,” he said as he did so. “I make you erpa-ha, Hereditary Prince of Weset and all Egypt, you and your sons after you, forever. I, Kamose, King of Egypt, beloved of Amun, Son of the Sun, make it so.” Hor-Aha knelt and kissed Kamose’s feet.

  “I will try to be worthy of this honour, Majesty,” he said.

  “Rise,” Kamose ordered. “You are already worthy. Sit.” They both resumed their seats. The other Princes had watched impassively. “Well?” Kamose pressed them. “To what avail is my strength when one usurper is in Het-Uart and another in Kush, so that I sit here between a Setiu and a Kushite, each in possession of his slice of Egypt, and I cannot even pass to Mennofer without permission? My new erpa-ha is a fitting match for Pezedkhu. Are you with me?” Ankhmahor sighed ostentatiously.

  “Alas for my cattle!” he said. “Yes, we are with you. But, Majesty, we will exact a heavy gift from you when we win.” Kamose did not thank them. To do so would have been unbecoming. He immediately passed to the matter of their responsibilities.

  “Before we move north there is the matter of Pi-Hathor to be dealt with,” he said. “As you all know, even though the town lies twenty-three miles south of us here at Weset, it is considered part of Apepa’s holdings. The Setiu have always needed its limestone and, more importantly, its ships. It is their halfway point for trade with Kush and it represents the southern boundary of their control. It pricks our tender underbelly like a thorn.” He leaned forward. “The population of Pi-Hathor is predominantly native Egyptian, and I do not wish to expend troops, energy and time overrunning it, two reasons why I intend to attempt negotiation with its mayor. I will not request active aid from him. That would be dangerous. All I need is his oath that he will not move against Weset or impede any of my river traffic, that he will preserve a state of neutrality with me. I think he can be convinced. Therefore I ask that you all accompany me south so that Pi-Hathor may see that I have the weight of serious purpose behind me. We will leave tomorrow at dawn. Are you agreed?” They nodded without comment and Kamose sat back, gradually relinquishing the conversation to Hor-Aha, who was not in the least in awe of them. He and Ahmose sat quietly sipping wine and listening until the light in the room changed to red and Uni knocked to admit the servants with lamps.

  “Does it feel strange to be called Majesty?” Ahmose asked him later as they walked together, tired but satisfied, by the river. The sun had long since set but the new-risen moon was full, its reflection lying broken into silver shards on the surface of the quiet river water. Before and behind them their watchful guards paced the shadows.

  The dark, empty ships towered beyond the river growth, moving ponderously against their anchors, the men set to guard them invisible on their decks. Kamose inhaled the dry, sweetish odour of their reeds. He answered Ahmose’s question with a sense of shock.

  “No, not strange,” he said. “Indeed it seemed quite natural and I did not notice the use of the title until afterwards.”

  “I did,” Ahmose answered softly. “For a moment it set you apart from me, Kamose, but only for a moment. We love each other, do we not? And it reminded me that if anything should happen to you, I will be Majesty.” Something in his tone made Kamose stop on the path and turn to him, urgently seeking his face under the sickly moonlight.

  “Nothing is going to happen to me,” he said reassuringly, taking Ahmose’s arm. “Amun himself has decreed that I should win through to Het-Uart. Are you afraid for me, Ahmose?” Ahmose’s eyes were hollow in the weak light, his expression sombre.

  “No, not for you,” he answered quickly. “You are the most self-sufficient person I know, Kamose. You need no one. Godhead set you apart long ago in a different way from Father, a cold and unapproachable way to those who do not know you well. You will not mind dying alone if that is your destiny and I will not mind for you. It is for myself that I am afraid. I do not want to be King, ever. Princedom suits me far better.” He tried to smile at Kamose. Is this a premonition? Kamose wondered. “You should have a son!” Ahmose went on vehemently. “A Horus-in-the-Nest, so that if necessary I might be Regent but never King!”

  “Ahmose, I have been meaning to speak to you of this matter,” Kamose said, squeezing his brother’s arm before releasing it. “I want you to marry Aahmes-nefertari. You know the reasons why. You spend much time with her and she seems to confide in you. Would it be onerous for you?” Ahmose began to walk again and Kamose swung in beside him.

  “Not at all,” Ahmose said. “I want her, but by rights she should go to you. I did not want to speak until you had decided whether or not you would do your dynastic duty. Seeing you will not, then I will do it for you.”

  He understands everything, Kamose thought with relief. I need say no more. They fell silent, each wrapped in the beauty of the night, and strolled on, elbow to elbow, until the dull orange lights of Weset came into view.

  14

  IN THE COOL SILENCE of dawn Kamose and Ahmose set out on the barge, accompanied by Ipi and a contingent of bodyguards. The river was running strongly and at first the rowers had to strain against the rapid current that slapped and gurgled beneath the craft, but as the day brightened a wind out of the north began to blow and their progress became smoother. Mesehti, Intef and the others sat together on cushions under the billowing awning beside the cabin, Ahmose cross-legged beside them, but none of them spoke. Kamose, leaning on the deck rail, his eyes on the riverbank gliding by but his attention fixed on the men behind him, did not think that their mute immobility was a result of the wine they had drunk at Aahotep’s modest feast of the night before. They were afraid, each one deep in his own assessment of a desperate situation, perhaps thinking more of all they might lose than of the as yet nebulous rewards their new allegiance could bring. He was afraid himself, but his fear was an old companion and he was able to greet it and then turn from its grey face.

  Hor-Aha stood beside him and there was comfort in the Medjay’s quiet support. “Have you sent ahead to warn the mayor of Pi-Hathor of your coming, Majesty?” the man asked at last. Kamose shook his head, feeling the warm weight of the lapis pectoral his jeweller had delivered to him move slightly against his naked chest. His fingers came up, caressing its smooth curves. At its base the god of eternity, Heh, knelt on the heb sign. In his outstretched hands he held the long, notched palm ribs that made up the sides of the ornament and that represented many years. Around his neck went the ankh, symbol of life. Above Heh’s head, the royal cartouche enclosing Kamose’s name was encircled by the wings of the goddess Nekhbet, the Lady of Dread, vulture protectress of the King of the south, and she was entwined in the embrace of Wadjet, the Lady of Flame, serpent goddess of the north, she who would spit venom at any who dared to threaten the sanctity of the King’s person. The whole was of lapis lazuli set in gold. Between Kamose’s shoulder blades, in the one place where demons could strike at the body, the pectoral’s counterpoise contained no lapis but was all of gold, an
oblong in which Amun and Montu stood side by side, invincible guardians against any attack by the coarse gods of the Setiu. Curling above it was the delicate feather of Ma’at.

  “No,” he replied, his hand closing around the symbols of his hope. “I do not want to give him any presentiment of my purpose. It is better if we descend upon him unawares and dazzle him with our combined authority. We must not fail at Pi-Hathor. If we do, my Princes will begin their service to me in an even greater hesitancy than they now feel, and worse, I will be marching north with a potentially worrisome enemy at my back. Small perhaps, but even a tiny thorn can inflict a nasty scratch.”

  “Yet Pi-Hathor worries me,” Hor-Aha rejoined. “It is too close to Weset. What if the mayor chooses to attack your town while you are engaged farther north? You are leaving no one but the Princesses to see to the safety of your domain.”

  “I know.” Kamose faced him directly, squinting in the bright light. “It is a calculated risk, my friend. Pi-Hathor has no garrison of soldiers. The men there are quarry workers and shipwrights. If the mayor wishes to march against Weset, he will have to train his peasants to fight and that, as we are aware, takes time. I will place a spy in the town who can report to my mother while I am gone. That will have to be enough.” Hor-Aha pursed his lips, then nodded.

  “It is all in the lap of the gods, Majesty. If they desire your success, nothing will stand against you.” He bowed and strode away, folding himself onto the deck in the thin shade cast by the arc of the prow, but Kamose stayed where he was, watching Egypt slide past.

  The two hills that formed a backdrop for Pi-Hathor drifted into sight just after sunset when the last shreds of Ra’s fiery garment were still being dragged below the horizon and the sky faded from dark blue above to a flush of pink against which the hills stood out black and rugged. Between them and the river the town huddled, a motley confusion of mud-brick buildings interspersed with narrow streets. In the centre, the temple of Hathor reared, its stone pylons and pillared façade casting long shadows towards the Nile’s bank, where watersteps ran the whole length of the town’s frontage. Kamose, now sitting with the others amid the flotsam of the evening meal and craning forward, could clearly see the island with its deep bay that lay offshore from the town.

  Here there was a different kind of confusion. Quays ran out into the water like the spokes of chariot wheels, all of them lined with craft of every description, some of cedar, some of reeds, some with their bones waiting to be fleshed, some drawn up onto the sand of the bay and listing like beached monsters to expose their damaged flanks. Smoke from cooking fires cast a faint haze over the peaceful scene and blended with the subdued din of cheerful activity. Coming to his feet, Kamose hailed his captain. “Find us a mooring to the north, away from the skiffs unloading the workers from the island,” he called. “Hor-Aha, select four soldiers to accompany us and deploy the others to guard the boat. Neither they nor the sailors are to speak to any curious townsmen who might wander by. It is one thing to be visiting the administrator of Pi-Hathor,” he added to Ahmose who had come up to him, “and quite another to start a premature rumour that could undo us. If the Princes have finished dining, we can prepare to disembark.” The craft nudged the watersteps, and at the captain’s curt command a sailor jumped out, rope in hand, to tether it to one of the poles sunk into the river. Others lifted the ramp. With a long, slow breath, Kamose glanced around the gathered company, but there was nothing to say. The ramp settled against the watersteps, and one by one they silently followed him off the boat.

  With two guards before and two behind, they paced the street that led straight from the Nile to the precincts of the temple. The crowds they met were moving away from the centre of the community, intent on reaching their own doors after a day of labour, and the conversation around the group was merry. Few spared Kamose and his companions more than a friendly glance. Pi-Hathor was used to travellers from Kush or the Delta who came on business for the King’s overseers.

  Kamose knew that the offices of the mayor and his assistants lay behind Hathor’s domain, on the edge of the square of public meetings and town celebrations. He hoped that the man had not already gone to his house, for as he and the Princes approached the temple, there were already torches being lit, and lamps flickered in the open doorways they passed. Dusk was deepening. Under the now black shadow of the looming pylon they veered left, followed Hathor’s outer wall, and came at last to the dusty square. They crossed it, and Kamose saw to his relief that light still poured from the mayor’s office and a servant still sat on a low stool beside the door. He rose as they approached, bowing clumsily, and the little cavalcade came to a halt. “Is your master within?” Kamose enquired. The man cleared his throat.

  “Yes, lord,” he replied uncertainly, “but he has finished his business for the day.” Kamose jerked his head at one of his soldiers.

  “Take this man to the nearest tavern,” he ordered. “Buy him beer and a meal. Keep him under your eye until you are sent for.”

  “But, lord, I may not leave my stool,” the servant protested. “Who are you? Let me announce you.”

  “It is not necessary,” Kamose smiled, and at a further gesture one of his guards came forward, grasped the man’s arm politely but firmly, and led him away, still objecting. “That is one pair of ears dealt with,” he murmured. “Let us go in.”

  The mayor of Pi-Hathor was rising from his chair behind an imposing desk that almost filled the small room, a short, stooped figure with mottled hands, wrinkled face and a pale skull. His scribe was also unfolding from his place at his master’s feet, palette in one hand and a roll of papyrus in the other. They had obviously just completed a dictation. Both looked rumpled and weary and Kamose, in the fleeting second before they turned to him in surprise, thought how heavy this man’s task was with the dual nature of the town’s industry. He would not be ignorant and easy to placate. “Het-uy, mayor of Pi-Hathor?” he said gently. Het-uy nodded, his dark eyes moving perplexed over the stern men ranked before him and coming to rest on the three remaining guards, one of whom stood in the doorway looking out warily into the gathering night.

  “I am,” he acknowledged slowly. “But who are you and what is your business with me? Where is the servant who should have announced you?” His gaze narrowed. “I think I am addressing the Prince of Weset, am I not?” The bewilderment on his face had given way to suspicion.

  “You are,” Kamose said swiftly. “I am Kamose Tao. My brother Ahmose and the Princes Mesehti, Intef, Iasen, Makhu and Ankhmahor are with me. This is my scribe, Ipi. Dismiss yours, Het-uy. We have an urgent and private matter to discuss. You may sit.” The mayor lowered himself behind the desk. His palms found its surface and rested there. Kamose noticed that the fingers did not tremble, nor did the voice when Het-uy answered him.

  “My scribe is discreet, as all good scribes are,” he objected. “You will forgive me, Prince, if I ask that he might stay. You are under an interdict of disenfranchisement and banishment and I would be wise to retain a witness to any business you might wish to conduct with me. Your sudden appearance without a formal message from a herald, in fact with no warning at all, does not indicate either a social visit or a frivolous affair.”

  “You will be wiser to do as I command,” Kamose snapped, with a testiness he did not feel. Het-uy was going to be difficult. “The King’s judgement with regard to my fate does not become effective for another two weeks. Until that time I am still a Prince of Egypt and you, Het-uy, are merely a mayor. Send him away. Guard!” His man on the door turned. “Go to the other offices and fetch chairs. We will all sit.” Kamose returned his gaze to the mayor, eyebrows raised, and with obvious reluctance Het-uy nodded at his scribe. With a bow to his master and one to the company he backed out, palette clutched to his chest. Immediately Ipi went to the floor, set his own palette across his knees, and prepared to write. Other than the small sounds he made as he opened his pen case, uncapped his ink and unrolled his papyrus, the room fell sile
nt. The mayor’s hands remained motionless on the desk. He scanned each solemn face before him, his own expression impossible to read. I wish I could gain this man’s loyalty, Kamose thought. He has great inner strength, but it is all for Apepa. Such is the pity and the sadness of these days that men like this, intelligent, honest and incorruptible, are become the enemies of the very country they believe they defend. They are outside the bounds of Ma’at without ever knowing it.

  The guard returned with the chairs Kamose had requested, and there was a general loosening as the company relaxed onto them. The man regained his station, blocking the door. Kamose touched Ipi’s shoulder, and taking up one of the lamps from the desk, he handed it to his scribe. “Say the prayer to Thoth,” he advised. “Begin the recording.” He crossed his legs and looked straight at the mayor. “I have come to ask you to sign an agreement of non-intervention with me,” he said without preamble. “My House is indeed under a decree of banishment from Apepa, but I have decided not to allow the members of my family to be scattered and my land go to khato. The blood of the Taos is ancient and honourable and cannot suffer such a final outrage. I intend to return to Weset this night and in two days begin a campaign against the invaders. Before the next Inun-dation I intend to besiege Het-Uart.” At last he had punctured the mayor’s composure. The man’s eyes widened and his hands slid to the edge of the desk and gripped it in a spasm of shock.

  “Prince, you are mad,” he said huskily. “Will you compound your father’s grave error? Seqenenra fomented revolt and died. The One has been more lenient with you than any in Egypt believed safe for the stability of the Double Crown or the country. All that can happen is your defeat and the execution of every member of your household! What can you mean by non-intervention?” Yet he glanced rapidly from one of Kamose’s silent party to the other and his fingers slid into his invisible lap.