Pharaoh

by Jackie French

  What do I know of battles? A few skirmishes against the People of the Sand with my father. Stories of war told after a feast. And yet I took command without a second thought…

  Someone walked up the hill towards him. He didn’t turn. He’d know that limping stride anywhere.

  ‘You didn’t eat.’

  ‘I’m not hungry.’

  Nitho ignored his remark. She handed him a chunk of charred ostrich wrapped in flatbread then sat down beside him. ‘So, it’s a two-day march to Yebu—you plan to start out in the morning?’

  Narmer took a mouthful of food, then nodded. ‘There’ll be a full moon. We’ll need moonlight to be able to dig at night.’

  Nitho was silent a moment. Then she said, ‘I’ve been talking to Jod and the others. Wait two days before you march. Two days less moon won’t matter.’

  He turned to her, puzzled. ‘Why wait?’ He tried to smile. ‘You haven’t had a dream, have you? Or met an oracle in the wadi?’

  ‘No.’ Nitho hesitated, then said in a rush, ‘Let me go ahead, with Jod and Nid. The donkeys too.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘No. let me finish. Jod and Nid and I will go as traders.’ He caught her grin in the moonlight. ‘That won’t be hard. We are traders. No danger, no reason to suspect us. But once we’re there we can find your people, the slaves taken from Thinis. We’ll tell them to arm themselves. Then when you attack from the outside, they can attack from the inside.’

  Narmer said nothing.

  ‘I’m right. You know I’m right. The others agree too,’ said Nitho.

  Narmer nodded slowly. She was right. A second attack from within would make all the difference. The Thinis people within the walls would fight for their Golden One too, but if they weren’t warned who was attacking they might simply run in the confusion. Or even fight on their masters’ side.

  But to send Nitho into danger…This wasn’t her battle. Thinis wasn’t her town. These were not her people. Nitho was doing this…

  …for me, thought Narmer. Just as she made the journey back here, just as, long ago, she forced me to walk, giving me back my life.

  The idea both elated and terrified him.

  But this was no time to talk about what might be between them.

  ‘Well?’ demanded Nitho impatiently.

  Narmer dragged his mind back to duty.

  ‘It’s a good plan. But Nid and Jod can go. Not you.’

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Nitho.

  Narmer was silent. He wanted to say, Because I can’t face losing you. But there was no way he could say that now. He said instead, ‘Because you’re a girl.’

  Nitho snorted. ‘I’ve been a boy most of my life. Besides, women can fight. Look at the guards in Punt. And I have to be there. Nid and Jod can’t speak your language. Not well enough, anyway. And I can sneak around. I can contact the Thinis slaves, if anyone can.’

  It was true.

  ‘Besides,’ added Nitho lightly, ‘I’m not one of your subjects, o Golden One. I’m setting out with the others tomorrow no matter what you say.’

  Narmer took her hand. ‘Nitho…please! It’s too dangerous! Is there any way at all I can convince you not to do this? To head back to Sumer, or at least stay here?’

  ‘No,’ said Nitho simply. ‘If you’ll risk yourself in this, then I will too.’

  She was right, he realised. No one who knew Nitho could expect her to stay away when those she loved were threatened. Narmer would risk himself for Thinis. She would risk herself for him.

  Both of us are doing our duty, thought Narmer. Duty, or…love? Did Nitho feel for him what he felt for her? Not love for a sister or companion. But the sort of love that could only grow around the life, the joy, the cleverness that was Nitho.

  ‘Will you promise me to avoid the fighting, then? Stay in the Yebu guesthouse till it’s over?’

  He caught a glimpse of Nitho’s white teeth as she smiled in the darkness. ‘What will you do if I say no? Shut me in the Women’s Quarters? Refuse to attack Yebu till I agree?’

  ‘Nitho, I—’

  ‘So this is where you’ve got to.’

  Narmer dropped Nitho’s hand abruptly. It was Hawk. He smiled at Narmer. ‘Going for another hippo hunt, dear brother?’

  ‘No,’ said Narmer shortly.

  ‘The Prince of Min wants to discuss plans. And it wouldn’t do to discuss anything without the Golden One.’ Hawk’s tone was as light as it had ever been.

  Narmer stood to go back to his army.

  Ra was just rising, pouring his light onto the world, when Nitho, Nid and Jod left the next morning, with the donkeys and all the trade goods except for the weapons, and Bast, well fed on mice, slinking behind them.

  Narmer watched them go with mixed feelings. Part of him felt more alive than he ever had before. Part wished he could shove Nitho into a crevice up in the hills, and keep her safe there till it was all over.

  But she was right. Without her they might never conquer Yebu.

  He was sure the next two days of waiting to follow them would be the hardest of his life.

  But to his surprise the days vanished as though Ra had decided to gallop across the sky. For they were the fullest two days Narmer had ever known: explaining what he planned over and over to his men, so there would be no mistakes in the darkness; showing men who had never fought with anything more than a club how to use spears or javelins.

  Even more fugitives joined them now, creeping in from the hills—not just men from Thinis, but also outcasts from other towns, escaped slaves, two People of the Sand banished from their tribe for some crime or quarrel—all hoping that if they joined the winning side they might gain a better future for themselves as well.

  The army was nearly two hundred strong now. Not enough to win an ordinary battle against Yebu, thought Narmer, even if all the Thinis slaves were able to fight as well. But enough to win in darkness and confusion, with the River on their side.

  Perhaps.

  The army left in the predawn light, with no one to see them go except the water birds, already wading through the shallows.

  The men from Min carried flint spears, clubs or axes and bread and dried beans and fish from home. The Thinis men were armed with the new bronze weapons, and what little food they had—lily tubers and reed stems and the small number of fish they’d been able to smoke on their tiny, hidden fires. There would be no way to hunt unobserved as they neared Yebu.

  And every man carried a spade.

  The land flattened out as they neared the marshes of Yebu. The soil began to smell of rotting greenery and bird droppings, lacking Thinis’s tang of rock and sand and desert wind. But the men marched with good cheer—the Min men and other outsiders dreaming of plunder, the men of Thinis hoping to regain their town, their farms, or the loved ones taken as Yebu’s slaves.

  And Narmer rejoiced too. The scents of sand and River, the sound of plovers yelling at the dawn, the startled flutter of an ostrich—all were familiar aspects of home that he’d almost forgotten. And somehow leading an army felt like putting on an old sandal made to fit his foot.

  Up until now they had followed the River, but keeping far enough away not to be spotted by passing fishermen. But as soon as they neared Yebu Narmer led the men into the marshland. It was much slower going, but the chance of being seen from the water was just too great. Yet birds still rose in great shrieking clouds as they approached and frogs croaked in an agony of alarm.

  Finally Narmer raised an arm to signal everyone to halt. ‘We’ll wait here till it gets darker, and the birds are asleep. We’re too near Yebu now to risk being heard.’

  The men spread out, looking for logs to sit on in the dampness, pulling out their pouches of food. Narmer went from one group to another, checking all had enough to eat, a place to sit.

  ‘We’re fine, lad—I mean Lord,’ one of the older Min men said gruffly. The man cast a look at his own prince, already eating the food his servant had put out for him. ‘But we thank you fo
r asking. Now, go and eat yourself. This army’ll be nothing if you faint from hunger.’

  Narmer gave the man a grin and looked around him. The best spots had all been taken. But there was a log a little way from the others. He headed over to it—

  ‘Don’t move.’

  It was Hawk’s voice.

  Narmer froze. Something whirled past his face, almost grazing him. It was a spear. It landed in the soft earth, almost at his feet.

  The marsh came alive. Something thrashed next to the log he had been about to sit on. A crocodile, Narmer realised. The spear had just missed it. His skin turned cold, as though the mud and River depths from that long-ago attack could find him even here. A twinge of remembered agony ran through his body. The great beast lashed its tail once more, then slithered back into the marsh.

  Narmer began to shiver.

  ‘It nearly got you.’ Hawk’s voice was a casual as ever, as though he were discussing the music of a harp player after dinner. It was always impossible to tell what he was feeling. ‘I was aiming for its eye. That’s where they say to spear them, isn’t it? But I suppose it decided that there were easier meals than you.’

  Narmer found his voice. ‘We need to warn the men.’

  ‘I think they’ve been warned already,’ said Hawk drily.

  Narmer turned. The men were staring at their leader, and at the spot where the crocodile had vanished. One by one they looked around, to check that no other beast was nearby, then slowly went back to their meals.

  Narmer felt his legs begin to shake. He sat down quickly on the log. The crocodile’s appearance wasn’t the only shock he’d just received. ‘Thank you.’

  Hawk shrugged. He sat down beside Narmer, and took out his own food. Date bread. Hawk must have convinced one of the Min men that the King of Thinis deserved more than papyrus roots and smoke-greased fish.

  They ate in silence for a while. ‘I’m not going to apologise, you know,’ said Hawk at last.

  For a moment Narmer thought he meant for missing the crocodile. But Hawk went on. ‘You took what was mine. Our father’s love. The people’s. My position as the heir. All because of what? A child’s smile and skill with a spear. No, you robbed me. I only took back what was mine.’

  Narmer slapped at a mosquito. The sound carried in the humid air. I must warn the men not to slap them when we begin to walk again, he thought, with half his brain. The other half was yelling at him to feel fury, scorn, to scream at his brother, who had taken his throne and lost his kingdom.

  But he couldn’t. From the moment he had begun to assemble his army he had felt more alive—more himself—than ever before.

  Hawk might be the king. But Narmer was the leader. And underneath all the doubts was the cold certainty that he would raise Thinis once again.

  He looked up to find Hawk still watching him. Hawk, who had longed for kingship but had never understood it. Narmer nearly smiled. ‘You almost make it sound as though I should be saying sorry to you.’

  ‘No. I was trying to say…’ Hawk shrugged again. ‘I think our father made the right decision when he made you heir. Even if it was for the wrong reasons.’ He smiled his old smile, which showed nothing of what he felt. ‘Or maybe the gods really do talk to a king. If so, they have never spoken to me. You’re more a king than I will ever be. Even with no country for your kingdom.’

  Narmer tried to think what to say. He had never truly pitied his brother before. ‘You’re still King of Thinis, not me,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll stay to help rebuild Thinis, to teach the people the things I learnt in Sumer. But then I’ll leave.’

  Hawk raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. ‘Will you really?’

  Narmer nodded. ‘Hawk, before I…left…our father told me something I’ll never forget. That to be a king means thinking more about the kingdom than yourself.’

  ‘Ah, is that what I should do, then?’ said Hawk lightly. ‘Thank you for your wisdom, dear brother. And what does it matter? By tomorrow we may both be dead.’ He looked around at the gathering shadows. ‘Time to march again?’

  Narmer nodded, and began to gather the men.

  Dusk gave way to starlight. Finally the moon appeared, a giant loaf of yellow bread on the horizon. Suddenly the reeds gave way to fields. The town of Yebu was before them.

  CHAPTER 31

  Narmer gazed at the town he meant to destroy. Its walls were mud, like those of Thinis, but the houses here were made of reeds, twisted and plaited together. He could see orchards in the moonlight too, protected like the town by mud walls.

  Narmer gestured silently. The army began to move again, skirting the town, up the slight slope behind the fields, then down again. Once again water gleamed in front of them.

  Narmer shut his eyes for a quick prayer to any god who might be listening. The plan had all seemed so simple back in Thinis. The River was higher than Yebu, so a canal must bring water down to the town. But now he was here, seeing the dips and rises of the land, it no longer looked as clear. Was there really enough height for the water in this channel to flood the town?

  Nitho had said that there was. He had to trust her.

  He ordered the men quickly into a line, stretching from the River across the hill. The army began to dig.

  The moon climbed up into the sky. The channel was a spade’s depth now all the way along, except for a small dyke they had left next to the River.

  Narmer raised his hand in a signal. Some of the men began to dig through the dyke as well, while the others made the channel deeper, then deeper still. Spadeful after spadeful, a hundred wooden spade heads slipping as quietly as possible into the damp earth, shifting, moving, lifting…

  An owl hooted, deep in the swamp. Narmer glanced up at the sky again. Not long till dawn now, he estimated. Would they make it in time? If the water didn’t start to flow along their channel soon the plan was doomed. Their army was doomed too, because daylight would show Yebu the whole of their plan.

  If it didn’t happen soon…

  Narmer stopped digging. The water had begun to flow!

  A trickle at first, then a gurgle and then a rush…

  ‘Stand back!’ Narmer was afraid his words might carry to the city, but too many of his men were standing by the edge, staring at the surging water. They scrambled to obey him. Within a few breaths the bank that they had been standing on crumbled to pieces and was borne away.

  Narmer looked over at Yebu. Would the water reach the walls now that they had cut through the hill?

  But even as he watched, the darkness around the walls changed. The water had reached them.

  The power of water…

  And now they waited, staring down at the high mud walls of Yebu. They looked so tall and strong from here. But more water was rushing around them all the time, as the River changed its course to follow where man had led.

  They waited while the moon floated across the sky like a fishing boat on the River. A memory of Nitho, sitting by Inanna’s temple, flared into Narmer’s mind. Inanna, goddess of war. Was she angry that Narmer had cheated her of Nitho’s offering? A true son of Sumer would be praying to her now for victory. But Narmer had never felt so much a prince of Thinis.

  He glanced at Hawk, sitting a little apart from the others, his chin on his knees. What was he thinking? Of glory to come, when he was king of a rich city again?

  Or wondering perhaps if his younger brother would steal the throne, once the battle had been won.

  King, as Narmer was always meant to be…

  The thought made his blood stir, like the River stirred when it first tasted the flood. But Narmer thrust the image from his mind. He was doing this for Thinis, for his father, for his people. And when it was over he would become a man of Sumer once again.

  Will you? said a voice deep in his heart. Can you really?

  Narmer ignored it.

  Suddenly the darkness below them began to move. The mud walls shuddered as though they were alive. Their tops began to fall as their bases crumbled into
the water.

  Narmer leapt to his feet and gave the signal.

  His army began to run.

  Across dry land at first, then their feet sank into the wet earth and they struggled to keep upright with the swirling water around their knees.

  And finally the last of the walls was swept away. Water poured into the town of Yebu in a vast and muddy wave, then flattened out to spread in a shallow tide throughout the city.

  ‘Thinis! Thinis! Thinis! Min! Min! Min!’ Narmer’s yell echoed across the sleeping town as he leapt across the slippery remnants of the walls.

  Or was it sleeping? From inside the town the same yell came back to him: ‘Thinis! Thinis!’

  Slaves burst out of the courtyards. They ran down the central street, carrying weapons stolen from their masters, or broken chairs or headrests to use as clubs.

  Guards yelled from the town gates. They had probably been dozing, thought Narmer, never suspecting that their walls were about to be swept away behind them.

  Women shrieked as they found water seeping through their doorways. Children screamed, with water rising from their ankles to their knees, and climbed up on tables, stools, chests, or into their mother’s arms, terrified of the churning current in the darkness.

  The splashing grew louder as the runaway slaves and the ragged army of Thinis and Min met together inside the gates of Yebu, to make one fighting force.

  And then the men of Yebu grabbed their weapons and spilt out into the muddy streets to find the enemy. They pounded towards Narmer’s forces. Suddenly they attacked.

  The two armies fought in the marketplace, by the crumpled city walls, with water up to their ankles, among the tables of pots, mats and baskets laid out for a day’s trading that would never come. The horizon was grey now, not black, but the moon was still brighter than the dawning day.

  How do you fight a battle in the semi-darkness? How do you know friend from foe?

  You keep together, back to back. Those beside you are your countrymen, those in front your foes.