by Jay Penner
My trusted lieutenant is Bansabira. He is loyal, attentive, and fanatically brave. Itaja is my next. There are one hundred commanders in the force, each leading about three hundred into the field. And there is a Upashaktis for every ten commanders, making it ten Upashaktis in all. Most of the commanders and soldiers are untested in large scale war, and I hope that our training, cunning, weaponry, and intelligence will make up for what they lack in hard fighting.
Before this expedition, I had heard many stories about the Egyptians. It is hard to know how much of it is true and how much exaggerated. The wind stays on our sails.
But on the twelfth day at sea, as we get closer to Egypt, dark clouds form on the skies and the wind batters the boats. My stomach tightens—it seems the gods of Egypt are preparing to welcome us.
We are masters of the sea, and our ambassadors have told us that there is no navy on all earth like ours. None so powerful and none so nimble, and I am confident that we will face what is thrown at us. Our boats are designed to handle unkind winds and enormous waves. We are also the only navy with two-level boats—with oarsmen below deck and soldiers above. It is a design I am told is incomprehensible to others.
My worry is not my boats but the Prince.
He has been on the sea a few times in his life but never in angry waters. Our last visit to Egypt was smooth, and the waters posed no challenge, but this time the welcome is different. Egypt knows we are there to bring it under our dominion and her gods are not happy. I walk to the Prince’s cabin.
“It is about to get rough, Your Highness, the winds show no sign of abating and clouds get darker by the hour.”
Nimmuruk looks ill. He nods, “What do you suggest I do?”
“Stay where you are. Wear floating vests—”
“Are we going to capsize?” The panic is evident in the high pitch.
“I do not mean that Your Highness, but we must be prepared. The vest will keep you safe.”
He mumbles something about the incompetence of the boat builders.
I turn to the captain of the boat and order him to light the lamps on our masts to signal the navy to prepare for severe weather. Soon, there are twinkling pinpricks all around me. It is like being in a thick forest in the night, surrounded by firebugs—except that there is no land beneath our feet and firebugs are boats with thousands of our men.
What if we all drown even before we land in Egypt? I laugh to myself—that would be the most inglorious way for this entire plan to unravel. I pray again that our God of the Seas keeps us safe. It does not take long for the wind to pick up again, and the waves rock the boat like an angry bully terrorizing a child on a swing. Foam flies around us and water washes across the floors. We lower our sails quickly to prevent us from smashing to each other because I have another worry. The fronts of our boats are designed to be like battering rams, tipped with bronze, and reinforced by a new metal they call iron—it is hard and turns orange when left in the air. It is a remarkable metal we have recently come to, and our engineers anticipate many uses to it.
But if a boat smashes us, then it could be deadly too. We hope that the weather will wear itself out, but it does not.
The wind whistles and the waves begin to batter the boats. I have seen impatient waters before, but this feels ominous. It reminds me of the tales my tutors told me of a hundred Atalanni boats traveling to the North and vanishing under the seas, long ago. I hope we will not be another chapter to the vanishing tales.
I wear my floating vest and hunker down—there is not much we can do as the rowers fight to keep the boat in control. I know that the captain is below, exhorting the crew to keep calm.
And then it happens.
Out of nowhere, like a monster that rises from below, one of our boats appears from the stormy darkness and slams to our side.
The impact tosses me like a rag doll.
I strike a post and my shoulder screams. I scramble to my feet as the entire boat shakes and shudders. I can hear the shearing and breaking sounds as the bronze and iron tip ruptures our side and the two boats entangle. Even in the cacophony of the winds and waves, I can hear screams and desperate shouts from below.
“Take stock!” I scream to the scrambling crew—there is not a lot of space on the deck, and the canvas roof of the tent on the boat has ripped off. I wobble across to find the Prince; he is sitting a corner, shaking, his face and body wet from all the water splashing around. He is incoherent, and I can barely see his features as rain drenches us.
The gods of Egypt have an upper hand today, I tell myself, but we will not fail!
I grab his hand and ask another crew member to help me bring the Prince back to his feet. The boat is swaying dangerously now, and it tilts away from the direction of the impact. Waves begin to rise and lap on us, and we grip the banisters. The Prince is shaking, and I am afraid.
I realize the danger of an overturned boat trapping us underneath. There is nothing but chaos. The captain must still be below. Several men leap into the waters.
The captain comes rushing to us.
I can barely hear him as he screams near my ear, sputtering water and urging me, “Jump, sir! Jump!”
The Prince looks at me in panic, I can see the whites of his eyes, and without hesitation, I signal the other man on the other side of the Prince, and we drag him and jump into the water.
It is cold, and the waves throw us around like we are nothing, but I manage to hang on to Nimmuruk. Our vests help us stay afloat.
I tire after a while.
There are screams and shouts when our head is above water, and the rushing sounds of the sea when we are under.
I begin to pray.
This is not how it is supposed to end.
A glorious death in the hands of a Pharaoh, or in the arms of the woman I love.
But not death, underwater! Vanished.
Apsara’s face appears to me repeatedly. She is reaching out to me.
Her eyes sparkle, and her lips pout to kiss.
But then she suddenly reaches to the sky and flies away to the heavens, and a darkness comes over me.
CHAPTER 31.
KALLISTU
Apsara walks quietly along the stepped granite slope overlooking the magnificent waters. Daffodils bloom on one side of the royal garden, and there is no one in sight. She has asked her maids and bodyguards to stay away.
The invasion has finally begun, and Teber is gone.
Her mind is an ocean of sorrow and pain. Growing up under the careful watch of her father and brothers in Washukanni, Apsara dreamed of a happy and meaningful future.
One where her father gives her away to a handsome and kind husband.
One where the people and the nobles admired her intelligence and beauty.
One where the generals and politicians respected her opinions on kingdoms and governments.
Just like how her father would listen to her older brothers.
Like how he never admonished her even if her opinions were childish. She dreamed of being a great queen. Loved, feared, admired. She had heard that the great empire of Egypt had powerful women.
But her father had betrayed her.
Crushed her blossoming dreams and aspirations. He had married her off to an old and loveless man who sat like a hermit in an island which was nothing more than a beautiful prison. And yet she had tried to be a good wife. She had tried to cater to his needs and his fleeting desires. But none of it had mattered. Hannuruk had no affection for her, and he was revolting.
He had raised his hand on her more than once.
Such insult and ignominy. Her hopes of having a child, nurturing it, becoming a mother, becoming the queen mother of a future king or princess, had been crushed under the oppression of an abusive husband.
To think that there was once a chance to be married to the young Egyptian Pharaoh!
Her eyes sting with tears as the cool but powerful breeze sweeps across the open terrace. She pushes her hair back and walks faster towards the h
igher platform on the cliff. She clutches her silver necklace and tugs at it nervously. Her heart beats hard against her chest—and her once soft, healthy body has lost weight and her ribs show. Her maids have worried about her endlessly, often remarking how her eyes have dulled and her skin has lost its shine.
But one thought consumes her.
Teber.
It was such a dangerous and risky thing to do. To desire a commoner. To lay with him. To plot with him to run away. But she loved him more than anything else in the world. If there was a sparkle of brightness in her world of darkness, it was him. She knows she has gone against every Atalanni law and the rules of the gods. And yet she wonders was it not god that put her to this? It was confusing—which god condemned her to this life, and which propelled her to take these risky actions?
And now Teber is gone. Away to fight a battle that the Oracle said was the desire of the gods. It felt as if her heart was held in a vice and squeezed when Teber sailed away.
Apsara knows that there is scant chance to see him or hold him again. It is as if every force in the universe conspires against her wishes and desires. It is as if gods no longer have a place for her in this world. Discarded from merciful grace and joys.
And then there was the Oracle goading her and her senile husband treating her increasingly viciously. Apsara has not slept well after those conversations. It is clear what the Oracle implies. As long as she lives, the King would never marry again, and the empire would have no issue if something happened to Nimmuruk—that lecherous prince she hates. It does not matter that it is not her fault—the people see it as such. There is something about her the King hates but does not reveal. Maybe it really is her that throttles his passion.
In the people’s eyes, she is to blame.
Tears begin to roll down the Queen’s eyes. There is nowhere to run. No one to protect her. Her glory would be her sacrifice. Khaia has alluded to that when she met her again—that Apsara would be remembered as the queen that saved the empire.
The selfless one.
Apsara stands atop the platform. Beneath her the tranquil blue sea beckons, like a loving mother in a mesmerizing blue apron, opening her arms for her baby to fall from the skies and be embraced in her bosom. Apsara’s body shudders, racked with sorrow. She cries and silently begs forgiveness of her father, brothers, and Teber.
Apsara looks ahead and sees the vista through her tear-filled eyes. She turns her face towards the sun in the direction where her home lies. She thinks of her people. She arches her back and extends her slender hands on both sides as if she were a bird soaring away to her freedom.
The world behind her dissolves as if it never existed.
She feels the footsteps of her father behind her, taking her to the days as a child when she ran giggling.
She feels footsteps of Teber as he sometimes snuck behind her in darkness and embraced her.
The wind howls in anguish as Apsara, Princess of the Mitanni, the Queen of the Atalanni, leans forward towards the void.
CHAPTER 32.
LOWER EGYPT
Pharaoh Ahmose leads his army with Wadjmose by his side. The Asiatics have agreed to stay away, for now, but Ahmose knows they watch and wait for the first sign of weakness. The preparation has been difficult. Harvest has not been bountiful and almost non-existent trade with the neighboring regions has made Egypt poorer. But exhortations, threats, punishments, and bribes have helped them raise a considerable army to fight the Atalanni. The Pharaoh knows that the Atalanni Navy must cross the Great Green Sea before it arrives somewhere on the coasts of Egypt, and he hopes that the challenges of transporting large numbers over waters will keep the numbers on the Atalanni side low.
He is proud of his men—it is a mix of hardened veterans from wars with the Asiatics, Syrians, and the Nubians, and fresh, loyal newcomers who wish to gain glory under their god and Pharaoh, and under the capable leadership of an exceptional general. Ahmose knows that many will never return, and yet that is the nature of war.
His chariot moves slowly on the uneven land, now dry in many areas, and thousands of feet kick up dust for miles behind him. The great army of Egypt moves slowly and purposefully—the archers, the mace handlers, the swordsmen, and spearmen, the axmen, the Nubian knifers, followed by hand-pulled food carts and ox-drawn baggage trains, healers, physicians, priests, and planners.
Ahmose has accepted Wadjmose’s plan to trace Northward across the river delta, far away from the Asiatic influence and Khamudi’s spies, and set up camp near the Great Sea, north of Sais. He then plans to send scouts along the coast and watch out for the Atalanni arrival. Even with horse riders, the coast is several days of traversal, but patience is key.
He has asked the army logistics to be prudent with food supplies and secure meat where they can on the way. They have managed to find gazelles, cranes, and hippopotamus to kill and eat. Ahmose listens to Wadjmose as the General turns to one of his trusted lieutenants, a man also named Ahmose, Son of Ebana, an experienced soldier who has spent time fighting the Asiatics under Pharaohs Kamose and Ahmose.
“Baba, what is the morale of the troops?” asks Wadjmose. Wadjmose prefers to call his lieutenant, Ahmose, as Baba, for that is Ahmose’s fathers name, and it is easier for the general to use that sacred name with levity without confusing it for the Pharaoh’s.
“Positive, General. They feel purpose and wish to serve you with honor.”
“Death and disease?”
“We have lost forty so far due to ailments of the stomach and other fevers.”
“How far is the rear of the army?”
“About two miles south but keeping pace.”
Baba is one of the few men also with horses—he is awkward with his horse but has learned to ride the beast. Wadjmose smiles as the horse grunts and whinnies, and a fearful Baba hangs on to the reins.
“You are better fighting on your feet,” he says. Baba grins but leans forward and holds on to the horse’s neck.
“How do the Asiatics handle these beasts so well?” he mutters.
“Perhaps they are lot less clumsy than you!” laughs Wadjmose. But he knows that Baba is anything but clumsy—he is a clever and resourceful fighter who has extinguished the ambitions of many a rebel.
“Those wretched savages can do nothing like us,” protests Baba. He then throws a quick glance at the Pharaoh, hoping he has not offended the Pharaoh by his coarse language.
Ahmose shakes his head and grins. “Don’t forget, Baba, that our army is now powerful because we have learned from those barbarians. Our bows shoot farther, we shield our chests better, and we have learned to tame these magnificent creatures,” he says, as he affectionately pats his horse’s neck and hears it stir and snort.
Baba bows to Ahmose’s words and Wadjmose slaps his lieutenant gently on his head. “You should be ashamed to be lectured by the Pharaoh himself!” says Wadjmose, playfully. They all know that the Asiatics weapons and tactics is what helped them usurp the land hundreds of harvests before. About an hour later the scouts announce that a messenger is on the way back, and soon they watch as the horse kicks up gray earth.
The messenger bows to them.
“Anything new?”
“No, Your Majesty, it is all quiet.”
The Pharaoh ponders at the news. The march is slow, and it will be at least another twenty days before he can set camp.
“No signs of any kind?”
“None, Your Highness. I have covered two days east of our proposed camp, and there is no sign of anyone having arrived or anything on the horizon.”
Ahmose wonders if there will ever be an invasion or if their march is a complete waste. It has all been based on guess and instinct and little else. What if the Atalanni are not ready? What if they take another harvest? Do we sit here and wait? Do we return after this expensive and wasteful trip?
“So, no signs at all?” Wadjmose asks. “None from the gods even?”
The messenger is about to nod his head but then pa
uses. “Nothing except a great storm far in the Green Sea.”
CHAPTER 33.
THE GREAT SEA
Something tightens around my neck and shoulder. I spit saltwater and gasp.
Where is Nimmuruk?
It is dark and still raining, I hear shouts. Suddenly there are men. Relief washes over me as I realize that my men are rescuing me. Someone drags me up to another boat, and I lie there for a long time, recovering.
“The Prince?”
“Safe, sir.”
“How did you find us?”
“Spotters saw you,” the man says. I know that as much as the gods of Egypt tried, our God of the Seas has seen to our safety even as he battles his divine enemy. We last through the night, unable to take stock of the situation or contact anyone else until the seas calm down. When the sun rises, I look around to see the devastation. The Navy is bruised, but still floating. The skies become brighter, and I signal everyone to wrap up their cleanup and continue sailing. We do not know yet how off-course we are or where we will land. Four days later, we finally arrive on the shores of Egypt. Our advance scouts tell us where it is safe to anchor. The spot is marshy and desolate, but perfect for our needs. We spread our boats along the shore and disembark.
We are here.
Egypt.
It is as if the gods had directed us to this location. We find a large sweet water lake not too far from the seashore. There are fowl and gazelle in the grassy vegetation.
The land is soft, gray, and marshy, and it takes some effort to find suitable ground along the northern shores. We spend three days to set up camp and supply lines. We raided some local villages, and the prisoners now work in the army camps. The Prince calls for a war council. I gather my Upashaktis and arrive at the royal tent. The army is camped in three segments all along the lakeshore, with advance guard and scouts near the East, West, and center of the Southern edge of the lake. So far, there has been no indication of any enemy activity.
