Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt (33 page)

The
very air seemed charged with excitement as the fleet glided steadily northwards by oarsmen maneuvering the flat-bottomed ships with ease. Crocodiles eyed them warily, their sharp teeth overlapping their closed jaws in a menacing sneer. They were submerged in the water near a sandbar rising from the west side of the river where herons, cranes and storks were foraging for fish and insects. The birds waded near plants growing in a wild tangle of reeds, bulrushes and cattails that were alive with dragonflies, beetles and butterflies.

“
I want to arrive while it is dark,” Mentuhotep said as he glanced at his grown sons who stood by his side. “We can stop three more times on our way there—four if absolutely necessary—if we plan accordingly.”

A
chorus of noisy cicadas echoed across the water from the shrubs and trees along the bank where they sounded their mating calls.

“The river’s current is steady, Father,” Nakhti observed with a nod, “and the rowers are propelling the ships swiftly onwards.
We should be able to arrive when you plan, if they continue to row in shifts.”

“
Khety will know we are coming,” Khu changed the subject. His face was serious and his eyes had a faraway look to them.

“
He will indeed,” Qeb echoed as he joined them on top of a lookout platform which sat in front of the prow of the ship. “But that will not matter. Either way he will have to face us.” Qeb was rubbing his left arm which bothered him when the weather cooled. “Khety has had his spies lurking among us,” he slowly exhaled a deep breath, “just as we have had ours among them.”

“It is the way of war,”
Mentuhotep explained. Deep lines were etched on his forehead. “Khety will be told we are coming once we pass Zawty.”

“Unless we get to Nen-nesu before his spies,” Qeb added.

With every day that took them farther north on the Nile, Khu’s apprehension increased. Perhaps it was because they were leaving the safety of their own lands; perhaps it was because they were entering unfriendly waters. Either way, Khu’s uneasiness grew stronger.

“Most of our sources claim that his army is smaller
, despite the mercenaries he has hired. We have many more men than he,” Mentuhotep said.

Qeb looked at the king. He had fought alongside his sovereign and friend for many
years, and his respect for King Mentuhotep had only grown stronger after seeing the Theban ruler consistently lead his men with unwavering valor into battle. Mentuhotep could always be found at the forefront of combat. And he never asked anyone to do anything he himself did not do. He was a bold and fearless leader, having been born and bred for this role which he fulfilled well.

“I am not overly concerned,” Mentuhotep stated with forced confidence. But his demeanor said otherwise.

Khu could feel the tension within his father without even looking at him. Mentuhotep was like the taut string of a bow pulled before discharging an arrow. Khu felt the same way. He had spent so much time pondering the strange circumstances and tragic events which steered the course of his life, that little else mattered to him other than his loved ones and avenging the deaths of his family.

Nakhti
, on the other hand, was smiling. He looked forward to the battle with eagerness and enthusiasm, almost as one entering a great competition whose prize was beyond measure despite the risk of life it entailed. He had married a few years before, and already was a father to a little girl with another child on the way. With all that had been going on, the wedding contract had been a short and simple affair arranged on the Theban palace grounds.

Nakhti’s wife was a cousin who
m he had known since childhood. She waited for him at their home in Nekhen where they had been living for the past three years, since Nakhti had become chieftain of Nekhen to replace Ankhtifi. Nakhti began to be groomed for this position a couple years after Ankhtifi had fled north with King Khety, and he had done a fine job in overseeing the trade center, its mines, and its skilled craftsmen. With his own son at this important post, Mentuhotep felt more confident in the stability and security of his kingdom.

Khu had
not married, and remained in Thebes where he had been serving his father as chief counselor and military chancellor, replacing Qeb in the illustrious position after Qeb had sustained a debilitating injury that had crippled his left arm. Qeb had been serving in an advisory position to Mentuhotep and Khu in the last three years since receiving the injury. Khu looked over at Qeb with admiration for the man who was like a second father to him. He saw Qeb rubbing his maimed arm when his thoughts were preoccupied elsewhere. It pained Khu to see the man he admired—and thought invincible—in any kind of discomfort.

Khu turned away to watch a hawk gliding over the floodplains near the river. He could not help the anger and frustration that surfaced every time he
pondered the circumstances of the battle where Qeb had been hurt. It was a particularly treacherous battle with the Kushites; a treachery prompted from within Mentuhotep’s own ranks, by the men who had betrayed him. Khu tensed, taking a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

Tha
t was more than three years ago.

Khu glanced back at Qeb,
fixing the Kushite warrior with his piercing gaze. Qeb was staring out over the water’s shimmering surface, his usually smooth impassive brow, drawn in concentration. The injury had done nothing to detract from Qeb’s intimidating appearance. The Kushite warrior stood tall and proud despite missing part of his left arm. The attacks in that battle were meant to have assassinated the Theban king.

They
nearly killed Qeb instead.

It was during a
supposed respite between battles that Qeb was seriously injured. Khu was away in Gebtu at the time. He had gone north with an army of men, while Nakhti stayed in Nekhen, stationed at his home settlement with a small army of his own. Mentuhotep and Qeb remained in the garrison town of Swentet where more mercenaries were being trained.

The
Kushites hatched a particularly wicked plot to assassinate Mentuhotep and capture the Theban throne. A small army of them entered Egypt through one of the Nile’s minor tributaries in the land of Kush, whereby they traveled north on the river, disembarking their vessels before the Nile’s first cataract, and continuing on foot over the land. They had disassembled their boats and hidden the evidence among the reeds and shrubbery growing on the eastern bank of the river. Journeying by night, they made their way under cover of darkness to avoid being seen.

It was treachery from within the ranks of Mentuhotep’s garr
ison that instigated the revolt. But the treachery was devised by Ankhtifi who wanted revenge for the leg wound he had sustained in Abdju three years earlier, and who wanted repayment for having lost the prosperous settlement of Nekhen. The former chieftain had not forgotten the humiliation he had suffered, and he blamed Mentuhotep for everything he had lost. He blamed the Theban king for his ungainly limp, for the forfeiture of his settlement, and for his wounded pride that rankled more than anything else.

Ankhtifi had
decided to send a few of his own men like wolves among a flock, with bribes to induce the Theban forces to treason. Khety had been occupied with skirmishes in the north, and was unaware of Ankhtifi’s plan. While it was true that Khety had wanted Ankhtifi to help him spy on the Theban king, he had not been aware of the assassination plot until after it had already been set into motion. Khety knew that Ankhtifi was acquainted with some of the men working for Mentuhotep, from the years he had lived in Nekhen, south of Thebes, and that these old ties would prove useful in acquiring information.

“
Once their loyalty is bought, the rest will fall into place,” Ankhtifi told Khety after he had sent his men to infiltrate the Theban army.

Khety stared at Ankhtifi without saying anything at first. He was surprised that the former chieftain would go behind his back on such a delicate matter.

“So their loyalty has already been bought?”

“Yes
it has.”

“And
you believe it will work?” Khety asked warily. He felt uncomfortable with the idea, and especially with the man who proposed it.

Khety rubbed
the smooth line of his jaw as he examined his own feelings on the matter, and considered the implications of Ankhtifi’s actions. It bothered him that Ankhtifi had not consulted with him first. It also bothered his pride that the man he had trusted had gone around him and acted alone. What did this say of Ankhtifi’s opinion of him, or of his respect and loyalty? Perhaps he was reading too deeply into the matter. But it still bothered him. Ankhtifi should have approached him first.

“Why
wouldn’t it work?” Ankhtifi asked the Nen-nesian king. “One of his own men betrayed him already, and we did nothing to encourage it,” he reminded Khety of Odji.

But Khety said nothing. The lines between his eyes deepened as he regarded his enforcer with
ambivalence. Khety’s own ruthlessness had been tempered by a lifetime of deep superstition and a grudging respect for the gods, including the principles of
maat
. And while he possessed a trace of civility, he knew that Ankhtifi had no such scruples himself. Khety despised treachery, even where his enemies were concerned. And he was suspicious of any man inclined to such malicious behavior, or who condoned it himself. What was to prevent such a man from turning around and betraying his own loyalties? And what would stop him from usurping the throne of the very king to whom he had sworn his allegiance?

Ankhtifi glanced at Khety, and the king felt something cold pass between them.
There was something disturbing about Ankhtifi’s black eyes, which reminded Khety of death. It was probably just his imagination. Perhaps he imagined the contempt he thought he saw in Ankhtifi’s lifeless eyes. Perhaps he imagined a hint of defiance in the man’s lupine face and posture. Khety had been encumbered with skirmishes by the Nile Delta, and the strain was getting to him. Ankhtifi might have done him a favor, after all. But it bothered him nevertheless. He felt as though his own authority had been undermined by Ankhtifi’s actions. He felt as though his position had been challenged, growing more vulnerable and threatened from within, regardless of the purpose of Ankhtifi’s plot.

“Then do as you see fit,” Khety finally answered
with a wave of his hand, as he tried to mask his discomfort with indifference. “Just keep me informed of Mentuhotep’s whereabouts.” He doubted Ankhtifi’s plan would work, and he wanted to dismiss his enforcer and the strange suspicions that left him uneasy and cold.

Ankhtifi’s plan did work
, to a degree. Three men who had served Mentuhotep for many years, had accepted bribes from Ankhtifi’s spies, and turned against the Theban king. Despite their loyalty and service, they fell prey to the lure of greed. For even a single tainted seed can sprout and overtake a field, if its soil is fertile enough. And the soil of those three men’s hearts was a fertile breeding ground to the seeds of treachery sown by Ankhtifi’s spies. Promises of riches, land, and power can prove too great a temptation for even the most stouthearted of men; promises which assured them prosperity once the kingdoms were reunited under King Khety’s rule. So the three men turned against Mentuhotep, giving in to the temptation that overwhelmed them like an insidious vine strangling a tree.

A
small force of mercenaries had joined Mentuhotep’s army the previous year under the pretense of serving the Theban king. They were a diverse group of men including Kushites from the southernmost regions of Kush, and nomadic tribes which had been assimilated from settlements bordering the Sea of Reeds. The three traitors oversaw the training of these mercenaries who had been promised much wealth and riches upon the successful completion of their mission to assassinate the king—a mission that seemed almost impossible to Mentuhotep’s enemies, until now.

The
mercenaries trained hard, proving themselves in battle, and gaining the confidence and recommendation of Qeb himself. And with the passing of time, the poison within the Theban ranks spread as a disease, polluting more of the men, and turning them against the king.

No one was aware of the contagion brewing from within.
No one knew of the secret communication passing between the Kushites and the traitors in Swentet, as the Kushites prepared to send a small army to ambush the king. The enemy was patient, biding their time and keeping their intentions well hidden as they continued to fight and train diligently.

Khu
had not been around for much for the men’s training, and was stationed north in order to secure those settlements lying between Ipu and Gebtu; something he would later regret upon learning of the attack.

The
vicious attack came in the earliest hours of dawn, when a spectral light steeped the camp in ghoulish shades. The sickle moon hanging low over the sand dunes beyond the floodplain had disappeared from sight, as though the moon-god Khonsu had turned his face away in shame. Most of Mentuhotep’s troops were fast asleep in the mud-brick barracks of the camp, as well as in tents spreading out beyond the floodplain. More than two seasons—about nine courses of the moon—had passed since their last skirmish, and the men had been lulled into a false sense of security. One by one, under a somber sky, the Kushite warriors that had infiltrated Egypt from the south, tread like hyenas on the prowl. With their bows and arrows in hand, they advanced quickly and methodically, surrounding Mentuhotep’s camp, as they lay in ambush waiting for the signal to attack.