The Horus Road (11 page)

“Abana, your sincerity is overwhelming,” he said. “Only your incredible bombast exceeds it. What do you want?” For answer the young man thrust his companion forward.

“This is my cousin Zaa pen Nekheb,” he said. “He looks older than he is. I will not lie to you, Majesty, he is only twelve, but he is clever and strong and will make a fine soldier. I beseech you to allow him on board the
North
with me.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the watching group. Ahmose scrutinized the boy. He indeed looked older than his years. He was thin but there was a wiriness about him that suggested strength and, although his nervousness was betrayed in the clenching and unclenching of his fingers, he met Ahmose’s gaze without flinching. His family resemblance to Kay was more a matter of hints than gestures, the sweep of the jawline, the stubbornly cleft chin, a similarly long peak to the hairline. Ahmose turned back to Kay.

“Why?” he enquired. Kay blinked, then recovered.

“Because it is his dream to be a soldier,” he said promptly. “Ever since his youth he has talked of nothing else.”

“His childhood, you mean,” Ahmose contradicted him dryly. “But you have not answered my question. Every little boy wants to be either a soldier or a scribe. This one seems no different. You have a grave responsibility as the captain of one of my ships, Kay. I do not want that responsibility weakened by being divided. What are you doing here, Zaa?” he addressed the other. “Why are you not in school?”

“I ran away,” Zaa answered rather breathlessly.

“Then you will be sent home to Nekheb at once. And I am surprised at your fecklessness, Kay. I have no time for this nonsense. Perhaps I should leave you here after all so that you may learn a little maturity under your father’s supervision.”

“Oh, Majesty, do not disgrace me!” Kay blurted, all trace of cheerful bluster gone. “Hear me, I beg! My request is not as frivolous as it seems.”

“You have ten heartbeats.” Kay faced him with a grimness he had never seen before.

“Zaa is a rascal but a useful one. He has run away from my uncle’s house and from his school in Nekhbet’s temple countless times. Last time he was caught by my uncle’s steward he was almost at Weset, on his way to try to join your army there. No one can do anything with him. My aunt has cried over him ceaselessly since his birth. Finally my uncle sent him here to my father. There is a scroll with the permission. For several weeks he has been my servant on board the
North
. He cleans weapons, scrubs the decks and washes the sailors’ kilts, helps the Scribe of Distribution with our food supplies. My father approves. He is inclined to hard work as a remedy for delinquency.” Here Zaa’s glance fell shamefacedly to his feet. “But the
North
may become engaged in a battle and I needed your permission to have a non-combatant on board.” Ahmose stood silent, considering.

“Has he done anything for which you have been forced to punish him?” he asked at last. Kay shook his head.

“No, Majesty. He is simply so happy to be with fighting men that he is no longer eating his heart.”

Ahmose crooked a finger. “Zaa, come here.” The boy sidled closer and sketched a clumsy bow. “Are the words of my Captain true?”

“Yes, Majesty. I am sorry.”

“All my soldiers must swear an oath to me. Do you know what that means?” Zaa’s head came up and he looked at Ahmose with a dawning hope.

“Yes, Majesty. It means that a soldier will be loyal and respectful and brave and obey the King and his officers and do his duty,” he almost stammered in his eagerness.

“It also means that if he breaks his oath he can have his nose removed and be exiled or even executed,” Ahmose warned. “Will you risk swearing loyalty to me?”

“As your soldier?” Zaa’s eyes were shining. “Oh yes, Majesty!”

“Not as my soldier,” Ahmose retorted. “Not yet, not until you are sixteen. Until then you will continue in the care of your cousin and his father and do as they tell you. You may remain on board the
North
but I must tell you that you should be ashamed to put your parents to such pain and grief. Your actions are not worthy of a true Egyptian boy.”

“No, Majesty. Thank you! Thank you!” Zaa’s bare feet were performing a tiny dance of excitement in the dust while his body remained rigid with joy.

“Kiss my feet, then, and the palms of my hands in token of your bondage to me,” Ahmose said. “You are no longer free to run wherever you choose, Zaa. Are you sure you understand this?” For answer the boy almost collapsed to the earth and pressed his lips fervently against Ahmose’s toes. “As for you, Kay, I remind you that if you are forced to choose between an order in the heat of battle and saving your cousin’s life, you must let him die.” Kay nodded gravely.

“I have already considered this, Majesty,” he said quietly. “So has he. You trusted me, young though I am, with an awesome responsibility. I promise you that in this thing too you will not be disappointed.”

“Go then, both of you. You are dismissed.” They bowed and backed away but when they turned Zaa whooped and broke into a run, vanishing along the path under the drooping trees towards
North
’s ramp. Kay followed more slowly.

“A child like that is either destined for a glorious military career or an early death,” Hor-Aha remarked. Ahmose grinned wryly at him as they began to move on again.

“When I was twelve, I was getting drunk on date wine with Turi under the shrubbery beside the river,” he said. “I think this child’s ambition is more noble. Well, Hor-Aha, let us board our own ships and cast off for the Delta. We still have a long way to go.”

4

AHMOSE WANTED HIS TROOPS
to be deployed around Het-Uart by the beginning of Mesore, a scant two weeks away, but the infantry marching on the edge of the western cultivation would of necessity take longer to arrive than he and the Medjay in their boats, in spite of the prevailing north wind that was attempting to blow them back to Weset. Besides, he had already decided to put in briefly at Mennofer.

Prince Sebek-nakht had not been summoned to the ceremony at the temple. Ahmose had debated whether or not to send him a message but something, some voice of caution or tact, prevented it. Sebek-nakht was still an unknown quantity. He had kept the promise of noninvolvement he had made to Kamose and there had been no suspicion that he had become entangled in the other Princes’ treasonous machinations, but he was after all a breed apart, an Egyptian of ancient and noble blood, Priest of Sekhmet and an erpa-ha, but also the son of Apepa’s vizier and an architect to the Setiu ruler.

Ahmose had liked him instinctively, but remembering Kamose’s jibe that he would of course like anyone who could wield a throwing stick with enough skill to bring down a duck almost every time, he had hesitated to bring any pressure to bear on the governor of the Maten nome. Mennofer was a rich and beautiful city, home of Ptah the Creator. If Sebek-nakht could be persuaded to commit himself actively to Ahmose, his support could be vital, and Ahmose suspected that he would not be won over by coercion. So no herald had travelled to Mennofer during the days of mourning for Kamose and no word of either sympathy or endorsement from Mennofer had come to Weset.

He is not an enemy, Ahmose thought, as his craft angled towards the west bank, where the city’s wide watersteps were tiered with thick crowds waiting to catch a glimpse of him. He is either so completely wrapped up in his own security that he will take no definite position for or against me, or he has no love for military solutions. I rather think it is the latter. He did not strike me as a selfish or arrogant man.

It seemed that Ramose had been pondering the same questions, for as the boat bumped the tethering pole and the sailors leaped to run out the ramp he said, “I do not think that Kamose ever considered the fact that this Prince is one of Apepa’s architects, Majesty. He must know the design of Het-Uart intimately. He could be invaluable in helping us to probe any weakness in its walls if he can be persuaded.”

“I had not considered it either,” Ahmose admitted. “But of course you are right. Don’t forget, though, that as one of Apepa’s high officials he will be reluctant to betray his master. Actually, Ramose, I would be rather disappointed if he did. He gave me the impression of a loyalty going far beyond the matter of service and its accompanying reward, a fidelity that exists for its own sake.”

“Unlike Meketra,” Ramose said dryly. “All the same, will you try to at least obtain maps or blueprints from him? We have battered at Het-Uart for far too long without success. If it was one walled bastion, we might have conquered it by now, but we fling ourselves against several of them, each separated by water that lies in deep canals. Admittedly only two of the mounds are significant, the one holding the city itself and the other full of soldiers. I have only been inside one of them, and I saw very little of its extent or pattern.”

Khabekhnet had strode down the ramp and was now standing at the top of the watersteps facing the excited people, his herald’s staff of office raised. Behind him the Followers poured, shields thrusting against the throng to provide an open pathway to the gleaming White Wall of Menes with its two high gates.

“On your faces before Uatch-Kheperu Ahmose, Son of the Sun, Horus, the Horus of Gold!” Khabekhnet shouted, as he had done at every stop along the Nile, and at once the furore died away. Everyone went to the earth. Ahmose glanced along the line of Medjay boats now also secured to the foot of the watersteps and smiled to see an occasional glint of gold among the naked black chests ranked proudly on the decks. The tribesmen who had been awarded the Gold of Valour were wearing their trophies. For once they were quiet, the bows slung on their shoulders ranged like a forest of sticks tipping the blue sky. With a terse word, he moved towards the ramp, Ramose, Hor-Aha, Ankhmahor and Turi at his heels.

One figure had risen and was waiting for his approach before the open gate that led, Ahmose remembered, directly to the Prince’s residence and from there to the District of Ptah. This city is beautiful, he thought, in the few moments it took to reach the man who was now bowing several times from his white-clad waist. The districts are clean and spacious and full of trees, the streets are wide, the buildings gracious. I am so glad that Kamose did not order its destruction. I would like to visit the temple of Hathor of the Sycamore before I sail on, but I don’t suppose there will be time. There is good fishing, too, in the Pool of Pedjet-She on the edge of the desert. Perhaps Turi will go there. He halted and smiled.

“Welcome to the home of Ptah, Creator of the World, Majesty,” the official said. “I am Dagi, mayor of Mennofer. There are litters waiting for you if you wish to be carried to the Prince’s estate.”

“No. I want to walk,” Ahmose replied frankly. “I need the exercise. I do not remember you, Dagi.” He gestured and they proceeded in under the shadow of the gate, the Followers running to form a protective cordon around them.

“I was a junior administrator when you and your brother came last to Mennofer,” the man answered. “His Highness appointed me to my present position in the spring, when our previous mayor decided to retire. It is a great honour. Many kings made Mennofer their capital long ago.” Ahmose found himself warming to Dagi’s obvious love for his home and they talked easily, pacing under the dappling of the many trees along the city’s broad thoroughfare. Beyond the warning bulk of the Followers, the citizens going about their own business stopped to bow and then to stare at the bejewelled company. Ahmose acknowledged them gravely with a half-raised hand as he went.

Prince Sebek-nakht stood at the entrance to his walled garden, flanked by his retainers. As Ahmose came up to them, they knelt in the dust, but Sebek-nakht put out his braceleted arms and bent low. “Majesty,” he said, “I am honoured. Be pleased to enter my house.”

“It is good to see you again, Sebek-nakht,” Ahmose responded, “and to take my time in walking through the loveliness of Mennofer. You already know General Hor-Aha and Prince Ramose of Khemmenu. This is General Turi, my oldest friend. Let us go in.” Two of the Followers fell in behind them, but Ankhmahor and the remainder of the guard took up their station in front of the estate’s wall, under the interested eye of Sebek-nakht’s gatekeeper, who peered out at them from his little room just within the gate itself.

The Prince’s house with its brightly painted pillars lay directly ahead. He had laid out his garden to one side of the path leading to his entrance and on the other the sheltering wall was covered in flowering vines and fruit trees trained against its rough mud brick. House and garden filled the space so that nothing of the kitchen, granaries or servant’s quarters that must surely lie in the rear could be seen, but a thin plume of smoke rose from that direction. As Ahmose came up to the pillars, a guard rose and reverenced him, and beyond the man the cool shade of the doorway was suddenly filled with floating linens and the wink of light on gold. The Prince’s wife and daughters had appeared to pay their respects.

After the sharing of wine and pleasantries by the lily-choked pool in the garden the women settled back on their cushions and drew together, and Ahmose, with Ramose, Hor-Aha and Turi, followed Sebek-nakht into the house. It filled Ahmose’s memory with its airy spaces, the cool green and white tiling of the reception hall, the gilded tables and curving ebony chairs with their flowers of inlaid ivory, the delicate painted lamps and the two elaborately chased house shrines to Sekhmet and Ptah. He remembered, too, the room to which the Prince led them, with its cedar desk, its walls painted to resemble spreading date palms whose fruit were cunningly camouflaged alcoves holding the scrolls that dealt with the administration of his holdings, its reed matting woven to resemble a fish-filled lake. Without waiting to be invited, he drew up a chair and the others did also. A servant appeared, gliding into the room and standing noiselessly. “Can I offer you anything more?” Sebek-nakht asked. “It is some hours until the evening meal.” They declined, and with a wave Sebek-nakht dismissed the man. The door closed softly. Sebek-nakht turned to Ahmose.

“I am sorry about your brother,” he said, “and ashamed of my fellow Princes. They were not honest enough to desert Kamose and come north to Het-Uart. Instead they resorted to murder. It was not in the way of Ma’at.”

“No, it was not,” Ahmose agreed, watching him carefully. “And I am not sure that they had any thought of placing themselves once more under Apepa’s thumb when they killed Kamose and wounded me. I think they had some barely formed idea of treatying with Apepa while somehow holding onto the gains Kamose made, perhaps even of killing my stepson and electing a King from among themselves. In any case such a move would have been futile. Apepa would then have seized his chance to leave his city and flood the south with Setiu troops. Or would he?” The invitation was obvious. Sebek-nakht smiled.

“Majesty, I do not have Apepa’s confidence, I only have his ear regarding his building projects and those are very few,” he said smoothly. “The Setiu are not interested in erecting anything other than temples to their gods. I have drawn up plans for the extension of Apepa’s palace in the past and seen them properly executed and I have done some work in the Delta for various other nobles, but that is all.” Ahmose pulled his chair closer to the table and laid his arms across its surface. He leaned towards Sebek-nakht.

“No, I will not ask you to betray Apepa,” he said with a sigh. “No matter where your heart lies in this matter, you will have nothing to tell me, will you?” Sebek-nakht touched his kohled temple in a curiously graceful movement.

“I do not keep my counsel because I am in sympathy with the Setiu,” he remarked. “I am an architect and a priest, Majesty. I know nothing of military matters and care even less. I would rather serve you in those capacities than Apepa, but it has been Apepa who has used and rewarded my skill. I am of a very ancient Egyptian family and unlike many of my princely fellows who glory in ancestors who wielded weapons or power, I take pride in a history of architects and priests stretching back more hentis than I can count. Of course I have power,” he emphasized. “I am a Prince. But I am not interested in using it to lead an army.”

“What a pity,” Ahmose murmured. “I was going to ask you to command one of my divisions.” He was grinning and Sebek-nakht broke into laughter.

“If you require troops well versed in the merits of limestone over sandstone or how deep a foundation must go in order to support a column of a certain weight, then I am indeed a good choice,” he said. “Otherwise, I would be a disaster.”

“We have military minds in abundance,” Hor-Aha put in sourly. “What we need are men who know how to tear down a glacis wall quickly and efficiently.” His tone sobered the company and there was a moment of awkward silence. Hor-Aha flung up his hands. “Your pardon, Prince,” he said to Sebek-nakht. “My words were not intended to offend. But I spoke the truth. The main mounds on which Het-Uart rests are girdled with such sloping designs. They are very high and as hard as rock. Egyptians do not build this way. Egyptian masons do not know what their flaws may be. The city’s gates are also high and solid.” He cast a dark glance at Ahmose. “Kamose took Nag-ta-Hert only after a month of sieging, and then only because the commander of the fort was running short of water and lost his nerve. Nagta-Hert’s walls were torn down from the inside after our soldiers overran it, and not before.”

“I do not take offence easily, General,” Sebek-nakht assured him. “I understand your need. But you know from Kamose’s success at Nag-ta-Hert that Setiu fortifications are not of stone. They are of sand and earth piled high and made stable with a canted facing of glacis. In my capacity as architect I am familiar with the advantages and weaknesses of various kinds of stone and I can plan structures composed of mud bricks, but that is all. I have no advice for you.”

“Apepa’s father doubled the height of the walls,” Ahmose said. “I have often wondered why, seeing that in his day there was no threat to the city. Perhaps he received an oracle regarding his son’s future.”

“Perhaps.” Sebek-nakht folded his arms. “But I think that the plague forty years ago frightened him. Het-Uart has always been a crowded, stifling warren of narrow alleys full of refuse and offal between row upon row of jumbled mud houses. No gardens except within the confines of the palace itself and a few tiny squares before the homes of the very privileged. No trees to speak of. Only noise and stench. Forty years ago the population had grown so vast that the city was choking on its own citizens. It was, it still is, overrun with rats and other vermin. The plague killed thousands of Setiu, so many that the dead were simply flung into open pits. At that time and for some time afterwards Het-Uart was vulnerable. Thus the improved defences.”