The Horus Road (8 page)

“The Division of Amun. General Turi, the Commander of Shock Troops Prince Ankhmahor, the Standard Bearer Idu.” The three men came forward, Ahmose’s childhood friend in the lead. Kamose had sent him and his family south, out of harm’s way, during the first desperate years of the insurrection and Ahmose had recently recalled them. Prostrating themselves, the men kissed Ahmose’s feet and both his hands, straightening a little to perform the same act on Ahmose-onkh who laughed delightedly. Moving to Aahmes-nefertari, they reverenced her with the same humble respect. Ahmose bade them rise and handed each of them an armband.

“The badge of your responsibility,” he said. “Do not use it like a club with which to beat your underlings nor as a tree to hide behind. The blessings of your Lord.”

“The Division of Ra,” Khabekhnet intoned. “General Kagemni, the Commander of Shock Troops Khnumhotep, the Standard Bearer Khaemhet.” Once again the homage was offered and received and the armbands distributed. “The Division of Thoth,” Khabekhnet shouted. “General Baqet, the Commander of Shock Troops Tchanny, the Standard Bearer Pepynakht.”

Aahmes-nefertari watched and listened attentively. She recognized very few of the men whose bodies were crouched over her and whose mouths touched her flesh. He has done exactly as he said he would, she thought. Most of these soldiers are from the ranks. Their posture, their stride, the rough combination of awkward pride and hesitant selfconsciousness, it all brands them as commoners. She stole a glance to where Mesehti and Makhu were standing, but she could read nothing on their faces. Ramose, close beside them, looked strained but calm. The other two divisions to be quartered at Weset were Horus and Montu, but six more had been newly formed and, by the time the non-military men had begun to file forward and bind themselves to their new King, the box Hor-Aha had steadily proffered was empty. Aahmes-nefertari was suddenly tired. The glorious Queen’s crown had begun to chafe her behind her ears and her spine was aching. So that is where all the silver went, she thought, and my husband with it. No wonder he was spending so much time here in the temple. He and Amunmose, the masons and jewellers and overseers of sacred protocol must have worked like the slaves of the Setiu to prepare for this day.

Ahmose-onkh had begun to squirm and whine quietly. Ahmose hushed him peremptorily and after a wail of protest his thumb crept into his mouth and he fell asleep against his father’s chest. When he woke in response to a gentle shake, his cheek had been imprinted with the design of Kamose’s pectoral.

They proceeded out of the temple on a tide of music and renewed clouds of incense to be met by a shower of flower petals and a delirious congregation of citizenry. Ahmoseonkh was yawning. Aahotep was disguising a limp. All at once she halted and turned to her steward. “Kares, go back and fetch me that young priest. You know the one,” she ordered. They waited, the guards struggling to hold back the clamorous people, the late afternoon sun dancing on the ripples of Amun’s canal and making them blink after the relative dimness of the inner court. Presently Kares returned with the young man. When he saw Aahotep he bowed low several times, his palms uplifted in a gesture of supplication. “Don’t worry,” Aahotep said kindly. “I want to thank you, not punish you. What is your name and position?”

“I am called Yuf, Exalted One,” he stammered. “I am a we’eb priest, servant to the servants of the god.”

“Well, Yuf, you have shown great presence of mind today,” Aahotep said. “Not to mention an impudent resourcefulness. I need a priest of my own. If you would like to serve me, come to the house tomorrow and ask for Kares.” She did not wait for a reply but hobbled straight to her litter, leaving Yuf’s startled face to be swallowed up in the crush. Aahmes-nefertari heard her rare, abrupt laugh from behind the closed curtains as she herself climbed into her own conveyance.

Late that night, after the feasting and the music, the congratulatory speeches, the garlands and wine and revelry, an exhausted Aahmes-nefertari lay on her husband’s couch in the blissful silence of his quarters. They had finished making love and Ahmose had just snuffed out the lamp. Darkness rushed in, soothing and welcome. “Here,” he said. “Put your head in the hollow of my shoulder and sleep beside me. Do you approve of what I did today, Aahmesnefertari? Was it wise?”

“Yes, I think so,” she replied drowsily. “Providing you remember to treat the Princes with more than your usual courtesy and give them the titles you promised. They are not stupid, Ahmose. They are surely aware that you have greatly curtailed their power. You must throw them a few bones.” He grunted and there was silence for a moment. She thought that he had drifted to sleep but suddenly she felt him stir.

“Oh, by the way,” he said casually. “I forgot to tell you earlier. I have appointed you the Second Prophet of Amun. Amunmose has agreed to my decision.” Mild shock jerked her completely awake.

“But why?” she exclaimed. “You have given me enough duties with the household guards and overseeing the construction of a town for the new divisions! How am I supposed to add service in the temple to those chores?” He said nothing, and she realized that he was waiting for her to come to an answer herself. “You need a spy in the temple, don’t you?” she said slowly. “You are fond of Amunmose but you do not trust him, or rather, you need to know that you can go on trusting him. The temple is a world unto itself. I am to link that world with this.”

“Yes,” he half-whispered. “It is honourable to serve the god, Aahmes-nefertari, and like Kamose I revere him and am ready to do his will. It is his servants who are full of the frailties of human nature. I do not want surprises. I do not want to come home to sedition, not ever.” She bit her lip, an indication of mild distress that he could not see.

“You don’t really trust anyone, do you, my husband?” she said.

“Only you, my lovely Queen,” he responded, a quiver of mirth in his voice. “Only you.”

3

AHMOSE, THE MEDJAY
, and the Weset contingent of the army left for the north the following afternoon. Ahmose, standing above the water-steps with Ahmose-onkh’s small hand enclosed within his own, felt weary but satisfied. I did not know if I could do it, he thought. It was a risk, all of it, but I have established the foundation for a new fighting force, proclaimed my hold over most of the country, and broken the power of the Princes, although they do not know it yet. Only Apepa remains between me and total control. Only. He smiled ruefully to himself. At least I can concentrate on this campaigning season without worrying about what is happening behind my back. Aahmes-nefertari and Mother are well capable of ruling here in my absence and I am taking my potential enemies with me.

He cast a sidelong glance at Hor-Aha. The man was talking quietly to Ankhmahor, one black hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword, the other gesticulating lazily. Ankhmahor was looking at the ground, occasionally nodding gravely as he listened. He has not complained, Ahmose thought. Not since that first meeting when he said he understood. But it must be a bitter thing for him to find himself relegated to commanding nothing but the Medjay. I wish I did not need them so badly. Then it would not matter if he took them back to Wawat. As it is, I must take care to consult him as Kamose used to do, for it is true that his worth as a tactician is great. I wonder if he suspects that I have no intention of ratifying his noble title or of giving him an estate until I am completely assured of Egypt’s submission.

Around them swirled the activity of embarkation. Last-minutes stores were being carried up the ramps of the reed ships, Scribes of Assemblage were bent over their lists as soldiers filed past them, and those men already on deck were leaning on the guard rails watching the groups of officers still on the bank. I shall be sorry to miss the harvest, Ahmose’s thoughts ran on. How many years is it since I have seen the air full of flying chaff and heard the songs of the reapers as the stalks of grain fall under their blades? By the time I come home the Inundation will have begun, the granaries will be full, and the new wine will be fermenting in the vats.

He became aware that Ahmose-onkh was tugging at his arm. “I want to go with you, Father,” he was piping. “I want to go to war.” Ahmose smiled into the eager little face.

“I would gladly take you,” he said, “but you must be able to draw the bow and wield the spear and sword, and most importantly, you must be able to read.”

“Read?” Ahmose-onkh made a face. “Why?”

“Because before a battle all the generals and commanders gather round the maps the scribes have made, with the names of towns and villages and tributaries on them, and they decide what to do. Ipi writes it all down, but how would you know if he had made the right words and how would you tell those words to the men if you could not read them?” He went down on his haunches, straightening the warm black youth lock against the boy’s thin collarbone, gently caressing the sun-heated skin. “One day if Amun wills it, you will be King,” he went on kindly. “But a King must fight better than any other man in his kingdom and read and write better than any scribe. When you can do these things you can come with me. I shall miss you, my tiny Hawk-in-the-Nest.”

“Well, at least tell Mother that I want a room of my own in the house,” Ahmose-onkh grumbled. “I am too big to share with Hent-ta-Hent any more.” Ahmose rose.

“When you are five and start your lessons, you will have your own quarters,” he said. “I will have them built for you. Until then you must obey your mother and grandmother. A King must also learn self-discipline, Ahmose-onkh.” The boy heaved a gusty sigh.

“Father, I am so glad you didn’t tell me to obey Great-grandmother!” he exclaimed. “She is always grumpy and her nails dig into me when she makes me hug her.” Ahmose bit back the admonishment rising to his tongue. I do not like her either, he wanted to say. All my life she has scorned me or simply tolerated me, depending on her mood. To her I will always be guileless Ahmose, innocent and rather stupid. The conversation we had all those months ago did not do much to change her mind, although we managed to arrive at a precarious truce, and when Kamose showed that he was strong enough to hold onto his sanity that truce dissolved. I should have acknowledged her in public yesterday, given her some trifling award, but the days of her active support belong to the Seqenenra and Kamose years, not to mine. I cannot count on her for sensible advice or even mute endorsement, but will she openly oppose me and my policies? It is too soon to say.

“Nevertheless,” he said aloud to the upturned face whose features were beginning to mature into the likeness of his true father, Si-Amun, and therefore Kamose’s also, “she is a great and noble lady who deserves your respect. A King must learn to hide his feelings, Ahmose-onkh, and yet not become deceitful while doing so …” But Ahmose-onkh had lost interest and was batting at a golden scarab that was whirring by in a flash of glinting carapace.

“Leave it alone, Ahmose-onkh!” his mother called. She came up to them and Ahmose kissed her painted cheek. She smelled of nutmeg and lotus oil.

“Aahmes-nefertari, you are so beautiful!” he said impulsively. She smiled at him delightedly, her kohled eyes narrowed against the blaze of the sun.

“Of course I am,” she teased him. “For am I not almost a goddess? Ahmose, this village I am to build for the soldiers, it will need a canal linking it to the river for rapid abandonment when necessary. It cannot rise by the existing barracks. They are almost directly behind the house. Nor should it go on the other side of the town. That is too far for efficient supervision. Where do you want it?” He considered for a while, his arm around her taut waist, his gaze on the gradually diminishing chaos on the river.

“Put it to the south,” he said at last. “The cultivable land between the Nile and the desert is narrow so the canal will be short. The soldiers can use it to irrigate the fields already there. They can grow some of their own food when they are not fighting or training. Give the existing barracks to your household guards and their families.”

“The fields are ours anyway,” she replied. “They were not included in the arouras Kamose promised as future payment to the men who built the reed boats so I will not need to move any peasants from their huts. Do you care what architect I hire to do this work?” He slipped his arm from her waist and began to stroke her hair, the burnished curve of her shoulder, the corded tendons of her neck, feeling an urgent need to store up memories of how she looked to him, how she felt to his touch.

“No,” he answered. “Your judgement is sound. Bring one in from elsewhere if there are none qualified in Weset. Amunmose will recommend a man of experience.” A sudden thought struck him and he dropped his arm. “When you find someone suitable, take him into the old palace,” he told her in a low voice. “Ask him to draw up some plans for its restoration.” She glanced at him keenly.

“You have been planning all these things for years, haven’t you, my husband?” she murmured. “Apepa’s defeat, bringing the old palace to life, making Weset the centre of the world and Amun its mightiest god. What if Kamose had lived?” A spasm of pain disfigured his face for a moment.

“Kamose held the same vision for the future,” he said quietly. “We were as one in this. But long before the oracle’s cryptic pronouncement I knew that Kamose would not survive to sit on the Horus Throne. He knew it too. Remember the omen of the hawk, Aahmes-nefertari? From then on I began to turn over in my mind what I would do if power came into my hands.” He pursed his lips. “Do not mistake me,” he went on, and his voice broke. “I loved my brother. Not even the whisper of treason ever entered my thoughts. It was a painful thing, a dreadful thing, Aahmesnefertari, to prepare for his death, but I did. I know what must be done and how I will do it. This year will see another siege that will not succeed, but it will keep Apepa penned up in Het-Uart, and while he is rendered impotent I will clean out the soldiers of Rethennu from the rest of the Delta. Next year I will defeat him. Do not speak of these things to Mother and especially not to Grandmother,” he urged. The other women were approaching along the path with Uni and Kares, and Aahmes-nefertari nodded her agreement and drew away from him. He turned to find Hor-Aha at his elbow.

“The men are all on board and the marchers are finally ranked, Majesty,” he said. “It is time.”

“Amun himself is coming to bless us,” Ahmose reminded him. “We will wait a little.”

Even as he spoke he heard the singing. Around him and out on the ships a sudden silence fell. The procession came into view, first the musicians with their finger cymbals and drums, then the singers. Behind them Amunmose was surrounded by his incense-wreathed acolytes, but for once Ahmose’s glance slid over his friend and fled to the litter beyond. Borne on the wide shoulders of eight priests, heavily curtained, its sumptuous trappings swaying and glittering in the sun, it advanced until it reached the paving. The bearers set it down with reverent care and its entourage surrounded it protectively.

Amunmose stepped up and drew aside the curtain and at once the assembly went to the ground in worship. To Ahmose’s surprise it was Aahmes-nefertari who immediately rose again, and walking to the litter and bowing to the smoothly golden profile of the god within, she turned to the prostrate company. “Hear the words of the Greatest of Greatest from the mouth of his Second Prophet, O King,” she called, her voice ringing out clearly and proudly. “Thus says Amun, Lord of Weset. ‘O my son Nebpehtira Ahmose, Lord of the Two Lands, I am thy Father. I set terror in the northlands even unto Het-Uart, and the Setiu are a stain beneath thy feet.’” She paused, bowed again, and retreated.

“When did you receive this oracle?” Ahmose whispered into her ear and she smiled.

“Amunmose sent it to me this morning early. Hush now, Ahmose. He is going to bless the troops.” The High Priest had taken a censer and was holding it out in the direction of the ships, intoning the chants of benediction and protection, and two other priests waited with the flagons of milk and bull’s blood to pour upon the flagstones. All at once a sense of enormous well-being flooded Ahmose. Everything was going to be all right.

It was a wrench to be separated yet again from his family and to see the panorama of the house in its shelter of trees, then the temple and the town itself, then the wide bend of the river pass out of sight, but there was none of the aching anxiety both he and Kamose had felt on previous partings. The fall of Het-Uart was assured. Next year or the year after would see Egypt united once more. It was simply a matter of time. Standing on the deck of his ship with Hor-Aha, Ankhmahor and Turi beside him and the long, uneven line of the other boats strung out behind, he had the strong impression that Kamose also hovered at his shoulder and in a moment he would hear his voice. “Well, Ahmose, we venture forth once more,” he would say with that familiar blend of resignation and fortitude.

So powerful was the sense of his brother’s presence that Ahmose gave a start when a bevy of ducks hidden in the reeds rose squawking at their approach and the spell was broken. All the same, he thought, you see us, don’t you, Kamose? Your passion for our freedom will keep you here watching, your ba-self hovering invisibly as we go north. Oh how I miss you! I did not realize how comfortable it was to occupy a place in your shadow while the ultimate responsibilities of rule and command were yours. Now they are mine and I am naked under their weight. “We will not have long in the Delta this season, Majesty,” Turi’s words broke in on Ahmose’s reverie. “It is a tedious, hot march for the infantry divisions. They will not reach Het-Uart until the middle of Epophi. That leaves us a little more than Mesore to siege and turn for home again before the river road floods.” Ahmose gave his attention to his old friend. Turi’s angular, rather uneven features were drawn together in a frown under the rim of his blue-and-white linen helmet and his dark eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the verdant bank sliding by.

“True,” Ahmose replied. “But it is time to change tactics, Turi.” He glanced at the sky, white with heat. “Come into the cabin, all of you. I will tell you what I want to do and you will give me your advice.” They retired into the relative coolness of the cabin with alacrity and for the rest of the afternoon drank beer and argued Ahmose’s strategy. By the time they emerged the sun was setting, a spreading pool of molten fire on the western horizon, and the sailors were manoeuvring the ships to a night mooring.

Before he prepared for sleep, Ahmose received a message from Het nefer Apu. Paheri and Abana were eagerly awaiting him and the navy was ready for engagement. He sat on the edge of his cot with the scroll in his hands, looking across at the empty space where Kamose used to lie. Akhtoy had set up his travelling Amun shrine there but its shape seemed ephemeral, as though it were temporarily displacing the more solid contours of a rumpled sheet and a black head resting on a pillow.

I am still lost without you, Ahmose spoke silently into the dimness. Despair lurks in these moments when I am idle or defenceless in that strange world between waking and sleep and I must fight it or it will render me impotent. Father, Si-Amun, and now you, all gone down into death, and I am alone. What satisfaction will there be in victory amid such ruination? Even if Aahmes-nefertari gives me a dozen male Taos to fill the house with their virile presence, it will never be the same. The past is a scroll rolled up and sealed and stored in some secret place. Inside it, where time has stopped, the hieroglyphs gleam slickly black, the colours hold their brilliance forever, but outside I am condemned to memories that gradually distort and fade until the recollections themselves are a lie.