The Oasis (21 page)

“None of the wine either,” Ahmose put in. He had his head in his wife’s lap and she was tickling his nose with a spear of grass. “Our vintner tells me that there is no sign of spring blight on the vines. Where is Nefer-Sakharu? Why does she never join us?” He batted at Aahmes-nefertari’s hand and sneezed.

“Her grief has turned to hate,” Tetisheri said. She was tossing scrolls one by one into the chest at her feet while her scribe flexed his aching fingers and put his palette in order. “She is not grateful for the sanctuary she has found here. Senehat tells me that she heard Nefer-Sakharu speaking ill of you, Kamose, to Ahmose-onkh, so I forbade her to see the boy any more. I do not know what to do with her.” She threw the last scroll down, brushed off the skirt of her white sheath, and took the wine Uni was proffering.

“There is nowhere to send her,” Aahotep joined in, her eyes on the red ripples spreading out under her hand. “We could put her in a cell in the temple, I suppose, ask Amunmose to care for her, but it seems a cruel thing to do and really she is not the High Priest’s responsibility.”

“No, she is ours,” Kamose said resignedly. He had been inspecting the irrigation waterways with his Overseer of Dykes and Canals for any signs of abnormal subsidence and had then plunged in the Nile to wash off the mud of the afternoon. Clad only in a loincloth, barefoot and unpainted, his skin glossy and his hair still damp, he looked younger than his twenty-four years. “I am sorry to give the burden of her supervision back to you, my dear women, but I have no choice. The river is ready for navigation and Ahmose and I must leave very soon. Have Nefer-Sakharu watched constantly. She is desperate to see her son, and besides, she has been here long enough to have learned a great deal about us, our state of mind, the tenor of Weset’s inhabitants, the promise of our crops, things that might seem inconsequential until they are combined in the mind of a military strategist.”

“Strategist!” Tetisheri snorted. “The only strategist in Het-Uart is Pezedkhu and he is choking on that coward Apepa’s leash. He is the only man to fear, Kamose.”

“I know. We have had no information regarding him. I think Apepa will hold him in until a pitched battle becomes inevitable.”

Aahmes-nefertari sighed. “It has been such a lovely month,” she said wistfully. “So quiet. Now we talk of war again. When will you take Ahmose away from me, Kamose? And will you send him home for the birth of our child?”

“I make no promises,” Kamose stated flatly. “How can I? You have Mother and Grandmother, Aahmes-nefertari. You will just have to be brave.” Ahmose reached up and grasped a lock of her black hair, winding it around his wrist.

“You will be brave,” he repeated. “All will be well and you will send me word. I do not want to have to worry about you, Aahmes-nefertari, and worry I will unless you can promise me that you will be calm and not fret and not miss me too much.”

“I am learning a fatalistic patience,” the girl said, half-humorously. “Now answer my question, Kamose. When must you go?”

“Tybi begins in three days,” Kamose said. “We will wait to make offerings at my father’s tomb in remembrance of his birthday and, of course, the first day of the month is doubly sacred to me, being the Feast of the Coronation of Horus, but then we will be gone. I have already commanded the Medjay to refurbish their weapons and prepare to take ship.” He turned a level gaze on Ahmose. “I hope to accomplish a successful siege this season.” Ahmose made no reply. He continued to play with his wife’s hair, and it was Tetisheri who covered the moment of tension.

“Are we to continue our watch on Pi-Hathor?” she wanted to know. Kamose shook his head.

“No. It is no longer necessary I think. We hold the country from Weset to the Delta anyway and a messenger from Het-Uy would find it almost impossible to get through our ranks.”

“Perhaps it is time to offer the mayor the hand of friendship,” Aahotep suggested. She scrambled up and came in under the now superfluous shade of the canopy. “He has kept to his agreement with you, Kamose. Do not forget that he builds craft of all kinds there and moreover he has a limestone quarry. He must know by now that the time for any revolt on his part is over. We could make use of him.”

“No.” Ahmose let go of the thick tress he had tangled and sat up. “Not yet. We must give no one the slightest cause to imagine that we have any need. Leave Pi-Hathor and Het-Uy alone for now.”

For a while silence reigned as each one of them succumbed to the beauty of the hour. Pale shadows had begun to snake across the lawn and before them the red light retreated, leaving a soft dusk still redolent with the perfume of the budding flowers. The sky was an arch of dark blue benignly fading into a pearly azure before becoming pink. Then Aahmes-nefertari stirred. “Khoiak has been like the peace that falls before a desert storm,” she said. “Precious and not to be forgotten. I think we will all feed on its memory.” Tetisheri swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Dinner is late,” she said tartly.

6

TWELVE DAYS LATER
, on the ninth day of Tybi, the family met above the watersteps to say their farewells. It was a cool spring morning, with the river running fast and a strong breeze tossing the trees and whipping up the surface of the Nile. Boats loaded with the excited and voluble Medjay rocked and jostled between the banks. The brothers’ craft, with its blue-and-white royal flag rippling frenetically and its prow grating against the pole to which it was tethered, seemed to mirror Kamose’s own inward impatience to be gone. He stood with Ahmose beside him and Ankhmahor and the Followers behind, scanning the faces of his loved ones and the priests and servants gathered to wish him good fortune, while at his back the Medjay laughed and shouted in their own quaint tongue and the thuds and curses of the men loading last-minute supplies were snatched away by the blustery air.

Already the winter months held a quality of unreality. There had been the dream of returning home, an ache that had grown with every mile that had taken him farther away from Weset, and the burst of joy he had felt when finally the familiar and beloved contours of his home came into sight again. But after the embraces and tearful greetings, after the taste of local wine and homegrown food, after the blessed relief of his own couch, he had entered another dream, less pure. The demons held at bay by bloody actions and one consuming decision after another had slipped past a guard that was no longer necessary and danced unhindered through the caverns of his empty mind. He knew this. In a cold and detached way he had been entirely aware of what was happening to him, but the extreme fatigue he had also been thrusting back had overwhelmed him too and he could not fight. He slept and rose, ate and talked, but within himself he was supine, powerless.

Gradually the demons grew bored and wandered back into the darkness of his nightmares, but by then Khoiak had begun and it was too late to rediscover the elation of that day. Consequently he found that he had substituted dream for illusion. The four months spent in the sanity and stability of his home seemed to him now to have been a waking fantasy, a combination of wishful daydreams and disjointed turmoil that left him anxious to escape to a more tangible existence.

There stood his women, his grandmother, mother and sister, linens pressed against their legs by the force of the wind, eyes fixed on him variously with trepidation, stubborn resolve, sad affection, but they belonged to a world he could no longer inhabit, a world, moreover, that he had left a long time ago. He had tried to return to it, only to find himself a stranger.

Ahmose felt none of these things, he knew, but then Ahmose’s strength lay in his ability to enter completely into his present circumstances and lay aside any contemplation of his past as a fruitless trap. If he was impelled to reflect upon it, it was for practical reasons. He would sail north with happy memories of his hours with Aahmes-nefertari, with the anticipation of his fatherhood, with hope for the coming battle season, but those emotions would not overwhelm him. He would sleep deeply wherever he found himself, eat and drink gratefully whatever was presented to him, and perform with equanimity the tasks at hand. I envy him, Kamose thought, as he moved to kiss his mother. I would not want to be what he is, but I envy him.

Aahotep smelled of lotus oil and her full lips were soft under his. With one hand she held back her gale-tousled hair and the other caressed his cheek. “May the soles of your feet be firm, Majesty,” she said as he drew away. “If by some miracle of the gods you are able to get a message to Tani, tell her that I love her and pray for her safety every day.” He nodded, and turned to Tetisheri.

“Well, Grandmother,” he smiled. “Our parting this time is not fraught with the uncertainty of last year. The Delta is all that remains to be cleansed.” She did not return his smile, only regarding him expressionlessly out of the wrinkled parchment of her face.

“I know your haste,” she said. “It is mine also. But do nothing rash, Kamose. The patience of Ma’at is eternal. Send me regular scrolls. Guard your person. Watch Hor-Aha.” She spread her braceleted arms. “Do the will of Amun.” He was suddenly reluctant to press her ancient flesh against him, why he did not know. I am already too infected with the taint of death, he thought grimly. Tetisheri’s vigour in spite of her age should be like a medicine to me, not a poison. She triumphs over every symptom of impending dissolution. Pulling her to him, he crushed her loose bones against his body, but the impulse could not quell a moment of revulsion.

“Do not withdraw your favour from me, Grandmother,” he said urgently, guiltily. “We have always understood one another. I would be devastated if that should change.”

“My love for you will never fade,” she answered, straightening. “But Egypt comes first. I intend to survive long enough to see you mount the Horus Throne, O Mighty Bull, therefore take heed that you tread warily and with circumspection.”

“You sound like Ahmose,” he retorted, half-jokingly. She went on scanning him soberly, her hooded eyes narrowed.

“If you had wanted my advice, or anyone else’s for that matter, you would have sought it,” she said acidly. “But you have made up your mind what you will do once you reach the Delta. Be careful, Kamose. The brittle branch will snap more easily than wood that is soft with sap.” You are a fine example of the brittle branch, he said to himself in his mind. There is no one more inflexible than you, dear Grandmother, with your spine as rigid as a djed pillar and your will as adamant as stone.

He was spared from replying by a flurry of activity on the periphery of his vision, and he turned to see Amunmose in full sacerdotal regalia come pacing towards him, flanked by acolytes with incense holders extended. If myrrh was being burned, there was no indication, for any fragrant smoke was being snatched away by the wind. At once the family bowed, and waited reverently while Amunmose sang the chants of blessing and parting and the blood and milk streamed onto the paving, and when he had finished, Tetisheri asked him what omen the entrails of the sacrificed bull had revealed.

“The animal was in perfect health,” the High Priest assured her. “Heart, liver, lungs, all without signs of disease. The blood that streamed upon the ground formed a perfect map of the tributaries of the Delta and the first spot to dry was in fact the thickest. It had fallen where Het-Uart would be. Your Majesty may go north with confidence.”

“Thank you, Amunmose. Is there an oracular pronouncement?” Amunmose shot a rapid, almost imperceptible glance at Tetisheri that Kamose did not miss. Now what is this? he thought, surprised. Collusion between my grandmother and my friend? Has Amun spoken words that I may not hear, or worse, words that would make me despair? Stepping up, he took the High Priest’s arm. “I charge you on pain of sacrilege to answer me,” he demanded. “If the god has prophesied to me, then as his chosen son I have a right to know! Is there a prognostication regarding the campaigns of this season?” Again a silent communication passed between his grandmother and the High Priest, this time of relief, and a puzzled Kamose realized that he had asked the wrong question. Well then, what? he thought, mystified and troubled. Amunmose squared his shoulders and at his movement the leopard’s head on the end of the skin slung over the man’s shoulder seemed to snarl at Kamose.

“No, Majesty,” Amunmose said. “There has been no direct word from Amun on the success of this season’s war. Apart from the excellent sacrificial omen, of course.” He snapped his fingers at one of the acolytes and the boy came forward shyly, proffering a small bundle wrapped in linen. “I have a gift for you from Amun’s artisans,” he went on, taking the package and passing it to Kamose. “It was formed from the gold and lapis you captured and apportioned for the use of the god. He is grateful.” Intrigued, Kamose unfolded the layers of thin cloth. Within its nest lay a boxlike armlet of heavy gold. Its square perimeter encased Kamose’s name in lapis within a golden cartouche that was flanked by two rampant lions whose bodies, shaped in gold, were also of lapis. The thick ornament exuded both power and a deliberately primitive beauty. Kamose stared down at it, caught up in the sparkling play of sunlight on the precious metal and the gleaming richness of the blue stone. A sturdy double cord of flax lay coiled under it. After a long moment he picked up the piece and held it out to Amunmose.