The Oasis (28 page)

“You cannot afford such self-indulgence now!” Ahmose protested. “Kamose! Not now! Where was it when we razed Dashlut? Murdered villagers as we sailed downstream? This plan is a good one. We can use it to kill soldiers, weaken Apepa, perhaps even drive him out of Egypt! Ramose knows this. If you need the presence of a living man to remind you of who you were, then you are in grave trouble!”

A dozen cutting rejoinders rose to Kamose’s tongue, cruel words of wounding and self-justification, but with a mighty effort he bit them back. He was glad that Ahmose could not see the strain on his face in the dim light. He knew his brother was right, knew it with his head, but his heart cried out in denial. Ramose was Tani, was flinging throwing sticks at ducks in the marshes on lazy spring afternoons, was family gatherings in Teti’s garden at Khemmenu, he and Si-Amun and Ramose lying in the grass while the moths fluttered in and out of the glow of the lamps and the conversation of the adults was the lulling sound of security. “It is gone,” Ahmose said quietly as though he had seen the bright visions filling his brother’s mind. “All gone, Kamose. It can never come back. Let Ramose go too. We need him to do this. For Egypt’s sake.” Kamose clenched his fists in the cold sand.

“Very well,” he grated. “But give me a coherent sequence of events, Ahmose. As things stand, it will not work.” Ahmose exhaled gustily and Kamose, in spite of his distress, recognized with fleeting amusement that it was a breath of relief.

“It will not work if Ramose goes alone and contrives to have himself arrested,” Ahmose said. “What is he there for? To spy out the city? Perhaps? But neither you nor I would swallow such a reason and neither will Apepa. Spies can come and go in Het-Uart with ease when the city is not under siege. No. Ramose must go as an escort. You must dictate a letter to Apepa and have it carried to him by the messenger Ramose caught. Ramose goes to make sure the man delivers it safely. That way Ramose will eventually corroborate the information the man will give Apepa when he decides to turn renegade in exchange for a meeting with Tani. That way Ramose can walk right up to any Setiu guard on any gate and demand to be taken to the palace. He can begin his interview coolly, even with hostility, then begin to weaken. If we are lucky, Apepa might even offer Ramose inducements to betray us. Ramose will need to lie about nothing. He can tell the full truth.”

Kamose stirred. “What will happen to him afterwards?”

“We can only guess. Apepa will not keep him in the palace. I think he will either put him in prison or demand that he prove his new allegiance by taking up arms against us under the close watch of a Setiu officer.” He raised his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture of bafflement. “Who can say? But you may be sure that Ramose understands fully what he is doing and still wants to do it. Let him, Kamose. He will willingly die afterwards providing he can have one more sight of Tani.” Something in Kamose responded with an icy cynicism. How touchingly naïve, it said mockingly. How sweetly romantic. Ramose clings to his fantasy like a child. But shame brought an equally swift refutation. No. Ramose has lost everything else. Only his love for my sister remains.

“You can be pitilessly persuasive when you want to, Ahmose,” he said aloud. “You are right, of course. I will dictate to Apepa, taunt him, try to make him angry and defensive so that he must release his troops or lose face. I will send it with Ramose and the Setiu herald. Ramose had better take the track back to Het nefer Apu by chariot and then sail to the Delta. Two days to the Nile and probably four from there to Het-Uart. Six days. Allow three days for audiences, discussions and so on in the palace. Nine days. Another four or five for Apepa’s generals to bring his army to a state of readiness. Fourteen days. In ten days we must have scouts watching the mouth of the Delta and also the desert route at Ta-she. Amun help us if we miss the Setiu troops! As soon as we know they have left Ta-she, we march for Het nefer Apu, join Paheri and the navy, and wait to do battle. Are you satisfied?” He got up, brushing sand from his kilt.

“Yes.” Ahmose joined him. “Kamose, do you think Apepa will unleash Pezedkhu on us?” There was anxiety in his voice. Kamose felt it brushing him also but he squared his shoulders.

“Pezedkhu is the best military mind he has,” he replied grimly. “We have a grievous score to settle with the General. Let him come and, please Amun, let him perish under our arrows and swords. It is all a gamble, Ahmose. We can only throw the dice. Apepa and the gods must pick them up.”

Back in their tent, bathed in the steady golden light of the lamp set on his table, Kamose paced while he dictated two letters. One was to Tetisheri telling her of Apepa’s plea to Teti-En and warning her not to relax her watch on the river. He included greetings to the rest of the family and a hope that Aahmes-nefertari’s pregnancy was proceeding normally. Next he addressed Apepa himself, beginning with difficulty but warming to the task as he recounted in vivid and derisive language every aggression he had perpetrated, every village burned, every garrison decimated. He spoke of the support he received from the Princes, those men who had taken everything Apepa had offered through the years and were now throwing it back in his face. He dwelt with genuine relish on the sacking of Apepa’s fort at Nag-ta-Hert and finished with the boast that it was only a matter of time before Het-Uart itself suffered the same fate. He insulted, belittled and jeered, ending the vitriolic outpouring with the words “Your heart is undone, base Setiu, who used to say ‘I am Lord, and there is none equal to me from Khmun and Pi-Hathor down to Het-Uart,’” and he signed himself “Mighty Bull, Beloved of Amun, Beloved of Ra, Lord of the Two Lands, Kamose Living For Ever.”

Ahmose had been listening from his perch on his cot. As Ipi sealed the two papyri and Kamose drank thirstily from the water by the lamp, he said, “Will you tell the Princes about the letter, Kamose?” Kamose smiled across at him. He felt as though he had taken a heavy boulder that had been slung about his neck and hurled it at Apepa. He felt light and slightly giddy.

“We are quite often in silent agreement, aren’t we, Ahmose?” he said. “No, I will not. It would only worry them. After so much direct and unforgivable abuse pouring into Apepa’s ears through the mouth of his scribe as he reads what I have sent, there would no longer be the slightest chance of pardon for them if Apepa proves victorious. I have implicated all of them. Ramose can take tomorrow to prepare for his journey and can be gone the following morning. They can know the rest, of course. Then you and I will explore this oasis while we wait for news from the scouts.” He swept up a cloak. “I’m very restless. I think I’ll walk for a while. Will you come?” Ahmose shook his head.

“Sleep for me,” he said. “Take Ankhmahor. Don’t be alone, Kamose.” For the sake of my safety or my state of mind? Kamose wondered. He let the tent flap fall closed behind him and plunged into the night.

At the meeting the next morning, Kamose told the assembled Princes that he had decided to approve Hor-Aha’s plan and that Ramose would be accompanying the Setiu soldier back to Het-Uart. He kept silent regarding the letter. He felt no guilt at withholding such information from them. He was King, under no obligation to speak to them of anything other than their orders unless he needed their advice. They gave him no argument, indeed, they seemed relieved that their long winter of idleness would soon be over.

Later he summoned Ramose, gave him the scroll, and laid out his instructions. It was to be obvious that he was escorting the herald to make sure the man did not simply run away, either to Kush in an excess of duty to deliver Apepa’s message by word of mouth or back to his home, relinquishing all responsibility. “Once you are in the palace you will have to rely on your own discretion,” he told Ramose. “Ask to be allowed to see Tani before you leave, having fulfilled your duty as a herald. Then show some hesitation.” Kamose shrugged. “Any suggestions I may make are useless, Ramose. Lull Apepa’s suspicions, tell him everything you know, but lure him out of his city.”

“I will do my best,” Ramose said. “If I am unable to return to you, Kamose, you must continue to trust that I have been faithful. Have you a message for Tani?”

“I could speak to you all day of what is in my heart for her,” Kamose said wryly. “Tell her that all of us pray for her, that she is constantly in our thoughts, that we love her. I do not want her upset, Ramose. Nor do I want you to waste the precious time you will spend with her in talking about her family.”

There was a pause before Ramose said cautiously, “Do you think she is still alive, now that you have broken the agreement with Apepa?”

“There was no agreement,” Kamose said harshly. “There was only Apepa’s promise that she would not be harmed as long as the rest of us did as we were told. We must presume that she lives, that Apepa would not be mad enough to kill a noblewoman. I think he is a small man, Ramose, happy to cause indignities, choosing a kind of ignoble mercy to mask his fear of any clean decision. He should have executed Ahmose and me and exiled our women. That is what I would have done. Given his careful cowardice, there is a good chance that Tani still lives.” Ramose came close.

“I will escape with her if I can,” he said. “Given the slightest opportunity we will run. Do I have your permission to try this, Majesty?”

“Providing you have completed the task for which you have volunteered,” Kamose said evenly. “That is more vital than your personal anguish, Ramose.” The two men stared at one another for a moment, tension flaring between them, then Kamose stepped forward and pulled Ramose against him. “My friend,” he breathed. “We have always loved one another, but now I am King and I must put the demands of my office above the joys of brotherhood. Forgive me.” Ramose pulled away.

“I love you also, Kamose,” he said. “I will do my utmost to discharge the commission I have taken upon myself. But I also intend to seize Tani in payment for everything I have suffered at your hands. Affection has nothing to do with this. It is fitting.”

“I understand.” Kamose fought to keep his expression bland while the impulse to justify himself rose like bile in his throat. I did what I had to do, he thought savagely. Surely you can see that, surely you know! Do you think it was easy, shooting an arrow into your father’s trembling breast?

But it was easy, that other voice contradicted him, the voice that increasingly drowned out the whirl of his doubts and misgivings. Easier than being torn by conflicting loyalties, O Mighty Bull, easier than enduring the gentle pain of a friend’s distress. The arm of retribution must be implacable. “Then there is nothing more to say but to give you a formal farewell,” he said aloud. “May the soles of your feet be firm, Ramose. Go with the blessing of the gods.” Ramose bowed. Both men stood irresolute, not knowing what to say, each searching for a further word or gesture to bring what could be their last meeting to an acceptable close, but the silence between them deepened. Finally Kamose smiled, inclined his head, and went away.

8

BY THE TIME
the sun had lost the colour of dawn, the oasis was a jumbled blur on the western horizon behind Ramose. Ahead, the track to Het nefer Apu ran straight to the east, a narrow ribbon of beaten earth between the unforgiving flanks of the desert. Its smooth appearance was deceptive, and Ramose, sitting on the floor of the chariot with his back pressed against its hot side, had to brace himself as the wheels ran over half-concealed rocks and patches of coarse gravel. Across from him the Setiu soldier also bounced and swayed, his sandalled feet planted between Ramose’s own, his manacled hands pressed to the floor of the vehicle between his brown thighs. He was a swarthy-complexioned man with a shock of unkempt black hair and a tattered black beard encircling full lips. His eyes, like two shiny grapes, seldom left Ramose’s face but there was no particular expression in them. Ramose wondered if all Apepa’s servants were as dishevelled or whether this one had been chosen to pass for a peasant or nomad on his anonymous trek south. Above the two passengers the charioteer stood beneath the protecting sunshade, singing to himself and occasionally talking to the two little horses whose gait stirred up a constant cloud of fine beige dust. Bags of food and skins of water were piled around his legs.

Ramose fought his inclination to doze as the heat intensified. Not that the Setiu was likely to attempt an escape out here unless he was able to kill both other men and steal the chariot and the victuals, and that possibility was unlikely. His wrists were securely tied together and one ankle was loosely roped to the chariot’s upper rim. He will be a continual nuisance once we reach Het nefer Apu, Ramose thought. I will be forced to tie him to a tree every night if I want to sleep. He glanced away from the man’s steady appraisal, back along the wind-whipped track.

It was bad enough marching the army from the Nile to the oasis, his thoughts ran on. By the time the troops got there, the officers had to beat them away from the pools until orderly lines could be formed, and these were southerners, sturdy peasants used to privations and the unremitting heat of Shemu. How will Apepa’s thousands fare after three such treks, soft Delta men, city dwellers who have known nothing but orchards and vineyards? Delta to Ta-she, Ta-she to Uah-ta-Meh, Uah-ta-Meh to Het nefer Apu? Two opportunities to replenish their supply of water, but will it be enough? Hor-Aha has conceived a very good plan.