The Oasis (49 page)

He had brought no tribute. This time he had nothing material to offer. But in his mind, as he lay with eyes shut and cheek pressed to the dust, he lifted up to Amun the desiccated bodies of the Setiu shrivelling in the desert east of the oasis and the foreign blood that had flowed outside Het nefer Apu. Take it, Amun, he begged. It is seemly food for a weakened Ma’at. Accept it as a token of the time when the whole of Egypt will be cleansed.

After the ceremony they were carried back to the house through a thunderous acclamation. Ankhmahor posted guards at the watersteps and around the wall enclosing the estate to discourage any over-zealous citizens who might wish to give their thanks in person, but the throngs began to disperse not long after Kamose and the family had disappeared from view. The late afternoon had taken on the breathless timelessness of summer in the south and the sun’s heat was fierce. No one wanted to linger away from their cool mud dwellings. Within the Tao domain a heavy quiet descended. The inhabitants sought their couches and even Kamose slept away the stress and excitement of the occasion, waking to the first faint bronzing of the sky that heralded a welcome sunset.

The feast that followed in Kamose’s reception hall would be remembered by the invited guests for many years to come. Hope and triumph hung in the warm, torch-lit air, mingled with the scent of the many flowers strewn on the little tables and quivering about the necks of the noisy diners, rose in heady exuberance with the steam from the huge variety of foods and wines presented by deferential servants dressed in the blue-and-white livery of a royal House.

The harvest was about to begin, and so the dishes were laden with long spears of lettuce, gleaming green peas, nests of onion shoots, red-rimmed white slices of radish, knobbed chick-peas, all glistening with olive, sesame and ben oils and tangy with the dill, fenugreek, coriander, fennel and cumin grown by Tetisheri’s gardeners. Ducks, geese, inetfish and gazelle meat—roasted, steamed, broiled—were piled high for greedy fingers. Purple pomegranate juice stained fine linens. The dusty grapes that had hung from the trellis arching over the path from the watersteps to the house burst in eager mouths with an unsurpassed sweetness. There were figs dipped in honey and shat cakes and nut-encrusted pastries. Jar after jar of yellow or dark red wine was unsealed and poured into cups that were waved high above men and women who sat cross-legged or sprawled on the cushions.

The musicians’ efforts were drowned in the hubbub and loud laughter that echoed to the painted ceiling but sometimes in the infrequent lulls the tapping of drums and wail of pipes could be heard before the cacophony drowned them once more. As the evening progressed, the heat began to melt the scented wax cones tied to the wigs of the revellers, adding yet another strong odour to the aromas flowing on the eddies of night air from between the open pillars.

The members of the family, together with the Princes and the High Priest, sat on a dais at one end of the room. Aahmes-nefertari, flushed but obviously happy, ate little and then sat back and watched the chattering, high-spirited mass of jewelled and painted celebrants below. She kept one hand on her husband’s thigh. Ahmose consumed everything placed before him with a cheerful dedication, occasionally offering her some titbit or a sip of his wine. Aahotep finished her meal with her usual methodical dignity, conversing desultorily with Prince Iasen as she did so. Tetisheri picked at the delicacies Uni presented to her, ordered beer instead of wine, and pointedly ignored Nefer-Sakharu, who had become drunk quite early in the evening and was complaining that her meat was not sufficiently cooked. Ramose watched her with an indulgent smile. Since their reunion he had spent most of his time with her, walking in the garden, taking her out on the river in one of Kamose’s skiffs, playing board games with her in her quarters. He did not seem to mind her hectoring tone as she addressed a harried understeward. Ahmose-onkh, dressed in little more than a bulky loincloth, was crawling and tottering delightedly among the guests, snatching food from their plates in his chubby fists and babbling nonsense as he stuffed it into his mouth. His nurse trailed after him anxiously.

Kamose himself ate his fill, then put his elbows on his table, and with a cup of wine between his palms he surveyed the hall that had been empty for so long. It had gradually acquired a melancholy atmosphere so that the household avoided it, preferring to come and go through other doorways, but now it was fulfilling its proper function and the whispers of a dismal past were silent, overwhelmed by the happy chaos of the present.

Nefer-Sakharu’s sharp voice cut into his reverie and he looked across at her thoughtfully. She was so brave, so quietly regal on that dreadful day when I was forced to execute Teti, he mused. Since coming here she has changed, become fretful. I cannot blame her, but tonight I do not want to consider whether she represents a threat, whether she is able to subvert Ramose’s loyalty to me, whether her woman’s tongue can sway a Prince. Or two. He sighed. It is one more thing to try to hold in my mind. An ant’s bite may not be as painful as a scorpion’s sting but one feels it nonetheless.

“What is the matter with you, Kamose?” Tetisheri asked him abruptly. “Such a sigh belongs to a child being dragged away from his toy in order to take a bath. Which is what Ahmose-onkh needs at this moment. Look at him! A princeling smeared in honey.”

“I was thinking of Teti,” Kamose answered. Tetisheri glanced at Ramose’s mother, now apparently but sullenly mollified, a dish of herbed fish before her.

“No you weren’t,” Tetisheri retorted. “I agree with you, Kamose. She will have to be observed while the Princes are here. She is an ungrateful peasant and a nuisance. It is a pity. I remember her so well in the days when she was a gracious hostess and a kindly governor’s wife.”

“The war has changed us all,” Kamose said. “We have travelled a long, dark road to reach this hour, this gathering. We rejoice, but all the same we are wounded.”

“Not as severely as Apepa,” she said tartly. “He has lost this country. And speaking of that serpent, did you know that the house snake has not returned? Aahmes-nefertari is concerned. She sees the rejection as a curse upon her pregnancy.” Kamose laughed.

“Dear sister!” he chuckled. “No matter what, she will always be overly superstitious. I pity any new snake lured by the scent of milk. It will have Ahmose-onkh to contend with.” He rose and nodded at the herald perched on the edge of the dais and at Akhtoy hovering behind him. As he stood up, the level of noise in the room began to drop and at the herald’s strong voice it ceased altogether.

“Silence for the Mighty Bull of Ma’at, Vivifier of the Two Lands, Subduer of the Setiu, Beloved of Amun, His Majesty King Kamose Tao!” In the immediate hush Kamose surveyed the sea of upturned faces, indistinct in spite of the torches flaring around the walls. The orange light picked out an earring here, a hair ornament there, the gleam of a silver cup, and sent long shadows reaching across the dishevelled company. The prevailing mood was still one of vibrant joy.

“Citizens of Weset, servants of Amun, lovers of Egypt,” he called. “Tonight we celebrate the culmination of two years of struggle, heartbreak and victory. Tonight we see, as though we peer through the blinding force of a desert storm towards an oasis, the end of Setiu domination and a return to the sanity and glory of a Ma’at fully restored. All of you have followed me in faith. You have given me your trust. Your weapons have been raised on my behalf. Therefore I pledge to you in return a fair and just administration when the Horus Throne rests once more in its place of honour here at Weset and a true and holy Incarnation sits upon it.” He paused, aware suddenly of his brother’s eyes upon him. Turning, he signalled to Akhtoy who placed a small, fragrant cedar chest in his arms. “In the days of my ancestors, before the Setiu came with their corrupt gods and forced us to fight like wild beasts instead of men, it was the custom for the King to reward the warrior with the Gold of Favours and the brave with the Gold of Flies. I am proud to revive this ancient and honourable practice.” Lifting the lid of the box, he drew out the first necklace, weighing it deliberately in his fingers. “The jewellers of Amun, in anticipation of our victory, have created the Gold of Favours once again. They are here tonight. To them I offer my thanks for the beauty of their work and for their belief in me and in the power of Amun that never wavered.” A murmur of surprise and admiration went up as he held the necklace high. Its wide, tight rings were worth ten years’ grain harvest on any one of their holdings and they knew it. “Ramose!” Kamose shouted. “Come forth and be the first to receive the gratitude of your lord. I bestow the Gold of Favours upon you for voluntarily putting your head between the serpent’s jaws so that the routing of the enemy in the desert was made possible. Be assured that when our conflict is finally won you will find yourself among the most powerful in all Egypt.” Ramose had left his mother and approached the dais. He stood awkwardly looking up at Kamose, a smile on his lips.

“This is most unexpected, Majesty,” he said. “I only did my duty.”

“And in doing it, you lost everything,” Kamose replied quietly. “Come closer, my friend. This gold will suit you perfectly.” Leaning down, he slipped it over Ramose’s head. “Receive the Gold of Favours and the favour of your King,” he said loudly. Those words had not been heard in Egypt for hentis and everyone knew it. A reverential hush filled the hall. For some moments no one moved, then all of a sudden a gale of clapping broke out, accompanied by cries of “Ramose, Ramose!” and “Long life to your Majesty!” A hail of wilting blossoms torn from the battered remains of the festive garlands rained on Ramose as he bowed and sought his place beside Nefer-Sakharu. She was staring at him bewilderedly. Her arms went around him as he sank down beside her.

“Now it is your turn, Prince Ankhmahor,” Kamose said. “All evening you have been pacing the room, watching that the Followers are alert. Have you even eaten? Come here.” Ankhmahor had indeed been at the far end of the hall, peering out into the palm-tossed darkness beyond. Startled, he swung round at the sound of Kamose’s voice and skirting the crowded disorder in the centre of the hall he moved forward. “Ankhmahor, Commander of the Followers of His Majesty,” Kamose said. “You followed me without demur although you had a great deal to lose by doing so. Your presence has been a comfort and a bastion of strength to me. Your courage in battle is unsurpassed. Receive the Gold of Favours and the favour of your King.” Ankhmahor gravely lowered his head and the heavy necklet settled on his breast.

“Your Majesty is generous,” the Prince said quietly. “I do not deserve this honour, but I vow to serve you as long as I have breath. I and my family are your servants always.”

“I know,” Kamose told him. “It is pointless for me to offer you more land or greater riches for you are already a wealthy man, but to you I promise a vizier’s position if the god wills that I become the One. You are wise and trustworthy.” He scanned the hall as Ankhmahor melted back into the shadows on the periphery of the multitude. “Kay Abana, are you here?” he called out. “Where are you?”

“I think I am still here, Majesty,” Abana’s voice boomed out from somewhere to the rear. “But I confess that the quality of your wine has made me doubt my very existence this night.” Amid a gale of laughter he struggled to his feet. Kamose regarded him with mock solemnity.

“Who is the woman clinging to your leg and attempting to whisper warnings in your arrogant ear?”

“This is my future wife, Idut,” Kay responded promptly. “The females of Weset are indeed very comely. I have been admiring them since we arrived here. Idut is the loveliest of them all and I shall be taking her home to Nekheb with me. A ship’s captain should have respectability.”

“Be sure that her father approves,” Kamose said, amused. “Now come here.” Kay moved unsteadily to the dais. “You deserve a show of my royal displeasure,” Kamose went on. “You were the only officer who disobeyed an order.”

“I displayed initiative,” Kay protested, affecting an injured look. “I behaved as an officer should.”

“Then you have my royal thanks and that should be enough for any man,” Kamose shot back at him.

“But, Majesty, did I not captain one of your ships in a most excellent display of competence?” Kay objected jokingly. “Was I not the only officer to lead my men against the fleeing Setiu? Do I not also deserve a show of your royal gratitude?” Kamose began to laugh. There was something so clean, so sane and reassuring about Kay. He forced a severe expression.

“Paheri tells me that you are a man of modest means, content with your little house and your work building boats and your two arouras of land on the outskirts of Nekheb,” he said. “You do not need rewards. You prefer a simple life.” Abana bowed somewhat unsteadily.

“Paheri perhaps overstates the degree of my contentment,” he drawled. “Nekheb is as close to the paradise of Osiris as I could wish to come in this life, but perhaps there is somewhere closer. As for building boats, what would your Majesty have done without my expert knowledge and that of my father?”

“What indeed?” Kamose agreed, returning Abana’s wide grin. Amid cries of, “Nekheb is an arid pit!” and “Boatbuilders stink of rotting reeds!” Kamose settled the gold around the man’s neck.

“Receive the Gold of Favours and the favour of your King,” he intoned. “And as an added punishment, Kay Abana, I deed to you seventy acres of land in your home district and nineteen peasants to work them. Once Het-Uart falls of course.” Kay bowed again.

“Of course, Majesty. Therefore as night follows day it is certain that I will be able to claim your Majesty’s generous gift. I wish you life, health and prosperity.” He wove his way back to his place considerably more sober and allowed Idut to pull him to the floor. Kamose squared his shoulders and continued with the awards.

One by one the remaining Princes came up to have the gold slung around their necks. Kamose told them that like Ankhmahor they had no need of more land, but he promised a redistribution of governorships in time and with that they had to be content. They received their accolades with mute composure.