The Horus Road (44 page)

“I am sorry,” he said aloud. “But the problem is not mine. If your father still has family beyond Egypt’s borders, then you must go to them. But I warn you all.” He had raised his voice. “Get out of the palace.” She would have made another protest but Ahmose lifted one admonitory finger. “No,” he said. “I have spoken.” He turned once more to Ramose whose expression was unreadable. He was still staring at Hat-Anath. “Ramose, do you want her?” he asked with inspiration. Ramose started.

“Want her, Ahmose?” he repeated. “For what purpose?” Ahmose surrendered.

“For no purpose,” he said wearily. “Sebek-khu, let us go.” He had expected an outburst of consternation when he turned his back on the courtiers but there was none, and he was followed through the doors by a resigned quiet.

He and the others had barely reached the end of the passage when they were approached by Sebek-khu’s Commander of Shock Troops. He was carrying a torch and in its glare his face betrayed an anxiety that vanished when he saw them. He bowed.

“Majesty, I am glad that I have found you. I presume that you have just spoken with the people in Apepa’s quarters. There is a woman who refused to join them. She insisted on remaining in her own rooms. She says she is a Queen, therefore I hesitated to compel her. She has asked that you be brought to her.” His tone betrayed his annoyance at such impudence. Ahmose felt his blood begin to race and beside him Ramose drew in a quick breath.

“You will lead me there,” Ahmose managed to say. “Ankhmahor, take the Followers and go with Sebek-khu. Find the throne room. I expect it is just beyond the main entrance. Wrap the Horus Throne and the box containing the Royal Regalia in whatever clean linen you can find and escort them to my tent. Have them well guarded. Ramose, come with me.” It was Tani who waited for him. It had to be, and he did not want to greet her in the presence of any avid ears. I shrink from greeting her at all, he thought. What can I say to her? How can mere words bridge the gulf between us after so long? Do I love or despise her?

“So she is still alive!” Ramose whispered with such wonder and anticipation that Ahmose was ashamed of his instinctive need to recoil from this reunion. He nodded curtly at the officer.

“Let us move on, then,” he said.

13

IT WAS NOT FAR
to the women’s quarters. They were of course situated close to Apepa’s own private rooms and Ahmose found himself standing outside yet another set of sturdy double doors long before he was ready. The guards who had been leaning against the passage wall and talking desultorily sprang to attention as he came up to them, saluted, and at his reluctant invitation, opened the doors for him. He felt as though his feet were encased in Nile mud but he forced them to carry him forward, Ramose behind him. The doors closed.

The first thing that impressed itself upon him was the light. Two golden lampstands holding alabaster cups were feeding a mellow glow into a charming room of soft rugs, silver-chased cedar chairs, a low ebony table topped with ivory squares for the playing of board games, and in one corner a delicate little shrine. “You have oil!” he blurted. The woman standing by the table did not smile. She was swathed in a thick woollen cloak patchworked in red, blue and green, her small feet encased in short leather boots, her long black hair bound to her forehead by a single fillet of gold. Lapis hung from her ears and encircled both wrists, and rings shone on every finger of her trembling hands. She was fully painted, her eyelids glittering with sooty shadow in which gold dust had been mingled, her eyes kohled, her mouth orange with henna. Here at least was someone with enough dignity to refuse the numbing escape of wine in the face of dissolution. Ahmose stared at her, his own mouth so dry that he could not swallow, his heart thrumming with such force that he thought he might faint.

“Of course,” she said, and it was Tani’s voice, a little deeper than the girlish treble he remembered, a little more deliberate, and with a courtier’s clear accent. “And fuel for my brazier too. Being a Queen has its advantages, Ahmose, particularly during a siege. It is good to see you again.”

He could not answer. This familiar yet utterly alien creature gazing at him so calmly had rendered him wordless. He stood there stupidly, woodenly, and watched those huge gazelle’s eyes suddenly become liquid. “It is good to see you again!” she cried out, and all at once she was speeding across the floor, the cloak falling away from her. His arms opened and then he was embracing her, his body instantly recognizing the vitality that had always imbued her bones, her cheek tight against his neck, her tears warming his jaw.

“Tani,” he choked. “Tani. Tani. You have grown up. I hardly knew you. How beautiful you have become!” She was laughing and crying, hugging him, patting his back, babbling unintelligibly, but he was still incapable of speech, so full was his heart. For a long time they clung together. When finally he set her away, she turned to Ramose. He had been waiting stiffly, arms at his sides, but now she lifted them gently by the wrists, looking into his tense face.

“And you, Ramose. You lived. You lived! After you left here, there was no more news of you. I was forced to presume that Kethuna had put you in the forefront of the battle and you were dead.” He twisted his hands, and taking hers he kissed them before letting them drop.

“He intended me to die but he was thwarted,” he replied huskily. “Kethuna perished.”

“I am so glad.” She was reaching for her brother again, her fingers brushing his and then closing around them. “Tell me everything, Ahmose. How is Mother? Is Grandmother still alive? And Kamose? Is he here in the palace with you or down by the river with the troops?”

She knows nothing, he realized as he allowed her to lead him to a chair. We at least knew that she had survived and indeed been treated with every courtesy, but what must it have been like for her, with only the phantasms of her imagination for a herald? He sat and she lowered herself opposite him. “Ramose, come here beside me,” she called. Obediently he pulled up another chair and joined her, but her attention had returned to Ahmose. “So Kamose is the Horus of Gold, the champion of Ma’at,” she went on, the catch of a sob in her throat. “He is the victor. No one in Het-Uart believed it was possible.”

He found his voice then, and with her eyes fixed on him in an eagerness that quickly became horror he told her of the rebellion of the Princes, his wounding and Kamose’s murder, the death of his and Aahmes-nefertari’s children. He did not speak of his campaigns, the planning of the sieges, Pezedkhu’s defeat at Abana’s hands. She had been an observer of those things, although from a very different view. When he had finished, she sat bowed in her chair as though threatened, her body straining away from the shock of his words. “The Princes conceived that evil plot, Ahmose, not Apepa. Not him!” she insisted, her voice breaking. “He would have encouraged insurrection but not murder! Oh, Kamose, beloved!”

“Why not?” Ahmose snapped, unimpressed by her grief, his former sympathy evaporating. “He commanded the attack that left our father half-mute and paralyzed. Why stop there?” Tani straightened. Her face was flushed. She clapped softly and a servant appeared from the inner room and bowed. “Heket!” Ahmose exclaimed. “So you are still attending my sister.”

“I am,” the woman said promptly. “And I hope you can persuade her to go home now, Prince. I miss the desert and my family.” She knows nothing either, Ahmose told himself with a fleeting sense of impotence. Both of them have been existing in the bubble of time Apepa created here in Het-Uart while outside the whole of Egypt has changed.

“Of course she will go home now!” Ramose cut in loudly. “It is all over. She is no longer a hostage. She is free.” But Tani was shaking her head, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

“Bring wine and cups, Heket,” she ordered. “There should be a flagon left, on the table by my couch. No, Ramose,” she went on miserably. “It is not so. I made a promise to my husband.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded. “What promise? Tani, the usurper has gone. All you need to do is have Heket pack up your belongings, get on a ship, and sail upstream to Weset! Or better still, to Khemmenu, where we will sign a marriage contract and you will enter my house as my wife at last!” His voice had risen. He was clenching his fists against his knees and leaning over them as though in pain. Ahmose made a motion to stop his flow of increasingly vehement words.

“What is it, Tani?” he said sharply. Her lips had begun to quiver.

“He wanted me to go with him,” she half-whispered. “Uazet, His Chief Wife, and his sons, and several of his other wives, they all went. But I begged to be allowed to stay in the city so that I might see you again, Ahmose, and Kamose. He gave in, but he made me swear an oath before my Amun shrine that I would not tell you where he has gone. As for marriage …” She swung round to Ramose, her mouth working so uncontrollably that her words became slurred. “I am already married. I have a husband. I signed a contract with him.” Ramose sprang from his chair and stood before her, hands on his hips. He too was shaking, but Ahmose, watching him, had the immediate intuition that the anger consuming him owed nothing to love or bewilderment. It was the pure rage of frustration.

“You are under no obligation to that man!” he shouted. “He tore your family apart! He made you a prisoner here! He seduced you in order to cause Kamose the greatest possible agony! You do not belong to him by any law of decency Ma’at decrees! You belong to me!” She put her face in her hands and began to rock back and forth.

“I am his wife!” she sobbed. “He is my husband! He has dealt honourably with me! I cannot desert him now that he has lost everything!” Ahmose, horrified, put a hand on her hot spine. His touch immediately stilled her and she looked up. “Ramose, I cannot marry you,” she said almost incoherently, stumbling over her words. “I was not forced to sign that contract. I was not threatened. I set down my name and title of my own volition.” He bent slowly until his face came level with her own. For a long moment he searched her eyes, then he straightened up.

“You love him,” he said dully. “I can see it but I cannot believe it. You love that abomination. Then curse you, Queen Tautha. You deserve each other.” He spun on his heel, strode to the doors, wrenched them open, and was gone.

Tani drew a shuddering breath. Heket, who had been waiting dumbfounded, came forward, setting out the cups and pouring wine. Tani lifted hers and drank quickly, both hands around the stem of the goblet. Ahmose did not move. “Is it true?” he asked her tonelessly. She nodded.

“Yes. Oh forgive me, Ahmose, and try to understand! I came to Het-Uart as little more than a child, terrified and alone, adoring Ramose, missing my family, and when I heard that Kamose had begun a new revolt I was sure that Apepa would execute me for his disobedience. But I was wrong.” She took another gulp of the wine then put it on the low table and pushed the cup away. “He was gentle and kind. He talked to me, gave me gifts, told me that he admired the Taos for their courage even though he was forced to fight them for their treason. He knew my confusion. He was so patient.” She rubbed both wet cheeks, then sat staring at her hands. She would not look at Ahmose. “I did not fall in love with him as I did with Ramose,” she went on in a low voice. “That love was fierce and all-consuming and when it died, as first love often does, it left an echo that brings me a small ache even now.” She smiled wanly. “My love for Apepa grew slowly. It is a solid and lasting emotion, Ahmose. I will not excuse it.”

“We expected the child who left us to return a child,” Ahmose responded woodenly. “It was a cruel and unreal hope. Perhaps you are not to blame. We have both loved and hated you since the news that you had married our enemy, but I see now that you did not deserve our hate. You managed to do more than just survive here and for that I am proud of you.” She turned to him and he took her face between his palms. “Ramose does not know it yet but he does not really love you any more,” he went on carefully. “He turned his love into a continuing fantasy so that he could retain his sanity through the dreadful bereavements he has had to endure. Now perhaps he will taste true freedom for the first time since Father agreed to let him court you officially. And you, Tani, are also free. You can go home.” She pulled away from him.

“No,” she said more strongly. “No, Ahmose. I do not want to see Weset again. I want to go to my husband.”

“Where is he?”

“I already said I cannot tell you. I made a vow.” Ahmose got out of the chair.

“Tani, I must find him, surely you see that!” he protested. “He cannot be left to raise a new army and try to recapture the Delta! I will never sleep soundly again if he is left to roam Rethennu!” An expression of obstinacy crossed her features. Ahmose recognized it from her younger days and it gave him a pang of almost unbearable loss.

“What would you think if Aahmes-nefertari betrayed you in such a manner?” she asked. “Especially if she had sworn to you that she would not.”

“But, Tani, your silence is traitorous, can’t you see that?” he urged. “Apepa is an enemy of Egypt and if you aid him in this way, even indirectly by your silence, you are guilty of treason.”

“Then you will have to execute me,” she said resolutely. She rose also, folding her arms. “Not only did I give my word but I swore by Amun. It is a binding vow. If I break it, I am in danger of an unfavourable weighing when my ka enters the Judgement Hall and stands before the scales.” Her stubborn chin came up. “You must do with me what you will.” He pursed his lips and surveyed her.

“You don’t want to tell me, do you?” he said. “You really do love him.” She did not respond. He shrugged his shoulders, a gesture of futility. “I cannot release you to wander off alone in the direction of Rethennu, although I suppose I could have you followed,” he said, half-talking to himself. “Nor can you stay here. All I can do is put you in my tent and have you guarded so that you do not run away. Oh, Tani,” he finished bitterly. “You would run away, wouldn’t you?” She pursed her lips and her head sank. Ahmose deliberated for a moment before turning to the servant. “Heket!” he ordered. “Gather your mistress’s possessions together and I will send someone to take them down to my camp. Tani, come with me.” Without another word she walked to her cloak, picked it up, and wrapping it once more around her shoulders she went to the door.

Outside Ahmose collected the two soldiers and with Tani leading the way they made their way through the empty palace. Tani remained silent and Ahmose, his eyes on the coloured tassels of her cloak dragging along the floor at her heels as he paced behind her, wondered what she was thinking. He had become lost at once, but she strode on confidently through the dark, tortuous corridors, one hand brushing a wall, her leather boots making no sound.

Some time later Ahmose glimpsed light ahead and almost at once Tani moved to one side. Sebek-khu, Ankhmahor and the Followers were coming, haloed in the harsh glare of a torch. Ankhmahor was carrying a large box. Bowing briefly, Sebek-khu wasted no words. “The Horus Throne has gone, Majesty,” he said. “Also the Royal Regalia. We have searched for them as well as we could but found nothing.” Tani stepped forward.

“You will seek in vain,” she said. “My husband has taken the Throne and the Regalia with him, disguised in one of the carts. It is a small revenge, I think.”