The Horus Road (45 page)

“A small revenge?” Ahmose spat. “The seat of the Divine and the symbols of his power and mercy? What in Amun’s name is wrong with you, Tani?” He made himself become calm. “General, Prince, this is my sister, the Queen Tautha, wife to Apepa.” Their eyes widened in astonishment and then a swift, commiserating pity as he had known they would. He felt sick, and dirty to the marrow of his soul. “Ankhmahor, what do you have there?” he enquired through clenched teeth. Ankhmahor passed him the box.

“It was sitting on the dais in the great reception hall where I presume the Horus Throne had been placed,” Ankhmahor told him. He lifted the lid.

It was a bulbous headdress of starched deep blue linen that swept out in two flanges above the ears and was covered in small golden discs. Ahmose pulled it up into the light. Two ribbons, also blue, trailed from its rear. In the centre of the supporting band of gold that would rest on the forehead there was an empty notch. Ahmose fingered it cautiously. “What is this?” he said.

“It is a Setiu crown,” Tani answered him. “Apepa wore it often. He left it for you as a tribute to your victory over him.” Ahmose at once tossed it back in its chest. He wanted to rip it apart and grind its tatters under his feet as he had done to Apepa’s seal, but he knew that he must not lose the last shreds of his self-control. The desire to start mindlessly killing would then become too strong.

“It is no tribute,” he said thickly. “It is an insult. He takes the hedjet, the deshret, the heka and the nekhaka, Egypt’s most sacred royal possessions, and substitutes a piece of Setiu blasphemy. I suppose that he set the Holy Uraeus in the notch whenever he pleased, but of course that belongs with the Double Crown. He would not leave that behind.” He thrust the box back at Ankhmahor. “Take it down to my tent, and Queen Tautha too,” he commanded. “Detail some of the Followers to guard her. She is not to leave it. Tell Akhtoy to set up a couch for her.” Tani put a tentative hand on his arm but he shook it off. “I will find him if it takes me the rest of my life,” he said bitterly. “The thief must be made to return the valuables he took before I punish him.” Ankhmahor bowed and hesitated and Tani correctly interpreted his look. Before he could touch her, she pushed past him, and he and his men followed her into the dimness.

“We are close to the throne room, Majesty,” Sebek-khu said. “Come and rest for a while.”

I feel as though I have never slept and will not do so again, Ahmose thought as he allowed his General to lead the way. How can such a triumph be mingled with such grief?

A few soldiers with candles in their hands were wandering about the room as Ahmose entered, their voices echoing against the unseen ceiling high above. But Ahmose’s gaze was drawn to the naked dais and the row of pillars beyond it where the sky could be seen. The stars were beginning to pale. He went to the steps leading up to the platform and lowered himself, letting his muscles relax. “What a night it has been, Majesty!” Sebek-khu commented. “I still cannot quite believe that the siege is over.”

“I had hoped that it would all be over, everything neatly tied,” Ahmose murmured. “But it is not so. Must I mount a full invasion of Rethennu to put an end to this whole unhappy story, Sebek-khu? What does Amun desire? I wish I knew.”

He heard the commotion before he saw its cause, a din of excited voices coming nearer and finally bursting through the doorway in a blaze of lighted torches. Abana came striding over the tiled floor, Pezedkhu’s ring glinting on the gold chain about his neck, his cousin Zaa trotting beside him and a gaggle of sailors behind them, who were surrounding a man and three women. Their hands were tied before them. The youngest woman looked terrified. She was panting and crying.

“Majesty, I have news!” Abana was shouting even before he had come up to Ahmose and made his reverence. “These Setiu are my prisoners!” Ahmose remembered his order to have any Setiu still in the vicinity of the city detained, but one glance showed him that the man with the untidy beard and sullen expression was not Apepa. Prince Abana’s eyes were dancing in the orange flames held by his subordinates. Ahmose did not get up.

“Tell me then,” he said.

“You had sent for me,” Abana began with a flourish. “And I had received the command your Chief Herald was passing to every officer. Thus I deduced that Apepa was not to be found in the palace. But before I could answer your summons, I was forced to deal with a matter of some confusion. My sailors had been sleeping ashore, as you had so graciously permitted, and the ships were unmanned save for two sentries on each. We were unprepared for the sudden opening of the gates and the flood of humanity that followed. I confess that for once I and my men were taken by surprise.” He paused, looking suitably but entirely falsely crestfallen. “The
North
under Captain Qar had been berthed almost exactly opposite the Royal Entrance Gate and I myself was not far away. Both Qar and I were sleeping on the northern bank of the tributary. By the time I woke, the first mighty wave of citizens had flowed across the bridge the men of Montu had flung down and was spreading out beside the water, in reach of the ships’ ramps.”

“Admiral, you have missed your calling,” Ahmose broke in, amused in spite of himself. “You should have been a village storyteller.”

“Majesty, you offend me,” Abana rejoined airily. “It is necessary to set the scene for you. May I continue?”

“If you must.” Ahmose had begun to smile.

“There was such a press of running, weeping people that neither Qar nor I nor any of your captains could see at first what was happening. You had decreed that the Setiu should be allowed to go away unmolested. They did not seem interested in the vessels. They were disappearing into the fields and orchards. But by the time their ranks had thinned, Qar realized that the
North
had gone.” Ahmose sat up, suddenly alert. “The bodies of the two men left on watch had floated to the bank. There was no sign of the
North
anywhere. Qar is not to blame,” Abana insisted earnestly. “There was so much chaos, and it was very dark. I realized at once what had happened. Apepa and his guards and perhaps his family had disguised themselves as peasants, slipped onto the
North
, and rowed away under cover of the exodus Apepa himself had engineered.” His voice held genuine admiration. “It was a bold scheme.”

“Certainly, if it is true.” Ahmose had risen, all weariness falling from him.

“Oh it is true,” Abana assured him proudly. “At that time the word to detain the Setiu had come. Zaa and I caught these three suspicious fish. One look at their soft hands and pale skin convinced me that they were no more peasants than I am. Furthermore, they are very bad liars. This man,” he reached behind him and pulled his prisoner forward by the rope around his wrists, “this man tried to pretend that he was a merchant but he had traces of henna on his palms. Zaa and I took them aboard the
Kha-em-Mennofer
. We upturned the pretty little one and hung her over the side. Zaa took one leg and I took the other. It was quite a view!” He grinned. “By the time she had finished screaming and her sister and mother had finished begging us not to drown her, her father had told us everything.” He bowed. “Majesty, behold Yamusa, Herald to Apepa. His Master is on his way to the city fort of Sharuhen in Rethennu, together with Chief Wife Uazet, Chief Scribe Yku-didi, royal sons Apepa and Kypenpen, and others of the royal brood. Unfortunately I think it is too late to catch them before they reach their destination. They will have headed straight out into the Great Green, turned east along the coast, and I believe that Sharuhen is a very short way inland.” Ahmose walked straight up to him and briefly pulled him close.

“Abana, you are able to constantly amaze and delight me,” he said. “Well done. You have opened my path before me.” The men who had been surveying the hall had been drawn to the group at the foot of the dais and had listened to Abana’s tale with rapt attention. Now, seeing the King embrace his Admiral, a murmur of approval ran through them. Abana dropped to one knee.

“Majesty, your touch is the greatest privilege that could be bestowed upon your subjects!” he exclaimed. “I am truly honoured!”

“Get up,” Ahmose said. He was scanning the four prisoners without much interest. “I have already given you enough gold to keep you in lentils for the rest of your life, Abana. Would you like to keep these Setiu?” Yamusa cried out and his wife burst into tears. “Be silent!” Ahmose roared, the sound striking the walls and returning magnified by the void all around. “There was no word for ‘slave’ in our language until your ancestors brought it in! Abana?” The Prince was looking doubtful.

“Courtiers are no good for physical labour, Majesty,” he commented. “And it might be foolish to place foreigners in positions of responsibility. The two girls could be trained to perform domestic chores or even as body servants, but Yamusa is a herald. Perhaps he can learn to call the tally to my Overseer of Grain while the harvest is being piled in my granary.” He turned a sober eye on their agitation. “Oh, do not worry,” he said scornfully. “We who live under the mantle of Ma’at are not wantonly cruel. We treat our servants well. Thank you, Majesty. I will take them.” He snapped his fingers and his sailors ushered them out. The woman was still weeping. “Now!” Abana went on. “When do we leave for Sharuhen?”

“As soon as we may,” Ahmose replied. “You have my gratitude, Prince. You are dismissed.” Sebek-khu had come up beside him. “Make sure the palace is empty and then set fire to it,” he ordered the General. “Every piece of furniture, every hanging, every couch and piece of cloth. There is to be no looting. Not one silver cup is to leave the building. Burn it all and then raze whatever is left. But the northern wall beyond the grounds was erected by my ancestor Osiris Senwasret. See that it remains standing.”

“What of the city itself?” Sebek-khu wanted to know. Ahmose hesitated. He would have liked to command its complete destruction but that would take much unnecessary time and effort.

“It is a festering slum,” he admitted, “and I suppose it ought to be levelled. However, it is very advantageously placed for any trade coming into the Delta from the Great Green. I will give some thought to having it repopulated. The defences here and on the northern mound must go. Your division and the Division of Horus under Khety can see to it. Ten thousand men should be enough to tear them down.”

He and the remaining Followers left the throne room then, and guided by one of Sebek-khu’s officers he made his way outside. Night was gradually giving way to a faint thinning and the stars were paling. Ahmose took a deep breath. The air smelled stale and was very still. Ra was not yet breathing, although he was nearing the moment of his birth. Dismissing the man and telling him that the mayor Semken could be released, Ahmose strode quickly across the desiccated ruin of Apepa’s lawns and out through the towering gates. Here he encountered Turi, and Makhu had returned with the chariot, but Ahmose lingered. “I want to see the sun rise from here, from the centre of Het-Uart,” he told his friend. “It will not be long. Walk with me, Turi. The dawn is very chilly.”

For some time they strolled around the area before the wall. Soldiers streamed in and out of the gates. The horses stood patiently, heads lowered, blowing softly out of their nostrils. Makhu was sitting on the floor of the chariot, the reins slung over his shoulder. Beyond the city a mist hung about the feathered tips of the motionless palms and the horizon to the east was still lost in a soft, pearly greyness.

All at once Turi stumbled, and bending swiftly he retrieved the thing that had caught in his sandal. Brushing the soil from it, he examined it casually and then more closely. It was a charm or part of an amulet approximately the length of his palm and as he studied it an expression of disgust grew on his face. “Majesty, look at this,” he said, passing it to Ahmose.

At first glance it appeared to be the work of an artist with no ability, a kneeling figure whose head was too large, its torso too short and undefined, and its lower portion reversed so that its trousered buttocks were presented. But as Ahmose stared at it, he saw that in fact there were two figures. The one above had two large slanting eyes without pupils above a thin nose and a widely grinning mouth. In spite of the clever caricature the features were undeniably Setiu. Its face was canted slightly downward, giving it a gloating, predatory effect. It wore a ribbed and pleated headdress and from its forehead the crude likeness of a snake curled back.

Beneath the lappets of the headdress two extended arms ended in bony, clawed fingers curved about the imprisoned elbows of the second figure who was kneeling before it, head lost in the shadow of its neck, knees bent and spread, its lower back sunk and straining under the pain of its position. “Look closely at the feet,” Turi said tersely. Ahmose did so, not sure what he was supposed to see. Puzzled, he glanced at Turi. “The Egyptian’s leg has been broken,” Turi showed him. “One foot is turned up in the natural way, revealing its underside. But the other is flat. You cannot see the arch. He has been tortured. There is pure hate in that little carving.” Ahmose wanted to fling it away but he found himself still holding it.

“It has been made from a mould,” he said. “There might be dozens, hundreds of them scattered about Het-Uart. This is not just contempt for us, Turi, this is indeed pure hatred.” His own fingers closed around it as though his flesh could insulate him from its invisible fume of corruption. At that moment a faint breeze brushed his cheek. He lifted his head. The whole eastern horizon was now flushed with scarlet and in the centre of his gaze the sky was shimmering. Even as he watched, Ra lipped the edge of the earth, rising triumphant over a free and united Egypt for the first time in many hentis, and Ahmose stood there with unfelt tears on his cheeks and the symbol of all he had won held tightly in his hand.

Tani was deeply asleep when he entered his tent, the chests containing her belongings piled neatly against one wall and Heket, equally lost in slumber, sprawled on a mat on the carpet beside her. Ahmose was hungry, but he needed rest. Warning Akhtoy to wake him at noon, he quickly shed his sandals, pulled off his limp kilt and helmet, and fell onto his own cot and into his dreams almost simultaneously. When he woke to find the steward bending over him and the aroma of freshly baked bread filling the tent, he was still clutching the Setiu charm. Akhtoy took it from him, grimaced briefly as he saw what it was, and tossed it into Ahmose’s jewellery box. “Your sister is walking by the water in the company of Heket and a guard,” he said in answer to Ahmose’s question. “She ate very little when she woke, Majesty. She seemed pleased to see me again, as I was to see her.” He hesitated, the agony of polite indecision written all over his face. “Forgive me, Majesty, but how am I to address her and in what way is she to be served? An army camp is no place for a Princess.” Ahmose had sat up and was surveying the contents of the tray Akhtoy had set before him. In the background Hekayib was moving quietly around a basin of steaming water, a razor in one hand and clean linen draped across his arm. Ahmose sighed gustily.