The Horus Road (9 page)

Suddenly annoyed at his own self-pity, he called for Ipi, gave him the papyrus for noting and filing, and sent him to his own cot. Lying down, he closed his eyes and brought his wife determinedly to mind, the way she had looked only that morning, the things she had said, but behind her image there was only a melancholy greyness and he could not rest.

Their progress to the north was steady but slow, broken by the need to review the troops gathered from the towns and farms along the way and leave their new officers with them. Watching the chaos of jostling men and listening to the irate shouts of General Iymery’s subordinates as they struggled to establish some order along the riverbank at Badari, the centre of Prince Iasen’s holdings, Ahmose reflected grimly that it was a good thing the months of campaigning under Kamose had taught the peasants to fight. Those skills would not have to be learned, only honed after a winter and spring spent in their homes and fields.

He had gone to Iasen’s house and confirmed Iasen’s oldest son in his hereditary position as the new Prince, but he had made it clear that the adviser he had yet to appoint would make every action of the young noble answerable directly to himself. He had required the same oath of fealty from the Prince and the rest of the family as he had received from those gathered at Amun’s temple. He had explained to the Prince that the newly created Division of Khonsu under General Iymery would be headquartered in Badari and the General was to be accorded every co-operation and respect. “But, Majesty,” the young man had protested. “Iymery was nothing but an assistant to my father’s Overseer of Cattle before your brother conscripted him into the army! I am now the Prince of the Uatchet-nome! The Division should be mine to command! My father died for his treason against Osiris Kamose, but I have just now promised my loyalty to you and I am insulted that you do not trust me!” Ahmose looked into the angry and bewildered face with an inward sigh.

“You are indeed the Prince of this nome,” he said cautiously. “You are an erpa-ha. But my will for you is that you govern your nome with intelligence and justice together with the counsellor I shall send you from Weset, and my will for the army is that it be commanded by men who know how to fight, not govern. It is not a matter of trust. Can you fight, Prince?” The man looked at him coolly.

“No, Majesty, I have not had the opportunity. But my father trained me in the art of bow and sword. Egyptian nobles have always led the army in times of war!”

“I do not question your competence with weapons,” Ahmose persisted patiently, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “But for this war I must have men in command who have already tasted battle under my brother and who consequently know the Delta. I trust you to do what Princes have always done, that is, govern with the efficiency for which they were born. Generals do not need noble blood to deploy and lead troops. They need the authority that commands obedience and the humility that bows the head before their King.” Iasen’s eyes, scornful and defeated, gazed back at Ahmose out of his son’s proud face.

“I understand, Majesty,” he said at last, and Ahmose received his bow and dismissed him. I can see that you do, he thought, watching him stalk away, his kilt swirling about his strong young thighs. But there is nothing you can do about it. I cannot afford the luxury of allowing you to prove yourself to me.

“Khonsu will be disbanded when Het-Uart falls. It will not be a part of the permanent army,” Turi remarked as he and Ahmose were walking back to the river. “Perhaps that is not such a good idea, Majesty.”

“You mean because of Iasen? Do you think that Badari will continue to be a weak link in my chain of control?”

“It might. But Hor-Aha and Ankhmahor and I have been talking about the disposition of your permanent troops over our evening wine. It seems sensible to keep two divisions, perhaps Amun and Ra, on alert at Weset, but build permanent quarters for the other three in carefully chosen towns along the Nile.”

Ahmose smiled across at him. “And I suppose the three of you have suggestions?”

“Yes, Majesty.” Turi hesitated. “You will not be offended?” Ahmose came to a halt.

“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “Gods, Turi, you and I have wrestled and raced our way from childhood together. We shared every thought until your father was sent away. Are you no longer my friend?”

“I am not sure that divine beings have friends,” Turi replied. “You used to be the youngest son of the Prince of Weset, Ahmose, but now you are the King of Egypt.”

“I need men who will give me their opinions without fear,” Ahmose retorted. “If you like, I will make you Chief Wrestler to His Majesty as well as General of the Division of Amun. Let us walk on.” They turned together as Turi laughed.

“I do not need another title,” he said. “Look, Majesty, establish homes for divisions at Khemmenu, Mennofer and Nekheb as well as Badari. Khemmenu is only ten miles from Nefrusi. Teti and Meketra ruled there and they were executed. A division at Khemmenu would give you peace of mind. Mennofer is close to where the Delta begins. Nekheb will guard your southern flank.” Ahmose nodded.

“Thank you, Turi,” he said rather formally. “I will consider what you have said.”

“You had the same response from Intef’s two sons when we put in at Qebt as you did here at Badari,” Turi pointed out. “Mesehti and Makhu know that they are on sufferance, but who can say what Djawati and Akhmin will spawn in the future if your campaigns are not clean and swift? Curb them also.”

I intend to, Ahmose thought, as he regained the deck and lowered himself onto the cushions against the outside wall of the cabin. At once his body servant appeared, removing his sandals and setting hot water beside him so that he could wash his hands, but Ahmose scarcely acknowledged his presence. The Prince of Mennofer is still an unknown quantity, he told himself. I remember him well both from Apepa’s visit to Weset and from Kamose’s negotiations with him. I liked him, but that means nothing. As for Khemmenu, the princedom there rightly belongs to Ramose and I must give it to him at once, without the constraint of an adviser to spy on him for me.

He smiled wryly into the thin shade of the canopy that flapped desultorily above him. New generals, new officers and an army that must be reorganized on the march, he mused. It could be worse. At least I do not need a sophisticated strategy in order to siege a city and chase foreigners along the dry tributaries of the river. I wonder what Paheri and Abana will say when I tell them there will be no rest for them during the Inundation?

It was with an overwhelming sense of relief that Ahmose saw Het nefer Apu come drifting into sight on the twelfth day of Epophi. He felt that the weeks behind him had been spent in repairing some tattered piece of carpet, picking up the loose threads and weaving them back into the warp and woof of the design, cutting out the pieces too ragged to be saved, brushing away the accretions of grime so that the original pattern might be discerned.

He had made sure that each town received him with formality, each mayor, governor and noble was summoned to swear their loyalty, and every one of them was scrutinized and assessed for reliability. Some were dismissed. Ipi’s lists of administrative positions to be filled and the men who might possibly be trusted to fill them grew longer by the day and Ahmose found himself longing for his wife’s advice. Aahmes-nefertari would enquire into each candidate’s lineage and background, what they had been doing during the Kamose years, what god they served, what reputation for family stability and piety they might have. She would do so efficiently and objectively, without any need to repay a favour or promote a relative. I do not have time for the task, Ahmose thought. Yet it is a vital one. Perhaps I should send her the lists and she and Mother can gather the necessary information and make their recommendations to me when I return home. Dealing with Het-Uart will take all my energy and ingenuity, yet the management of Egypt’s affairs must go on. Crop assessments, taxes, court proceedings, local building projects, all of it. The government cannot lie fallow while I pursue the Setiu.

Kamose destroyed Egypt’s structure. It was necessary and it has enabled me to reorganize far more than just the army, but the construction of a new order cannot wait. Aahmesnefertari can also assemble a delegation to travel to Keftiu. The Keftians do not care about Egypt’s politics. They are concerned with commerce, no matter what god sits on the Horus Throne. They must know what has been happening since trade with the Delta was disrupted, and I will wager that they feel no particular loyalty to Apepa and will be content to transfer their trading negotiations to Weset instead of Het-Uart.

When Ahmose put in at Khemmenu, he discovered that Ramose had been living in a tent he had pitched on the city’s outskirts. “I had no right to occupy Meketra’s estate, Majesty,” he told Ahmose frankly, “and there was no other house available. In spite of Meketra’s ultimate betrayal he worked hard to restore Khemmenu. Many refugees from Dashlut and the other villages that were burned have settled here and the city is enjoying a burst of vitality.” They had met on the ship after Ahmose had been ceremoniously received by Khemmenu’s mayor and councillors and had spent an hour in prayer at Thoth’s temple under the wary eye of the High Priest who had so sharply refused Kamose and himself entrance to the inner court. Now he and Ramose leaned together against the rail, watching the bustle of Khemmenu’s wharves in the dusty red haze of sunset. No smell of burning flesh, Ahmose thought. No splashes of blood in the sand, on the white walls, no debris in the streets; it is as if we dreamed it all, Kamose and I. Time and the thrusting force of life itself has closed over the wounds.

“What of Nefrusi?” he asked with an effort, wrenching his mind away from a contemplation of the past that was in danger of becoming a habit. Ramose laughed and shook his head.

“Nefrusi has become a tidy little village full of competent farmers,” he said. “I believe that this year the Setiu soldiers are competing with one another to see who can thresh the most grain in the shortest time. Will you go there, Majesty?” Will I? Ahmose repeated the question to himself. Do I want to stand on the spot where your father fell, where thousands of bodies were dragged across the sand to be fired? I was sick to my soul almost every day and Kamose moved and spoke like someone who had been buried alive.

“No, I do not think so,” he said slowly. “I will greet the officers in charge there, but on the bank.” He turned to his friend. “Ramose, I want you to assume the governorship of the Un nome. I have already drawn up the document making you an erpa-ha prince. Fold up your tent and take possession of the estate where you were raised.” Ramose paused for a long while before he answered. Then he looked Ahmose full in the face.

“Such an offer is right and honourable, Majesty,” he said. “I deserve both the title and the property. I will indeed move into the house my parents loved and tended, and I will govern the Un nome under the edicts of Ma’at. But I know what you have done to every other noble in positions of administrative authority. You have emasculated them,” and here he used a common expression used by the peasants to describe the removal of a man’s testicles, “and the control over their jurisdictions has gone to the so-called advisers you are placing by their sides. I know what has caused your wariness and I think you are wise. But if I am to order Khemmenu and its nome I will do so with stewards and overseers of my own choosing, not yours. Either I am to be trusted or not.” He had not spoken angrily or resentfully. His features were as calm as his words. Ahmose nodded.

“Good!” he said brightly. “I had no intention of having you spied upon, Ramose. Neither you nor Ankhmahor nor Turi. You will not hear me call my servants spies in public but I do so to you, for spies they will be until such time as my godhead is secure. Take the nome freely.” Ramose let out a gust of relieved breath.

“Thank you for your confidence, Ahmose,” he said. “Let me reciprocate. Unless you give me a specific command, I will not take up my responsibilities here until the war is over. I desire to remain beside you.” Ahmose’s gaze narrowed.

“You still hope to see Apepa dead and Tani back in your arms, don’t you?” he remarked quietly. Ramose’s mouth became a thin line. Stepping away from the rail he bowed shortly, turned on his heel, and walked away without replying. Ahmose watched him stride down the ramp and mingle briefly with the crowds on the dock before disappearing through the open city gates. You are either mad or holy, dear Ramose, he mused. Either way you are the most stubborn man I have ever known. It would never occur to you that perhaps Tani is no longer worthy of such frightening, uncompromising devotion.

That had been two days ago, and now Ramose, together with Turi, Hor-Aha, Kagemni, Baqet and the other generals, sat around a large table under the shade of a canopy a stone’s throw from the Nile. Behind and around them the divisions continued to straggle into Het nefer Apu, where the Scribes of Assemblage were directing the men to their billets. Before them, on the river itself, the navy’s ships cast pale intertwining shadows onto the listless bushes lining the bank. The noon heat was oppressive. Soldiers standing their watch at the feet of the many ramps linking vessels to land were visibly sweating. Aboard the boats themselves the sailors were clustered under huge awnings, invisible to the gathering on the shore, but their lazy conversation and occasional laughter could be heard. The town itself, a short way to the north, lay quiet in the drugged lull of the afternoon sleep. “We will be at full strength by this time tomorrow,” Turi was saying. “The last contingents are drifting in. The Scribes of Distribution are already complaining about the amount of beer the late arrivals are drinking.”

“It cannot be helped,” Ahmose said shortly. “Marching is hot work. Let them drink beer while they may. When we leave for the Delta, it will be water only. I have heard your report on the navy’s readiness, Paheri, and I am satisfied that you have not wasted the months I have been away. Now, Abana, tell me of the state of the Delta.” For answer the older man indicated his son.