6

TWELVE DAYS LATER, on the ninth day of Tybi, the family met above the watersteps to say their farewells. It was a cool spring morning, with the river running fast and a strong breeze tossing the trees and whipping up the surface of the Nile. Boats loaded with the excited and voluble Medjay rocked and jostled between the banks. The brothers’ craft, with its blue-and-white royal flag rippling frenetically and its prow grating against the pole to which it was tethered, seemed to mirror Kamose’s own inward impatience to be gone. He stood with Ahmose beside him and Ankhmahor and the Followers behind, scanning the faces of his loved ones and the priests and servants gathered to wish him good fortune, while at his back the Medjay laughed and shouted in their own quaint tongue and the thuds and curses of the men loading last-minute supplies were snatched away by the blustery air.

Already the winter months held a quality of unreality. There had been the dream of returning home, an ache that had grown with every mile that had taken him farther away from Weset, and the burst of joy he had felt when finally the familiar and beloved contours of his home came into sight again. But after the embraces and tearful greetings, after the taste of local wine and homegrown food, after the blessed relief of his own couch, he had entered another dream, less pure. The demons held at bay by bloody actions and one consuming decision after another had slipped past a guard that was no longer necessary and danced unhindered through the caverns of his empty mind. He knew this. In a cold and detached way he had been entirely aware of what was happening to him, but the extreme fatigue he had also been thrusting back had overwhelmed him too and he could not fight. He slept and rose, ate and talked, but within himself he was supine, powerless.

Gradually the demons grew bored and wandered back into the darkness of his nightmares, but by then Khoiak had begun and it was too late to rediscover the elation of that day. Consequently he found that he had substituted dream for illusion. The four months spent in the sanity and stability of his home seemed to him now to have been a waking fantasy, a combination of wishful daydreams and disjointed turmoil that left him anxious to escape to a more tangible existence.

There stood his women, his grandmother, mother and sister, linens pressed against their legs by the force of the wind, eyes fixed on him variously with trepidation, stubborn resolve, sad affection, but they belonged to a world he could no longer inhabit, a world, moreover, that he had left a long time ago. He had tried to return to it, only to find himself a stranger.

Ahmose felt none of these things, he knew, but then Ahmose’s strength lay in his ability to enter completely into his present circumstances and lay aside any contemplation of his past as a fruitless trap. If he was impelled to reflect upon it, it was for practical reasons. He would sail north with happy memories of his hours with Aahmes-nefertari, with the anticipation of his fatherhood, with hope for the coming battle season, but those emotions would not overwhelm him. He would sleep deeply wherever he found himself, eat and drink gratefully whatever was presented to him, and perform with equanimity the tasks at hand. I envy him, Kamose thought, as he moved to kiss his mother. I would not want to be what he is, but I envy him.

Aahotep smelled of lotus oil and her full lips were soft under his. With one hand she held back her gale-tousled hair and the other caressed his cheek. “May the soles of your feet be firm, Majesty,” she said as he drew away. “If by some miracle of the gods you are able to get a message to Tani, tell her that I love her and pray for her safety every day.” He nodded, and turned to Tetisheri.

“Well, Grandmother,” he smiled. “Our parting this time is not fraught with the uncertainty of last year. The Delta is all that remains to be cleansed.” She did not return his smile, only regarding him expressionlessly out of the wrinkled parchment of her face.

“I know your haste,” she said. “It is mine also. But do nothing rash, Kamose. The patience of Ma’at is eternal. Send me regular scrolls. Guard your person. Watch Hor-Aha.” She spread her braceleted arms. “Do the will of Amun.” He was suddenly reluctant to press her ancient flesh against him, why he did not know. I am already too infected with the taint of death, he thought grimly. Tetisheri’s vigour in spite of her age should be like a medicine to me, not a poison. She triumphs over every symptom of impending dissolution. Pulling her to him, he crushed her loose bones against his body, but the impulse could not quell a moment of revulsion.

“Do not withdraw your favour from me, Grandmother,” he said urgently, guiltily. “We have always understood one another. I would be devastated if that should change.”

“My love for you will never fade,” she answered, straightening. “But Egypt comes first. I intend to survive long enough to see you mount the Horus Throne, O Mighty Bull, therefore take heed that you tread warily and with circumspection.”

“You sound like Ahmose,” he retorted, half-jokingly. She went on scanning him soberly, her hooded eyes narrowed.

“If you had wanted my advice, or anyone else’s for that matter, you would have sought it,” she said acidly. “But you have made up your mind what you will do once you reach the Delta. Be careful, Kamose. The brittle branch will snap more easily than wood that is soft with sap.” You are a fine example of the brittle branch, he said to himself in his mind. There is no one more inflexible than you, dear Grandmother, with your spine as rigid as a djed pillar and your will as adamant as stone.

He was spared from replying by a flurry of activity on the periphery of his vision, and he turned to see Amunmose in full sacerdotal regalia come pacing towards him, flanked by acolytes with incense holders extended. If myrrh was being burned, there was no indication, for any fragrant smoke was being snatched away by the wind. At once the family bowed, and waited reverently while Amunmose sang the chants of blessing and parting and the blood and milk streamed onto the paving, and when he had finished, Tetisheri asked him what omen the entrails of the sacrificed bull had revealed.

“The animal was in perfect health,” the High Priest assured her. “Heart, liver, lungs, all without signs of disease. The blood that streamed upon the ground formed a perfect map of the tributaries of the Delta and the first spot to dry was in fact the thickest. It had fallen where Het-Uart would be. Your Majesty may go north with confidence.”

“Thank you, Amunmose. Is there an oracular pronouncement?” Amunmose shot a rapid, almost imperceptible glance at Tetisheri that Kamose did not miss. Now what is this? he thought, surprised. Collusion between my grandmother and my friend? Has Amun spoken words that I may not hear, or worse, words that would make me despair? Stepping up, he took the High Priest’s arm. “I charge you on pain of sacrilege to answer me,” he demanded. “If the god has prophesied to me, then as his chosen son I have a right to know! Is there a prognostication regarding the campaigns of this season?” Again a silent communication passed between his grandmother and the High Priest, this time of relief, and a puzzled Kamose realized that he had asked the wrong question. Well then, what? he thought, mystified and troubled. Amunmose squared his shoulders and at his movement the leopard’s head on the end of the skin slung over the man’s shoulder seemed to snarl at Kamose.

“No, Majesty,” Amunmose said. “There has been no direct word from Amun on the success of this season’s war. Apart from the excellent sacrificial omen, of course.” He snapped his fingers at one of the acolytes and the boy came forward shyly, proffering a small bundle wrapped in linen. “I have a gift for you from Amun’s artisans,” he went on, taking the package and passing it to Kamose. “It was formed from the gold and lapis you captured and apportioned for the use of the god. He is grateful.” Intrigued, Kamose unfolded the layers of thin cloth. Within its nest lay a boxlike armlet of heavy gold. Its square perimeter encased Kamose’s name in lapis within a golden cartouche that was flanked by two rampant lions whose bodies, shaped in gold, were also of lapis. The thick ornament exuded both power and a deliberately primitive beauty. Kamose stared down at it, caught up in the sparkling play of sunlight on the precious metal and the gleaming richness of the blue stone. A sturdy double cord of flax lay coiled under it. After a long moment he picked up the piece and held it out to Amunmose.

“Tie it on me,” he ordered in a strangled voice and the High Priest obeyed, laying it against his upper arm and drawing the twine tight. At his touch Kamose trembled. Something in him loosened and taking Amunmose’s hands in his he lifted them to his forehead. “I have had peace in Amun’s house these four months gone,” he said huskily. “Tell the artisans that I intend to fill Amun’s storehouses so full of gold that they will need more than one lifetime to fashion it. Thank you, Amunmose.” He did not look at any of them again. Turning on his heel, he ran up the ramp and onto the deck of his ship, Ankhmahor following. With a last embrace for his wife, Ahmose joined him, and Kamose called the command to cast off.

At once the craft’s prow swung north, as though it had been waiting for release, and Kamose, as the boards came to life beneath his feet, felt a surge of anticipation. “It is different this time,” Ahmose remarked. “We go to continue a work well begun, eh, Kamose?” Kamose looked to where, with a great flurry of yells and curses from the captains, the Medjay’s boats were jockeying for position behind his. The current was running fast, bearing them all rapidly away from the watersteps, the jumbled buildings of the town, the cheering crowds lining the river’s edge. Above him the huge lateen sail billowed, sank, billowed again, then filled exultantly with the warming breeze. His eyes found the forlorn little group above the watersteps, already shrunk to the size of dolls, already slipping into the past. He did not wave and neither did they.

“Ahmose,” he said slowly. “Do you know anything of an oracle’s prediction in the temple this winter?” Ahmose’s gaze remained on the lush bank sliding by.

“You have already asked the High Priest that question,” he said after a pause. “What makes you think that I know something Amunmose does not?” That is not an answer, Kamose thought, but did not pursue the matter. His ship had already entered the bend in the river that hid Weset from sight and his family was gone.

Last year it had taken the flotilla eight days to reach Qes, not including the time he and Ahmose had spent collecting conscripts on the way. This time there would be no delays. The ships would put in at sheltered bays each evening, the cooking fires would be lit on the sandy banks, the sailors would sing and drink their beer without the need for caution, and Ahmose and I, Kamose mused as he sat comfortably under the wooden sunshade towards the prow, can sleep peacefully for many nights. Heralds have gone out to Het nefer Apu and the oasis. We are expected. We hold all the land between Weset and the Delta and there will be no surprises. I do not even want to discuss the problem of Het-Uart just yet. Ahmose can fish the sunsets away and I can do absolutely nothing if I choose. I can pretend that we are on a pleasure jaunt or a pilgrimage to Aabtu or even a hunting expedition. I can close my mind to everything. “I notice that some of the peasants are on the land already,” Ahmose ventured. “Few of them are men.” He had been leaning over the side of the boat, alternately watching the shore and the bubbling froth of their wake, and now he drew up a stool beside his brother. “It is a little early but the flood seems to have receded more quickly this season than last. The current is certainly swift. We will make good time, I think.” Kamose nodded. “The work is not particularly arduous,” Ahmose went on. “Just monotonous. The women will manage the sowing quite well, and perhaps by next spring we will have been able to return their men to them. Shall we keep the Medjay, Ahmose?”

“After we have sacked Het-Uart, you mean?” Kamose responded sarcastically. “Let us negotiate the river first, Ahmose. For now I am content to remain within this hour.”

“Oh very well,” Ahmose said good-naturedly. “I must confess that it is good to be here on a boat in the middle of the Nile surrounded by men and embarking once again on a worthy adventure. I even feel free enough to get drunk once or twice before we rejoin the army.” He laughed. “I have no fears for the coming months, Kamose.”

“Neither do I,” Kamose admitted. “And I agree with you. Although I love the family, I am not sorry to have left household affairs behind.”

“Not that either of us have had much to do with them,” Ahmose commented. “The women seem to have found a quite laudable ability to not only run the estate but keep the local soldiers in line and guard the river. Next they will be wanting to go to war.”

“That is certainly true of Tetisheri,” Kamose said, deliberately matching his brother’s light mood and watching himself do so. “When she was young, she pestered first her father and then Senakhtenra into letting her take sword and archery lessons. Womanhood sits uneasily on her. I think she would have liked to be born male. She still often mixes with the house bodyguards. She knows them all by name.”

“That is rather sad,” Ahmose murmured. “Have you ever wished you were born female, Kamose?” Kamose felt his inner buoyancy collapse and grimly he relinquished the effort of sustaining it.

“Yes,” he said shortly. “To have no responsibility other than that of domestic affairs, to make no decisions other than what jewellery to wear, to be nothing but a vehicle for the god’s blood, to have never killed, all this I envy women.”

“But our women are not like that,” Ahmose objected after a moment. “You speak as though you have contempt for them, Kamose.”

“Contempt? No,” Kamose said wearily. His brief joy in the morning had evaporated and he knew it would not return. “I merely envy them sometimes. Women are seldom lonely.”

That night they moored at Qebt. The Prince of its nome was of course at the oasis with his troops, but Kamose received Intef’s deputy and heard a report on the projected use of the town’s fields and the mood of the people. The man told Kamose that Intef remained in communication with him regarding the welfare of the nome’s inhabitants and Kamose, remembering the acrid exchange that had taken place between Intef and Hor-Aha, was tempted to ask to see the scrolls, but he resisted the urge. Intef would not appreciate a show of distrust on the part of his King, and besides, Kamose knew that the voice whispering potential betrayal in his mind came from his own insecurity.

He slept late the following morning, rising to find his boat already gliding north and Akhtoy clearing away the remains of Ahmose’s early meal. Ahmose himself squatted in the shade at the stern, surrounded by the sailors who were standing down, and judging by the loud chatter they were having much to say to each other. A burst of their laughter pursued Kamose as he went to lean over the thickly bundled reeds making up the perimeter of the deck. “We have passed Kift!” he exclaimed in surprise to his steward, who had left his task at once as Kamose emerged from the cabin and now stood waiting behind him. “We should make Aabtu the day after tomorrow at this speed!”

“Will you wash first or eat, Majesty?” Akhtoy enquired. “There is bread, cheese and raisins. The cook begs your indulgence and expects to take on more fresh food at Aabtu.” Kamose considered.

“Neither,” he said. “Have the captain slow our progress. I will swim. Ahmose! Join me in the water!” he called, trying vainly to still the worm of jealousy that had begun to undulate in his heart as the lively conversation in the stern died away. The sailors scrambled to their feet, their faces becoming solemn. “You should not become too familiar with them,” he said in a low voice as Ahmose came up smiling. “It is dangerous to foster the illusion that the gulf separating you from them can be crossed.” Ahmose gave him a quizzical look.

“Of course it cannot be crossed,” he said quietly. “But neither must it be allowed to grow so wide that they can no longer see me. Or you, Kamose. What is the matter? Are you jealous of a few rough men?” No, Kamose thought, hating himself for his pettiness. Amun, help me, I am jealous of you.

The days that drifted by were pleasant ones, the steady flow of the water under their keel, the unvarying glide of the riverbank, the simple routines of life on board their vessel, all fostered the fantasy that their journey was nothing more than a spring voyage. Even the appearance of scouts from the north and the dispatching of heralds in the same direction did little to dispel the air of relaxation that enveloped not only the brothers but the Medjay as well. Strung out in their craft, they spent the hours crowded against the edges of their decks exclaiming at the ever-changing view or dancing with arms outstretched to the monotonous beat of their small drums. At sunset the sound began to echo against the confines of the water as though the Nile was lined with invisible Medjay returning their kinsmen’s rhythmic greeting in some sort of tribal ritual.

Ahmose complained that the unceasing sounds gave him a headache, but Kamose rather enjoyed the barbarity of the music. It stirred something primitive in him, insinuating itself beneath the rigid control he tried to maintain over his thoughts and scattering them to reveal a core of blind sensation into which he was plunged if the drumming went on very late and he lay drowsy on his camp cot. He often had the half-formed thought that under its sensuous compulsion the mysterious woman of his dreams might come back to him, that she might be lured into his sleep while his mental defences were weak, but though the images of his subconscious became soft with the sensuality he had long since denied himself in his waking hours, she remained elusive.

At Aabtu he and Ahmose paused to worship Osiris and Khentiamentiu and pay their respects to Ankhmahor’s wife. Kamose allowed the Commander of the Followers a night and the better part of the next day in his home before casting off for Akhmin, and quickly the delightful habits of life on the river reasserted themselves. Kamose saw no need to put in at either Akhmin or Badari. The Nile had now completely regained its bed, the fields were bare, and to his practised eye the spring labours were proceeding as they should. Dykes were being repaired, irrigation canals shored up, and no day went by that he did not see the peasant women with sacks strung around their sturdy necks flinging showers of precious seed onto the waiting soil.

Qes was approached and passed without a tremor. It seemed to Kamose that the ghosts of that tragic place had been exorcised last year when his fleet had crept in breathless silence past the path leading from the village to the river and his mind had been full of his father and the heat and desperation of Seqenenra’s last battle. Now it lay innocently shimmering in the morning’s bright sunlight, a dusty track inviting the traveller to turn aside and follow it to the tumbled cliffs and the cluster of houses beyond. “It looks very peaceful, doesn’t it?” Ahmose remarked as, side by side, they watched it dwindle. “Qes has a pretty little temple to Hathor I’m told. Aahmes-nefertari has always wanted to visit it. When we return, I must remember to take her there.” He turned to glance at Kamose. “Dashlut is next,” he said. “From then on we will not particularly like to keep our eyes on the bank, Kamose. The view will not be as idyllic. Perhaps you will wish to sit in the cabin with me and thrash out a policy to present to the Princes waiting for us in the oasis. We have been fallow long enough.”

“I suppose we must,” Kamose acknowledged. “But there is not much to thrash out. Do we move the army close in to Het-Uart and begin another siege or do we stay in the oasis until we have devised a more efficient scheme for victory?”

“What choice do we have but to siege again?” Ahmose said. “And this time we should make sure that we have placed spies inside the city with a plan for retrieving their information.” He touched Kamose’s arm. “Ramose would be perfect. He is intelligent and resourceful. He has been to Het-Uart with his father. And he would do anything to put himself closer to Tani.” Kamose met his eyes. Ahmose regarded him coolly.

“Ramose would be a perfect tool you mean,” Kamose said thoughtfully. “But could we trust him, Ahmose? We have killed his father, sundered him from his mother, given his inheritance to Meketra. He is a man of integrity, certainly, but how far can he be pushed? Besides,” he looked back to where a stand of palms shuddered in the breeze, “Ramose is my friend.”

“All the more reason to use him,” Ahmose pressed. “Or rather, to let himself be used. The affection between the two of you goes back a long way, Kamose. Consider Hor-Aha.” His eyes left his brother’s and returned to the bank. “You have made him a Prince. You have set him over the other nobles in spite of their obvious resentment because of his ability. Or so you tell them. To me you say that it is a matter of loyalty. You are ruthless enough to reward loyalty with danger but you balk at putting friendship to the same test. Is loyalty then less admirable than friendship?” Kamose turned his head sharply but Ahmose refused to look at him. His gaze remained on the placid view slipping past. “Are we not all grist to the great stone of your implacable will? Why not Ramose also?”

Because, in spite of everything, Ramose loves me, Kamose wanted to say. Because the men around me show the faces of obedience and respect but I cannot know what is in their hearts, even Hor-Aha’s. Time and again he has demonstrated the loyalty of which you speak, but I know that it is tinged with ambition, not love. I do not condemn. I am grateful. Yet there are few who truly love me, Ahmose, and I value them too much to put that affection in jeopardy.

“No,” he answered finally. “Loyalty can endure beyond friendship for it is a steadier and deeper emotion that will survive many abuses before it dies. But Ramose has been through enough. It is that simple.”

The conversation veered into safer waters, but his brother’s words came back to Kamose in quiet moments and he found himself pondering them dispassionately. Ramose was indeed resourceful and intelligent. He did indeed know the city of Het-Uart. If we were not childhood comrades, if he were one of my officers, would I be hesitating to turn him into a spy? he asked himself with as much honesty as he could muster. Am I putting my loneliness above the well-being of Egypt? In the end he pushed the questions away. There would be time to bring them out later on the long, hot trek from the Nile to the oasis.

They passed Dashlut just after sunset, when the sun had gone but its glow still lingered. A silence fell on the travellers as the village, already drowned in shadows, went by. Nothing moved. No dogs barked, no children splashed in the twilit water, no odours of cooking food wafted from the darkened doorways. A large patch of black sand filled the ground between the river and the first houses and as he looked at it Kamose felt again the arrow pressed into his palm and the smooth weight of his bow as he unslung it. The mayor’s name had been Setnub, he remembered. Setnub, angry and bewildered, Setnub whose charred bones lay mingled with those of his villagers in that cold residue of fire. “Where are they?” he muttered. Ahmose stirred beside him.

“They are there,” he said quietly. “The fields are unkempt but someone has been making an attempt at the spring sowing. It had to be done, Kamose. We both know that. The women and plenty of children remain. Dashlut is not completely dead.” Kamose did not reply, and the hush that had overtaken the Medjay was not broken until the melancholy village had disappeared into the dimness behind them.

They spent the night just out of sight of Khemmenu, but Kamose sent a message to Meketra warning him of their approach, and in the morning a delegation was waiting above the watersteps to welcome them. Kamose, striding down the ramp and onto the stone to receive the homage of the men gathered there, noted with relief that the Prince had not wasted the winter months. No evidence of the carnage of last year met his eye. The docks were busy. Laden donkeys thronged the space between Nile and town. Children ran and shouted, the large communal ovens smoked, and a group of women stood knee-deep on the edge of the river slapping their laundry against the rocks and gossiping. “You have not been idle, Prince,” he remarked approvingly as Meketra straightened from his obeisance and together they walked towards the town. Meketra smiled.

“I have taken in the male survivors of Dashlut with their families,” he said eagerly. “There were not many, but I put them to work at once. The streets are clean and the houses whitewashed. Many are empty of course. The widows have moved in with relatives. They labour in Khemmenu’s fields in exchange for food from the granaries and storehouses. All discarded weapons have been collected and repaired for you, Majesty, if you need them. I cannot yet reopen the calcite and alabaster quarries at Hatnub. There are not enough men for such heavy labour. But Your Majesty will send us men when the war is won, will you not?”

Kamose fought against the irritation Meketra’s flood of self-congratulatory words spawned in him. The Prince had achieved a great deal since Kamose had ordered him out of Nefrusi and back to the estate Teti had occupied. The streets had been raked of blood-clotted soil, the refuse cleared away, and the walls of the houses gleamed where once they had been splashed with mire. “I congratulate you,” he managed, forcing warmth into his voice. “You have done very well, Meketra. I cannot promise you anything yet, of course, and even when we are victorious I will have to maintain a standing army, but I will not forget your request.” They had come to the wide avenue leading to Thoth’s temple and Kamose halted. “I must pay my respects to the god,” he went on. “Then we will break our fast with you.” He did not wait for Meketra’s bow but turned from him hastily, Ahmose at his elbow.

“Be careful, Kamose,” Ahmose whispered as they approached the pylon. “He must not see how you dislike him. He has indeed performed a miracle here.”

“I know,” Kamose said. “The fault is mine, not his. Yet something tells me that for every feat and favour he accomplishes he will expect to be rewarded tenfold, either in preferments or in kind. That is not loyalty.”

“It is loyalty of a sort,” Ahmose murmured dryly, “but not what one might anticipate from a noble. Still, he is useful.” Loyal, Kamose thought. Useful. Are we back to that, Ahmose? He bent down, and removing his sandals, began to cross the wide outer court.

He recognized the priest who was standing just inside the inner court and watching them come. The man inclined his head, an impersonal greeting, and nothing could be read from his expression. As they reached him, Kamose held up his sandals. “There is no blood on them this time,” he said. The cool eyes flicked to Kamose’s hand and back to his face.

“Have you brought a gift, Kamose Tao?” he enquired.

“Yes,” Kamose replied smoothly. “I have given you Prince Meketra. Let me warn you, priest. I am indulgent towards your veiled insolence because last time I entered Thoth’s domain I was not purified, but here my tolerance ends. I can command Meketra to have you replaced. You are a man who is unafraid to defend his god and his concept of Ma’at and for that I admire you, but I will not hesitate to have you disciplined if you refuse to accord me the reverence my blood demands. Am I understood?”

“Perfectly, Majesty.” The man stepped aside but his spine did not bend. “Enter and pay your vows to Thoth.”

They crossed the smaller inner court and prostrated themselves before the doors to the sanctuary, praying silently, but Kamose doubted that his words were heard, for he could not keep his mind on them. He remembered the wounded that had lain in the outer court, the sobbing women, the few harried physicians, the atmosphere of hostility through which he and Ahmose had waded as though it were dirty water. Khemmenu will never be mine, he thought as he came to his feet. It was Teti’s and therefore Apepa’s for too long. And what of you, great Thoth, with your ibis beak and your tiny, knowing eyes? Do you rejoice to see Egypt re-forming or is your divine will opposed to the will of Amun? He sighed, the sound magnified in sibilant echoes, and taking his brother’s arm he went out past the priest’s exaggerated bow and into the brilliant sunshine.

It was unsettling to sit in the reception hall of the house to which he had come many times in his youth and see strangers leaning across the little tables to speak to him in voices that struck no chord of recognition. Most of Teti’s furniture had gone, but Kamose noticed that the pieces Meketra’s wife had kept were the most beautiful and costly. He thought of his own mother who in the same circumstances would most certainly have given it all away rather than profit in even the smallest way from another’s downfall. I am not being just, Kamose tried to tell himself as he nodded and smiled at the conversation directed at him. This house was theirs before it was Teti’s. They must regard its contents as reparation for the years of exile at Nefrusi. But he liked Meketra’s wife no better than the Prince himself, and one of Meketra’s young sons was wearing an earring Kamose had last seen dangling from Ramose’s lobe.

Meketra sat smiling indulgently while his family prattled on artlessly, regaling the royal pair with stories of their hardships outside the fort, the coldness and rudeness of Teti’s wife, and of course Meketra’s monumental and selfless efforts to restore Khemmenu. In the end Kamose was forced to remind them with unmistakable authority that they were maligning his relatives by marriage and it was with considerable relief that he and Ahmose at last took their leave. “It is entirely likely that Apepa sent Meketra to Nefrusi to rid Khemmenu of that woman’s gossiping tongue,” Ahmose remarked as Ankhmahor and the Followers closed in around them and they made their way back to their boat. “She has got rid of Teti’s servants, did you notice, Kamose? but she has kept the silver dishes Aahotep gave to Nefer-Sakharu.” He followed Kamose up the ramp and flung himself down under the sunshade. Kamose waved at his captain, and at once the sailors on shore began to untie the mooring lines.

“They are mannerless,” Kamose agreed. “But that is a mild annoyance beside the question of whether or not they are trustworthy. Thank Amun we do not have to worry about it just now! Akhtoy, bring me Weset wine. My mouth feels foul.”

Nefrusi was only a short distance downstream and here, as at Khemmenu, great changes had taken place. As his boat tacked to shore in the late afternoon heat, Kamose looked in vain for the sturdy walls and thick gates that would have caused him so much delay if it had not been for Meketra. Piles of rubble littered the ground, cracked stone and chipped mud bricks through which the peasants clambered seeking usable pieces with which to repair their huts or grind their grain. The captain Kamose had left in charge of the demolition picked his way to the foot of the ramp and bowed as Kamose and Ahmose descended. He was dusty and smiling. Kamose greeted him affably. “There has been no trouble with the Setiu workmen, Majesty,” the man said in answer to Kamose’s question. “I think that in another month the site will be level. What must I do with them then? I have left the barracks standing for shelter.” Kamose considered.

“Have them set up the barracks as their permanent home,” he decided. “You and your assistants can move into the house Prince Meketra’s family left. The Setiu can haul soil in here and after the next Inundation they can become farmers. You must know them all well by now. Kill any who are still surly or recalcitrant and continue to guard the rest so that none are able to go north. Keep them away from the local peasants at least until I have defeated Het-Uart, and send me regular reports. You have done well here. I am glad that Nefrusi can be left in your hands. Is there anything you need?” The man bowed.

“If we are to become a village, it would be good to have a physician here,” he said. “Also a priest to serve the shrine to Amun I would like to build. Another scribe would lighten our load also.” Kamose turned to Ipi who was writing furiously.

“You have recorded that?” he asked. Ipi nodded. “Good. You shall have what you require, captain. Ipi will draw up a requisition for you to take to Khemmenu. Use it judiciously. It will give you the authority to enter the granaries and storehouses as well, until such time as the Setiu begin producing their own wheat and vegetables. If they behave, we may supply them with wives next year.” The captain looked at Kamose uncertainly and seeing the King’s grin he laughed.

“Women will multiply my problems, Majesty,” he said. “They are one luxury the foreigners can do without, at least for now. I thank Your Majesty, and if you will dismiss me I will return to work.”

“Have wine and beer unloaded for the captain and his soldiers,” Kamose instructed his scribe as he regained the deck. “And make a note that if all goes well here the captain must be promoted.” He stretched. “I feel lighthearted today, Ahmose. We will not move on until the morning. Het nefer Apu is only another forty miles downstream and we are making good time. Mekhir is not yet upon us.”

“I wonder what we shall see before we get there,” Ahmose muttered. “Ten villages we destroyed last year, Kamose. I imagine that the fields are already full of weeds.” Kamose did not answer. Turning abruptly on his heel, he went into the cabin and closed the door.

As Ahmose had predicted, the land from Nefrusi onwards had a derelict air. Acres of untilled brown earth showed between clumps of rank grass and tufts of ungainly wild growth. Here and there the irrigation canals had silted up and debris from the flood—tree branches, the bones of animals, old birds’ nests and other flotsam—still lay on the untended ground. Close to the ravaged villages, small groups of bedraggled women and listless children could be seen, bent over the tiny patches they had cleared. They did not even straighten up as the flotilla went by. “Give them grain, Kamose!” Ahmose urged as they stood side by side. “We have plenty!” But Kamose, his mouth drawn into a thin line, shook his head.

“No. Let them suffer. We will give them peasant males from our own nome who will fill these miserable houses with Egyptian children, not Setiu half-breeds. Ankhmahor!” he shouted irritably to the Commander of his Followers. “Send back to the other boats and tell the Medjay to stop their noise! It does not go well with the cheerless neglect around us!” Wisely Ahmose did not try to argue with him and no other words passed between the brothers as the sad miles lengthened behind them.

One day out of Het nefer Apu they encountered their own scouts posted to permanently watch the river traffic, and it was with great relief that long before the town came in sight the sounds of the navy filled the limpid air, mingling with the dust of its camp. The Medjay began to babble excitedly. Kamose’s captain ran to climb up beside the helmsman, alternately issuing orders and shouting warnings to the captains of the great cedar barques choking the river. Heralds on the bank began to join their voices to the general hubbub and Kamose heard their cries fly from mouth to mouth. “The King is here! His Majesty has arrived! Make ready for the Mighty Bull!” Sailors tumbled from the tents that lined the Nile to bow and stare, and behind the furore the town itself emerged, a press of low buildings around which streams of busy people, plodding donkeys and laden carts swirled. The clamour reached out to embrace the brothers with the arms of an optimistic normality and Kamose felt his spine loosen after the weight of the melancholy and silent vistas they had passed through.

He and Ahmose, followed by Akhtoy and Ipi, reached the foot of the ramp, and the Followers immediately took up their positions around the royal pair. After giving the Medjay officers permission for the archers to disembark, Kamose set off towards the largest tent, pitched a little way away from the others, but before he reached it Paheri emerged, Baba Abana at his side, and came swinging along the uneven path. Halting, both men knelt with their foreheads in the dust. Kamose bade them rise and together they re-entered the tent. Paheri indicated a chair and Kamose, taking it, waved the rest of them down. Ahmose sat on a stool but Paheri and Baba Abana sank cross-legged onto the worn carpet. Although the tent was spacious, its furnishings were sparse. A lamp hung from its sloping roof, swaying gently in the breeze that was lifting its sides. Two camp cots were set far apart. A table stood at the closed end and under it a large chest. Beside it a scribe was bowing profoundly. A plain travelling copper shrine had been placed behind it. Just inside the tent flap a servant waited. Akhtoy joined him. Ipi settled himself on the carpet by Kamose’s feet and began to arrange his palette.

Kamose surveyed his two naval officers. Paheri was glancing about with the shadow of a frown on his face, an invisible list obviously being checked off in his mind. Everything from his upright back to his calmly folded hands and the air of worried authority he exuded spoke of his years as an administrator in Nekheb. Baba Abana, however, sat with casual ease, his kilt rumpled over his thighs, his calloused fingers tracing an absent pattern on the rug in front of his folded legs. “Give me your reports,” Kamose said. Paheri cleared his throat, held out a hand to his scribe for the massive scroll, unrolled the papyrus, and shot Kamose a stern though impersonal glance.

“I think you will be very pleased with what Baba and I have done with the riff-raff soldiers you left us,” he said. “All of us, officers and men, have worked extremely hard to develop an effective marine force. My shipwrights from Nekheb have made sure that each of the thirty cedar craft you left with us was kept in excellent repair. I have here an account of each boat, the names of its officers and men, and the particular skill of each one of them. Approximately one in five of the soldiers here could not swim when we began their training. Now they can all not only swim but dive as well.”

“We devised a rule whereby if a man dropped one of his weapons overboard he was responsible for retrieving it,” Abana cut in. “At first we had to hire some of the local boys to dive for the swords and axes and refuse beer to the guilty men, but now they have become such good marines that they do not even lose the weapons, let alone have to dive for them.” Paheri had opened his mouth and was about to begin reading again from the seemingly endless scroll, and Kamose hastily stepped in.

“I presume you have a copy of your lists,” he said. “Give it to Ipi and I will go over it at my leisure. That way I can absorb its contents more deeply. I congratulate you both on the swimming lessons. A man who is drowned during a battle is a stupid and unnecessary loss. I see that I have put my faith in the right men.” His tone was not ingratiating and the compliment was received as just. “Now tell me of the training you devised,” Kamose went on. Paheri nodded, but before he spoke he signalled to his servant waiting by the tent flap. The man bowed and disappeared.

“Baba and I mapped out a strategy together,” Paheri explained, “but it was Baba who saw to its implementation. We abandoned all drilling on land. The soldiers ate, slept and exercised on the ships for the first two months and after that they were only allowed to pitch tents on the bank if they had been victorious in one of the engagements we set up every week.”

“I am glad Your Majesty was not here to see those first miserable attempts at naval warfare,” Abana said, a smile in his voice. “Boats ramming each other, oars tangling and snapping, soldiers losing their balance as their craft lurched, captains screaming abuse at each other across the water. And of course a veritable shower of swords, axes and daggers piercing the surface of the Nile. Those were frustrating days.” But he did not look frustrated. He looked happily smug. “Your Majesty will be pleased to know that only a mere handful of weapons were irretrievable.” He unfolded his legs and leaned back on his hands. “I guarantee that Apepa’s marines will look like fumbling amateurs beside ours.”

“I do not think that Apepa has any coherent naval force,” Ahmose said. “He has left the canals to the traders and citizens and relied on the impregnability of his gates. How is the soldiers’ morale, Paheri? And how have your stores held out?” Paheri allowed himself a polite twitch of the lips.

“Morale is excellent, Highness. It is hard to believe that the motley crowd of grumbling peasants you rounded up has become what you will see tomorrow. The officers have prepared a demonstration of skill and discipline I hope you will enjoy. As for our stores, we have been liberal. If a soldier goes hungry, he does not fight well. We have enough grain and vegetables to carry us through to the next harvest. All the fields around the town have been sown already.” Doubtless he would be able to reel off the number of bushels of wheat used, the amount remaining, even the weight of the seed scattered, Kamose thought admiringly. He was a good mayor and he has become a superb Scribe of Assemblage.

At that moment, a small parade of servants entered, bearing trays laden with dishes that filled the airy space with the aroma of hot food. At another gesture from Paheri they began to serve it, and Kamose realized that he was genuinely ravenous for the first time in many days. This man forgets nothing, he thought as he watched roast goose stuffed with leeks and garlic being lowered onto the camp table another servant had placed in front of him, and bread glistening with juniper-laced olive oil followed. Two jugs were held out below a respectfully bowed head. Kamose chose the beer and watched with satisfaction as the dark liquid cascaded into his cup. “I think I will remove you from the navy and set you to work organizing the army’s rations, Paheri,” he joked as he licked oil from his fingers. Paheri’s face immediately took on an expression of shocked anxiety.

“Oh, Majesty, I am yours to command, but I beg you to consider that …” Kamose burst out laughing.

“I am not foolish enough to take an hereditary shipbuilder away from his ships,” he said. “I was only joking, Paheri. I am more than content with all you have accomplished here.”

While they ate, the conversation became general but did not stray far from the interests of all military men. Abana questioned the brothers regarding the Medjay, where in Wawat they were from, how many different tribes made up the division of five thousand Kamose had kept with him, how they had acquired their legendary skills as bowmen. Kamose could detect no prejudice in his words, only a desire for knowledge, and answered as readily as he could. “You must ask the General Hor-Aha these things,” he finally confessed. “He knows the Medjay better than anyone, having brought them out of Wawat. All I know is that we would not have been able to move downstream with the speed we did last year without the amazing accuracy of their archery. I do not even know what strange gods they worship.”

“They are intrigued by Wepwawet of Djawati and Khentiamentiu of Aabtu,” Ahmose said. “Both are Egyptian jackal gods of war. But they seem to follow some strange religion whereby certain stones or trees contain good or evil spirits that must be appeased and they each carry a fetish to protect them from their enemies.”

“Does Hor-Aha?” Kamose asked him, surprised at the information he had somehow gleaned. Ahmose nodded, his mouth full of sesame cake.

“He carries a scrap of linen our father used once to staunch a bleeding scratch. He showed it to me once. He keeps it folded up in a tiny leather pouch sewn to his belt.”

“Gods,” Kamose muttered, and changed the subject.

After they had demolished the food, Paheri took them into the town to inspect the storehouses and then into the tents of the soldiers. Everywhere Kamose was struck by the neatness of the men’s belongings, the cleanliness of their scant clothing, and the care with which they treated their weapons. Swords gleamed sharp and spotless, bowstrings were oiled, the rope that bound axe heads to hafts was unfrayed and tight. Beneath the constant din arising from the boats and barges choking the river from the west bank to the east, he moved among the deferential men with a question for one, a word of praise for another, becoming acutely conscious as he went that he was at last the Commander-in-Chief of a fighting force that could be called a navy.

Before he retired to his ship, he arranged to be present the following day to observe the manoeuvres Paheri and Abana wanted him to see, and he received an armful of scrolls from Paheri’s scribe. “These are all the reports made by our scouts in the Delta,” Paheri explained. “Most were sent on to you at Weset, Majesty, but you might like to refresh your memory with the copies. There is also one scroll from General Hor-Aha. It is sealed and came with the instruction that it was to be given to you personally when you arrived. I have obeyed.” Kamose passed the unruly pile to Ipi.

“Have there been any Setiu spies caught anywhere near here?” he asked Paheri. The man shook his head.

“I expected to deal with a few, but the scouts have challenged none any farther south than Ta-she. It is my opinion that Apepa simply does not care what we do because he regards Het-Uart as inviolate and he will not stir outside his city.”

“That is my opinion also. Thank you.” He walked up the ramp and gained the cabin in a thoughtful frame of mind, Ipi on his heels. Somehow Apepa must open his gates, he mused. He must be persuaded, but how? He sat down on the edge of his cot with a sigh. The morning had been eventful. Ahmose’s shadow darkened the doorway as Akhtoy bent down to remove Kamose’s sandals.

“I’m ready for an hour on my cot also,” he yawned. “They have done wonders here, Kamose, the two of them. I think they deserve some kind of recognition. Will you read the dispatches now?” Kamose swung his feet up onto his mattress.

“No. Later. You can go, Ipi. Akhtoy, tell the guard on the door not to disturb us for at least an hour.”

He slept like a child, deeply and dreamlessly, and his waking was childlike also, a sudden return to consciousness and a keen awareness of well-being. Summoning his steward, he had himself washed, changed his linen, ordered bread and cheese, and went out to sit under the wooden sunshade. In a few moments Ahmose joined him. They ate and drank briefly, then Kamose sent for Ipi. “Now,” he said to his scribe when the man was settled beside his bare feet, “we had better begin with the scroll from Hor-Aha. Read it to us, Ipi.” Ipi broke the seal and began.

“‘To His Majesty King Kamose, Mighty Bull of Ma’at and Subduer of the vile Setiu, greetings.’”

“Subduer of the vile Setiu,” Ahmose murmured. “I like that.”

“‘I have spent much time this winter pondering the matter of Het-Uart and wondering what Your Majesty’s strategy might be during this season’s campaign,’” Ipi went on. “‘I have presumed that Your Majesty’s choices are limited to a renewed siege of Het-Uart or the fortifying of Nag-ta-Hert or Het nefer Apu against an incursion from the north, coupled with a mopping-up of territory already held. I would like to humbly propose an alternative. I do so with boldness only because I am Your Majesty’s General and Your Majesty has seen fit to consult me on military matters before.

“‘As Your Majesty is well aware, there are only two tracks leading into and out of this oasis. One comes down from the lake of Ta-she and one runs due west from Het nefer Apu, already secured by your navy. If Apepa’s troops could be informed that your army bivouacks at the oasis and if his generals could be persuaded to leave Het-Uart, they would be forced to travel to Uah-ta-Meh through the desert by way of Ta-she, because the navy holds the approach to the only other route, which leaves the Nile just north of Het nefer Apu.

“‘You would then enjoy two advantages. Firstly, the desert terrain is rocky and both trails are very narrow. Secondly, if your troops retreated from Uah-ta-Meh back to the Nile and the safety of Het nefer Apu, Apepa’s officers, no matter what they chose to do, would be faced with a daunting and exhausting march either back to Ta-she or forward in pursuit of your army. It is less far to the Nile than to Ta-she. I judge that they would pursue the army. Thus by the time they were forced to engage both the army and the navy they would be fatigued and demoralized. I trust Your Majesty is not offended by my temerity in putting forth this suggestion. I await with glad anticipation either your command to return the troops to the Nile or the arrival of your royal person. I extend to His Highness Prince Ahmose my devotion.’” Ipi looked up. “It is signed ‘Prince and General Hor-Aha’ and dated the first day of Tybi,” he finished. “Would you like me to read it again, Majesty?” Kamose nodded. He glanced at Ahmose who was staring breathlessly at the scribe.

After the second reading Kamose took the scroll and dismissed Ipi. Ahmose spoke into the moment of hiatus. “Let me understand this,” he said slowly. “Hor-Aha proposes that we somehow lure the Setiu to the oasis and as they come we retreat to the Nile, so that by the time they have caught us up we are at full strength with the navy, while they are tired and dispirited after an arduous trek through the desert.”

“It seems so.”

“He is advocating a pitched battle here at Het nefer Apu.”

“Ultimately it would come to that.” Kamose tapped the papyrus meditatively against his chin. “But why would Apepa risk such a move, when he can simply close up his city as he did last year and watch us running to and fro outside like starving rats? He has every advantage. He can sit there inviolate until we are forced to create a border for ourselves at Nag-ta-Hert or here as Hor-Aha points out, thus dividing Egypt into two lands as it used to be hentis ago. Eventually we would have to disband the army and send the men back to the land or face the disintegration of Egypt’s food supply, not to mention her administration.” He sighed. “I had dreamed of storming the city this season, breaching the walls, smashing the gates, but my dream was not realistic. What do you think?” Ahmose chewed his lip.

“There are several problems,” he said at last. “Apepa would have to be convinced that he could indeed wipe us out at the oasis. He is a cautious, not to say timid, man. He would not take such a gamble without a clear chance of complete success. Someone would have to make him believe that we thought we were safe in sitting at Uah-ta-Meh. Someone who could act the traitor convincingly. Also, why would his troops arrive at Het nefer Apu any more exhausted than ours? The oasis has plenty of water. The Setiu arrive at the oasis to find us gone. Before they follow, they replenish their supplies of both water and food and come after us in good health. There is no advantage to us in this plan.”

“Except that, if it worked, we would be saved from another season of fruitless impasse,” Kamose said. “It would draw them out. Apepa has made no effort to attack the five thousand soldiers we left here with Paheri and Abana. He sees us as too disorganized to bother about. He knows that the rebellion will disintegrate in time.”

“Kamose, it will unless we can change our tactics,” Ahmose said softly. “This suggestion of Hor-Aha’s is crude, it needs honing, but it is an alternative we had not considered. We must go to the oasis instead of recalling the army from there. We know that it cannot be defended and we never intended that it should be. It was simply a fairly secret place to winter our men. But we must see for ourselves whether or not it would be suitable as a trap.”

“What do you mean?” Ahmose shrugged.

“I’m not sure, but what if the Setiu were not able to get fresh water once they arrived there? What if it were possible to retire into the desert and then return to surround them? We have never seen Uah-ta-Meh, Kamose. We should at least go and study the terrain. Perhaps we can bring everything to a head, do something decisive. What use is a fine navy and a disciplined army if the enemy will not fight?”

“I had wanted to bring them east,” Kamose said unwillingly. “We will waste time if we trek to the oasis only to find Hor-Aha’s great plan impractical in the end. Still …” He laid the scroll on his cot. “Who is to say that Amun did not whisper the idea in the General’s ear? Let’s recall Ipi and go on with the dispatches Paheri gave us.”

That evening there was a feast for the Taos and their officers in the house of Het nefer Apu’s mayor. The atmosphere was rowdy and merry, the revellers optimistic. The flood had been good, a new campaign season was about to begin, and there was no shortage of beer. Ahmose gave himself over to the frenetic delights of the occasion, but Kamose, though he longed to do the same, found himself as always the quiet observer, watching the antics of his fellows with cool detachment. Already his mind was entangled in his General’s proposal, turning it this way and that, searching for a way to make it work, looking for hidden difficulties. Politely he endured the festivity, knowing that it was in his honour, answering the obeisances of the men and women who came up to the dais to bow before him and press their lips to his feet, but long before the lamps began to gutter and the drunken guests slumped unconscious and satiated over their small tables he was eager to return to the silence of his cabin.

In the morning he and a white-faced and yawning Ahmose sat on a raised platform beside the Nile and watched the navy go through its paces. Abana had devised a mock battle to demonstrate the skill of his new marines and in the glittering sunlight they were an awesome sight. The boats moved to and fro, the officers’ commands rang out sharp and clear, and the men obeyed with precision and alacrity. Kamose was particularly impressed with the clashes between the craft to be boarded and the soldiers scrambling to board them. No one fell into the water. All recovered balance and wits enough to begin to fight at once with the wooden swords issued to them for the exercise. Marines on the bank provided fleeting targets for the archers lining the rocking decks and again and again the tipless arrows fired by those men found their mark.

The Medjay, jostling in the shallows for the best vantage points, yelled and whistled their approval. Paheri sat with the brothers but Abana stood easily in the controlling boat, fists on his hips, his voice carrying clearly over the turbulent water as he called his orders. “You see Baba’s son Kay standing beside him?” Paheri almost shouted to Kamose over the tumult. “He has proved himself a good soldier, but more importantly he is a fine sailor like his father and knows how to command the respect of the men. I would like to recommend him for promotion, Majesty.” Kamose nodded his understanding without replying.

When it was over and the boats had lined up side to side in what was itself a display of the sailors’ dexterity, Kamose rose and praised them, alluding to events in their battle and giving them the rest of the day to do as they pleased. They cheered him enthusiastically and at their officers’ word began to disperse. Abana ran down his ramp, his son behind him, and came up to Kamose, bowing profoundly. “A little more than a year ago those men were farming peasants,” Kamose said. “You have utterly transformed them. I am full of admiration.”

“Your Majesty is kind,” Abana replied, smiling. “It has been a pleasure for me to do more than oversee dockyards and inspect trading vessels for repairs. After serving under Your Majesty’s father, Osiris Seqenenra, I must confess that my own life until recently seemed entirely mundane.” He took his son’s arm and pulled the young man forward. “I would like to bring my son Kay to Your Majesty’s attention once again.” Kamose ran his eye swiftly over the same shock of curly hair, barrel chest and rugged features as Baba’s.

“You have been under your father’s command, Kay?” he enquired. The young man bowed.

“I have, Your Majesty.”

“And what did you think of the mock engagement today?” Kay considered, then answered boldly.

“My father’s ship, The Offering, did well. His crew is the most thoroughly disciplined in the fleet. I was pleased to see that the Shining in Ma’at had improved in the area of manoeuvring quickly. Its sailors have had trouble controlling the vessel smoothly. But the Barque of Amun and the Beauty of Nut held onto their advantage by the skin of their teeth. Their marines have still not entirely mastered the art of handling their bows on the deck of a lurching ship but they work hard and they are certainly improving.”

“Which craft turned in the worst performance?”

“The North,” Kay said at once. “The oarsmen were slow, the helmsman panicked, and the marines fell over each other when the order to board was given.”

“Indeed.” Kamose smiled. “Then I think you must take over the captaincy of the North and knock its crew into better shape. Paheri has recommended you for promotion. How old are you?”

“Majesty!” the young man exclaimed. “You are generous! I would like nothing better than to put the North through its paces! It will become the best ship in the fleet I promise you! Forgive my outburst,” he finished more calmly. “ I am twenty years old.”

“Very well. I expect you to serve me honestly and to the best of your abilities as captain of your ship. You are dismissed.” Kay bowed immediately and backed away, his face alight. They watched him run to the North’s ramp and stand gazing up at his new charge. “Do what you like with the North’s previous captain,” Kamose said to Baba. “I presume you know his weaknesses. Put him somewhere where his strengths can be turned to our use.”

“Your continued faith in my son will not be abused, Majesty,” Abana said. “And thank you, Paheri, for bringing him to His Majesty’s attention.” Kamose inclined his head.

“You and Paheri have different talents,” he said, “but I have never before seen two men who complement each other so well. I leave my fleet in good hands.”

“Your Majesty is gracious,” Abana responded. “Thank you. It would have been a nuisance to have to accord deference to anyone else you might have designated. As it is, I can easily shout Paheri down.” The two grinned. Paheri momentarily lost his rather prim, serious demeanour.

“You are indeed generous, Majesty, and we will do our utmost to honour the trust you place in us,” he said. “Have you orders for us? I presume that you will recall the army from the oasis and we will proceed downriver to the Delta.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Kamose replied carefully, his eyes on the noisy scene around him. Beyond the sheltering bodies of Ankhmahor and the Followers the riverbank was crowded with troops handing in the mock weapons, inspecting their bruises and scratches, plunging sweaty limbs into the water, and gathering in excited groups to dissect the tactics of their engagement. “I intend to travel to Uah-ta-Meh myself,” he went on. Rapidly and succinctly he laid before them the gist of Hor-Aha’s suggestion and they listened attentively.

“It may work,” Paheri remarked when Kamose had finished. “I have heard that the desert surrounding the oasis is very inhospitable. Moreover, any army marching from Ta-she under the very best conditions would still arrive there fatigued. We are to hold the navy here then, pending your instructions?”

“Yes.”

“Have we your permission to raid downstream? These men must not be idle, Majesty. Their morale is high, but without a few skirmishes they will easily cease to believe in their abilities. Action ought to follow hard upon their training.”

“I know this,” Kamose agreed. “But I do not want to sting Apepa into attacking Het nefer Apu instead of concentrating his forces on the oasis. That is, of course, if we can devise a suitable plan to draw him there. If we do, then there will be fighting enough when we retreat and he follows. I will send you regular reports, Paheri. Until then you must go on drilling your men.” He rose and at once the others also stood. “We leave for Uah-ta-Meh at sunset,” he said. “We may as well travel at least some of the way in the coolness of night. You have lifted my spirits, both of you,” he told them. “At last this campaign is acquiring a coherent shape. You are dismissed.” They bowed.

“May the soles of your feet be firm, Majesty,” Abana said. Kamose watched them vanish into the crowd before stepping from the platform and addressing Ankhmahor.

“We leave the ship this evening,” he told his Commander. “Have two chariots ready.” He turned to Ahmose. “Akhtoy can see to the baggage train and Ipi can send a message on ahead of us with a herald. Hor-Aha and the division commanders have twenty-three of the chariots we captured at Nefrusi. If we take two, we will be leaving fifty for the scouts and officers here. Did I do the right thing, Ahmose?” Ahmose looked at him curiously. There was a note of doubt in his brother’s voice.

“In promoting young Abana, most certainly,” he urged. “In deciding to go to the oasis, well, Kamose, we have no way yet of knowing what the right thing is. Let us sacrifice to Amun before we go. Is something wrong?” Kamose squared his shoulders.

“No,” he said. “But it is one thing to lead a motley rabble of grumbling peasants. It is quite another to be King of a formidable army. Everything is coming to a head, Ahmose. I can feel it. My destiny is being fulfilled, I am waking from a poignant dream to find it mirrored in reality, and I am awed and a little afraid. Come. Let’s get out of the sun and find something to drink. I must dictate to Tetisheri before we take the track into the desert.” He swung away, calling for Ipi and Akhtoy as he did so, and Ahmose followed on a sudden wave of homesickness. Weset seemed a long way away.