11

KAMOSE SAT on a small hillock of tufted grass in the sparse shade of a spindly tamarisk, his knees drawn up under his chin, his anxious gaze on the shimmering expanse of desert to his left. Before him his chariot gleamed hotly, the two horses standing patiently with heads down, the charioteer squatting beside them. To his right, where the track disappeared into the kinder depths of palm trunks and irrigated vegetation before reaching Het nefer Apu and the river, his brother and Hor-Aha also waited, the General cross-legged and motionless, Ahmose idly piling small twigs into a haphazard pattern and humming tunelessly under his breath.

Eleven days after Ramose had left the oasis, word had come back that he had entered Het-Uart. That was a month and one week ago. Pharmuthi had come and gone and now it was Pakhons. The fields around Het nefer Apu, showing the first tender and tentative shoots of new crops when Kamose and his brother had driven through them on their way to Uah-ta-Meh, were now thickly lush with the tall green promise of a good harvest, but Kamose had paid them little heed on his return.

Seventeen days after Ramose had vanished into the ant heap that was Apepa’s city, a weary scout had reported a host approaching Ta-she from the north. Apepa had taken the bait. Kamose, tense with worry and excitement, had questioned the scout brusquely outside his tent. “How great is the force?” he demanded.

“I judge it to be approximately the size of Your Majesty’s army quartered here,” the man answered, his voice gravelled with fatigue. “It was difficult to make a more accurate assessment without risking capture.” Kamose nodded.

“Had they moved off before you left?”

“Yes.” The scout grinned, his face breaking into grit-streaked lines of pleasure. “I shadowed them for the day it took them to fill their waterskins and the barrels for the horses. As soon as they left Ta-she and struck out along the track south, I ran. That was a day and a half ago.” Kamose regarded him in silence for a moment. He had travelled a hundred miles on foot in thirty-six hours. Had he even stopped to sleep? “They will make good time, Majesty,” the man went on. “They will be here in another three days.” Panic shot through Kamose and was gone.

“Who is commanding them?” he asked.

“I am sorry, I was not able to discover what General is with them,” the scout apologized. He was swaying on his feet. Kamose dismissed him, telling him to rest for as long as he needed, and turned to Hor-Aha, who had come up behind him.

“You heard?”

“Yes, Majesty. We must move on at once.”

“See to it then.” He had wanted to say more, to share the excitement rising in him, to indulge in the flood of conjecture filling his mind, but Hor-Aha was already striding away in a flurry of shouted orders. Kamose paused before sending one of the ever-present bodyguards to find Ahmose, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the hot, placid desert with its rows of tents stretching away beyond the pool and the sparse shrubs and the motley cluster of village huts.

So Ramose had fulfilled his mission. Where was he now? Hiding with Tani in some anonymous place close to Egypt’s eastern border? Dead, perhaps? Or was he being forced to march with Apepa’s army? Already the sounds of an imminent departure had begun to fill the air. Kamose saw a chariot thunder south along the path linking the two villages of the oasis. The tents that a moment ago were sitting like a vast collection of tiny pyramids were now disgorging streams of men before trembling and collapsing in puffs of dust. Closer in, the area around the pool began to fill with men whose officers had shepherded them into obedient lines. Kneeling, they held their water skins below the surface of the water, and Kamose knew that everywhere, at every spring, well and pond, the same ritual would be carried out in the next few hours until every one of his fifty thousand men had enough water to reach the Nile. It was a pity, he thought, as he ordered his guard to search for his brother amid the increasing turmoil, that the Setiu troops would soon be doing exactly the same thing. How much more satisfying it would be if somehow they could be deprived of what they would need most when they arrived. Calling for a stool, he sat and watched.

It was not long before Ahmose joined him, putting a hand on his shoulder as he lowered himself onto the ground beside Kamose. “I heard the news,” he said. “It will take the Princes the rest of the day to muster the troops, victual them, have all the supplies replenished and packed. We can march at dawn tomorrow. Why has Apepa only sent a contingent whose number matches our own, Kamose?”

“I have been wondering the same thing,” Kamose confessed. “It appears to be an arrogant and very stupid move on his part. I don’t like the feel of it.”

“Neither do I.” Ahmose shifted uneasily in the sand. “There is only one explanation. He has divided his army and sent the other half upriver to Het nefer Apu to engage Paheri and Baba Abana, defeat the navy before we can reinforce it with the infantry, and so catch us between a hostile force behind us and one in front, waiting for us to emerge from the desert.”

“He is surely not capable of such subtle thinking,” Kamose said slowly.

“No,” Ahmose cut in. “But Pezedkhu is. I am afraid of that man, Kamose.” Kamose looked down on his brother’s bent head.

“So am I,” he agreed. “Well, all we can do is keep to our plan. It is too late to formulate another. I wish that there was some way in which we could weaken the army coming after us. I have confidence in Hor-Aha’s training, and of course the Setiu will be tired, but will weariness be enough to tip the scales in our favour? If you are correct in your assumption, if we arrive at Het nefer Apu to find Paheri and Abana overcome, it will not. The odds will be two to one against us.”

Ahmose did not reply and a gloomy silence fell between them, isolating them from the orderly chaos going on around the pool. Soldiers with skins at the ready pushed and jostled those already backing away from the water. Officers standing at the edge were shouting, donkeys tethered to the trees behind, infected with the confusion, had set up a raucous braying. Even as Kamose watched, an officer sporting the armbands of an Instructor of Retainers was accidentally elbowed by a man struggling away from the water. The officer teetered, grasped for one of the sturdy oleander bushes growing on the verge of the pool, and managed to regain his balance. Cursing, he began to examine his hand and forearm while others waded into the water and quickly retrieved the few spear-like leaves that had been pulled from the bush and now floated innocently on the surface.

Kamose felt himself go cold, then hot, and at the same moment Ahmose gave an exclamation and clutched at his thigh. He looked up and their eyes met. Ahmose raised his eyebrows. Kamose nodded. His heart had begun to pound. Turning, he shouted, “Ankhmahor!” After a minute the Captain of his Followers appeared, emerging from the shadowed entrance of his tent. Kamose rose. He found himself trembling. “Choose senior officers, men who will understand the purpose of these instructions,” he said urgently. “Send them to every spring, well and pond in the oasis. Detail one to go into each village. As soon as every man has filled his water skin and the barrels for the horses are full as well, I want the oleanders cut down, ripped up, and tossed into the water. Do whatever is necessary to make sure that all sources are contaminated. All sources, Ankhmahor. Not one must be missed or we might as well not bother. Crush the bushes so that the sap oozes out. Make sure that the soldiers do not approach the water afterwards. And no one is to drink from their skins until the first halt tomorrow so that there is no waste tonight.” Ankhmahor had listened with barely concealed astonishment, but by the time Kamose had finished speaking his expression had become grim.

“You are condemning them to almost certain death if they cannot quench their thirst here, Majesty,” he said. “It will be a cruel end.”

“War is cruel,” Kamose replied curtly. “I know that you have considered the implications of the number sent against us here. We must increase our advantage by any means possible.” The Prince bowed and strode away.

“What of the villagers, Kamose?” Ahmose had come to stand beside him. “Without water they will die too.”

“It is their misfortune to be caught in the centre of this brutality,” Kamose said roughly. “What would you have me do, Ahmose? Leave them a spring somewhere? That would be ridiculous. The Setiu would waste no time in sucking it dry and then crawling after us refreshed and ready to pound us into oblivion.”

“I know. But if you abandon the peasants to such a terrible fate, you will incur the contempt of every common soldier in your army, let alone the Princes, who will begin to debate their decision to trust you. They strongly disapproved of the slaughter of last year. You will make more enemies than you already have. Please, Kamose!” Kamose found himself once again battling the rage that seemed to be always simmering just under the border of his control. I don’t care, Ahmose! he wanted to shout. Don’t make me care! I cannot afford such a gentle emotion! But as he had so often done, he swallowed the madness and faced his brother calmly.

“Then what would you have me do?” he repeated.

“Order a few men to see that the villagers pack up their belongings, gather up their animals, and march with us. They are hardy folk, these oasis dwellers. They will not hinder us. They are innocents, Kamose. They do not deserve such a fate.” And neither did the inhabitants of Dashlut or any of the other villages you ordered razed, his eyes said. Or am I imagining his accusation? Kamose thought. Does he even suspect the pain I endured last year and learned to dull with the opiate of necessity?

“You are right,” he made himself say. “You can see to it, Ahmose.” Then he smiled. “Spiking the water supply with oleander was a inspiration sent directly from Amun to both of us, was it not?” Ahmose’s face broke into an answering grin.

“It was indeed!” he said. “Now let us quit this arid place and give Apepa the thrashing he deserves!”

By evening the mustering was complete. All day the troops had been dribbling in from the farther reaches of the oasis where they had been billeted, an orderly stream of sun-hardened men carrying weapons as familiar to them now as the hoes and winnowing flails they had once wielded. Obedient to their officers, they ranged themselves along the eastern track in their several divisions, and sitting on their wooden shields, fell to gambling and gossiping as they waited for night.

Just after sunset Ankhmahor returned to Kamose to report that Uah-ta-Meh’s water supply was now undrinkable. Kamose acknowledged the news coolly. He knew that he did not need to press the Prince. The pool before which he now paced was choked with the debris of the dying plants and the petals of the flowers rocked gently on the darkening surface, still glimmering white in the fast-fading light.

The tent the brothers had shared would not be struck until dawn, and as Ankhmahor deployed the Followers around it and Kamose and Ahmose turned to enter its welcoming shelter, there was a commotion on the far side of the pool. With a snap of his fingers Ankhmahor directed two of his men to investigate. Kamose watched as the brawny soldiers walked to the place where a half-naked peasant was shouting at the officers who were holding him. After a moment the Followers returned. “It is the headman of this village, Majesty,” one of them began to explain. “He wishes to speak to you.”

“Then let him come.” At the guard’s call, the officers released the man, who immediately sped across the cooling sand and fell in an ungainly heap at the brothers’ feet. “Get up,” Kamose said impatiently. “What do you want?” Before rising, the man planted a kiss on Kamose’s dusty sandal. Kamose found himself looking into a leathery, seamed face and one sunken brown eye. The other peered at him sightlessly, a pale blue, filmy orb.

“Majesty, Great One, Favourite of the Gods,” the man blurted. “It is not for me to question your inscrutable judgements for you are infallible, chosen by the immortal ones …”

“I have not eaten since this morning,” Kamose broke in, “and my meal sits within, getting cold. What do you want?” The headman pursed his lips and looked at the ground.

“The people of my village have lived in harmony with your soldiers for many months,” he stammered. “We have shared meat, grain and water. We have not stolen from them. And in return they taint our pools and command us to leave our crops and our homes and follow them into the wasteland. We are bewildered and afraid. What is to become of us? What is your immaculate purpose for us, Beloved of the God of Weset?” Ahmose tensed and opened his mouth to speak but Kamose held out a hand and forestalled him.

“The God of Weset is Amun the Great Cackler,” Kamose responded equably. “Today you have learned something new, headman. As for your concerns, it was necessary to taint the water. I do not need to explain myself to you but I choose to do so. A force of Setiu is on its way here to your precious oasis to destroy me and very probably you. By poisoning the water, I trap them. I had no wish to condemn innocent Egyptians to certain death also; therefore I ordered the evacuation of your village. When we reach Het nefer Apu you will be placed in the care of the mayor of that town.” The headman swallowed, his adam’s apple working convulsively against the scrawny skin of his neck.

“But, Majesty, we do not want to live by the Nile. How soon may we return to our homes here?” Kamose sighed.

“Find one of the army physicians and ask him when the waters will be cleansed,” he said. “It is that or die of thirst. Be grateful that I have spared a thought for your fate in the midst of weightier matters.” Signalling to one of the listening Followers, he turned towards the glow of lamps spilling out of the tent. “Well?” he snapped at Ahmose, as they sat before the laden table and Akhtoy moved to serve them. “Are you satisfied? Was I magnanimous enough? Will the peasants love me now?” His tone was savage. Ahmose held out his cup to be filled and did not answer.

They had crossed the desert in four days without mishap and were welcomed eagerly by Paheri and Abana. Kamose ordered the army bivouacked on the edge of the cultivation, set up a strong perimeter of sentries, and ordered scouts back along the track to watch for the approach of any Setiu survivors. No word as to Ramose’s fate had come to Paheri. Kamose knew that if his friend had managed to escape, he would have found a way to let him know; therefore it was likely that Ramose marched with the Setiu and would perish with them. Yet Ramose is no fool, Kamose told himself as he sat outside Paheri’s tent in the shadow of the ships while the daily reports were read to him. If anyone can win through, he will. I must put him out of my mind for the present and concentrate on what is, not what might be.

For one day he and Ahmose moved among the troops that had been left at Het nefer Apu, met with all the Princes and the commanders of both arms of the army to discuss every contingency of engagement should a large force of Setiu win through to the Nile, dictated letters to the women at Weset, and swam and drew bow together.

Then Pezedkhu had come. Just before dawn on the second day, Kamose was woken by a hand on his shoulder. Ankhmahor’s worried face loomed in the dimness and a taller shadow filled the tent’s opening. At once Kamose sat up. Ahmose was groaning and reaching for the water by his cot. A flame flared, momentarily blinding them. Akhtoy replaced the now burning lamp. Ankhmahor bowed. “Majesty, the enemy is here,” he said without preamble. “Your scout waits to give you the details. I have taken the liberty of alerting all your commanders. Hor-Aha is already outside.”

“Bring him in.” Kamose ran a furred tongue over his teeth. As he stood, Akhtoy quickly wrapped a kilt around his waist then turned to Ahmose. The scout stepped up and bowed, and behind him Hor-Aha’s black face appeared suddenly in the yellow light, his hooded eyes swollen with sleep, his thick braids dishevelled. “Speak,” Kamose invited the scout. The man nodded.

“Majesty, it is the General Pezedkhu,” he said. “He sits just north of here with perhaps ten divisions. At present he is deploying his troops west to east from the edge of the desert to the river, with the bulk of his army concentrated by the desert. His sentries and ours are so close to each other that they could exchange conversation if they shouted. He has a full complement of chariots. You can hear the horses if you walk twenty paces along the riverbank. There is no attempt at secrecy.” Kamose folded his arms, cradling his naked chest. The air in the tent was chilly.

“How do you know it is Pezedkhu?” he demanded.

“I stripped off my insignia, left my weapons with one of my soldiers, tied back my hair, and joined the townsmen who had begun to congregate to see what was going on,” the man said laconically. “There does not seem to be any desire to come to battle readiness yet. I had no opportunity to talk to any of the Setiu. The officers soon drove us all away.”

“Thank you,” Kamose managed. “You can go. Hor-Aha, direct the Princes to gather outside Paheri’s tent. Akhtoy, rouse the cooks. We need hot food. On the way, tell Ipi to wait on us with the army scribes. Send in my body servant.” The steward bowed and left with Hor-Aha. Ahmose, Kamose and Ankhmahor were left. For a long moment they simply stared at one another. Then Ahmose blew out his cheeks.

“Why has Pezedkhu not attacked?” he wondered aloud.

“Because his scouts are in every way as good as ours,” Kamose replied. “He has been told that the infantry is here, not at the oasis. He knows that no engagement took place there. If he had arrived before us, he would have attacked Paheri and been victorious, then he would have sat and waited for either the other half of Apepa’s force to arrive from Uah-ta-Meh having defeated us, or for us to march out of the desert with that same force behind us and an equally large army in front. As it is, he has calculated his odds and found them wanting. He has his sixty thousand men. We now have a combined force of eighty thousand.”

“He will consolidate his position,” Ankhmahor put in. “He will do nothing until his fellows join him.”

“And if all goes as we planned, they are even now dying of thirst,” Ahmose remarked with an uncharacteristic relish that betrayed both his fear of the Setiu General and his relief that the odds were now overwhelmingly in the Egyptians’ favour.

“We can be sure that the plan to trap us in a pincer was not Apepa’s,” Kamose said. He was rubbing his upper arms vigorously. “Gods, it is cold this morning! Leave us, Ankhmahor.” The body servant had entered and was waiting with a bowl of steaming water. Behind him his assistant carried towels. Akhtoy had returned and was laying out clean linen. As the Prince lifted the tent flap, Kamose saw his frame clearly outlined against the sky beyond. The sun was rising.

Less than an hour later, washed, dressed and shod, the brothers joined the crowd of commanders waiting in front of Paheri’s tent. As they were reverenced, Kamose noted the bent back of Abana’s son Kay. “What are you doing here?” he addressed him sharply, taking his seat and motioning the others to do the same around the large table. The young man smiled at him apologetically but with a hint of polite defiance.

“They say that the Setiu General has a fleet of powerful ships hidden on the Nile, Majesty,” he replied. “If my marines are to engage the enemy, I want to be well prepared.”

“The ship North turned in the worst performance of all during the mock battle,” Kamose remarked dryly. “Besides, it is not true. Pezedkhu brought no ships. The Medjay and the marines will be fighting on land. And you, Kay Abana, are not a senior commander. Stop wasting my time here.” The other men were listening to the exchange with barely concealed and superior smiles. All at once Kamose felt sorry for Kay. “Still, you are a talented ship’s captain, highly regarded by your superiors,” he conceded. “You may stay as long as your mouth remains closed. Now have us served, Akhtoy. We will debate our situation while we eat.”

As food was placed before them, Kamose related the report, and they had barely begun the meal when they were interrupted by the first in a steady stream of scouts bringing a swiftly multiplying picture of Pezedkhu’s deployments. The General was not preparing an attack. As Kamose had surmised, he was posting sentries and sending out a stream of his own scouts who would bring him word when the rest of Apepa’s army appeared. “I want the Medjay off the boats and free to manoeuvre in the desert,” Kamose told Hor-Aha. “They will harry the flanks of whatever force does come from the west. Paheri, the remaining marines must stay on the river to strengthen my eastern detachments should Pezedkhu try to push through that way. Intef, Mesehti, Iasen, your troops and most of the chariots are to muster along the edge of the fields, looking west. I am not so concerned with the ground in between. It is very difficult to push across fields of crops slashed with irrigation canals and lines of trees. But we will have a small force placed north of the town just in case. I do not think it will be needed. Pezedkhu will come against us in an arc, heavy at either end and thin in the centre. His western arm will contain the bulk of his troops.”

While he was speaking, the area in which the men sat became gradually full of limpid morning light. A breeze sprang up, the air tinged with a warmth that would rapidly grow to heat, and the surrounding vegetation rustled and quivered at its touch. All along the bank the soldiers were rising, moving towards the water to wash, and the cooking fires of the night before were being coaxed back into life. For a while Kamose answered the Princes’ questions as the details of their deployments were elucidated, then he dismissed them to their duties and they scattered. “Will you attempt to parley with Pezedkhu?” Ahmose asked him as they left the table and walked along the shade-dappled track to their tent, the Followers around them. Kamose glanced across at him sharply.

“No, of course not. What purpose would talking serve?” he asked. Ahmose shrugged.

“I’m not sure. It was just a fleeting thought. Pezedkhu, more than his master, will know that all of Egypt but for the Delta is in our hands. He might be persuaded to change sides.” Kamose chuckled, startled. “It is an interesting idea,” he replied. “But I suspect that the General is a loyal man. It would be as if Apepa tried to corrupt Hor-Aha. Beyond imagination. Let us see what happens in the next few days. If we enjoy a total victory, we will shake Pezedkhu’s confidence and perhaps his fidelity also. Let us set up our own watch in the sand, Ahmose, but first we must pray.”

That had been two days ago. Now Kamose, trying to quell his irritation at the sound of his brother’s formless humming, sighed inwardly. Pezedkhu had made no further moves. The dust cloud sent up by the daily activities of his army hung in the distance like a mildly menacing threat, neither growing nor abating. His scouts could often be spotted, black specks that trembled far away on a horizon distorted by the heat and the glare of light on the desert dunes. Kamose’s scouts ranged those miles also, gaining solidity as they approached him and then slowly vanishing back into the wasteland after reports that held little substance.

After so many hours spent peering towards the oasis, Kamose’s eyes had begun to trouble him, but he was reluctant to relinquish his perch, and he knew that all his men, from Ankhmahor to the lowliest infantryman, felt the same undercurrent of tension. He also knew that none of them could maintain this attitude of interior watchfulness coupled with physical inactivity for much longer. The edge of their battle-readiness would become blunted. Fear of the unknown would creep in and fantasies would begin to weaken them.

Each morning Kamose held a meeting with his commanders and the Princes, but there was little to say. All preparations for engagement were complete, and Kamose was beginning to wonder secretly what he would do if Pezedkhu simply continued to sit there passively, if the army trudging from the oasis by some miracle did not arrive at all. Would he himself take the initiative and attack the General? The prospect was enticing. His fingers ached to draw his bow. The weapons hanging from his belt, dagger and sword, protested their impotence. If he shifted his gaze from the shimmering sand, he could see his men strung out thickly along the irregular line where green met beige, thousands of them sitting or lying in the scant shade of the palms and acacia, gossiping, gambling, dozing under the eye of the patrolling officers, all of them waiting, like him.

But, at last, in the middle of the afternoon of the third day, when the citizens of Het nefer Apu lay on their cots sleeping away the worst of the heat and Kamose’s head swam with the need to join them, he saw a chariot come careening along the track, its spokes flashing in the sun. It came up to his knoll and halted in a shower of dirt, the horses lathered and panting, and the scout jumped from its rear and ran towards him. Kamose came to his feet. “They are here, Lord!” the man shouted. “Two hours away but no more! They are in terrible condition! It will be like killing cattle in a pen!” Kamose felt the drowsiness seep away. His head cleared and his heart settled to a steady, strong stroke. Ahmose and Hor-Aha had come up to stand beside him.

“How many?” Kamose barked back. The man was almost dancing in his excitement.

“Not enough!” he called. “You will take the day, Majesty! My horses need water. Give me leave?” Kamose dismissed him and turned to Hor-Aha. The black eyes squinting into his were alight, the white teeth gleaming between parted lips.

“It worked, General,” Kamose breathed. “It worked. Alert the commanders. Get the Medjay moving. I want them circling out there to keep the enemy bunched together as they approach the river. Send to Paheri to stand ready, and form up my divisions here on the track. Warn the officers closest to Pezedkhu’s forces first. He will have received the news also and I expect him to strike quickly.” Ahmose was already striding away and yelling for his chariot. They had argued regarding Ahmose’s place in the forthcoming clash. Kamose had wanted him to lead the divisions that would in a very short time be pouring out onto the desert but Ahmose had wrinkled up his nose in disgust. “I do not want to be safe,” he had retorted in answer to Kamose’s importuning. “I intend to captain the divisions facing Pezedkhu unless you give me a direct order to the contrary, O Mighty Bull. Stop trying to protect me!” Kamose had given in with poor grace and he regretted it now, watching his brother swing himself up behind the charioteer and the vehicle wheel away in the direction of the massed and hostile forces to the north.

Well, it was too late to reverse any orders now. Already the long line of men to his right was wavering and re-forming as the soldiers scrambled for their weapons and began to converge on the track under the yells of the officers. More men had begun to pour out from the trees behind Kamose, the crowd parting as the chariots raced through it to roll ahead. Kamose walked down to join them, and seeing him come, his own charioteer picked up the reins. Kamose sprang up behind him and at a word they began to move to the forefront of the noisy throng.

The horizon to the west was no longer clear. It was marred by a wavering grey haze. Kamose imagined that he could discern shapes within it, but their nature was not yet clear. Did any horses survive? he wondered anxiously. Chariots? How many officers are still on their feet? Are they captained at all or have they become nothing but a rabble? And is Ramose among them? He had no more time for conjecture. Hor-Aha’s chariot had come abreast. “All the divisions are moving into their appointed positions, Majesty,” he called across. “Pezedkhu’s men have also come to readiness but as yet no arrows have been fired. His Highness has control on the northern front. Scouts are hurrying into the enemy’s area.” Kamose acknowledged the General with a gesture. Pezedkhu is learning even now that the tables have been turned against him, he thought. Now he is the one outnumbered. Will he act rashly, throw himself at us? If he does, then Ahmose will be fighting the real battle.

The cacophony around him was abating. The officers’ orders came crisp and clear in the hot air, a chorus of calm, controlled voices. To right and left his squadrons rolled, and behind him as he glanced back the divisions marched, the sun glinting off the forest of spears and sliding along the blades of the thousands of drawn swords. Pride swelled in him. You have done this, Seqenenra my father, he thought with a lump in his throat. These men, these sturdy brown Egyptians marching steadily towards victory with their black hair swinging and their white kilts swirling, are here because you dared to defy the power of the usurpers. Your vision has transformed the face of this country, turning peasants into soldiers and lifting the shamefaced gaze of Princes from the ground to the rich vista of a rediscovered dignity.

Sweat began to trickle from beneath the rim of his helmet and he raised one gloved hand and wiped it away. Reaching behind him, he withdrew an arrow, holding it loosely, his eyes on the distance where the haze blurred the sky. The shapes within it were now clearly men but how many and in what condition he could not say.

He could see the Medjay now, strung out and loping effortlessly ahead of the chariots. Here on their own ground, their bare feet impervious to the burning sand, they looked like lean black hyenas. Even as he watched, Hor-Aha’s chariot broke away and began to angle to the right. Leaning forward, he spoke to his own charioteer and their vehicle veered left, away from the track, Ankhmahor and the Followers turning with them.

Now Kamose could see the full panorama of the impending engagement, Medjay in seeming disarray but moving to outflank the enemy, chariots spread out to either side, and in the middle the infantry, rank upon rank of marchers churning the earth in their inexorable progress. Kamose spared one thought for his brother then pushed the familiar protective concern away. Ahmose would command well, and he was supported by fine officers and disciplined men.

Someone began to sing, the light tenor voice rising above the creak of harness and the low swell of the thousands of plodding sandals. “My sword is sharp but my weapon is the vengeance of Wepwawet. My shield is on my arm but my protection is the power of Amun. Truly the gods are with me and I shall once again feel the waters of the Nile embrace my body when the enemy of my Lord lies lifeless at my feet …” Others took up the words, the song swelling through the ranks. Kamose smiled across at the captain of his bodyguard.

“That is no farmer’s song, Ankhmahor,” he called. “It belongs to the serving soldier.” Ankhmahor grinned back.

“They are all soldiers now, Majesty,” he answered, his words almost drowned in the flood of music. But before long a command for silence rang out and the stirring sounds died away.

Now Kamose’s attention was no longer on the cloud of dust but on its cause, a wide body of men coming slowly towards him, engulfing the track and the sand to either side. At first Kamose felt a twinge of fear, for they appeared to be marching in formation, but as they drew closer he saw that they were stumbling over hummocks of land any healthy soldier would have ignored and their pace was painfully ragged. As he watched, he clearly heard an order issue from somewhere in their front ranks and swords were drawn, but the actions were clumsy and unco-ordinated and Kamose distinctly noted one man on the outer perimeter who was desperately and drunkenly trying to obey without the strength to pull the weapon free of his belt.

They are almost spent, Kamose thought with a rush of uncharacteristic pity. I should order them surrounded and disarmed, it would not be difficult, but then how to feed them and what to do with them afterwards? Besides, my men crave action, they need to fight, and I need to send an uncompromising message to Apepa.

The Medjay were now ranged in a half-circle to either side of the enemy, bows unslung and arrows fixed. Hor-Aha’s chariot had slowed and Hor-Aha himself stood looking in Kamose’s direction, his arm raised, waiting. Kamose lifted his own arm, for one moment powerfully aware of the relentless force of the sun, pouring heat and a dazzling light on the glistening sand, of the grim silence that had fallen on his troops, of the salty taste of sweat on his lips, then he gestured. With a shout Hor-Aha signalled the Medjay and his cry was answered by a roar issuing from the throats of his tribesmen. Kamose turned and his sign was acknowledged. Hoarse shouts filled the air, and with a howl his army flung itself on the Setiu.

It was no battle but a slaughter of men half-insane with thirst, weak and emaciated, who dazedly tried to obey the commands of officers as exhausted and confused as they. Staggering and reeling, swords dangling from shaking hands, they were cut down remorselessly. Kamose, watching the brutal massacre from his chariot, felt nothing as all the pent-up frustration of his troops was released in one deafening torrent of bloodlust and the Setiu fell in their hundreds, scarcely uttering a sound. They had no chariots. They had obviously survived this far on the water intended for their horses, and when Kamose realized that there would be no resistance, he waved his own chariots back. The Medjay also, after waiting in vain for running targets, simply stood with their bows in their hands beside the chariots, visibly disappointed.

Long before sunset it was over. As the noise began to abate, Kamose had himself driven around the edge of the carnage, Hor-Aha and Ankhmahor beside him. His men were picking over the dead for any booty they might acquire, treading carelessly through the dark pools and rivulets already sinking into the greedy sand, their own half-naked bodies mired in blood. Ankhmahor glanced up. “The vultures are circling,” he said, and Kamose heard his voice quiver. “The scavengers waste no time, Majesty.” He returned his gaze to Kamose’s face. “This was more terrible than anything we have done so far.”

“Hor-Aha, let them keep whatever they can find,” he said. “Remind the officers to take the hands. I want to know exactly how many Setiu fell here today. Send scouts back along the track. I also want to know where the chariots are. If they are still whole, we can use them.” Hor-Aha nodded and jumped down and presently Kamose saw the officers disperse among the dead. The axes began to rise and fall, chopping off the right hands of the dead for the body count. Kamose let out his breath. “Well, Ankhmahor, it is done,” he remarked with a deliberate lightness he did not feel. Indeed he felt only a kind of numbness as though he had drunk too much poppy. “Bring the Followers and we will find Ahmose. There is no point in mustering these men to reinforce my brother unless he and Paheri are faring badly. I am worried that no word has come from our second front.” He thought the Prince would speak. Ankhmahor’s kohlrimmed eyes were huge and troubled. A shard of anger pierced the armour of Kamose’s indifference and he grasped Ankhmahor’s wrist. “Perhaps now we can afford the luxury of an honourable war with rules that both sides recognize,” he hissed. “But I doubt it, Prince. This has been a revolution fought without a code and it will continue thus. I am well aware that when the history of Egypt is written I will not fare well. Yet surely there will be readers who can grope behind my actions to the principles I hold dear.” He thrust a finger at the carnage just beyond them. “Those Setiu were soldiers. Soldiers understand that they are paid to fight, but also to die. No one tells them in what manner they may die. I salute the bravery of those men who crossed the desert dying with every step and stood to be finished off by other soldiers, but I hold no sentiment towards them. They did their duty.” He released the Prince and as he did so a wave of mental fatigue flooded him. “I love you, Ankhmahor,” he said dully. “I love your devotion to Ma’at, your intelligence, your steady, quiet support. Do not remove it from me, I beg you. I need your heart as well as your outward obedience.”

A small smile came and went on Ankhmahor’s mouth, and nodding once, he stepped from the chariot. Bowing low, he walked to where his own charioteer waited. Kamose watched him spring up onto the floor of the vehicle, white kilt swirling about his long thighs, golden commander’s armbands flashing in the brightness of the afternoon. “Let us go,” Kamose said to his own charioteer. With a jerk, his chariot pulled free of the clotting sand, and with Ankhmahor and the Followers behind he set off towards Het nefer Apu.

He had just rolled in under the shade of the trees when he saw his brother’s chariot coming towards him. He had scarcely come to a halt before Ahmose began to shout. “Pezedkhu has pulled his troops! He is leaving, Kamose! The scouts told me that you have made a massacre. Re-form your divisions and let us give chase! Eighty thousand men against his sixty! Look!” He was pointing excitedly north to where clouds of dust were blowing. Kamose thought quickly.

“Did you engage him at all?” he snapped.

“A few skirmishes, nothing more. Kay Abana took his men off his ship and chased Pezedkhu’s eastern flank as it withdrew. There was some bloodshed but I have no details yet. Pezedkhu would not commit to a battle, Kamose. He knew the state of the men coming out of the desert. He weighed the odds and decided to flee. Hurry!” The chariots were abreast now. Ahmose was beating the rim of his vehicle with the flat of his hand in an agony of impatience, his entourage tense behind him, their faces upturned to Kamose. A dozen scenes were played out in Kamose’s mind before he spoke. He shook his head.

“No, Ahmose. Let him go. It would not be eighty thousand against sixty. Four of our divisions are out there tired and filthy, with blunt swords and spent arrows. They need rest and refurbishment before they can chase any more Setiu. That leaves forty thousand men. Of those, twenty-five belong to the ships. We would have to take them from the river. Pezedkhu will be moving fast. Have him scouted, but I think we must let him return unharmed to Het-Uart.”

“The coward!” Ahmose blurted. “He did not send one man to help his fellows. Not one, Kamose!”

“Of course not,” Kamose replied quietly. “And neither would we. He knew that they were doomed and he would not send good men to die as well. He will have a disturbing report to make to his master, Ahmose. I pity him. But think. We have reduced the Setiu strength in Egypt by at least sixty thousand. Turn your chariot around and I will meet you in the tent.”

They were cheered as they approached the Nile. Townsmen as well as the troops that had waited with Ahmose set up a cheerful clamour. Paheri and both Abanas stood before the brothers’ tent. Only the younger Abana looked sour, his expression pained as he rose from his obeisance. Kamose paused and looked him up and down. “I am told that you emptied the North and pursued the enemy,” he remarked. “Who ordered you to do that, my impulsive young firebrand?” Kay flushed.

“Majesty, I could see them flitting through the trees, angling west towards the desert,” he answered hotly. “Our orders were to remain where we were for the present, but my ship was berthed in the most northerly position on the river. I saw the Setiu moving to enter the desert fray. I could not wait to be told what to do! I had to harry them!”

“They were in fact retreating towards the desert so as to leave Het nefer Apu and return to the Delta,” Kamose pointed out gently. “Did you lose any of my marines?” Kay was affronted.

“Certainly not, Lord! We managed to kill twenty-eight Setiu. They refused to stand and fight. They kept running away.”

“And you were compelled to restore the reputation of your ship after its poor showing at the mock battle,” Kamose said. “Did you take the hands?”

“No, Majesty.” Kay’s face lit up. “But we stripped them of some very fine swords and axes.” There was a burst of spontaneous laughter from the assembled men.

“It was bravely done but very foolish, Kay,” Kamose warned. “In the future I expect you to follow the orders of your superiors, who might perhaps know a little more than you regarding the strategies of engagement. Do not be impatient. Your day will come.” He pushed past them, knowing that unlike theirs, his laughter had been forced. The anger that had burst forth at Ankhmahor was the only spurt of emotion he had felt and his heart had returned to a stony insensibility.

Ankhmahor had followed them inside while the Followers took up their station around the tent. Kamose motioned him to a stool and himself sank onto the edge of his cot. “Wine, Akhtoy,” he requested. “But not too much. We must absorb the reports that will begin to pour in soon from the battlefield.” There was a silence fraught with a sense of anticlimax while the steward poured. Then Ahmose stirred and raised his cup.

“A thanks to Amun,” he said solemnly and they drank. The bitter liquid caught in Kamose’s throat, scoring its way into his stomach and spreading its instant warmth, but it did not quench his thirst. With a strange compulsion he reached for the jug of water kept fresh beside his cot and drained it, allowing the last few drops to splatter onto his neck and trickle down his chest. “What happened out there?” Ahmose wanted to know. “Have we lost any men?”

Kamose did not reply and after some hesitation Ankhmahor spoke.

“I do not think so, Highness, but we will know better when the officers make their reports,” he said. “Nor do we know what strength we defeated. The hand count will tell.” Kamose grunted.

“Defeated?” he said harshly. “I will not use that word until Het-Uart is ours and Apepa strung up on his palace wall. No one was defeated. Many men were slaughtered, massacred, butchered, however you wish to say it.” He emphasized his speech, trying to take its meaning into himself, but it remained without and himself invulnerable. “I want to know what fate has overtaken Ramose. None of this would have been possible unless he had seduced Apepa.”

“We may never know,” Ahmose said. “What now, Kamose? Do we march north and institute a belated siege on Het-Uart? Do we have any idea how many soldiers Apepa still has?” Kamose sighed. The jug was empty, yet still he craved water.

“We will assess this day, allow the men to celebrate and sleep, hold a meeting with the Princes, and then decide what to do,” he told his brother. “I must dictate a letter to Tetisheri, but later. Truthfully, Ahmose, all I want is to be lying in our bath house in Weset while the masseur pounds scented oil into my skin and my skiff waits by the watersteps with my fishing rod and throwing stick.” A voice requesting admittance came muffled through the tent flap and Kamose roused himself with a sigh. “The first report is here,” he finished. “Let him come in.”

For the rest of the afternoon and long after sunset the brothers listened to a steadily multiplying account of the victory. First in the tent and later in the coolness of the evening beside the river they received one officer after another. The hand count had finally been made. Ten thousand and nineteen Setiu lay slain, their bodies now food for the desert predators, their weapons in the possession of the exultant Egyptians who began to drink and sing as soon as the cooking fires were lit. There were no serious injuries among Kamose’s divisions. Not a man had been lost.

The Princes began to gather under the torchlight where Kamose and Ahmose sat sipping their wine, answering Kamose’s queries with the assurances that weapons were being cleaned and sharpened, harness repaired, and the soldiers fed. “They will whore and carouse until dawn,” Intef grumbled, “but I suppose they deserve it. I only hope that in their drunkenness they do not antagonize the townspeople.”

“The officers patrol the town tonight,” Iasen answered him. “I do not think we need to worry. Indeed, the citizens of Het nefer Apu seem almost as relieved as we are to see the Setiu destroyed. Pezedkhu would not have been kind to them if he had won.”

“What a noise!” Makhu exclaimed, looking beyond the area of peace around them where the Followers formed a circle of protection to the darkness under the trees and the fitful glare of the fires along the bank. “They will be a sorry sight tomorrow. Will you give them a day of laziness, Majesty?”

“Yes.” Kamose straightened in his chair. “One day to sleep. Perhaps two. I am waiting for word regarding the Setiu chariots before we quit this place.” He smiled. “I envy the soldiers their celebration,” he went on. “If we get drunk, it must be politely, in the privacy of our tents and at a time when we expect no threats. Where is your son, Ankhmahor?”

“Patrolling the streets,” Ankhmahor told him. “Majesty, I think I speak for all of us when I ask to know your mind regarding the remainder of the campaigning season. The month of Pakhons is now far advanced. In another three the river will begin to rise. You command a vast number of troops, and if you intend to continue north to Het-Uart, you will have little time for a siege.” He hesitated and Intef stepped in.

“We are your nobles,” he said bluntly. “Your mind is opened to us first.” He cast a sidelong glance at Hor-Aha sitting quietly on the ground just out of reach of the light from the two lamps flickering on the table. “In return we are honoured when you seek our advice. May we give it now?” Kamose sighed inwardly, seeing the anxious set of their faces.

“Very well,” he responded. Intef leaned forward eagerly.

“We have struck a formidable blow against Apepa this year,” he began. “Not only has Pezedkhu been forced to retrench but there is no longer any doubt that all Egypt but for a portion of the Delta is in your hands. We wish you to relinquish any thought of another siege until next year.” His gaze travelled across his companions. Iasen nodded. “We have all been receiving regular letters from our nomes and our families,” Intef pressed on. “We are needed elsewhere, Majesty. The harvest approaches and the men who should be in the fields are in your army. The task is too great for the women alone. Every grain of wheat, every bulb of garlic is precious, given the depredations of the campaign last year.”

“So you want me to disband the army, temporarily of course, and let you take your peasants home for the harvest.” There was something in Intef’s avidity that Kamose did not like. The man’s eyes, feverish in the yellow glow, were roving restlessly and his beringed fingers scraped against one another. “When did you have the time to discuss this proposition, my lords?”

“While we waited for the arrival of Apepa’s eastern army, Majesty,” Iasen explained, his voice soothing. “We debated the matter and decided that if we were victorious we would ask this of you.”

“And if not?” Ahmose’s tone was cold. Iasen spread out his hands in a questioning gesture.

“We did not doubt that His Majesty’s plan for the destruction of the enemy would work, therefore we spent little time on the alternative,” he said. “As it happens, the plan did work.”

“You have not answered His Highness,” Kamose said curtly. “And do not forget that my brother and I were only responsible for the details of the plan. Its overall conception belonged to the Prince Hor-Aha.” There was an uncomfortable hiatus. Intef looked down at his busy fingers. Iasen made a small moue. Mesehti, Makhu and Ankhmahor simply watched Kamose, who after a moment began to smile slowly.

“As you have probably noted, there have been promotions among my sailors and marines,” he said conversationally and with a seeming irrelevance. “For instance, on the recommendation of Paheri, I appointed Kay Abana captain of his own ship. There have also been promotions among the ranks of your soldiers, particularly of common men from infantry to charioteers with the concomitant title of officer, on your advice. But I have done nothing to elevate any member of the Medjay archers in spite of the fact that they have acquitted themselves with exemplary skill and obeyed their Prince without demur.” He inclined his head at Hor-Aha who had remained motionless, his dark body blending with the night around him, only the shine of his eyes and the white smudge of his kilt betraying his presence. Ahmose placed a warning hand on Kamose’s knee but he ignored the gesture. “The captains of the ships in which they sailed have spoken highly of them but their Prince has said nothing,” Kamose went on crisply. “Why is that?” He leaned across the table and fixed them with a stare. “It is because, like a good commander, the Prince has no wish to cause dissent among his fellows.” His palm came down on the surface of the table with a resounding slap. “I had thought that by now, having marched and fought together, you were beyond this dangerous prejudice,” he almost shouted, “but I can see that I am mistaken. I intend to promote one hundred Medjay to the rank of Instructor of Retainers and distribute them among your divisions. They will each have one hundred of your best archers under them and they in turn will train others. They will be given officer privileges and responsibilities. Now you will hear my will.” He sat back again and folded his arms. “You may disband your divisions. Three thousand of your troops may go home until the Inundation is over. One thousand stay here to guard us from the north. One thousand come to Weset with me on active duty. Thus I leave eleven thousand men at Het nefer Apu and take eleven thousand to Weset. I will discuss with Paheri the disposition of the navy. All of you will travel with me to make sacrifices in the temple of Amun before you go to your several nomes. While you fritter away your time before the next battle season, you will send me regular reports on the state of your governorships and other holdings. Are we agreed?” It was obvious that they longed to meet each other’s eyes but did not dare. Solemnly they regarded Kamose, sitting smiling across at them, until Intef cleared his throat.

“We are your servants, Majesty,” he croaked. And then more confidently, “It is wise to secure our northern border with the Setiu and of course with Teti the Handsome in Kush, and we thank you for allowing us and our peasants a chance to greet our loved ones again. As to the matter of the Medjay …” He swallowed, and it was Iasen who continued.

“I think we would all agree that the tribesmen have acquitted themselves magnificently, Majesty,” he said. “Many deserve promotion. But let it be within their own ranks. Let those selected to be officers command their own kin. If you place them over Egyptians, there will be trouble.” Kamose inclined his head mockingly.

“I seem to remember a similar objection many months ago,” he said. “It was pointless then. It is merely stupid now. A gaggle of peasants has been forged into an army with which the Medjay have merged. Indispensably, I might remind you all. I have spoken. It will be done.” He rose and at once they rose with him, reverencing him silently, but he read anger in their stiffly bending spines.

Beckoning Ankhmahor and Hor-Aha, he left them, entering his tent while Akhtoy scrambled to bring the lamps. Ahmose turned to face him.

“Kamose, I do not think …” he began, but Kamose put up a hand.

“I do,” he said distinctly. “You know that it is just and proper, Ahmose.”

“Yes, but there are more tactful ways of reminding the Princes that they are under your thumb,” Ahmose muttered. “Trouble in the ranks is one thing. Trouble among the bluebloods is quite another. Let us hope that the glory of this day will temporarily appease their ire.”

The four men settled themselves comfortably on cushions scattered over the carpet that hid the hard earth beneath. Kamose dismissed the servants. The noise of merrymaking along the riverbank was a constant undercurrent to their desultory conversation. Music came fitfully floating to them in the occasional lulls between the shouts of the soldiers, by now happily drunk, and the shrieks and laughter of the women who had joined them. “I hope the mayor of the town and the officers can indeed keep control of the situation,” Ahmose remarked. “It would be sad to march out of Het nefer Apu on a tide of ill-will after the months of good co-operation between army and townsfolk.”

“I do not think we need to worry,” Kamose answered absently, his mind returning to Ramose in anxious impotence. “The men are cheerful and therefore compliant. They will grumble and bicker tomorrow when their heads ache, but not now.” He was sitting on the floor with his back against the edge of his cot, one arm up along the mattress, the other cradling his wine.

“I have had word from my tribesmen in Wawat, Majesty,” Hor-Aha said unexpectedly. “It came yesterday. Forgive me for keeping it from you, but we were all occupied with Pezedkhu. There is trouble brewing in the south.”

“What kind of trouble?”

Hor-Aha put down his cup and drew a finger across his mouth. “The Kushites are taking advantage of the fact that many men from Wawat are here with you. They are pushing north into Wawat territory. I have not told my Medjay of this. They would want to leave at once and go home to defend their villages if I did.” Ankhmahor frowned.

“I know little of the territory beyond the cataracts,” he said, “but I remember my history lessons. The men of Kush have always coveted Wawat. Why?”

“Gold,” Ahmose drawled. He was lying on his side, his head propped on one elbow. “Wawat has gold and Kush wants it for trade. Our ancestors built several forts in Wawat for the single purpose of protecting the gold. I too remember my lessons. The history of the land beyond Weset is of great importance to us in the south. Wawat is our neighbour.”

“How pressing is the need for action?” Kamose asked his General with a sinking heart.

“It is not yet imperative,” Hor-Aha told him. “But if Your Majesty will not allow the Medjay to go home, they will no longer fight well.” Kamose was thinking swiftly.

“I wonder if Teti-En is behind the unrest in Wawat,” he mused. “I have been pondering the advisability of another assault on Het-Uart, particularly now that Pezedkhu knows our full strength. I did not want to give him a chance to adjust and prepare a more successful campaign. But I cannot go north with the possibility of another front opening in the south. Does Teti-En have his eye on Weset?”

“I do not think so,” Ahmose objected. “He has appeared to be quite indifferent to Apepa’s plight. It is more likely that he is using our preoccupation with the north to march on Wawat and annex it for his own ends. Once he has control of it, then he of course also controls the ancient forts. Will his ambition grow? That is the question.”

“Your pardon, Prince, but that is not the question to me or to my tribesmen,” Hor-Aha put in vehemently. “The Medjay have been indispensable to you. They have come a long way to fight for you. They will expect you now to fight for them.”

“What, go into Wawat?” Ahmose blinked. Kamose took his arm from the cot and ran a hand through his hair. He met Hor-Aha’s gaze and read a challenge there for the first time. The knowledge jolted him.

“Tell me, General, are the Medjay members of my army or are they merely allies?” he asked evenly. “Who ultimately has command of them, me or you? Are we speaking of mutiny in my ranks or the rights inherent in an alliance?” The room went suddenly still. Ankhmahor sat with both hands around his cup, his eyes resolutely downcast. Kamose and Hor-Aha continued to stare tensely at one another. It was Ahmose who broke the uncomfortable silence.

“It is indeed a delicate point,” he said soothingly, “one we have not had to consider before. Let us think of it as irrelevant, Kamose. If Wawat is in danger from Teti-En, then Weset may also be threatened. It would make sense to take a small punitive force down there. After all,” he finished reasonably, “you have told the Princes that you intend to leave eleven thousand troops here at Het nefer Apu. If Apepa remains true to form, he will not leave the Delta. Our northern flank is safe for the present. We can go south during the Inundation.”

My dear Ahmose, ever the peacemaker, Kamose thought hotly but he did not say the words. Instead he made himself nod at his General, raise his eyebrows, and purse his lips as though in reflection.

“I owe you and the Medjay a debt,” he said as calmly as he could. “All you had to do was request my help, Hor-Aha. I have always trusted you. Could you not trust me?” He had the pleasure of seeing the man’s eyes falter and drop.

“Your pardon, Majesty,” he said in a low voice. “I am anxious that the Medjay not be seen as flighty savages by the Princes who scorn them and me. Their homes are threatened. They cannot put the good of Egypt ahead of that. In some respects they are indeed as primitive as children. I humbly beg your help in Wawat.”

Humbly? Kamose thought, upending his cup and drinking to hide the expression of disdain he could not repress. There is not a humble bone in that powerful black body of yours, my clever General. If I choose to go into Wawat, it will not be to restore a few ramshackle huts to your half-wild aliens. “Bring me the message you received,” he said. “I want to see it. What you are asking requires at least some planning, Hor-Aha, and I am tired. It has been a long day. Bring it tomorrow morning.” It was clear that Hor-Aha had understood completely. Setting down his cup he rose to his feet and bowed.

“Your Majesty is gracious,” he said tonelessly and turning he stalked out of the tent. Ankhmahor also stood.

“I must undertake a last inspection of your guard before I sleep,” he explained. But on reaching the tent flap he hesitated. “Be careful, Kamose,” he said quietly. “Be very careful.” His obeisance was slow and deliberate, a mark of genuine respect. Then he was gone.

The brothers looked at one another in a lull that only extended as far as the limpid circle of friendly lamplight. Outside, the cacophony of revelry went on. Then Ahmose said, “What just happened here, Kamose?” Kamose flung himself onto his cot, kicking off his sandals.

“What happened is that our beloved General made an error,” he said shortly. “Hor-Aha let slip a glimpse of the true nature of his ka.”

“He is concerned for his countrymen,” Ahmose protested. “His worry and his fear that you would not understand them made him incautious.”

Kamose laughed bitterly. “Incautious? Yes indeed! He threatened us, Ahmose! Or did you miss that small fact?”

“You are being overly suspicious,” Ahmose said, coming over to him and perching beside his legs. “Look at it sanely, Kamose. Kush is encroaching on Wawat. Hor-Aha wants to release the Medjay to deal with the problem. He is loyal to us but he understands his men. He tells us exactly what he fears if we neither let them go nor agree to help them. What is wrong with that? Do you not value such honesty?”

“Of course I do!” Kamose snapped. “It was not the words he spoke but the thing I heard in his voice and saw in his eyes, a flash of something arrogant yet sly. We are sensible men. Both of us appreciate the need to do something about the situation. Both of us see how we may further earn Medjay loyalty by sending or even leading Egyptian troops into Wawat, at the same time curbing any ambitions Teti-En may have and securing those old forts. Hor-Aha is an intelligent man. He sees all this. He could have put it to us differently.” He folded his hands on his naked chest and turned his head to look at Ahmose. “But somehow he made a mistake. He let us see a flash of his well-hidden ambition. I think that he wants to set himself up as an independent Prince of Wawat. Not now, perhaps, but in time. With our inadvertent aid.”

“But, Kamose, he carries our father’s blood on his belt,” Ahmose reminded him. “He loved Seqenenra. He has served us with unswerving fealty.”

“All that is true,” Kamose admitted. “But years have passed since our father died. Men change. Circumstances change. Opportunities arise that can sometimes waken dark regions in a man’s soul that tendril through everything that he is.”

“That is insane!” Ahmose exclaimed. “You are speaking of someone you have befriended, indeed championed against our own countrymen, Kamose! Hor-Aha is like our own kin!” Kamose gave an odd smile.

“Is he?” he whispered. “I do not know any more. In any case, Ahmose, we have a much better reason for marching into Wawat than the rescue of the Medjay, although we do want to stay in their good graces. We need gold.” He struggled to a sitting position. “Gold for trade with Keftiu. Gold to pay the Princes. Gold to restore the old palace. So far Wawat’s gold has gone into Apepa’s coffers, but no more. We will not tell Hor-Aha this, of course. We will be all concern for our Medjay allies. Do you think we might offer the Medjay a home in Egypt, Ahmose? Build them a town where their families can live, and make them a part of the permanent army I intend to establish? Hor-Aha knows perfectly well how important they are to us. Damn him! Is there no one I can fully trust?”

“Perhaps not,” Ahmose responded thoughtfully. “But what King could ever ultimately depend on anyone but the gods? You are wrong about Hor-Aha, Kamose. You need to sleep on these misgivings of yours to see how insubstantial they are. You need to go home for a while.” He sighed. “So do I. I would like to be there for Aahmes-nefertari when she gives birth next month.” Kamose’s expression softened.

“I had forgotten,” he said apologetically. “Pezedkhu drove the remembrance from my mind. We will go back to Weset and then south to Wawat. Oh, Ahmose.” He closed his eyes. “Will there ever come a day without alarms of any kind?”

He slept fitfully and then more deeply, as somewhere in his dreams he became aware that the cacophony outside had finally died away. When he woke, it was to full sunlight and an unnaturally quiet atmosphere. Ahmose was still on his cot and snoring gently, curled up on his side, one cheek pillowed in his palm. Slipping his feet into a pair of worn reed sandals and wrapping his limp kilt of the day before around his waist, Kamose stepped out into the blinding glare of the morning.

The Followers to either side of the tent’s entrance came to attention and saluted him, and a man who had been crouching a little way away rose and stood smiling, a cup in one hand and a hunk of bread in the other. He was thin, with dark smudges under his eyes and an unfamiliar gauntness to his features, but with a rush of pure joy Kamose recognized him. “Ramose, Ramose!” he cried, and striding forward he enveloped the younger man in a crushing embrace. “How is it that you are here? Have you been squatting outside the tent all night? But surely not! I thought … Well, I do not know what I thought! Akhtoy, where are you? Hot food at once!” He released Ramose, who set his cup on the ground and shook the spilled droplets of water from his hand.

“Two of your scouts found me out on the desert,” he explained. “They brought me in yesterday, but they had to wait until the battle was over. I was exhausted, Majesty. I had to sleep.” Kamose wanted to hug him again. If the guards had not been watching, he would have danced his way back into the tent. Instead he put an arm around Ramose’s shoulders and drew him inside to where Ahmose was sitting up, bleary-eyed.

“I wondered what all the shouting was about,” he mumbled. “Ramose! I knew you would turn up eventually. You look terrible.” He gave a yawn that turned into a wide grin. “Welcome back. Give me a moment to appreciate the morning and then share your news.”

“Believe me, Highness, I am here against great odds,” Ramose said. “I am in no hurry to recount my adventures. I am still savouring the delights of safety and freedom.” He was smiling, but Kamose noticed that his knees trembled as he lowered himself onto a stool. Akhtoy, prompt and self-effacing as always, had entered with his servants behind him bearing the first meal of the day. He began to set it out. The bread was still warm from the town ovens and the fresh dates gleamed on their bed of lettuce leaves, the first of that season. Inet-fish and Nile perch sent out a fragrant garlic-scented steam. Dark beer frothed in the cups. At Kamose’s gesture the three men began to eat, and not until the dishes were scoured did Kamose fling his linen napkin onto a tray and invite his friend to speak.

“But tell us of Tani first,” Ahmose said. “Did you see her? Is she well?” A shadow passed across Ramose’s sun-ravaged face. He took a mouthful of his beer and swallowed it slowly before replying. Then he sighed.

“You will not like what I have to say,” he told them. “Tani is now a wife to Apepa.” He continued to speak, recounting his meeting with their sister, giving them her words and his with clarity and bitterness. It was obvious to Kamose, himself listening with a mounting incredulity, that the intensity and immediacy of the interview had branded Ramose forever and its scars would never fade. “I did not try to persuade her to escape with me,” Ramose said. “There would have been no point. She has been utterly duped by that foreign scum.” He clenched his teeth and fought for control before going on. “She sends you her love and begs for your understanding.”

“Understanding! She is insane if she imagines that I will either forgive or forget her betrayal!” Kamose exploded. “This news will destroy her mother! What can I say to you, my friend? Nothing can touch your grief.”

Ahmose had gone white to his lips. “We will think of her as a casualty of war,” he said huskily. “We must, Kamose, or we shall be reduced to impotence every time we remember her. She is a sacrifice, one of the costs the family has paid to the gods in return for victory.” He swallowed noisily. “At least she still lives. That is something for which we must be grateful.”

“I do not wish to discuss her any more,” Kamose retorted. His incredulity had turned to a rage that sent the blood pounding in his ears, his eyes, so that he could hardly hear or see for the force of its drumming. “I will remember her as she was in the days of her innocence. Everything else I deny!” Ramose looked at him bleakly.

“I have had time to absorb the shock, Majesty,” he said. “Since I stood before her in that luxurious room and saw her so beautiful, so unapproachable … Since then I have walked with death holding my hand. Her words will remain as sharp as a serpent’s fangs in my memory, but I will no longer dwell on the time when I loved her and we planned our future together. To do so would be to reject the gift of life the gods allowed me in the desert. I am resolved to keep my attention fixed on the present as far as my wounded ka will bear.”

“But I do not understand it!” Kamose roared. “I will never understand! She is a Tao! How was she able to jettison her family pride in favour of that … that …” He was being strangled. He could not breathe.

“Our revenge will be in driving every Setiu from our borders, Kamose,” Ahmose said urgently. “We will not dissipate our energies in recrimination. We will not lose sight of our goal. Now, Ramose. We need to hear of Het-Uart, the palace, the troops still quartered there, your experience with the eastern army.” His words were calming but his voice shook. “Who commanded the army that perished out there?” Ramose nodded and glanced at Kamose.

“The General assigned to the eastern army was one Kethuna,” he said. “He is dead. I saw his body on the battlefield as the scouts were bringing me in yesterday. Pezedkhu did not like the plan, you know, but Apepa insisted on it. He is truly a fool. The one hundred and twenty-four thousand troops that left Het-Uart represent perhaps one-half of Apepa’s combined forces. He has been sent reinforcements by his so-called brothers in Rethennu. They continue to enter the Delta along the Horus Road …” He talked on.

Kamose did his best to concentrate on what Ramose was saying, but the fires of his rage and hurt continued to scorch him and it was not until Ramose began to recount the panic and dismay of the army when it found the waters of the oasis undrinkable that he came completely to himself. Then he listened attentively.

“I wish I had been with you as you walked towards the Nile,” he said with malicious fervour. “The chariots fired, the soldiers staggering and falling and gasping for water. I wish I had been there. I gloat, Ahmose. I rejoice. Forgive me but I cannot help it.” Ramose had paused to drink again, his voice hoarse from so much talk. “We will go home now,” Kamose went on. “The scouts will return today with the news that the chariots are irretrievable. The hand count is complete. The enemy’s weapons are in our possession.” He rose carefully, nursing the sudden pain that had blossomed in his gut. “Thank you, Ramose,” he managed. “You are a brave man, an Egyptian worthy of this mighty country. You have earned a royal wife, a princely title, a fertile estate. It is my shame that I cannot yet bestow these things upon you.”

Ramose stood also and faced him. “Majesty, I am tired in body and soul,” he half-whispered. “It is said that the gods take those they love and hone and temper them until they become as bright and pure and indomitable as new swords in the hands of mighty warriors. Perhaps they love me inordinately, for I have taken all that any man may be expected to bear, yet I survive. I want them to leave me alone now. Let me swim and hunt duck in the Weset marshes and make love to faceless women. Let me hold my mother in my arms.” He gave a twisted half-smile. “Take me home with you, Great One, take me home. I need to heal.” He bowed, placed both palms tenderly on Kamose’s chest, and left the tent.