Andre Norton - Shadow Hawk (11 page)

Rahotep swung his feet from the couch and sat up, staring into the dark. How he knew this, or why, he could not have explained. But in that moment he was certain that if he had any choice in the future, it would be to serve under Ahmose. And, as if he had made the necessary decision, he straightway found the sleep that had eluded him earlier.

The summons to assemble his men and march them to the field of warriors came early the next morning via Nereb. Since the heat of the day was such that the sun punished those laboring under it, any training must be held before Re's Boat was in mid-sky. The northern commander had put aside his dress uniform and appeared in the simple kilt of a field officer, marching beside Rahotep as a guide.

Yellow dust was churned up from the broad expanse of the level, sun-baked soil where chariots seesawed into line. The impatient stallions reared and squealed, and then, at the flash of their commander's baton, thundered across in a spearhead formation led by the vehicle of the Prince Kamose. Rahotep, watching that charge, could now well understand the downfall of Egyptian arms when such an advance had been turned on spearmen and bowmen by the Hyksos who had poured into the Two Lands generations earlier. But also he could estimate, with eyes narrowed against the sunlight, how a company of well-placed archers could deal havoc. A horse, even when galloping, was a larger target than a man. Pick off the horses and your chariots would crash and foul against each other. Your spearhead would crumple in upon itself.

Kheti's archer-wise eyes had marked that as quickly. "A volley from the right and left, Lord," he remarked, "and those wheels would cease to turn. Though I grant you they have speed, and the archers would have but a single chance and needs must be well placed to do it!"

Nereb turned to them with an intent look. "You both believe that your archers could break such a charge?" he half challenged.

"It is as Kheti has said. The ground must be right, the archers posted properly, and it must be well timed—there would only be an instant or two in which all would be just right. But—given those instants, aye, even a gang of Kush raiders could cause you trouble. Nubian bows have both the power and the range."

"You may have to make good that boast," warned the other.

"It is no boast, Lord," Rahotep returned. "I have seen Hori of my command drive an arrow clear through an oryx while it fled. And all of my men are proven marksmen."

Nereb left them to report to his superiors, and it seemed that they were not to have an early opportunity to prove their skill and so win formal admission to the ranks before them. The archers grew restless, grumbling in half whispers. And those whispers became pointed criticism at the performance of a company of bowmen using the shorter bow of the north and shooting at targets the Nubians viewed with open contempt. Only his presence, Rahotep knew, kept those comments from being voiced aloud.

He was heartily tired of breathing dust, baking in the sun, and standing without employment, when a runner dodged around a company of spearmen, to reach the Scout archers.

"Lord," he panted to the captain. "Pharaoh would look upon you—come!"

They followed the messenger at a jog trot in a zigzag path to avoid chariots and footmen, until they came up before a platform on which was a folding stool under a sun canopy. Two fanbearers kept the sultry air moving over the blue war helmet of the man who sat there. Captain and archers alike, they prostrated themselves before the Lord of the Two Lands.

"Pharaoh would see the power of your arms, Captain. Let your men fire at the targets." It was the Prince Kamose who advanced to relay the order. And Rahotep, not daring to look up at the face beneath that blue helmet, worked his way backward through the dust until it was permissible to rise and face the stuffed cowhide bags being set up on the range.

He frowned at the shortness of that range and, forgetting everything but the necessity of doing their best, waved the targets back and yet back again, though the men setting them were agitated at his gestures.

"Each man will fire in turn," he said to Kheti, "and then two volleys together upon signal."

"Even so, Lord," the other agreed and passed along the order.

One after another the Nubians stepped to the line, the huge bows were bent, and arrows sang through the air, to be buried feather-deep in the hide targets. Kheti took his place, and, last of all, Rahotep, the silver bracer winking on his hand. Though his bow was less than these his men carried, it was made to the same pattern and his aim was as good.

Then, as one man, the archers drew into a level line, Kheti at one end, Rahotep at the other. The captain threw a quick glance along the line and then his lips shaped a whistle. Twelve arrows flew almost as one, and all twelve hit the targets. A hum of comment arose from the watching officers and men, but a messenger came from Pharaoh's platform.

"It is Pharaoh's will that you fire against moving targets now," the officer told Rahotep. "They shall release birds from a net. Let your men be ready."

What followed was much like the exhibition they had given Nereb on the Nile ship. None of the birds got across the field to freedom. And Rahotep was given orders to approach the platform once again. He stood with bowed head to hear the Lord of the Two Lands speak for the first time.

"It is pleasing that Captain Rahotep and his men be taken into our service. Let them be enrolled as Scouts attached to the troops of the Prince Kamose."

"Life! Prosperity! Health!" Rahotep voiced the conventional answer. "May the Son of Re live forever!"

He was turning over in his hands with a vast pride the new Captain's flail that had been presented to him, admiring the lion head on its butt, when a chariot pulled up in a puff of dust. Its driver, controlling the impatient horse with ease, leaned over the rail to call to Rahotep.

"Captain!"

He recognized Ahmose, the prince's broad face framed by a linen headdress as simple as his own but bearing the royal
uraeus.
He saluted with his newly won baton and hurried closer.

"Tomorrow we hunt lions in the desert strip. Since your men are noted Scouts, let them display their talents in that manner—as well as they have shown their marksmanship here today." He smiled. "It is in my mind, Captain, to attach to my heels a cub like unto yours—if we can flush out any such. At any reckoning, we should have good sport—very good sport—" He spoke the last words slowly as if they might convey some double meaning. Then he released the reins and whirled away.

"That is a great lord, brother." Kheti had come up behind his commander. "A true warrior by his looks."

"That is the Prince Ahmose"—Rahotep corrected him with a hint of sharpness—"the younger of the Royal Sons."

"So?" Kheti watched the rapidly dwindling chariot across the training plain. "Well, still I say he is a warrior before he is an officer—or a Royal Son. What wished he of you, Lord?"

"That we go with him tomorrow for the hunting of lions. He desires to see our Scout craft—"

Kheti nodded. There was satisfaction in his tone as he replied: "And so he will, Lord. I trust that one may someday come into Nubia—for Teti will not find him an easy mouthful in any feasting! Aye, Scouts we shall be, and if any lions lie in this land, they shall come forth for his sport!"

The archers, now accepted into the royal command, were given a section of the barracks, a small side building opening on a court, which offered them semiprivacy. Rahotep and Kheti had a room to themselves, and the others spread their sleeping mats in a hall. This was infinitely better than their quarters at Kah-hi, and when they were supplied with good rubbing oil, excellent rations, and not called upon for immediate duty, they chanted their praises of this new life.

Hori produced one of the small hand drums of his people to mark time, and one after another the men joined in the warriors' dance, which was a part of their training, its body movements designed to keep a man both lithe and quick on his feet.

Then, as they flung themselves panting to earth, they were aware of a group of newcomers, some of the spear-armed infantry by their dress. They were escorting a taller man, his skin glistening with oil, only a brief cloth about his loins. Rahotep grinned, knowing well the reason for such an approach—the old challenge to be faced by any company new to a fort. And he glanced around to see Mereruka already rising to his feet, unbuckling his kilt belt, while his fellows sat up alertly, bringing out of their belt pouches small personal possessions that were good items for wagering. Having seen Mereruka in action, most of them indeed having served as his easily thrown wrestling partners, none of the Scouts had any doubt about the ability of their champion.

If these northerners thought their man fit to stand against a Scout, especially one whose skill had enabled his comrades to beggar most of the frontier posts of the Kush border, they had better take second and longer thoughts. With sighs of pure happiness the Nubians settled down to what they knew would be a profitable evening. Truly Dedun smiled upon them this day!

Chapter 7

"LION" HUNT

The hunting party set out from the barracks before dawn, in order to be well on its way before the full heat of the sun hit the desert lands. And for the second time Rahotep shared a chariot, holding on with one hand to the rim of the bucket as Nereb, at the reins, rocked them along in the wake of the prince's more resplendent vehicle. His men were pattering on ahead with the houndboys, having been given a good hour's start on the drivers.

"A bull of Min's temple herd was pulled down by lions this month," Nereb said between jolts. "There is a pair of young males seemingly without fear of man."

As Nereb spoke, Rahotep was assessing the equipment lashed to the sides of the chariots. Throwing spears—aye, a trained hunter used throwing spears against lions—and the bow case and quiver were also usual. But he continued to use his eyes and make no comments on the two shields that the pressure of Nereb's knees kept in a standing position before him. Nor had the captain missed the fact that Nereb's spearmen had padded off along with the houndboys earlier.
They
might be required as beaters, that was true. On the other hand, there was surely no need for them to perform that duty in complete battle array.

As the chariots made a turn from the Theban road onto a wide expanse of black baked clay, which, when flooded a month or so later, would be productive fields, Rahotep approached the subject indirectly.

"How far south do the Hyksos hold?"

"From a day's journey north of Thebes our people still pay tribute. But their first fortress is again a sunrise away. Twenty years ago Thebes loaded tribute ships and invader princes sat in government here—"

"You expelled them? Why did they not then return in force?"

Nereb smiled, an odd cold smile. "They did not go, they died. Their god turned his face from them and there was a plague. What man can raise bow or spear against the sickness that strikes between sunrise and sunset?
Their
king sent a message unto the Lord of Thebes saying he was awakened by the snorting of the hippopotami of the river and that we should clear our land of anything that displeased him. So with those who returned his governor's body to him, we sent also the hides of hippopotami. But it seemed that with those hides went also the curse of Amon-Re, for the sons of Set sickened and the plague struck into their ranks, though it did not harm those who obeyed the true gods. And fearing the illness, the barbarians made a decree to withdraw from the south until the danger was past. Only it seems that that time has not come yet. There are tales that in the lands of the Semitics there has been much trouble and that the King of the Hyksos needs must turn his attention to putting down rebellion there." Nereb shrugged. "It matters not how it has come about—plague, curse, or trouble beyond the rim of the world, but they have given us a space in which to set about the preparations for their undoing."

There were odd gaps in Nereb's story to Rahotep's mind, a certain evasiveness on some points. Also he noted that they were now traveling a northward route. But he shelved his suspicions when they came at last to a wide waste area where dried reed beds and papyrus thickets stood brittle and sere on the parched land. Smoke, black and thick, curled up from isolated points in a semicircle and moved slowly forward through the craclding reed forests, marking the advance of the beaters with their torches, the smell of which was designed to rout out any lion that was lying up after a good night's hunting.

The dogs, freed from their leashes, were yapping excitedly, their paths through the dead and dried wilderness marked by the wild waving of yellow reed crowns. There was a deep, coughing roar. Nereb had pulled the reins of his chariot horse about his waist as he would do in battle, leaving his hands free for the throwing spear he drew from its carrying thongs. Rahotep, a little uneasy as to marksmanship from his unsteady footing, selected an arrow and set it to bow cord.

Their chariot was to the left of that driven by the prince, and on the opposite side of Ahmose's position was a stranger to Rahotep, an older man in civilian dress who had a driver to manage his horse while he handled a short spear. By custom Ahmose would be allowed the first cast at any lion breaking between either chariot, and the prince had followed Nereb's example of reins about the waist, a war bow in his hands.

The horses had been well trained, holding their places without movement, their heads high, their ears pricked forward a little as if to catch any sound from the reeds. Again that cough, deep, resentful. And above it the yapping of highly excited dogs and the shouts of men.