The Hippopotamus Marsh (11 page)

“I see.” Si-Amun folded his arms. “I want you to make sure that this scroll reaches him. It is for Teti. A private matter.” He had been going to lie, but if he had said that the scroll was for Ramose, Mersu would have wondered why it had not been given to a regular messenger plying the
river. Try as he might, Si-Amun could come up with no good excuse for his request. The older man was gazing at him steadily, a question in his eyes. Impatiently Si-Amun dismissed him. He did not bother to wash. Rummaging in his chest he pulled out a clean kilt, wrapped it on, and hurried out to find Aahmes-nefertari. He needed to feel her arms around him, reassuring him that he had done the right thing although she herself was ignorant. Teti would come. Father would listen to his relative’s appeasing words. All would be well.

4

BEFORE THE MONTH
was out, gangs of peasants from Weset were raising barracks on the desert behind the western cliffs. Hor-Aha and his soldiers returned, and soon dark, quick men began to trickle across the Nile and disappear into the hills. Seqenenra made his fifty seasoned retainers officers to form the core of his army, and set them over the new recruits. There was no time to train them properly. They would have to sink or swim on their own. Those with the new bows must teach those receiving the ones Hor-Aha was feverishly trying to construct. All must be marched and drilled, issued spears, axes and clubs, fed and watered. Seqenenra made no attempt to answer the King’s letter. It would be at least two months, he knew, before Apepa began to wonder why no word had come from the south.

When matters could no longer be hidden from the family, he had told them what he had decided to do. “I do not have time to organize this thing properly,” he said to the bewildered little group. “I have few career officers, no seasoned Scribes of Assemblage and Recruits, no skilled charioteers. Forgive me for doing what has to be done.” Tetisheri had said nothing. Neither had Aahotep. Kamose was away touring the nomes, but Ahmose had exclaimed immediately, “Kamose and I will fight, of course. Ma’at is on
your side, Father. We will see the Horus Throne returned to us before next New Year’s Day!” Looking into the sixteenyear-old’s bright eyes Seqenenra wondered whether Ahmose indeed believed that the Setiu would be driven out of Egypt by then or whether he was offering cheer to the despondency he sensed in his father.

Aahmes-nefertari tried to control her tears and could not. Sobbing, she struggled to her feet, flung her arms around Seqenenra’s neck, then fled the room. At his father’s nod Si-Amun went after her. Tani clung to her mother, her eyes huge and frightened.

“Father, this is treason,” she whispered. “The gods will punish you. What will I do without you? Why are you doing this to me?” There was nothing he could say. To Tani this suicide must seem the height of selfishness.

“What can I do?” Tetisheri asked quietly.

“Keep the estate running as normally as possible, you and Aahotep. Make excuses for my absences. Deflect questions.” His shoulders slumped. He had been about to say that it did not matter in the end, but the sight of Tani’s disfigured, uncomprehending face had stilled his tongue.

Uni had spluttered and expostulated when Seqenenra had told him why he needed a full accounting and a revision of the budget of his governorship.

“This is madness, Prince. Madness!” he had shouted. “I shall have to purify myself of this stain every day so that the gods will not punish me!” Wearily Seqenenra heard him out without rebuking him for his insolence.

“Uni, I know that like Mersu your ancestors were Setiu,” he said. “You are free to leave my service and do what you wish with the information I have given you, but please
know that I need you.” Uni had bowed shortly and turned away sullenly.

“I will make a report on the state of your holdings, Prince,” he had muttered. “I will also glean a list of new sources of revenue. If there are any.” He had stalked away stiff with anger and Seqenenra had let him go. In spite of his outrage he had indirectly given Seqenenra the answer he craved.

He did not have much time to reflect on his undertaking. His days were spent with Ahmose in the burning heat of the desert behind the western cliffs watching Hor-Aha and his new officers try to beat and cajole the new men into soldiers. New bows were coming out of the craftsmen’s shops. A substitute for the unobtainable birch wood had been found. Hor-Aha had experimented unsuccessfully with various possibilities until out of desperation he had applied his glue to the stripped ribs of palm branches. The results were surprisingly good, and once full production was underway, he had left the task to the military craftsmen and had turned his attention to the recruits.

Seqenenra and his younger son sweated with the rest, enduring Hor-Aha’s taunts and insults as they struggled to draw the bows. Both had experience with the weapons but had only used them for an occasional friendly competition. Now they worked in earnest, Ahmose glorying in his swift progress, Seqenenra grimly drawing and loosing, cursing under his breath, feeling time flow by him like the river in flood while Ra tried to boil his blood and blister his skin.

Sometimes Si-Amun came to the practice ground and stood beside his father and brother, handling the bow with silent preoccupation or racing in his chariot during the
mock charges Hor-Aha had decreed, but he did not appear often. Seqenenra tried to force aside his disappointment in his son and behave as though all was well, but Si-Amun had withdrawn into an icy arrogance. At meals, in the temple, during the informal moments of each day when the family gathered by the pool, Si-Amun’s eyes slipped past the gaze of his relatives. He talked readily enough when the conversation remained general, but at any mention of the activity beyond the western cliffs he quietly closed his mouth.

Seqenenra ached for him. His refusal to do any more than fight beside his father had not seemed to influence Aahmes-nefertari’s attitude towards him and for that Seqenenra was grateful, but Tetisheri was openly cool to him.

“That boy is hiding something,” she said emphatically to Seqenenra one evening as they sat over the remains of the last meal of the day, too indolent to stroll outside before going to bed. “It is understandable that he should be defiant around us, prepared to defend his position, but the Si-Amun of the shifty eyes and long silences I do not know.” She leaned back and put both hands on her knees. “His behaviour conceals some sort of guilt.”

“He is hardly a boy, Mother,” Seqenenra answered. “And surely a little guilt is not surprising. What conflicting loyalties lie behind the respectful faces of our servants, let alone a member of the family? The situation is terrible for everyone. Si-Amun feels it keenly.”

She slapped her knees. “Guilt! He should be angry, hotly defending his position, arguing whenever plans are discussed. I know my grandson, Seqenenra. This dumb
brooding creature is unnatural. It is not the Si-Amun I know.” Her voice dropped. “Have him watched, Prince.”

Seqenenra was horrified. “You cannot possibly believe that my own son, my heir, would betray me? Sometimes I think that you are a disciple of Set, Tetisheri. I will not spy on my own flesh.”

Tetisheri was unmoved. “Something is eating away at him,” she insisted. “I love him and so do you, but don’t trust him.”

Seqenenra pushed his table away and rose. “It is a long step from familial disagreement to treason,” he said. “The web of your mind is too complex, Mother, too dark. Your thoughts are dishonourable.”

“And yours are dangerously innocent!” she called after him as he walked away. “Love him, Seqenenra, but don’t trust him!”

Later, when Isis had slipped her sleeping gown over her head and pulled back the sheets on her couch, Tetisheri sent the woman for Mersu. When Isis returned, the steward bowing behind her, Tetisheri spoke to both of them.

“I am a suspicious old lady,” she said, “but I will sleep better if you will both perform a small task for me. You know that Prince Si-Amun is against the coming war. I do not know whether or not he is so against it that he would betray us all. Therefore I want you to take note of his doings, where he goes, who he sees, and particularly to whom his correspondence is addressed. Oh don’t look so shocked, Isis,” she said irritably as the servant gaped at her. “I love the young idiot, as you well know. Mersu, you seem unmoved by this command.” Mersu bowed slightly.

“I am not unmoved, Highness, and I will, of course, fulfil
your request, but it does seem a trifle dramatic.” Tetisheri dismissed them with a curt wave.

“It is not important what you think. Simply do as you are told.”

Yet when they had gone and she was alone under the sheets, her eyes fixed on the shadows hanging in the ceiling, she was almost inclined to agree with him. Si-Amun has always been drawn to power, influence, all that is fashionable, she thought. It has not made him weak, only restless and occasionally envious. His heart is sound. Perhaps I am indeed an evil old woman. She turned on her side and closed her eyes but sleep eluded her. She felt ashamed of spying on her grandson, but uneasy also, and the unease had no roots. Stoically she prepared for a long night.

Seqenenra dismissed his mother’s warning and thought no more about it. He was feverishly preoccupied with the slow drawing together of his rebellion, and with its coming to gradual fruition it brought a darkness of mind and a continual apprehension that seldom lifted. One incident served to lighten his heart, however. He was lying on his couch one afternoon while his body servant massaged oil into his aching muscles when Uni announced that the mayor of Weset wished audience.

“He and his deputies have been escorted to the reception hall,” Uni told him. Seqenenra signalled for the man still kneading his protesting flesh to take the dish of oil and go.

“What do they want?” he asked testily.

“They did not say,” Uni responded. “I put wine by their hands and left them.”

“Very well. Send Ipi with his palette to the reception hall.” Uni acknowledged the order and Seqenenra rose, went quickly into the passage beyond, answered the salute of the guard at the far end, and made his way to where the mayor and three other men stood awkwardly waiting, goblets full of untouched wine in their hands. As he approached, they bowed low. Seqenenra settled himself on the seat of audience and bade them relax. “Now,” he said, keeping his uneasiness hidden. “What may your Prince do for you?” The mayor straightened, put down his wine, and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Highness, we know that our lord Kamose is journeying through the nomes gathering men. We know that you, Highness, have no building projects underway at the present time.” Here Seqenenra hid a smile of approval at the mayor’s tact. I have no architects, let alone plans for monuments, and you know it, he thought. I made a wise choice when I appointed you as chief representative of my town. “Therefore,” the mayor went on, “these men are not needed to haul stone. We respectfully wish to know if our Prince is raising an army, and if he is, whether or not he intends to move against Het-Uart?” There was a small disturbance as Ipi glided in, sank to the floor by Seqenenra’s feet, and slid open his brush box, and in the few seconds of grace Seqenenra considered and decided.

“The answer is yes to both questions,” he said tersely, “although I doubt if I will be able to fight my way as far as Het-Uart.” The mayor smiled. His companions murmured to each other.

“Then, Prince, we wish you to know that we will not wait for his Highness Kamose to command us to deliver
conscripts. We have brought a list of all men able to carry arms for your Scribe of Recruits.”

“Why, Your Excellency?” Seqenenra was genuinely taken aback. “If I choose to conscript your citizens, you have no choice in the matter in any case.” The mayor drew himself up.

“Because many hentis ago Weset was a city sacred to all Egypt. The Incarnation of the God ruled the land from here. The people of Weset love you. Whether or not the Double Crown sits on your head, you are the Beautiful of Risings, the One Who Causes Hearts to Live, the Son of the Sun. We are your cattle, Majesty, but we share the long grief of your royal family.” He raised his shoulders. “Can I say more? We also offer whatever goods each household can afford to give.”

Seqenenra was overcome. Tears burned behind his eyelids. I seem to spend most of my time these days snivelling like a lovelorn girl, he berated himself, yet today I am surely forgiven. I have never heard myself called Majesty before, nor could the word be any sweeter if it came from the lips of a Vizier himself rather than from this portly, dignified son of Egypt.

“I accept this great gesture with a thankful heart,” he managed huskily. “You have honoured Amun also today, and if by his will I am able to return the Horus Throne to its rightful place in Weset, both I and my father the god will be eternally grateful. Ipi, take the list.” The scribe reached out and took the scroll offered by one of the men. “Drink your wine now,” Seqenenra told them. “Return this evening with your wives and be my guests at dinner. I can offer little in the way of hospitality, but perhaps there will
be good entertainment.” After a while he dismissed them and went to the office where Uni waited impatiently, the day’s problems cluttering the desk, and he was humming as he opened the door and greeted the steward.