The Hippopotamus Marsh (24 page)

Everywhere there was evidence of decay. Weeds, now brittle and dead, had pushed between the paving stones. Desert dogs had left their litter of dried offal and bones strewn over the floor of the inner court. One wall and part of the sanctuary roof were sagging. But Hathor herself was still within, gazing past Seqenenra as he stood, hands full of wine and food, her comely body painted in a white sheath, her neck decorated with lapis lazuli and gold.

Si-Amun had accompanied him, and together, Seqenenra awkwardly standing and his son prostrate on the cracked and broken floor, they prayed for the health and long life of the women in their family. There were no priests to receive the offerings. They laid the goods at the feet of the statue, backed out of the sanctuary, and Si-Amun with difficulty forced the doors of the tiny room closed. Before long the inner roof would collapse, enabling visitors to scramble into the presence of the goddess, but it was not right that she should be exposed day after day to the curiosity
and perhaps even blasphemy of anyone who might wander into the holy precincts.

Seqenenra’s heart was heavy as he regained his litter in the outer court and was carried back to the camp in the now-violet splash of late evening. No forcible destruction could equal the sadness of this slow disintegration, he thought, noting Si-Amun’s silent preoccupation. The same aura of pathos enveloped them both. The Setiu conquered us without spear or bow, did not burn the temples and kill the priests, yet slowly, slowly, the face of Egypt is changing. Neglect accomplishes in time what swords and arrows cannot.

By the time they got off their litters it was fully dark. Seqenenra had his cot brought outside and lay propped up, eating his sparse meal and listening to the orderly confusion around him. He was just finishing when Hor-Aha came, squatting in the dirt beside him. “I have decided to double the watch tonight,” Hor-Aha said. “Word of our progress might have reached the King by now. His scouts might be on the move, though of course it is too soon for them to have reached Qes. The nearest large town is Khemennu and there is a small force of troops stationed there. In any case, it is as well to be prepared.” Gloom seized Seqenenra. Tomorrow the work would begin in earnest.

“So many ‘mights,’ Hor-Aha!” he acknowledged. “At dawn tomorrow gather the officers. We will set the Amun shrine out in the open and make a sacrifice before we leave. How many days do you think before Apepa’s forces try to stop us?” Hor-Aha frowned, considering.

“Three days to organize his troops. No more than that, given the fact that the standing army in Het-Uart is very
great. Two weeks to march to Khemennu, and we will be moving north to meet his army.” He looked up and smiled coldly. “It is very difficult to say, Highness, but we should be ready to give battle in five days and every day from then on.”

“What do the scouts say?”

“Up until yesterday all was quiet. But they have not returned today.” He shrugged his cloak to cover his hands, his usual gesture of anxiety. “They should have been back before sunset.” Seqenenra became alert.

“Have you sent others out after them?” The General nodded.

“We may hear nothing from them until the morning. Prince, I do not advise that we move on until they have returned.” Seqenenra disagreed.

“You said yourself that Apepa’s army cannot possibly be close yet,” he said. “We cannot afford to keep four thousand men sitting about eating.” Hor-Aha gave him a startled glance, then both men burst out laughing.

“All the same,” Hor-Aha cautioned, his mirth gone as quickly as it appeared, “it is foolish to destroy ourselves needlessly.”

When Hor-Aha had gone, Seqenenra dictated his nightly letter to Ahmose and the family and gave his instructions for tomorrow to Kamose, Si-Amun and the officers. They would be on the move early, on full alert, with the chariots and the Braves of the King in the forefront, ready to take the brunt of whatever hostility they might encounter. There was little to add, no intricate strategy to plan. My campaign, Seqenenra reflected later as his body servant pulled the sheet over him and he drank the remedy the physician had sent, is crudeness itself.

At sometime in the night he was woken by urgent voices outside the tent. Fighting to clear the drug fumes from his head he sat up. His body servant was already struggling from his pallet on the floor and reaching to replenish the oil in the lamp. “I cannot disturb the Prince’s rest,” Seqenenra heard one of his bodyguard say. “If you wish, I can have you escorted to the General Hor-Aha.”

“No!” someone retorted sharply. “I must see Seqenenra now!”

“That is Ramose’s voice,” Seqenenra said aloud, and to the servant, “Have him admitted.”

He licked his lips, dry from the poppy. His tongue felt twice its normal size. Manoeuvring himself carefully, he poured water and drank thirstily, replacing the cup just as Ramose was ushered into the tent. The bodyguard with him stood uncertainly, one hand on the knife at his belt. Seqenenra nodded at him. “Thank you for your vigilance,” he said. “I am quite safe with this man. You can go.”

Ramose came forward. He looked drawn and dishevelled. Wordlessly he bowed and at Seqenenra’s invitation, folded onto the mat beside the couch. Seqenenra was astonished to see him here, in the tent, unpainted and looking ill. “Ramose, where have you come from?” he finally asked. “Where are you going? Are you on your way south and stumbled onto my army?” Ramose shook his head.

“Your pardon, Prince, but I would like some wine. I am somewhat unnerved.” He was indeed trembling. “I should not be here. I left my tent nearly two hours ago with orders to my servant to tell any enquirer that I could not be disturbed until morning. The poor man is terrified but loyal. If I am discovered, I shall be executed.” Seqenenra’s servant
did not need to be told. He had slipped out and returned a moment later with a jug of wine and a cup. Ramose thanked him, poured, and drank. He was calmer by the time he had wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“What are you doing at Qes?” Seqenenra asked bewildered, but a horrible suspicion began to form in his mind. “Are you hunting out on the desert?” Ramose shook his head. He passed his palms slowly back and forth over his knees.

“Prince, you have been betrayed,” he said huskily. “The King’s General Pezedkhu is camped just beyond Qes. He has a division and a half with him. Apepa did not know how many soldiers would be marching north with you, you see, so he ordered out a number large enough to overrun any army you might have assembled. If you march over the boundary of your jurisdiction, you will be routed. If you strike camp and go back to Weset immediately, you can avoid a bloody conflict.” Seqenenra stared at him, the blood turning sluggish and cold in his veins.

“But that is not possible!” he exclaimed, the force of his emotion rendering him almost inarticulate. He slammed a finger against his sagging mouth. “Not unless …”

“Not unless someone sent word to Apepa long ago, before you even began to gather your forces,” Ramose finished for him. “I am sorry, Prince, but that is what happened. Word reached my father at Khemennu more than a month ago as to your intention and he forwarded it to Apepa. I knew nothing of it, I swear, until the day my father unsealed a scroll from the King telling him that an army was on the way to wipe you out as far south as possible.” Ramose looked down. “I was appalled. I could not believe
that my father would inform on you, his relative by marriage, his friend. But our family has suffered in the past.” He looked up pleadingly. “If Teti had not sold you to Apepa, then his motives in keeping quiet would have been suspect. Apepa would have believed that Teti was aiding you, even though my father would, of course, have denied it. Seqenenra, I am ashamed.”

“I understand your father’s perfidy,” Seqenenra responded sadly. “So many divided loyalties, Ramose, so many private agonies! But how did Teti know what was discussed in the privacy of my home? I have a traitor still at Weset?” Ramose nodded miserably.

“The same man who attacked you. The scrolls have been coming from Mersu.” Seqenenra cried out in shock.

“Mersu? Impossible! My mother trusts him completely, for years he has served diligently, he is … he is … Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Ramose cleared his throat. “My father told me so. No deceit is impossible in the Egypt of today, Prince.” He rose. “Forgive me but I must go. Please do not tell me what you will do. I do not want to know. I must fight beside my father tomorrow, but I swear I will not take arms against you or your sons. You are my friend.” He stood there, anguished. “How could I harm Tani’s family?” Seqenenra looked up at him.

“I know what it has cost you to come to me tonight,” he said. “I thank you, Ramose. I do not yet know what I shall do but I am forever grateful for your loyalty.” With his hand on the tent flap, Ramose hesitated.

“One thing more, Highness. Your scouts were captured by Pezedkhu yesterday morning. They were all executed,
but not before one of them had told him the strength of your forces and the fact that you and two of your sons will be in the field.”

“This Pezedkhu,” Seqenenra said. “What is he like?”

“Young, athletic, a fine tactician. He laughs a great deal but his laughter is nothing, an affectation. Under it he is a cold man. Good night, Prince, and may Amun guide your decision.” Ramose bowed and was gone.

For a long time Seqenenra was incapable of movement. He sat on the edge of the cot, his healthy arm clutching his lifeless one, rocking slightly, breathing hard. Mersu. Mersu. With a supreme effort he forced himself to see the tall, dignified, quietly smiling man as a traitor, as his enemy, as the one who had crept up behind him in the darkness and raised a Setiu axe, but behind the attempt was Mersu the defender and supporter of his mother, the smoother of her affairs, the tactful adviser, the steward who asked for nothing.

With a sick shudder Seqenenra knew that Mersu’s defection had not been the action of a man terrified by the consequences of rebellion. Mersu had cool nerves. Nor did he think it had been a matter of divided loyalties with his allegiance to Apepa winning. No. Mersu the silently efficient was Setiu, from his crisp brown hair to his neatly cut toenails, and probably held the house of Tao in disdain if not in outright hatred. Am I being too harsh? Seqenenra asked himself, inwardly groaning. Can any but the gods see into the heart of a man in these terrible days? I must summon Hor-Aha and my sons. I must decide what to do. The inevitable conflict has simply been moved ahead, that is all. Upon us now instead of a week, two weeks, hence. We would be no better prepared then …

Stiffly, with great difficulty, he found his crutch and limped to the tent flap. The guard outside turned at his coming. “Bring the Princes Kamose and Si-Amun and General Hor-Aha to me at once,” he commanded. “Find out how many hours there are until Ra is reborn.” His body servant, squatting just outside, stood inquiringly, but Seqenenra waved him down and went back into the tent. A fatalism was on him now and he was not afraid.

They slipped into the tent, all three alert and expectant. Quickly Seqenenra told them of Ramose’s clandestine visit and his news, his eyes moving from one to the other in the dim light. Kamose sighed and his shoulders slumped. Hor-Aha absorbed the shock quickly, and Seqenenra could see fresh plots and possibilities forming on his face.

But there was no surprise in Si-Amun’s expression. The colour drained from him. He looked around wildly, Seqenenra presumed for wine although he did not touch the remains of Ramose’s jug, then with a visible effort he folded his arms and stared at the floor. “If we had barges, we could ferry the men across the river tonight and simply march past Pezedkhu on the opposite bank,” Kamose said bleakly, “then straight on for the Delta, leaving him and his men behind. It would take a long time for him to get his hordes across.”

“But we have no barges,” Hor-Aha pointed out, “and even if we did, the night is too far advanced for such an undertaking.” He turned to Seqenenra. “There is a break in the cliffs by Qes. Could we take the army through it and march north in the desert?” Seqenenra considered.“It is two miles to the cleft,” he replied, “and there is not another until Dashlut where we could rejoin the river. We might
escape notice going out onto the desert but would we be ambushed trying to return to the river?” He regarded their tense faces. “However, your suggestion is the only one that gives us the slightest chance of winning through. There is no time for anything else, for we are trapped. Our only open road lies to the south, and that way I will not go. I have made my decision.” He spoke adamantly. “If I run home, retribution might be delayed, but it will surely fall sooner or later. We have not expended this supreme effort to be routed without one arrow being fired. Pass the word to the officers. We strike camp immediately and in silence. No noise, no fires and no lights. We will make for the cleft and pray all are through it by dawn.”

They discussed the matter for a while longer but there was little more to be said and in the end they scattered to rouse the bleary, grumbling soldiers and order the supplies packed and loaded onto the donkeys. Seqenenra, after summoning his servant, sat on his cot in mingled worry and a perverted kind of relief. It was some time before he realized that Si-Amun had not uttered a single word.

They filed across the dead fields and into the blinding darkness of the rocky defile between the cliffs, the scouts fanning out ahead, the chariots and the Braves of the King divided and going before and behind. Kamose had ordered the horses’ harnesses muffled and the only sounds were the soft thud of hoofs on the hard-baked ground and the creaking of leather. The plain beside the river slowly emptied. Seqenenra, strapped behind Si-Amun, felt every muscle tight with apprehension as they crawled forward. He sensed rather than saw that the sun was about to rise. The air was stale and motionless so that he shivered, not knowing
whether he was hot or cold. Occasionally the horses’ hoofs struck sparks from the small, sharp stones that littered the way between the soaring cliffs he could not see. He heard Hor-Aha give a soft, curt command and presently Si-Amun reined the horses to the right.