The Hippopotamus Marsh (44 page)

Kamose smiled into the smooth, exquisitely painted face. You are completely in control of yourself, he thought. In all probability you know exactly where you stand and it will be on the side of blood and history, yet with a courtier’s graciousness of speech you challenge not my revolt but the worthiness of my character to grasp the Crook and the Flail after so many years of my family’s eclipse. Ankhmahor has not forgotten my ancestor’s weakness in passing the emblems of godhead to a foreign power, no matter what the reasons. How good it is to be in understanding with one of my own kind! “I think that my father insulted you all by not acknowledging your right to be included in his
designs,” he replied equally steadily. “I apologize for his thoughtlessness. I do indeed ask too much of you. I ask it as your god. I ask it as your friend. But most of all, I think, I ask it as one Egyptian to another.”

“You are right,” Mesehti broke in emphatically. “Seqenenra behaved as though he was the only Egyptian Prince in the south. The insult was in his lack of trust, Kamose. He did not confide in us, pay us the compliment of placing his safety in our hands.” He spread his own before Kamose dramatically. “Hands that have always worked for our country and our gods.”

“I can only repeat that I am sorry,” Kamose reiterated calmly. “My father’s revolt was the first hint of unease in a long time. I do not excuse his silence. It was impossible for him to trust anyone, as the savage attack on him here proved.”

“He might have asked himself why we chose to linger in the south, away from any court opportunities, although as nobles we could have been exercising our influence and increasing our wealth in Het-Uart!” Intef snapped. “My grandfather was Sandal Bearer to the King, in attendance on him at all times. Now I rot in the provinces no matter how much I love the south.”

“I do not deny that your talents are being wasted, and if my father did not recognize why, I do,” Kamose interposed equally forcefully. “I need them, Princes! Cast your fate with mine, I beseech you.”

“I repeat,” Ankhmahor said softly. “You ask too much. As well as our property here we have grazing land in the Delta, even as you did. If we are defeated, Apepa will confiscate it all. It is not proper for Princes of Egypt to lose
their birthright, for their sons will curse them and they will dwindle into obscurity.” Kamose had not missed Ankhmahor’s subtle “we.” He reinforced it.

“But we are all dwindling into obscurity,” he pointed out. “Slowly but surely the foreign ministers and the members of Egyptian aristocracy who breathe the breath of the Setiu gather the power that was once ours to themselves. You have nothing to lose by fighting with me, and if I win you will not be forgotten.”

“Our noble brothers have pulled out their tongues that they might all speak together in swearing fealty to Apepa,” Iasen agreed. “We signed tribute agreements but we did not take any vow to the King. I suppose that if we lent you our support our honour would not be impugned.” Your honour lies in returning Egypt to Ma’at, Kamose thought. Aloud he pressed them.

“If I know my countrymen, their oaths to a foreigner lie only skin deep. As long as the Setiu make them rich they tell themselves that they are content, but I believe that beneath this contentment lies a deep unrest. I speak to you plainly, Princes. If I can confront them with you beside me, lending my claim not only credibility, which of course it does not need, but also the obedience and loyalty of Egypt’s most ancient lineages, I can revive their devotion to a proper Ma’at and gain their support.”

He had not meant to pay them a hollow compliment and they knew it. Their guarded faces relaxed as they sensed the genuine respect in which he held them. Prince Makhu sniffed delicately. Intef cast a sidelong glance at Mesehti, then waved at Hor-Aha. “This man may be a Medjay but he is not Egyptian. It is not customary for blood Princes to
defer to someone of lesser station, let alone of lesser nationality, in battle or anywhere else.” Ahmose laughed.

“In our position we cannot be too concerned with protocol and precedence,” he said. “Ability reigns supreme, Intef. Yet if anyone deserves elevation to the nobility for his service, loyalty and sheer craftiness, Hor-Aha does. Well, Kamose?” Kamose grunted. I should have done it a long time ago, he thought. Ahmose is right. Hor-Aha has not been greedy enough and I have been too selfish. He turned to his General, meeting the black eyes with a hint of amusement in them, the tiny smile.

“Are you willing to carry a title, Hor-Aha?” he asked softly. “It means a final commitment to me and to this country, something stronger than your tribal oaths.” Hor-Aha nodded.

“I do not need a title in order to serve you, Prince,” he answered equally softly as though he and Kamose were engaged in a private conversation. “But your brother is right. I deserve it. Later I will take the estates, servants and preferments that go with it.”

“Very well. Please rise.” Hor-Aha did so, standing easily as Kamose drew close. Kamose touched him with slow solemnity on the forehead, shoulders and heart. “Hor-Aha, General,” he said as he did so. “I make you erpa-ha, Hereditary Prince of Weset and all Egypt, you and your sons after you, forever. I, Kamose, King of Egypt, beloved of Amun, Son of the Sun, make it so.” Hor-Aha knelt and kissed Kamose’s feet.

“I will try to be worthy of this honour, Majesty,” he said.

“Rise,” Kamose ordered. “You are already worthy. Sit.” They both resumed their seats. The other Princes had
watched impassively. “Well?” Kamose pressed them. “To what avail is my strength when one usurper is in Het-Uart and another in Kush, so that I sit here between a Setiu and a Kushite, each in possession of his slice of Egypt, and I cannot even pass to Mennofer without permission? My new erpa-ha is a fitting match for Pezedkhu. Are you with me?” Ankhmahor sighed ostentatiously.

“Alas for my cattle!” he said. “Yes, we are with you. But, Majesty, we will exact a heavy gift from you when we win.” Kamose did not thank them. To do so would have been unbecoming. He immediately passed to the matter of their responsibilities.

“Before we move north there is the matter of Pi-Hathor to be dealt with,” he said. “As you all know, even though the town lies twenty-three miles south of us here at Weset, it is considered part of Apepa’s holdings. The Setiu have always needed its limestone and, more importantly, its ships. It is their halfway point for trade with Kush and it represents the southern boundary of their control. It pricks our tender underbelly like a thorn.” He leaned forward. “The population of Pi-Hathor is predominantly native Egyptian, and I do not wish to expend troops, energy and time overrunning it, two reasons why I intend to attempt negotiation with its mayor. I will not request active aid from him. That would be dangerous. All I need is his oath that he will not move against Weset or impede any of my river traffic, that he will preserve a state of neutrality with me. I think he can be convinced. Therefore I ask that you all accompany me south so that Pi-Hathor may see that I have the weight of serious purpose behind me. We will leave tomorrow at dawn. Are you agreed?” They nodded
without comment and Kamose sat back, gradually relinquishing the conversation to Hor-Aha, who was not in the least in awe of them. He and Ahmose sat quietly sipping wine and listening until the light in the room changed to red and Uni knocked to admit the servants with lamps.

“Does it feel strange to be called Majesty?” Ahmose asked him later as they walked together, tired but satisfied, by the river. The sun had long since set but the new-risen moon was full, its reflection lying broken into silver shards on the surface of the quiet river water. Before and behind them their watchful guards paced the shadows.

The dark, empty ships towered beyond the river growth, moving ponderously against their anchors, the men set to guard them invisible on their decks. Kamose inhaled the dry, sweetish odour of their reeds. He answered Ahmose’s question with a sense of shock.

“No, not strange,” he said. “Indeed it seemed quite natural and I did not notice the use of the title until afterwards.”

“I did,” Ahmose answered softly. “For a moment it set you apart from me, Kamose, but only for a moment. We love each other, do we not? And it reminded me that if anything should happen to you, I will be Majesty.” Something in his tone made Kamose stop on the path and turn to him, urgently seeking his face under the sickly moonlight.

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” he said reassuringly, taking Ahmose’s arm. “Amun himself has decreed that I should win through to Het-Uart. Are you afraid for me, Ahmose?” Ahmose’s eyes were hollow in the weak light, his expression sombre.

“No, not for you,” he answered quickly. “You are the most self-sufficient person I know, Kamose. You need no one. Godhead set you apart long ago in a different way from Father, a cold and unapproachable way to those who do not know you well. You will not mind dying alone if that is your destiny and I will not mind for you. It is for myself that I am afraid. I do not want to be King, ever. Princedom suits me far better.” He tried to smile at Kamose. Is this a premonition? Kamose wondered. “You should have a son!” Ahmose went on vehemently. “A Horus-in-the-Nest, so that if necessary I might be Regent but never King!”

“Ahmose, I have been meaning to speak to you of this matter,” Kamose said, squeezing his brother’s arm before releasing it. “I want you to marry Aahmes-nefertari. You know the reasons why. You spend much time with her and she seems to confide in you. Would it be onerous for you?” Ahmose began to walk again and Kamose swung in beside him.

“Not at all,” Ahmose said. “I want her, but by rights she should go to you. I did not want to speak until you had decided whether or not you would do your dynastic duty. Seeing you will not, then I will do it for you.”

He understands everything, Kamose thought with relief. I need say no more. They fell silent, each wrapped in the beauty of the night, and strolled on, elbow to elbow, until the dull orange lights of Weset came into view.

14

IN THE COOL SILENCE
of dawn Kamose and Ahmose set out on the barge, accompanied by Ipi and a contingent of bodyguards. The river was running strongly and at first the rowers had to strain against the rapid current that slapped and gurgled beneath the craft, but as the day brightened a wind out of the north began to blow and their progress became smoother. Mesehti, Intef and the others sat together on cushions under the billowing awning beside the cabin, Ahmose cross-legged beside them, but none of them spoke. Kamose, leaning on the deck rail, his eyes on the riverbank gliding by but his attention fixed on the men behind him, did not think that their mute immobility was a result of the wine they had drunk at Aahotep’s modest feast of the night before. They were afraid, each one deep in his own assessment of a desperate situation, perhaps thinking more of all they might lose than of the as yet nebulous rewards their new allegiance could bring. He was afraid himself, but his fear was an old companion and he was able to greet it and then turn from its grey face.

Hor-Aha stood beside him and there was comfort in the Medjay’s quiet support. “Have you sent ahead to warn the mayor of Pi-Hathor of your coming, Majesty?” the man asked at last. Kamose shook his head, feeling the warm
weight of the lapis pectoral his jeweller had delivered to him move slightly against his naked chest. His fingers came up, caressing its smooth curves. At its base the god of eternity, Heh, knelt on the heb sign. In his outstretched hands he held the long, notched palm ribs that made up the sides of the ornament and that represented many years. Around his neck went the ankh, symbol of life. Above Heh’s head, the royal cartouche enclosing Kamose’s name was encircled by the wings of the goddess Nekhbet, the Lady of Dread, vulture protectress of the King of the south, and she was entwined in the embrace of Wadjet, the Lady of Flame, serpent goddess of the north, she who would spit venom at any who dared to threaten the sanctity of the King’s person. The whole was of lapis lazuli set in gold. Between Kamose’s shoulder blades, in the one place where demons could strike at the body, the pectoral’s counterpoise contained no lapis but was all of gold, an oblong in which Amun and Montu stood side by side, invincible guardians against any attack by the coarse gods of the Setiu. Curling above it was the delicate feather of Ma’at.

“No,” he replied, his hand closing around the symbols of his hope. “I do not want to give him any presentiment of my purpose. It is better if we descend upon him unawares and dazzle him with our combined authority. We must not fail at Pi-Hathor. If we do, my Princes will begin their service to me in an even greater hesitancy than they now feel, and worse, I will be marching north with a potentially worrisome enemy at my back. Small perhaps, but even a tiny thorn can inflict a nasty scratch.”

“Yet Pi-Hathor worries me,” Hor-Aha rejoined. “It is too close to Weset. What if the mayor chooses to attack your
town while you are engaged farther north? You are leaving no one but the Princesses to see to the safety of your domain.”

“I know.” Kamose faced him directly, squinting in the bright light. “It is a calculated risk, my friend. Pi-Hathor has no garrison of soldiers. The men there are quarry workers and shipwrights. If the mayor wishes to march against Weset, he will have to train his peasants to fight and that, as we are aware, takes time. I will place a spy in the town who can report to my mother while I am gone. That will have to be enough.” Hor-Aha pursed his lips, then nodded.