The Horus Road (14 page)

Towards sunset the cooking fires were lit and the aroma of good food filled the air. Soldiers waded into the water to wash mired bodies and filthy linen or sat before their tents cleaning and sharpening dull weapons but there was none of the usual cheerful babble and banter. Ahmose, being driven along the lines before he himself ate, was enveloped in their dejection. He received their obeisances, speaking to them of their bravery and fortitude, and their answers were respectful but quiet. All of them understood the enormity of the chance that had been offered and then snatched away.

5

NO WORD HAD COME
from Kay Abana. Ahmose, sitting later before his own tent, while behind him Akhtoy lit the lamp and before him the sun at last sank behind the profuse growth on the western side of the tributary, added that worry to his already dark mood. General Khety had sent word that his men had spent the day firing arrows and insults at the thick crowd of Setiu soldiers gathered on the walls of the northern mound and generally making a great noise and fuss, but in the late afternoon they had retired out of bowshot to make camp.

What were the orders for tomorrow? Ahmose did not know. He could formulate no plan for the Division of Horus until the
North
came sliding past Het-Uart. He did not expect any word from the divisions spreading out through the eastern Delta for some days. He was himself very tired but he sat on, a full wine cup on the small table beside him, a silent Ankhmahor and the Followers ranked watchfully in the shadows. Ramose had asked to be allowed to board the
North
and investigate the irrigation canals with Kay. Ahmose longed for his presence and added the fear for his friend’s life to the already crushing weight of the day’s discouragement.

But just as he had finished his evening prayers to Amun and was closing the doors of his travelling shrine, one of his heralds requested admittance. “The
North
has returned, Majesty,” the man told him when Ahmose had come to the front of the tent. “Even now she is running out her ramp.”

“Good!” Ahmose felt his bowels loosen with the intensity of his relief. “Then tell General Hor-Aha that the Medjay can stand down. Send Kay Abana and Prince Ramose to me as soon as the
North
’s crew has been given their rations and settled down.” The man saluted and vanished into the fire-pricked dusk and Ahmose turned back. “Bring two stools, a flagon of wine and whatever meat and bread you can find,” he told his steward. Akhtoy went out, and as Ahmose sank into his chair he was assailed by the first genuine hunger pangs he had felt in days.

It happened once, he thought with a resurgence of his customary optimism. It can happen again. Do not succumb to the gloom of the moment, you silly man! Amun will grant me the ultimate victory, I feel it in my very bones. The price has been paid. Father and Kamose paid it and the gods have willed that I may collect the reward.

By the time Kay and Ramose were admitted, Akhtoy had already placed wine and hot food on the table and had smoothly excused himself. Ahmose invited them to sit. They were both obviously freshly washed, their wet hair tied back, their clean linen rustling as they obeyed. Kay Abana had several cuts on the backs of his brown hands. His knees were grazed, like those of a child’s who has tripped and fallen onto stones. A bruise was swelling, purple and ugly, on his cheek, and blood had dried in a thin line along one shin bone and across his calf. Ahmose indicated the roasted gazelle meat, barley bread and crumbled cheese. “Eat first,” he advised. “Ramose, pour us some wine. I see that you have been behaving rashly as usual, Captain Abana, but before you tell me why, we will fill our bellies.” He smiled. “I am greatly heartened to have you both safe.”

Not until the platters were scoured and the wine jug empty did Ahmose speak. “Now,” he began. “Give me your report.” Kay tutted.

“It is not good, Majesty,” he said promptly. “There are indeed breaches in the wall, some twenty or thirty at most, where the irrigation canals inside the mound can be filled during the Inundation. They are of course closed up to keep water in at the moment but their locations are obvious. It appears that they are not large. Nor do they seem particularly firm, just mud and straw mixed perhaps with limestone powder and slammed into the gaps to harden without being smoothed. I would think that the Inundation itself would weaken them from the outside while the men within pick at them to make them crack.” He folded his legs gingerly, the bloodied one over the other, and turned to face Ahmose directly. “My men endeavoured to scratch at them but it was hard work. When they have been softened by the flood it will be easier, but then the soldiers will be forced to hold their breath and wriggle through them underwater for a short way, one at a time. Then sopping and panting, they must draw wet weapons and face strong opposition on the other side.” He shook his head. “The risk is too great.”

“This coming from you, my rashest of officers?” Ahmose interrupted him lightly, although he was disappointed at Abana’s assessment of the situation. “Perhaps the openings can be widened with the help of the flood and several hundred troops armed with picks.”

“They would have to deal with a strong defence,” Abana replied promptly. “The Setiu have cut slits in the wall above, from which they can fire down upon anyone trying to hack at the breaches, and in spite of the diversion you ordered to draw off the majority of men, the archers stationed above the bricked-up canals did not leave their posts. The Setiu officers are perhaps not as dull-witted as we believed. Or like baboons they can be trained to a task without having to use what little intelligence they might possess.” He looked about. “Is there any more wine?” Ahmose ignored the question. He sat forward.

“Do you mean to tell me that you and your men attempted to open the breaches under fire from above and from the slits in the wall itself?”

Abana grinned happily. “Yes, we did,” he said. “My faithful sailors kept up a steady rain of arrows from the deck of the
North
while we worked on our hands and knees. But it was useless,” he finished regretfully. “We could hear troops massing in the gardens beyond, ready for us if by some chance we managed to chip our way to the water which,” he pointed out with relish, “would have come pouring out on us if we had succeeded, and forced the inhabitants of those doubtless beautiful houses beyond to abandon all hope of sampling the last of their fruits and vegetables.” He held out his hands. “I myself dug alongside my men,” he continued, “and was grazed on the leg by a poorly aimed arrow. The Setiu archers shoot in a panic and their aim is wild.”

“Nevertheless, their weapons are admirable,” Ahmose reminded him. “The design of the bow they brought with them when they began to insinuate themselves into Egyptian life was superior to anything we had seen before, and what of their axes with the broader blades than ours, and the scimitars?”

“A weapon is only as good as the man who wields it,” Kay said loftily. “Now that we have learned to make those bows and axes and knives ourselves, we have been turning their own knowledge against them. They are not competent warriors.” Ahmose regarded him with a mixture of mild irritation and affection.

“Give me your final assessment,” he said. Kay sighed gustily.

“To attempt entrance to the northern mound through the irrigation canals would be a waste of effort and valuable men’s lives, Majesty,” he said regretfully. “I am loath to tell you this, but in my opinion another way needs to be found.”

“Thank you.” Ahmose nodded. “Go and sleep now, Kay. You have done well.” Kay scrambled to his feet at once and bowed.

“I have left a gift for Your Majesty outside with the Follower on your door,” he said as he backed towards the tent flap. “Or rather, several gifts. One of them is from my cousin Zaa. I wish you a restful night. You also, Prince.” His wide smile flashed out again and then the flap closed behind him. Ahmose met Ramose’s eye.

“You have been unusually silent,” he ventured. “What is on your mind?” Ramose stirred.

“You have a brave and astute officer there, Ahmose,” he said quietly. “The barrage of arrows from both the top of the wall and those lethal slits was constant and deadly, but Kay and his men went on hewing at the blocked-up breaches regardless of the danger. I watched it all from the relative safety of the
North
. The gift he has brought you is a sack of Setiu hands, twenty-seven in all, taken from the bodies of the defendants who were shot by the sailors on the boat and who tumbled down on this side of the wall. Many more fell backwards, out of sight. One of the hands belonged to a soldier young Zaa pen Nekheb managed to slay. It was a lucky shot, I think, considering that the boy is still struggling to learn how to draw the bow, but it was boldly done all the same.” He rubbed at his forehead and looked across at Ahmose under weary lids. “Much of the enemy fire was understandably concentrated on the sailors. Thirty are wounded and another fifty were killed.”

“Fifty!” Ahmose straightened in shock. “That is too many, Ramose. Far too many! Abana should have told me.”

“He would have, if you had asked, but he is very proud of his ship and its men. He is ashamed that he could not protect them sufficiently. He had already summoned one of the army physicians to those injured before he came here.”

“The irrigation breaches must be abandoned then,” Ahmose said firmly. “I will not sacrifice Egyptians for such a slim chance of success. What do you think?”

He watched Ramose withdraw into himself for a time, his face entirely in shadow but the long, supple fingers of his right hand lying motionless on the table in the full play of the lamplight. Ahmose found himself remembering his sister at that moment, seeing that same hand, thinner and more youthful, bright with rings, curved protectively around Tani’s bare shoulder on a morning full of warm sunlight. He waited. Presently the fingers tapped the table once and were withdrawn.

“I think you are right,” Ramose said slowly. “However, Your Majesty might consider this. Reverse your strategy. Rather than trying to open the irrigation courses, station part of the navy on the tributary opposite them and prevent them from being opened when the Inundation begins. In fact, make sure that no water of any kind flows into either the northern mound or the other one.” He leaned into the lamplight. “All the walled enclosures are crammed with people. You heard Sebek-nakht. Even the mortuary temples in Het-Uart are being razed for lack of living space. What do the people drink? There are no springs in the Setiu strongholds. Water must come from wells and be supplemented by the tributaries every winter when Isis cries. Cut them off. Stop the influx of fresh water. You have already decided to continue the siege and the Delta campaigns throughout the Inundation. Always before, we have retreated during the flood season and that is when Het-Uart augments its water supply. This year it will be different. Make them thirst!” Ahmose stared at him.

“Truly this has been a day of mingled frustration and hope,” he murmured. He stood up and immediately Ramose rose also. “I will inspect Abana’s rather grisly gift, and then we will fall gratefully onto our cots,” he said. “Thank you for your advice.” Ramose bowed in response and together they stepped out into the mild night air.

The sack lay at the feet of one of the Followers guarding the entrance to the tent. At Ahmose’s command he bent down and pulled the neck wide revealing a mass of bloodied, severed hands. Ahmose looked down on them thoughtfully. “Kamose did not take hands or penises for the tally in most of his battles,” he said. “It never occurred to me to wonder why. But seeing these brings home to me the legitimacy of our struggle. We are not bandits slaying and thieving before moving on. This is an honourable war.” His gaze rose to the Follower. “Have these taken to the Scribe of the Army so that he may note the number of the enemy killed by the ship
North
,” he ordered. He was about to voice the realization that Kamose did not always keep the tally of enemy dead in the traditional way because he knew that his struggle resembled too closely the actions of a brigand, at least in the beginning, but he kept that reflection to himself. Bidding Ramose good night and asking the Follower to send Khabekhnet to him when he returned, he went back into the tent.

He waited quietly, listening to the sounds of his thousands of men gradually die away as they rolled themselves in their blankets until only the occasional protest of a donkey and the regular challenges of the sentries, some far, some near, broke the stillness.

The city also seemed subdued, its usual confusion of noise reduced to a low mutter. To Ahmose, sitting with arms and legs folded while Akhtoy and his assistant cleared the table, the tone held a quality of melancholy. He knew that his imagination was imbuing Het-Uart with an intimation of its fate, but he allowed himself to indulge his fancy anyway. I would dearly love to know the tenor of the commoners within, he mused. Are they still complacent when they hear my soldiers marching below their walls? Does any quiver of apprehension give them pause in the middle of their daily comings and goings? Akhtoy had finished wiping the table and folding it away. “Do you require anything else, Majesty?” he asked. Ahmose shook his head.

“No,” he answered. “Wake me at dawn, Akhtoy, with food.”

As Akhtoy left, he held the tent flap open for Khabekhnet. The Chief Herald came forward and bowed. “I want you to arrange shifts for all your heralds,” Ahmose told him. “Not including you, of course, Khabekhnet. You will remain at my summons. They are to make chariot circuits of the city from sunset until dawn, calling for Apepa’s surrender. Het-Uart believes itself inviolate, but we will do our best to disturb its dreams.” Khabekhnet’s black eyebrows rose.