The Horus Road (2 page)

INTRODUCTION

AT THE END
of the Twelfth Dynasty the Egyptians found themselves in the hands of a foreign power they knew as the Setiu, the Rulers of Uplands. We know them as the Hyksos. They had initially wandered into Egypt from the less fertile eastern country of Rethennu in order to pasture their flocks and herds in the lush Delta region. Once settled, their traders followed them, eager to profit from Egypt’s wealth. Skilled in matters of administration, they gradually removed all authority from a weak Egyptian government until control was entirely in their hands. It was a mostly bloodless invasion achieved through the subtle means of political and economic coercion. Their kings cared little for the country as a whole, plundering it for their own ends and aping the customs of their Egyptian predecessors in a largely successful effort to lull the people into submission. By the middle of the Seventeenth Dynasty they had been securely entrenched in Egypt for just over two hundred years, ruling from their northern capital, the House of the Leg, Het-Uart.

But one man in southern Egypt, claiming descent from the last true King, finally rebelled. In the first volume of this trilogy,
The Hippopotamus Marsh
, Seqenenra Tao, goaded and humiliated by the Setiu ruler Apepa, chose revolt rather than obedience. With the knowledge and collusion of his wife, Aahotep, his mother, Tetisheri, and his daughters, Aahmes-nefertari and Tani, he and his sons, Si-Amun, Kamose and Ahmose, planned and executed an uprising. It was an act of desperation doomed to failure. Seqenenra was attacked and partially paralyzed by Mersu, Tetisheri’s trusted steward who was also a spy in his household. Regardless of his injuries he marched north with his small army, only to be killed during a battle against the superior forces of the Setiu King Apepa and his brilliant young General Pezedkhu.

His eldest son, Si-Amun, should have assumed the title of Prince of Weset. But Si-Amun, his loyalty divided between his father’s claim to the throne of Egypt and the Setiu King, had been duped into passing information regarding his father’s insurrection to Teti of Khemmenu, his mother’s relative and a favourite of Apepa, through the spy Mersu. In a fit of remorse he killed Mersu and then himself.

Believing that the hostilities were over, Apepa travelled south to Weset and passed a crushing sentence on the remaining members of the family. He took Seqenenra’s younger daughter, Tani, back to Het-Uart with him as a hostage against any further trouble, but Kamose, now Prince of Weset, knew that his choice lay between a continued struggle for Egypt’s freedom or the complete impoverishment and separation of the members of his family. He chose freedom.

The second volume of this trilogy,
The Oasis
, tells how Kamose renewed his father’s fight with the assistance of other Princes of Egypt. Necessity made him a vengeful and merciless warrior who was unable to tell friend from foe. He tore the country apart in his desire to restore Egypt to its former glory, but he was ultimately betrayed and murdered by several of his princely allies who became disillusioned with his methods and made a bargain with Apepa for their own profit. Seqenenra’s youngest son, Ahmose, was wounded at the same time that Kamose was killed. While he was recovering, the women of the family came into their own, putting down the mutiny and re-establishing control over the army. It was then left to Ahmose to develop a strategy that might bring the domination of the Setiu to an end.

THE

HORUS

ROAD

1

DURING THE REMAINING DAYS
of mourning for Kamose, Aahmes-nefertari saw little of her husband. She had expected the solemnity of grief to finally descend on the household now that the rebellion had been put down, and it was true that peace of a kind embraced the family, but it was more a silent sigh of relief than a quiet tribute to her brother. The weight of bitterness, the constant urge for revenge that had driven Kamose to so much killing and destruction, had pervaded them all for so long that they had become accustomed to living in a state of underlying tension. Now the source of that strain was gone, and they felt its withdrawal as a strange cleansing.

Nevertheless they had loved him, and as Mekhir flowed into Phamenoth and every small field around Weset came alive with the songs of the sowers as they flung their seed onto the glistening dark soil, they each grieved for him in their own way. Tetisheri kept to her rooms, the incense that accompanied her private prayers blurring the passage outside her door in a thin haze. Aahotep moved about the house with her usual calm regality, but she could often be seen sitting motionless under the trees of the garden, her chin sunk into her palm and her gaze fixed unseeingly before her.

Aahmes-nefertari found that her own sorrow made her restless. With a servant holding a sunshade over her head and a patient Follower plodding behind her, she took to walking. Sometimes she paced the river road between the estate and the temple. Sometimes she ventured into Weset itself. But more often she found herself skirting the fields where the germs of new life were being trodden into the wet earth by sturdy, naked feet. It was as though purposeless movement might enable her to escape from the misery that dogged her, but everywhere she carried with her the curve of his smile and the sound of his voice.

Ahmose would rise early, eat quickly, and disappear just after dawn. In answer to his wife’s remonstrations he smiled absently, kissed her gently, assured her that he was feeling stronger every day, and left her. At one time he would have been fishing, she knew, but he had kept to his vow and had even given away his favourite rod and his net. Occasionally she happened to be passing the mangled gates leading to the old palace and glancing inside she caught a glimpse of him, once standing with hands on hips staring up at the frowning edifice and once emerging from the gloom of the huge reception hall. Several times she saw him coming along the edge of the canal that joined the temple forecourt to the Nile, surrounded by his retainers. Then he would wave and smile. She did not wonder what was in his mind. There was no room in her for anything but memories.

The strange serenity of those weeks was broken by the return of Ramose, Mesehti and Makhu. They came sailing up the river one warm afternoon, a small flotilla of servants’ crafts behind them, and Aahmes-nefertari knew that the time of introspection was over. A herald had arrived the day before to warn Ahmose of the Princes’ arrival and he was waiting for them above the watersteps with Hor-Aha and Ankhmahor. Aahmes-nefertari was there also, acutely conscious of her husband’s stiff stance and the expressionless set of his features as he watched the boat nudge the steps and the ramp slide out.

Ramose was the first to disembark. Climbing the steps, he strode to Ahmose and extending his arms in a gesture of submission and reverence he bowed. Ahmose beckoned him forward and then pulled him close. “My friend,” he said quietly. “Welcome home. I do not know yet how I may repay the debt to you that has accumulated since my father’s day. Nor can I describe the pain your mother’s execution caused me when I recovered enough to hear about it. I am well aware of how much agony a man can suffer when he must choose where to place his loyalty and you have been forced to make that choice too often. I pray that never again will such a bitter cup be offered.” Ramose smiled sadly.

“It is good to see you restored to full health, Majesty,” he replied. “With your permission I must go at once to the House of the Dead and make sure that my mother is being correctly beautified.” Turning to Aahmes-nefertari, he took the hand she offered. “You are not yet wearing a commander’s armbands,” he said lightly, and she laughed and hugged him impulsively.

“Dear Ramose!” she exclaimed. “In spite of our common grief it is wonderful to see you smile.”

The two Princes had been standing silently behind Ramose and as Ahmose’s attention became fixed on them they knelt on the paving. Pressing their foreheads against the stone and sweeping the ever-present grit into a tiny pile before them, they sifted it over their heads in a gesture of repentance and submission. Ahmose watched them for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “They have redeemed themselves, Ahmose,” Ramose said in a low voice. “You spoke of the distress of divided loyalties. They have made their choice. They are here, not in Het-Uart. I beg you …” Ahmose held up a peremptory hand.

“Do you realize,” he said to their dusty skulls, “that the woman standing beside me has shown more courage and performed more deeds of desperate loyalty than either of you? That if you had managed to find one drop of such bravery in your pale and watery blood my brother would still be alive? If you had warned him, Kamose would still be alive!” he shouted, bending over them. “But no! You closed your mouths! You made no choice! You recoiled from the responsibility and slunk away like a couple of hyenas! Amun’s curse on you for the cowards that you are!” He straightened and for a moment his eyes wandered to the second boat, now moored, where the servants crowded watching the scene avidly. “Well, get up,” he ordered more calmly. “That is, if your feeble spines will hold you. Tell me what I am supposed to do with you.” Slowly they came to their feet and bowed.

“Majesty, you are correct in all you say.” It was Mesehti who answered him. “We listened to Meketra and the others and did not take our knowledge to the Osiris one. Yet we did make a choice. We chose to withdraw. We could not support our fellow nobles although we owed them the fidelity of our common station, but neither could we betray them. If we erred, it was not through cowardice but from uncertainty.”

“Uncertainty,” Ahmose repeated. He sighed. “Uncertainty dogged Kamose from the start and his greatest uncertainty was always the true temper of his Princes.” Suddenly he swung to his wife. “Aahmes-nefertari, you have the right to speak on this matter, you know. You were compelled to risk your life on the training ground. You stood and watched the executions. You have been harmed and changed. What do you advise?”

She looked at him, startled both by his generous public acknowledgement of her importance and his sensitivity to the turmoil that had raged and then subsided in her ka. All at once she knew that the substance of her answer would determine whether or not that importance was maintained. I must speak honestly and wisely, she thought in a panic. He has heard what I did but he was not there. He wants a validation he can see and hear for himself. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on her. Two were anxiously enquiring. The third was amused and Aahmes-nefertari, meeting her husband’s quizzical gaze, realized that his vehement speech to the prostrate men had been an act. But how much of an act? she wondered. What does he want? Further retribution? Two more executions? A reason to pardon them?

No, she told herself resolutely. I will not try to fathom what he expects of me. I will speak from my own judgement and mine alone. “The bestowal of mercy can be interpreted as a weakness,” she began carefully. “Yet mercy is greatly prized by Ma’at and together with justice is a quality every King must possess.” She turned fully to Ahmose. “Justice has been done to the fullest extent, Majesty,” she went on. “Our brother is dead. His murderers were executed. Mesehti and Makhu have pursued and slain the last remnants of a rebellion that belonged to an old order, Kamose’s order, and in doing so they have rediscovered the portion of Ma’at that they once threw away. A new order begins. Let your first act as a King be one of forbearance.” He was squinting at her now, his eyes alight.

“Forbearance, perhaps, but not pardon,” he retorted. “Not yet. Trust must be earned, Aahmes-nefertari, don’t you agree?” He swung to the Princes. “Where are your soldiers?”

“They march on the edge of the desert, Majesty,” Makhu said hastily. “They should arrive tomorrow.”

“Well, get yourselves out of the sun and into the guest quarters,” Ahmose ordered. “Thanks to your Queen you have one last chance to prove yourselves. Do not fail again. And do not go near the barracks or I shall suspect yet another plot!” He turned away from their bows, and taking Aahmes-nefertari’s arm he began to stroll towards the house. Ramose had already left in the direction of the House of the Dead.

“I do not understand, Ahmose,” his wife said hesitantly. “You shouted your anger at them but I sensed that it was forced. Did you intend to spare them all along and I simply told you what you had already decided?”

“No,” he replied. “My anger was real, is real, deep inside me, my dearest, but I wanted it to appear forced. If you had recommended their execution I would have taken your advice, but I am glad that you appreciate both the power and the trap of mercy. Let us hope it has not been a trap in this case.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Then I will tell you.” He took a moment to lift his face to the brilliant blue of the sky and his hair fell back, revealing the jagged scar behind his ear, still rough and red. “I loved Kamose,” he went on slowly. “He was brave and intelligent and he inspired an awed respect, but that respect was tinged with fear. In this he was foolish. His manner was harsh. His method of revenge was implacable. The ordeal we have suffered was the direct result of that inexorable drive towards the extermination of the Setiu. It frightened the people and insulted the Princes. I loved him,” he repeated, a tremor in his voice, “but the result of his terrible need was entirely predictable.”

“Ahmose,” Aahmes-nefertari broke in urgently. “Are you saying that you will abandon the fight? Give Egypt back to Apepa?”

“Gods no! Do not be deceived. My own hatred and desire for revenge against Apepa burns just as strongly as Kamose’s did. But I have a new policy. I will strew smiles like lotus petals. I will toss titles and preferments and rewards like so many brightly painted baubles. I will not make my brother’s mistakes, and thus I will flog every Setiu back to Rethennu where they belong.” They had reached the shade of the pillared portico before the main entrance to the house and Aahmes-nefertari shivered in the sudden chill.

“I think I see,” she said cautiously. “Kamose ruled the Princes by coercion. You will control them more subtly. But, Ahmose, if our brother had not flayed Egypt with the whip of his pain and rage, if he had not prodded and shamed the Princes into action and drenched Egypt in blood, your strategy would not work. He drew the poison for you. He cleared the way for a gentler approach.”

“And I owe him that? You were afraid to finish your thought, Aahmes-nefertari. You are right. I owe him a great deal. He was like a farmer who takes possession of a field which has been left untended for hentis. His task was to slash and burn the weeds. I know this. I honour it. But I owe him nothing more. He was mildly insane.” One ringed finger crept up to his scar and rubbed it absently. It was a gesture that was becoming a habit and Aahmes-nefertari was beginning to recognize it as a signal of speculative thought.

“But Amun loved him!” she blurted, alarmed. “He sent him dreams! Take care that in hardening your heart against his memory you do not blaspheme against the god, Ahmose!” For a moment the face he turned to her was blank. Then it lit with his guileless smile.

“He died in trying to save my life,” he said. “I slept beside him, fought beside him, and in our youth he was always there to protect me. My heart will never harden against him. I speak facts, Aahmes-nefertari, not feelings. The emotion is for you and me alone. But a new order begins, as you said, and there is great danger to me if I present even a hint to the nobles that I am prepared to continue the brutal policies of my brother.” He leaned close to her. “I intend to render them impotent, every one of them, and make them thank me for doing it. I will never trust them again. I also intend to put a torch to Het-Uart, that stinking nest of rats, and thus Kamose will be twice justified. But I must never allow one drop of the acid of blind revenge to stir in my veins or we will not be allowed a second chance at salvation.” He straightened. “I trust you, Aahmes-nefertari. I have opened my mind on this matter to no one else. When I ask you for advice, I expect you to give it to me without fear, as you did a short while ago. I have requested a meeting with Hor-Aha this evening in the office. I want you and Mother there.” Aahmes-nefertari blinked in surprise.

“You want me to be present at a discussion about strategy?” He put a thumb against her chin, and lifting her face he kissed her firmly on the mouth.

“Of course,” he replied. “I need a Queen who can do more than sip pomegranate wine and listen to servants’ gossip.” He stifled a yawn. “Now I need an hour on my couch. My head has begun to ache.”

Aahmes-nefertari stifled an impulse to put a hand on his forehead. A shyness had overtaken her as she looked at this man, so sweetly familiar and yet so suddenly alien, and he must have divined her aborted inclination, for he put an arm across her shoulders and propelled her firmly towards the doorway. “Akhtoy can nurse me now,” he said. “That is his job. You will have other responsibilities.” Releasing her, he strode away down the corridor and she watched him go. He did not say Tetisheri, she thought. Was it an oversight or a deliberate exclusion? If he antagonizes Grandmother, the house will be full of wrangling. Then she laughed aloud, shrugged, and set off towards the nursery. I doubt if a quarrelsome house has a place in the new order, she mused. Our King will insist on domestic peace.