Authors: Pauline Gedge
She approached the office just after dusk, greeting the servants who were lighting the torches bracketed in the passage as she went and returning the salutes of the guards taking up the first watches of the night. Outside the imposing cedar door she paused, momentarily intimidated. She had never before been invited into the place where her father and later Kamose had dealt with the myriad affairs that made up the world of men: dictating directives to the headmen of the villages under their care, going over the tallies of grain, wine and oil, discussing judgements regarding the often petty grievances the peasants brought to them, and later wrestling with the agonizing decisions that had resulted in the Weset uprising. She knew what the room contained, of course, having often inspected it for tidiness and cleanliness after the servants had swept it, but to enter it for the purpose of business—that was different. She could hear voices within, her husband’s rich treble followed by Hor-Aha’s rough, rare chuckle, and with a frown of irritation at her own hesitation she knocked and, without waiting to be bidden, let herself in.
Aahotep was already there, sitting quietly at one end of the heavy table. Hor-Aha had his back to the door and, as Aahmes-nefertari walked across the floor, he rose and turned to reverence her. Ahmose, seated opposite with Ipi already cross-legged by his knee, smiled at her and waved her to the empty chair at the other end. Light filled the sparsely furnished space from two standing lamps in the corners and one on the table at Ahmose’s side. Three walls were full of nooks from which the ends of rolled papyri protruded and below which were the chests containing records not in current use. The fourth wall was simply a line of pillars giving out onto the darkening sky.
For one second, as she settled herself facing her mother, Aahmes-nefertari could have sworn that she inhaled a faint whiff of her father’s perfume, a mixture of sweet persea and oil of frankincense. Wondering if it somehow lingered deep in the very grain of the table where he had so often placed his hands, and resisting the desire to put her nose to its surface, she linked her own fingers in her lap and waited. Ahmose cleared his throat. “Ipi, are you ready?” he enquired. The man glanced up at him and nodded and Aahmes-nefertari heard him whispering the scribes’ preparatory prayer to Thoth beneath Ahmose’s next words. “Good. As you can see, Akhtoy has provided us with wine and sweetmeats but you will have to serve yourselves. This discussion is not for servants’ ears.” He already had a cup before him and he drank briefly before continuing. “While I lay on my couch regaining my strength, I had many hours to ponder the course my rule should take,” he said. “And it seemed to me that the most urgent project confronting us is a reorganizing of the army. Without a coherent, efficient fighting force we are nothing. We cannot even defend ourselves, let alone mount effective campaigns. Kamose performed a very difficult task in taking raw peasants and turning them into soldiers. He began with one unit, the Medjay, and a motley collection of peasants. He had officers who had never drawn a sword and commanders who were reluctant to command. In short, what he did must have earned him the wonder and applause of the gods themselves.” He shot a glance at his wife. “But he was hampered by a peasant’s need to till his soil in the spring and a prince’s need to assert the superiority of his blood. The rebellion has taught us the danger of both. Peasants whose minds are full of worry about their arouras and Princes who chafe to return to the luxury of their estates are not to be trusted.”
He already uses that word a great deal, Aahmes-nefertari thought, hearing the mildly disdainful emphasis he had placed on it. It has become a preoccupation for him. I pray that it may not become an obsession. She turned her attention back to what he was saying. “Therefore I intend to implement a standing army. Give me your response.” Aahotep pulled the wine jug towards her and carefully filled her cup.
“Egypt has never maintained a standing army,” she said slowly. “The peasants have always been conscripted temporarily, either for war or for building purposes, by the King or the temples. They have always known that no matter how long their services may be required they will eventually be allowed to go home. If they are told that they may not go home, you will have one mutiny after another.”
“Surely that depends on how it is done,” Aahmesnefertari objected. “It might be possible to form a military core of permanent troops with their own village and then augment them with others during the Inundation. Or perhaps take a census of all males and cull those not necessary for working the land. They would have to be supported and armed out of the royal treasury. You would have to create new orders of scribes and stewards who would do nothing else. You would need the authority to tax all Egypt. But it would mean that each man was fully trained, professional, and it would remove the threat of another revolt.”
“Hor-Aha?” Ahmose looked at his General, who had been listening with his head down, one finger tracing an intricate and invisible pattern on the table before him. Now he pursed his lips and, folding his arms, he nodded.
“It could be done. I consider my Medjay first. I know them, Majesty. They would be willing to leave their villages to be cared for by their women and slaves, if they were allowed several weeks of freedom a year and sufficient beer and bread. As for the rest, you already have the embryo of such a core in your Weset contingent.” He stirred and Aahmes-nefertari saw him take a slow, quiet breath. “But what will you do for commanders?” he asked smoothly— too smoothly, Aahmes-nefertari thought. This is the question closest to his strange heart. This is where his true interest lies. “Will you promote the sons of those who have died?”
“Been executed for treason you mean!” Ahmose retorted. “No, I do not wish to train their offspring in the art of command. A professional army needs professional officers at its pinnacle. I want to promote from the ranks.” But that is not your real reason, Aahmes-nefertari told him silently. You have already expressed that to me. You will never trust a nobleman again.
“The ranks?” Aahotep expostulated. “But, Ahmose, what common soldier will have any respect for a commander who has no noble blood in him? There must be distance between them!”
“I am inclined to disagree, Mother,” Ahmose told her mildly. “Perhaps a lowly fighting man will have more confidence in the directives of someone he has already seen in action. He may also dream of his own promotion if such an avenue becomes open.” He spread his hands. “In any event it is worth the gamble. Kamose attempted the traditional way. He did great harm to Apepa but came close to destroying us in the process. We lose nothing by changing the rules.”
“I would like to come back to the matter of support,” Aahmes-nefertari said. “The war has cost us and the rest of Egypt. We have had two harvests since Kamose removed the peasants from the land and the granaries are filling again, but our situation will not bear any extra burden. Not yet. Do we not invite a future disaster by scrambling to fill the mouths of thousands of troops who will fall idle once the war is over?” He favoured her with one of his wide, benign smiles of approval.
“A good point,” he responded. “Firstly I do not envisage the soldiers idle. With their training and skills they will be invaluable in policing the towns and villages, escorting caravans; we can even sell their time to the temples, all in rotation of course. And if an emergency arises, they can be recalled to Weset already armed and proficient.”
“Majesty, will you also allow them to be used as private soldiers?” Hor-Aha interrupted. There was a pause during which Ahmose appeared to be considering the question, but Aahmes-nefertari suspected that he was merely hiding his annoyance at it.
“When Egypt has been scoured and peace returns, there will be no necessity for private armies,” he answered with the exaggerated docility he used to hide disapproval, anger or boredom. Mother and daughter caught each other’s eye, but Hor-Aha seemed unaware that he had put Ahmose on his guard. “However, escorts will surely be permissible, although they will not be privately recruited nor staffed with officers who are not answerable to me. This is a detail, Hor-Aha.” He turned to his wife. “Secondly,” he went on, “I have no intention of raping Egypt in order to preserve her! Don’t forget the gold routes, Aahmes-nefertari. We have blocked the passage of gold to the Delta. Now we can take it for ourselves. Also I intend to send emissaries to Keftiu. They are an eminently practical people. They care nothing for our internal squabbles. Trade is what they like, and trade with Het-Uart has become sporadic since Kamose captured the treasure ships. I believe that they will be eager to draw up new agreements with Egypt, particularly after the next campaign, when I hope to clear the Delta of the Rethennu troops dribbling in.”
“Our ancestor Senwasret erected the Wall of Princes between the Delta and Rethennu hentis ago to keep the Setiu out and to protect the Horus Road into the east,” Aahotep reflected. “He could not have imagined that they would still come seeping past his defences, first as sheep herders pasturing their flocks and then as traders, that they would become masters of Egypt through commerce. Perhaps through commerce you may slowly strangle them, my son. How ironic that would be!”
“It is certainly one weapon I have considered,” Ahmose agreed. “But Apepa’s fellow Princes in Rethennu, those he calls his ‘brothers,’ do not want him to relinquish Egypt without a fight. We provide them with too many riches. Spies in the Delta from the navy at Het nefer Apu tell me that their soldiers continue to trickle in.”
“They can keep coming steadily while we are hampered by the Inundation and are immobilized,” Hor-Aha put in gruffly. “It may eventually be necessary to fight them even while Egypt lies under the flood.”
“That is why Kamose was anxious to form a navy,” Ahmose pointed out. “He foresaw such an eventuality from the moment we learned of the influx of Setiu from Rethennu. And that is why, General, I need an army that will not disband and scatter every year.” Hor-Aha frowned.
“I do not think you will defeat them this year, Majesty,” he offered.
“Neither do I,” Ahmose admitted. “But my grip can tighten around their fat necks. I have the upper hand and I intend to keep it.” He poked about intently in a dish of shat cakes and honeyed figs encased in pastry. “Ipi, are you following us?” he asked.
“Yes, indeed, Majesty.” The scribe’s voice floated up from his position on the floor. “But I hope I have a sufficient supply of papyrus sheets.”
“Ah, papyrus,” Ahmose commented, abandoning the food for the wine jug. “Now that is something the Keftiu crave.” He glanced around at them all. “I wish to pass now to the reconstruction of our forces. We can still call upon fifty-five thousand men, eleven divisions, can we not, General? Apart from the few hundred Ramose, Mesehti and Makhu pursued and killed during the rebellion.”
“Yes, Majesty. But only one division is quartered here.”
“I know. I want you to arm yourself with scribes and go to every nome. Begin to interview every officer I have. Talk to them about the men under them. Note any that have impressed their superiors either by their expertise in weaponry or by an ability to lead. Judge the officers’ own fitness to continue as such and weed out those with direct allegiance to any prince, living or dead. Bring all names and descriptions to me. Until the Delta is completely mine I need all eleven divisions active, but I want to retain five divisions of infantry and one of marines permanently, all officers to be answerable only to me as Commander-in-Chief. We will discuss the breakdown of troops later, but it will be far more precise than ever before.”
“May I include the Medjay in this survey?” Hor-Aha enquired with a hesitation Aahmes-nefertari had never seen in him before, and Ahmose shook his head.
“No. The Medjay will return to being an irregular force, adaptable to any situation, with their own officers. Any Medjay officers at present commanding Egyptians will be replaced. And before you open your mouth to protest, Hor-Aha, think about it. A large part of the unrest that boiled up into revolt stemmed from resentment against both you and the Medjay. Egyptian soldiers are not ready to place their confidence in black skin, and Egyptian nobles consider you inferior to them in every way.” He leaned across the table and grasped Hor-Aha’s forearm. “I speak of harsh realities, my friend. I must. To me you are Egyptian, and not only Egyptian but one of the finest. I love you. I will not deprive you of the title of Prince my brother gave you, but it will not be used until the Double Crown sits on my head and the Horus Throne rests on the dais of the old palace. Forgive me and try to understand.”
“Oh, I understand,” Hor-Aha said huskily. He did not withdraw his arm, but Aahmes-nefertari saw its muscles tighten. “I have risked my life for your family. First Seqenenra, then your brother, received all the worship and loyalty I had to give. Indeed, your father was more to me than my own life and I loved him deeply. I have endured the arrogance and condescension of men who could not walk without falling over their own swords and who, when it came to military strategy, could see no farther than the end of their own aristocratic noses. And for this I am rewarded with contempt. It stings, Ahmose.” He swallowed. “Yet I am the greatest tactician you have and as such I know that if you are to build and control an army out of Kamose’s half-disciplined, half-trained rabble you must indulge its ignorance.” He fixed Ahmose with a cold stare. “Do not forget that I am Egyptian. Ny mother, Nithotep, was Egyptian. Regardless of the colour of my skin I belong here, and because I do and for no other reason, I will trust you to fulfil the promise Kamose made to me at the appropriate time and I will continue to be yours to command. You need me.” Now he took his arm away, pushing his silver bracelet up over the place where Ahmose’s fingers had grasped him, and Ahmose sat back.
“Of course I need you!” he repeated vehemently. “What else can I say? This meeting is at an end. Come to me tomorrow, Hor-Aha, before you leave. You have a month to gather the information I want. I will give you a more detailed list of the officer positions I intend to create. I would like to leave for the Delta as soon as Kamose is buried.” He came to his feet and the others followed. Bowing, Hor-Aha strode from the room and the door slammed behind him. Aahotep blew out her breath.