Authors: Pauline Gedge
“The mayor of Pi-Hathor refused to endanger the cowardly treaty he made with your brother,” he said bitingly, “and our mayor here in Esna had much land and cattle and was not eager to risk losing his wealth by complaining of our plight to you, Ahmose Tao. So we cut off their heads.”
Ahmose regarded him thoughtfully. There was more than the goad of injustice behind the bitter words, there was a contempt bordering on hatred. You Setiu have always held us in disdain, he mused. You conquered us subtly, without violence, with all the guile and deceit for which you are famous, and because you were able to trick us so easily you looked down on us as innocent and stupid, a people to be used, a country to be raped. You came into Egypt as sheep herders, with permission from the King to graze your flocks in the Delta, and your traders and adventurers followed to take our riches and eventually our freedom away. Now that we dare to raise our poor, simple heads and take back what is ours, you despise us for not being what you believed us to be. No judgement could have appeased this man’s rage. Ahmose sighed. “In that case I have no choice but to remove your head,” he said. He turned to the division’s Standard Bearer who was nearby. “Idu, have the prisoners lined up and our soldiers gathered,” he ordered. “I am going to execute this man for treason.”
Apprehensively he watched a space being cleared of bodies and his troops hurrying obediently to surround it. The last execution I witnessed was Teti’s, he thought, after the battle for the fort at Nefrusi. Teti, who was Mother’s cousin and who had seduced Si-Amun into betraying us. He was Apepa’s tool and so is this man, however indirectly. Kamose carried out the act himself, drawing his bow in that blood-spattered place. I remember how Teti clung to his son and how Ramose looked when he was forced to push his father away so that Kamose could take a clear shot. Kamose had no choice, but it was terrible nonetheless. Afterwards I heard Ramose weeping in the night and I know that Kamose too lay sleepless, listening to his friend’s agony. I had hoped those days were gone.
The soldiers’ chatter had begun to die away. The prisoners were being hustled to the front, where they stood uncertainly and fearfully. Eyes turned to Ahmose in the new silence. Kamose let loose an arrow, Ahmose’s feverish thoughts ran on, as he stepped out into the sun-drenched space with Turi and Ankhmahor beside him. But I must swing a sword, I must feel the shock of it as it cleaves muscle and bone, I must be prepared to step aside to avoid the spurt of blood, the convulsing of the body. It is one thing to do this in the heat of battle but quite another to be coldly crossing the ground towards a man on his knees with wisps of his drying hair blowing against the neck I am about to sever and water from his saturated loincloth still forming rivulets down his buttocks. Amun help me not to disgrace myself before my people!
Drawing his sword, he addressed the men of Esna and Pi-Hathor. “I have decided in my mercy to let you go back to your homes,” he called, his voice carrying clearly in the expectant silence. “You are all guilty of treason, whatever you fancy your justification might have been for this uprising. However, I charge you all to remember this day, both my mercy and the vengeance I am about to exact. Egypt is mine. You belong to me. Forget this again and I will kill every man, woman and child in both accursed towns and raze them to the ground. I have spoken.” He heard relief in their murmurs and the aversion he felt for their instant selfishness helped to steady his hands and calm his rapid heartbeat. One of the women began to scream, “Yamu, no! Yamu, no!” Turning to the man, Ahmose gripped the hilt of his sword and raised it to his shoulder.
“Do you want a moment to pray?” he asked, surprised that there was no tremor in his voice.
“Yes,” Yamu said, his own voice muffled by the proximity of his mouth to the earth and the luxuriance of the hair hanging to either side of his face. “I pray that you may be cursed forever, you and all your offspring, every Tao until the end of all ages.” Ahmose placed his feet apart for balance. He lifted the sword high in both hands, willing them to be an extension of his eyes. The man’s neck was straining, the knobbed row of bones exposed. “In the name of my father Amun,” Ahmose whispered, and nerving himself he brought the sword slicing down in a glitter of reflected sunlight and the faintest whisper of sound.
He managed to give the order to cast the body onto the fire with the others, to set the head on a stake to rot where it could be seen by anyone going from the town to the river, to walk steadily away from the great pool of blood already being covered with shovelfuls of sand. But when he reached his chariot he sank down beside it, and folding his arms across his stomach he laid his own head on his knees. “Ankhmahor,” he croaked. “Send a couple of Followers into the town to find some wine. Any kind. Even palm wine will do.” There was a splash of blood across his kilt even though he had been careful to move aside as he pulled his sword free. Raising himself a little, he tore the garment from his waist and flung it into a thorn bush, but with a sick dismay he saw a dark red smear on his inner thigh. Ankhmahor snapped an order at the men behind him and then bent down.
“Majesty, what ails you?” he said. “You have killed before. We all have. You and Osiris Kamose and your father before you, all fighting Kings. The deed was just and necessary. What is wrong?” Ahmose looked up at him.
“There is no end to it,” he breathed. His chest felt tight and his shoulders ached with the force of the blow he had delivered. “So many lives laid waste. I had thought … I had hoped … Apepa will not surrender. Het-Uart waits for me like some monstrous suppurating wound needing to be cauterized and this,” he touched the tip of one finger to the blood still wet on his thigh and held it up, “this is becoming the token of my family. Blood and the Taos. Think of one and you immediately think of the other.” Ankhmahor bent lower.
“I will find you clean linen and the Followers will return with wine,” he said gently. “Take natron and wash yourself in the Nile, Majesty. There is nothing that requires your attention for the rest of the day. The bodies are being burned and Abana is having the Setiu ships manned for a return to Nekheb. I hear that we have suffered no casualties and no man is so severely wounded that he cannot march back to Weset, but Commander Turi will doubtless bring you an official report later. This punitive expedition was essential, Ahmose, and you know it. Pi-Hathor and Esna could have bred a spreading plague.”
“To where? To whom?” Ahmose murmured. He used the rim of the chariot to pull himself up and stood shakily before his Chief Follower. “No Setiu influence remains anywhere in Egypt but the Delta. But you are right as usual, Ankhmahor, and I am almost myself again. I will submit myself to Hapi’s cleansing touch as you advise. Send Abana to me when he has finished his business.”
It was not the act itself, he thought, as he stood to bathe in the shallows just out of sight of the town. That was not beyond my soul’s strength, for I am neither squeamish nor cowardly. No, it was the curse he uttered that caused my soul to cringe, as though he knew of the Seer’s intolerable prediction, as though one of his gods, haters of Egypt, spoke through him. It is one thing to accept the will of Amun. It is quite another to know that Amun’s enemies gloat over his will and take delight in seeing the misery it brings to his divine family.
By the time he had dried himself and put on the kilt and linen helmet Ankhmahor had provided, he had regained his equilibrium, and sitting on the floor of his chariot he drank thirstily the wine his Follower had found, holding the cup with hands that no longer shook. Turi came to report to him that the debris left by the burned docks had been hauled out of the water so as not to impede shipping, there had been no casualties and few minor wounds, and the rebels’ funeral pyres were well alight. The prisoners had been released and had scattered into the town, the women following them. Everything, Ahmose thought grimly, was neatly tidied away. He ordered Turi to rank the men and march them back a little way towards Pi-Hathor where they could rest and spend the night before starting for Weset. Turi left, to be replaced almost at once by Abana, who came swinging along the river path, bowed respectfully, and at Ahmose’s bidding, sank onto the grass beside the chariot.
For a while neither man spoke. Not far off, the Followers were talking quietly among themselves. Ankhmahor had taken up a position by the Nile where he could assess everyone coming close to the King. Wordlessly Ahmose passed what remained of the wine down to his Admiral and Abana sipped it slowly. Ahmose watched his leisurely movements. He was becoming rather fond of him. “How old are you, Abana?” he asked impulsively. Abana glanced up at him with mock suspicion.
“I am twenty-three, the same age as you are, Majesty,” he replied. “I have accomplished much during my short life I think, but not as much as Your Majesty has achieved. Still, I am proud to possess the new title of Admiral and be captain of the
Kha-em-Mennofer
. I have found favour with you, have I not?”
“Ever the boaster!” Ahmose retorted good-humouredly. “Yet there is much of your father, Baba, in you, his good sense and his ability to win men’s trust. Tell me, if you were Lord of this nome what would you do with Esna and Pi-Hathor now?” Abana set the cup before him on the ground and laced his fingers over it, squinting thoughtfully up into the tangled leaves above them.
“You are the Lord of All,” he answered after a minute. “It is not for me to decide the fate of these two recalcitrant towns. Yet if their welfare was in my hands, I should search for ways to relieve their discontent. They will not revolt again. The price they have paid is too high. Yet they do not believe even now that they owe you loyalty, Majesty. Not yet.” He frowned and pulled at his earlobe. “They are mostly Setiu, accustomed to giving allegiance to anyone who increases their wealth and comfort. So far that has been Apepa. But they are fickle.” Once again he looked up at Ahmose sitting cross-legged on the floor of the chariot. “Give them work, put food in their bowls, and they will dance to a different drum. I know them. Nekheb is only twenty-two miles farther south. When I was a child there was much commerce between the three towns. I know them,” he repeated.
“And I ask you again,” Ahmose persisted mildly. “What would you do with them?”
“Firstly I would replace the mayors with good Egyptians,” Abana said hastily. “Secondly I would have the docks rebuilt. Your Majesty’s primary shipbuilding facilities are now at Nekheb, but Esna could make rafts for transporting stone and barges to carry goods of all kinds. Remember that the men who work the gold mines in Wawat need more food than can be grown in that arid area. At present the mines are not at full capacity. Apepa relied on the natives to send him gold from wherever they could find it and often that was from the bed of the Nile itself. He did not bother to send miners from Egypt. But you will need much gold for Weset, for trade, for your nobles. You will reopen the mines. I would give Esna and Pi-Hathor the right to bargain for food up and down the river and keep the miners supplied with what they need. If Your Majesty begins to build monuments later, the limestone workers can resume their task in the quarry.”
“Ambitious plans,” Ahmose said when Abana had drawn breath. “Perhaps they would be viable. Perhaps not. But I have decided to give you the responsibility of trying.” Abana scrambled onto his knees and turned in shock. “You have already proven yourself in my service,” Ahmose went on, “and in spite of your annoying pomposity you have asked for nothing.” He uncrossed his legs and slid from the chariot. “Stand up, Abana. Ankhmahor! Come here!” Ankhmahor came running. “You are my witness to this,” Ahmose told him as he halted. “When I get back to Weset, I will have Ipi draw up the correct scroll.” Stepping close to Abana, he touched him on the forehead, the breast and his feet. “Ahmose Abana of Nekheb,” he said,“I appoint you Governor of the Nekhen nome and I bestow upon you the hereditary title of erpa-ha Prince, you and your sons forever.” Taking Abana’s sun-warmed shoulders, he kissed him on both cheeks. “Be happy in the favour of your Lord.” For once Abana seemed bereft of words.
“But, Your Majesty, I have no sons yet,” he stammered, dazed. “I do not … Does this mean …”
“I also give you the Gold of Valour yet again,” Ahmose cut into the man’s stutters. “You are a brave man, my Prince. Appoint whom you will to be your assistant governor. I shall expect monthly reports on the state of my nome.” Abana blinked at him.
“My wife Idut is now a Princess?” he queried. “I am a Prince?” The glazed look was clearing from his eyes and they had begun to sparkle. “Majesty, you do me great honour! I will not fail you! I am overwhelmed! I bask in the light of your divine munificence! But what of my
Kha-em-Mennofer
?” he finished in dismay. “Am I to relinquish command of her to another?”
“Certainly not. I need you and my navy in the north, indeed you are to take the ships back to Nekheb, collect your men and your weapons, and return to Het-Uart at once. Your new assistant governor can take the authority here in your place. You are dismissed.” Abana took both of Ahmose’s hands and pressed them fervently to his lips.
“Thank you, Divine One, thank you!” he breathed, and with many bows he backed away. Then he turned and sped leaping along the path.
“He is a wise choice for governor here, young though he is,” Ankhmahor reflected, as both men watched Abana’s delirious progress. “He is very capable as well as entirely trustworthy.” Ahmose nodded. Young though he is, he repeated rather sadly in his mind. You no longer think of me as young, do you, Ankhmahor? You cannot imagine me leaping and crowing with the lusty health and optimism of my age. Well, neither can I.
“I will lose no sleep over my new Prince,” he agreed. “Now have my horses hitched, Ankhmahor. It is time to move on.”
Within the hour he and his jubilant force had left Esna behind them. There was much singing and joking around the fires Ahmose allowed to be lit at sunset. Ahmose watched the outline of the western dunes gradually sharpen against a sky that was fading from blue to a delicate pink, and realized that in giving Abana instructions to go north immediately he had unconsciously made up his own mind not to tarry in Weset.