The Hippopotamus Marsh (22 page)

“Ask Amunmose, not me,” he retorted. “I am not a prophet.” Nor are you a tactful servant, Seqenenra thought, amused, and at that his sadness fled. This time there would be no assassin’s blow in the night. He would have himself guarded constantly until they left. This time they would surely march.

Si-Amun left the reception hall and was almost at the end of the passage leading to his own quarters when Mersu slid out of the early shadows and bowed. Ignoring him, Si-Amun tried to push past but the steward took a step to bar his way. “Well, what is it?” Si-Amun snapped. Mersu bowed again.

“Your pardon, Prince, but I would like to know what your father had to say. It is most unusual to see him summon the whole family at once.” Si-Amun could hardly look at the man, his distaste was so strong.

“That is none of your business.”

“Perhaps,” Mersu answered in a low voice, glancing about the deserted passage. “But it may be the King’s business.”

“Apepa has ordered the building of a temple to Sutekh here at Weset,” Si-Amun croaked. “Now let me past before I strike you.” Mersu did not stir.

“And what will Seqenenra do, Prince?” Si-Amun began to flush.

“He has not decided. Get out of my way!” Mersu leaned closer and his voice dropped even farther.

“I must remind you, Si-Amun, that if you do not take me into your confidence I will tell your father how the attack on him came to be. I have nothing to lose, you see.”

“How hateful you are!” Si-Amun burst out. “You do not deserve to live, and if Father wins, I will kill you with my own hands. Traitor!”

“So Seqenenra is to march?” Mersu said, unmoved by Si-Amun’s venom. “When?” Si-Amun gave in.

“Immediately. The word is going out even now. We will assemble and move at the end of next month.”

“Epophi,” Mersu said thoughtfully. “My thanks, Prince.”

Si-Amun’s response was a stinging slap that caught Mersu full on the face. The steward staggered back, a hand going to his cheek, but he recovered himself quickly. He even smiled. Si-Amun strode past him, suddenly desperate for clean, moving air.

Instead of going to his quarters, he ran into the garden and stood by the pool, gasping and shuddering. After a while, he had calmed down enough to go about his business. I do not even have a friend I can confide in, he thought as he went. No one to share this burden of guilt and hatred, to propose an impossible solution, to offer understanding and sympathy. I hope Apepa’s warriors kill me on the field. It is all I deserve.

By the end of Epophi all preparations were complete. The soldiers were back in their village on the desert. The donkeys were corralled by the river ready to receive their load of victuals. The horses were trained and groomed. The officers were closeted with Kamose and Hor-Aha, receiving last-minute advice.

On the last night Seqenenra, tired, obstinate and in a mood of fatalism intensified by the baking darkness, sent for Ahmose. The summer was at its height, the land acquiring its other identity of barren ugliness. The gods seemed hostile at this time of the year. Ra the supreme burned his subjects. The wisdom and gentleness of Amun paled in the fierce days and stifling nights. Cow-headed Hathor was too
drowsy to answer the prayers of the women who beseeched her for beauty and vigour in the midst of a heat that wrinkled the skin and drained energy from her supplicants.

Because of his ailments, Seqenenra did not like to go naked as so many did. He was wearing the long gown of a vizier as Ahmose requested admittance and came to him over the tiles. Ahmose’s hair glistened with water. His skin, as he embraced Seqenenra, was damp and cool. “You have been swimming,” Seqenenra observed unnecessarily. “Would you like beer?” Ahmose nodded and poured from the jug on Seqenenra’s night table, sinking onto the floor with the cup in his hands where he settled, one arm along the couch. Seqenenra stood as close to the window as he could, but the night air hung motionless, a palpable thick curtain. “Do not be insulted that you must stay home,” Seqenenra said frankly, watching the minute shifting of Ahmose’s tight muscles as he drank and adjusted his position. “Someone must stay and order the women and see to a governor’s duties.” It took Ahmose a moment to decipher the halting words, his eyes concentrated on his father’s mouth. Then he shrugged and smiled good-humouredly.

“I have perhaps wasted more time than I should in hunting and fowling,” he admitted, “but being the youngest son I never expected to have to consider the responsibilities of an active princely rule. I have had fun, Father. I have loved my life. Eating, sleeping, getting drunk on long winter afternoons under the palms, knowing that nothing was required of me save to exist. Every god has indulged me, not to mention my dear mother and my sisters. But life is strange, is it not?” Seqenenra agreed, a lump in his throat. Ahmose with his carefree cheerfulness had always
somehow leavened the family, shrunk without knowing it the cares and troubles that regularly arose. “I gave my tutors a difficult time in my childhood,” Ahmose went on. “All I cared about was fishing, knocking ducks out of the sky and stalking hyenas. But I am not stupid. I think you worry about leaving the governorship in my hands.” He swallowed the last of his beer and set the cup on the floor beside him, beaming up at Seqenenra. “I daresay I shall make a few mistakes but my instincts are good. They are after all the instincts of a ruling house. Besides, there is Grandmother to cuff me if I falter, and Uni to prod me if I weaken. Do not worry, Father. I shall not let you down.”

No, you will not, Seqenenra thought, looking into the handsome face that glowed with vitality and good humour. You are an honest man and the seeds of the kind of greatness that compels men to follow you are already sprouting. I wish that I could live to see them blossom.

They talked a little more, both unwilling to acknowledge the passing of time and neither referring to the coming morning until Ahmose scrambled up. “I am sweating again,” he said. “I think I will swim once more before I try to sleep. The Nile is beautiful by starlight, the water dark and the ripples silver.” Awkwardly he looked at his feet. “Father, I will not be at the assembling tomorrow to see the army leave,” he muttered. “Amunmose will perform the rites in your place while you are gone, but I think I will join him tomorrow.”

“I understand.” Seqenenra hobbled to him and kissed him warmly. “I love you, Ahmose. You are dismissed.”

“May the soles of your feet be firm, Prince.” Ahmose smiled tremulously and was gone.

Seqenenra knew that Aahotep would be coming to him soon. He dreaded her brave front, her lingering touch, the fear and bereavement her eyes would not be able to conceal. He loved her deeply but he wanted to lie alone on this, his last night. He could not face giving comfort yet again when he needed to gather in his meagre resources. His body servant entered, washed him and helped him into his sleeping robe. He endured the man’s ministrations mechanically and absently, frowning over the details of tomorrow, and had just collapsed onto his couch when Uni came in. “Si-Amun is here,” the steward said. “Will you see him?” Seqenenra’s heart sank but he nodded.

“Let him come.” Uni retired. Si-Amun closed the door behind him and came hesitantly to the side of the couch. There were black patches under his eyes and his skin had a sallow tinge. Seqenenra patted the sheets and Si-Amun sank down beside him. “You are ill?” Seqenenra enquired abruptly, wondering if this was some ploy of Si-Amun’s to avoid the march, but Si-Amun denied it.

“No, Father, I am not ill. I just wanted to tell you … to tell you …” His lips quivered. “There will be much confusion tomorrow and little time for idle talk in the days to come. I may not have a chance to say this again.” He glanced into Seqenenra’s face. “I love you, my Father. I regret deeply all the pain I have caused you. If I could bear your infirmity I would. Believe that I will fight beside you with all my strength, and willingly. Thank you for the life you have given me.” He was so distressed that he could hardly form the words. Seqenenra was shaken.

“The only pain you have caused me has been in seeing your misery and in being unable to help,” he replied,
mystified. “Even now you suffer and yet keep it to yourself. Share it with me, Si-Amun.” Tears began to run down the young man’s cheeks.

“I cannot,” he said. “Believe what I have told you, Father. I am nothing as a man, nothing, but my arm will be raised in your defence. Forgive me.”

“But what for?” Si-Amun turned convulsively, teeth and fists clenched.

“Forgive me!”

“How could I not forgive you anything?” Seqenenra replied, deeply disturbed. “Calm yourself, Si-Amun.” For answer the young man smiled through his tears and ran to the door, wrenching it open and disappearing into the darkness beyond.

All at once Seqenenra was blindingly aware of the pain in his head. His eyelid was twitching. “Uni!” he shouted. “Go to the physician and bring me poppy. I cannot sleep with this pain!” He was answered by Aahotep.

“He heard you, Seqenenra.” She had slipped into the room, followed by her steward Kares, who was carrying a folding camp cot yhat he proceeded to set up beside the couch. Aahotep then waved him out. “We have not made love in months,” she said determinedly. “I understand why, even though I think you are wrong. I have not come to argue with you. I merely wish to spend the night here. Amun only knows when I shall see you again.”

He lay not speaking, watching her movements as she shed the thin cloak and reached for her sleeping robe. She was all smooth curves. Her hips quivered. Her breasts swung. Her skin was softly bronze in the light of the night lamp. Expertly she pulled a comb through her straight black hair, holding it
in one hand while she worked at the knots, her head on one side, then tossing it back where it lay glossy and tamed beyond her shoulders. She lay down at last, pulling the sheet to her waist. “How hot it is!” she exclaimed. “As I was coming in I passed Si-Amun leaving your room. He almost knocked me down. What did he want?”

Seqenenra found his voice. He felt awkward and foolish, smitten as always by her natural sensuality yet cursing himself for his lack of faith in her love for him. What did she think when she looked at him naked now, with his lumpish, useless leg and the arm that slithered here and there of its own accord, the mouth that could not form a kiss, the eye closed in a permanent half-wink? No matter how she protested her affection, she was a mature woman accustomed to the attentions of the lusty man he had been. Surely somewhere behind those sooty eyes there was a shrinking, a contempt? “I do not know,” he answered slowly. “He told me he was pleased to fight beside me, and that he was sorry, and then he left.”

There was a discreet tap on the door. Uni entered bearing a tray on which perched a small phial. Seqenenra breathed his relief. He tipped back the phial, tasting the bitter medicine, then closed his eyes. Uni padded out. Aahotep was silent but for her light breathing. Seqenenra felt the slow balm stealing through his body, and with it came drowsiness. The pain ebbed. His thoughts diffused, and he slept.

He half-woke at some time in the night to find Aahotep stretched out beside him, her lips moving leisurely over his chest. He grunted a protest but was too sleepy to do more. “Hush,” she whispered. “You can always pretend that I am a dream.”

“I am not that much of a coward,” he murmured back, “but do not give me your pity, Aahotep.” For answer she bit him.

“l know of no one less deserving of pity,” she hissed back. “Are you going to leave me with this hunger unsatisfied?” Her mouth was now questing his stomach and he felt himself responding. “Put your pride away,” she begged. “You do not need it with me. I love you, Prince.” With an inner twisting of despair he did as she had asked, but the passion he felt could not dispel his humiliation.

At dawn he was boated across the river and then carried to the large area of scuffed ground where the army was assembling, Aahotep riding beside him in her litter. They did not speak. There was nothing to say. Seqenenra had been dressed in a blue kilt and sturdy leather sandals. His head was enveloped in the stiff blue helmet of the charioteer. His spear lay beside him and a knife hung at his belt, but he had relinquished his bow and arrows.

As they swayed towards the temporary mustering ground, the distant babble of voices became a roar emerging from the dry dust cloud that powdered the brown trees and hung fine and white in the air. The bearers slowed. Seqenenra saw the women of the family clustered behind a protecting canopy. Aahmes-nefertari looked sleepy. Tani had dressed with care, wearing many of the jewels Ramose had given her, but her tight, simple sheath was blue, the colour of mourning. Tetisheri sat with Isis and Mersu to either side, her wig dotted with gold flowers and her earrings swinging. She had donned yellow, a triumphant colour full of promise, and Seqenenra smiled to himself in
appreciation. His mother, of all the family, had no doubts about the outcome of the conflict.

The litter came to rest. Kamose hurried out of the murk, Si-Amun beside him. “You will have to address the troops in my place,” Seqenenra said to them as they helped him to stand. Uni eased the crutch under his arm. “Are the chariots yoked?”

“Yes. Will you wait here until the army has formed marching ranks?” Kamose urged him. “The High Priest has just arrived to give us Amun’s protection. When he has done so, I will speak.”

Si-Amun said nothing. As Seqenenra’s heir it was his place to talk to the soldiers, but he merely set his mouth in a thin line and beckoned impatiently for a chair. Seqenenra sank onto it. Kamose and Si-Amun melted away and presently Seqenenra could hear a barrage of crisp orders barked. “Captains of Fifty! Captains of a Hundred! Form up your men! Commanders to the dais!” He felt a soft hand on his shoulder. The girls had gathered by him.

“Father, as you pass Khemennu please tell Ramose how much I love him and try to persuade Teti to honour the contract,” Tani pleaded. She bent and kissed him. “Be careful. Stay away from the fighting. You are the Prince, you can command without danger if you choose.” Her voice faltered. Seqenenra nodded dumbly and reached up to stroke her face. Aahmes-nefertari was crying, the swollen eyes so like her mother’s huge with tears. He took her hand briefly, wanting to cry himself. Aahotep was at his side, still silent. Her linen stirred against his knee.