The Hippopotamus Marsh (35 page)

When Ramose at last took his leave on the watersteps and then stood on the deck of his barge, waving to Tani until the bend in the river hid him from view, Kamose was sorry. He would miss the young man’s quiet amiability. There was a steadiness about Ramose that had served to calm fears and tempers in the house. His presence had lifted the family from its preoccupations and isolation and had helped to place their worries in a different perspective. Tani did not cry as she turned from the watersteps towards her own quarters. Kamose saw her face sink into lines of resignation, and he knew that she was ready to accept whatever fate was to bring.

12

TWO DAYS AFTER
Ramose had sailed away a Royal Herald stepped from his chariot at the rear entrance to the house’s enclosure, handed the reins to the barracks servant who had rushed up, and walked through the gate towards the house. Ahmose saw him come and went to greet him, offering a mat in the shade of the garden and a cooling drink, but the man declined. “I bring a message for the Prince Kamose and his family,” he said. “The King will grace this home with his divine person tomorrow at noon. He intends to be carried through Weset with the curtains of his litter open so that the people may worship him. He then expects to be greeted by this family on the river road, seeing that it is not under water here. He and his immediate staff will sleep in your house, but his retinue will have tents erected above the flood line outside Weset. That is all.”

“That is all what?” Ahmose demanded sharply. The man was gracious enough to flush. He bowed shortly.

“That is all, Highness.”

“Thank you,” Ahmose said crisply. “You can go.”

One for us, Ahmose thought, as he went in search of Kamose. Petty of me, I suppose, but no matter how much in disfavour we are, the King’s servants must still show us due respect. I wonder if Ramose encountered the royal
entourage? No, I imagine not. The flood that is carrying him swiftly home has forced our King to march either in the desert or well above the waterline where the paths are not much used and are soft or rocky, depending on where you are. It will not have improved his humour and perhaps he will make us suffer for it, but I cannot help taking pleasure in the thought of his frustration and discomfort.

His musings had taken him past the airy entrance to both the office and the reception hall and he met Kamose coming round the corner of the house. Quickly he gave him the news. “There is nothing I can do to help you,” he added, “nor will the women want me around. Mother and Grandmother will be in a flurry of cleaning and preparing and will be resenting it all, so that they will be in a foul temper. With your permission I should like to take my skiff and have a look at the hippopotamuses. Will you come, Kamose?”

Kamose considered his brother with mild annoyance. Ahmose was waiting for an answer, smiling with his head on one side, the breeze ruffling his brown curls. Sometimes you exasperate me, Kamose thought. You behave as though you were still twelve or thirteen, naïve and unreflective, and I must make an effort to remember the times when you show far more maturity than your nineteen years. Perhaps I simply envy you your ability to worry about nothing until the time for worry comes. Why should I stay in the house? You are right. I have no obligations today. All I will do is brood. “Yes, I think I will come,” he said aloud. “Let me send a message to the others and I will join you by the river.”

A few minutes later he and Ahmose pushed off. Ahmose was poling, standing above his brother with wiry legs apart
and chattering as he did so. Kamose, with a deliberate effort, gave himself up to the bright promise of the afternoon. The hippopotamuses were asleep, basking in the sun above the flood line, their mighty bodies immobile. For a while the brothers watched them and Kamose envied them their air of sheer abandon. “Let’s swim,” Ahmose suggested. “They are not going to put on a show for us, so we might as well entertain ourselves.” Entertainment, Kamose thought anxiously. What do we have for the King apart from our musicians? Then he mentally shook himself and followed Ahmose, sliding into the cool, reed-choked water with a gasp of delight, his toes sinking into the mud.

They swam for perhaps an hour, gliding back and forth, then Ahmose dived and came up with a handful of black mud which he hurled at Kamose, grinning impishly. Kamose was about to protest when suddenly he was seized with a reckless joy. He did not consciously think of this moment as the last of his freedom or as an overwhelming desire to retreat into the vanished years of his boyhood. He only knew that the sun was hot, the water like satin under his chin, and he had been sober for too long. Sinking, he grabbed up two handfuls of riverbed and surfaced, aiming at Ahmose and then lurching towards him to rub the mud into his face. Soon both of them were yelling and shrieking like demented children, helpless with laughter and covered in black mud. It was Kamose’s defiance flung at the King, the future and his fate and he gloried in it, deliriously aware of nothing but this hour. His madness was gone as quickly as it had come and he and Ahmose washed themselves off as best they could and propelled the skiff back to the watersteps, but Kamose felt
scoured and content like a newly made pot and courage sprang freshly to life in him.

He rose before dawn the next day as was his custom and calmly made his way to the temple, washing and clothing the god and placing food and wine before him with hands that did not falter, while Amunmose stumbled over the words of the ritual and the sound of the systra held by the singers was ragged and slightly out of rhythm. Only at the Admonitions did the High Priest’s voice become more sure as he reminded Amun of the faithfulness of the Princes of Weset and called for the god to vindicate the years of trust. Afterwards in the outer court, both of them shod once more, Kamose invited Amunmose to feast at the house every evening until the King left. “We are proud of our God-of-Double-Plumes,” he said, “and we wish the King to know that we honour his servants also. You have been our supporter, Amunmose, and if you do not fear the King’s wrath, please represent Weset’s Protector.” Amunmose was nervous but no coward and he agreed.

Satisfied, Kamose sent a servant into the town to watch for Apepa’s approach and then returned to the family who were already gathered in the garden, sitting glumly in their finery as they waited for Apepa. Kamose knew better than to try and cheer them. With a murmured word of greeting he squatted in the new grass and fell silent.

For a long time there was nothing but the constant, scarcely noted babble of birdsong and the rustle of the breeze in the shrubbery. Lizards darted from shade to shade. A frog bounced to the edge of the pond, considered the water, and launched himself towards a lotus pad. “I feel sick,” Tani said. Kamose was about to offer a word when the
slow sound of many voices began to overpower the music of the birds and grew to a thunderous ovation. At the same moment, the servant ran up out of breath, and bowed.

“He comes, he comes!” he panted. With one accord the family rose.

“My mirror!” Tetisheri snapped and Isis passed her the copper disk. Tani put her hands to her cheeks. Ahmose went to Aahmes-nefertari’s side and her hand slid into the crook of his elbow. Aahotep exchanged glances with Kamose.

“Weset is cheering him,” she said. Kamose shrugged.

“Our people are realists,” he replied. “They know that a few shouts mean nothing and may please the man they helped us to march against. Are we ready?” He regarded each of them in turn. The finest linen flowed against their limbs. They were wigged and painted, glittering with jewels. We could not pass for courtiers, Kamose thought with a lump in his throat. We have been too far from the fashions of the Delta for too long. But we have something timeless and unmistakable that we share, that I see today in Grandmother’s rigid back, in Aahmes-nefertari’s unconscious dignity and Tani’s regal yet unstudied gestures. The Setiu cannot imitate it. It is unique. “I am so proud of all of you,” he managed. “Let us not disgrace our father today, whatever happens. We will have courage. Shall we go?”

They paced in under the dappled shade of the grape trellis, Uni and Akhtoy, today in the long, pleated ankle-length gowns of their station, leading the way. Behind the family came servants bearing the formal greeting meal of bread, wine and dried fruit, on a gold platter to offer the King, but Kamose, after long deliberation, had decided not
to present Apepa with any gifts. It would look too much like a craven desire to curry favour, and if Apepa interpreted it as stubborn pride, well, so much the worse. Besides, what could the Princes of Weset offer to the god who had everything? And I will tell him so, Kamose vowed as the pleasant coolness of the trellis gave way to the sun-drenched paved path and the area before the watersteps, if he asks why we do not give him anything. We have nothing to lose.

Yet under his bravado he was full of an uncertainty that grew as they halted facing the river road and a large canopy was unfolded over them. The cheering was subsiding. A small puff of dust drifted into view. Kamose spared a moment to glance across the river to the homes of the dead where Seqenenra lay in the dark cold of his tomb beyond the rugged face of the sun-drenched cliffs. Is your ba fluttering somewhere near, Father? he wondered, and is it distressed to see us clustered here like wary, defiant gazelles run to ground? Ahmose dug him in the ribs and Kamose with an inner stiffening turned to face the King’s vanguard.

Two chariots rolled into sight, the horses sporting blue and white plumes, the charioteers wearing blue-and-white helmets. Kamose, squinting into the dust cloud stirred up by the beasts’ hoofs, saw that the two men standing easily behind the charioteers sported silver armbands as well as the full regalia of war-spears in hand, bows slung behind them, axes and knives thudding against their linen-covered thighs. He wondered if one of them was the General Pezedkhu who had so soundly defeated Seqenenra. Behind the chariots were two columns of foot soldiers, Braves of the King, perhaps twenty of them, their faces solemn, their
spears a phalanx of warning. Still far back, Kamose caught a glimpse of a litter whose closed curtains gleamed with the lustre of gold-wrapped thread. His heart gave a lurch.

The chariots came to a halt. The soldiers smartly divided to line the road. A gaggle of administrative servants was disgorged from two large litters. They stood for a moment, chattering to each other and shaking the grey dirt from their sandals, then one of them detached himself from the group and came forward. He was a tall man with a mild expression and a pair of alert grey eyes. He put his hands on his knees and bowed low, his obeisance somehow managing to include the whole family. “Prince Kamose?” he asked, after running his gaze swiftly over them all. Kamose nodded. The man bowed again, this time directly to him. “I am Nehmen, His Majesty’s Chief Steward.” His voice was soft and deferential without being obsequious and Kamose admired the training and control that must have gone into it. “I am responsible for seeing that the needs of the One are properly met while he is here. If you will be so good as to indicate your Chief Steward, I would like to confer with him.”

“Very well.” Kamose waved Uni and Akhtoy forward. “Akhtoy, my steward, and Uni, my grandmother’s administrator of household affairs. They are at your disposal.” Nehmen smiled at the two, then returned his mild gaze to Kamose.

“Thank you, Prince,” he said. Turning, he barked a crisp command, snapped his fingers, and the little crowd still hovering by the litters broke into individuals who hurried past the family sketching bows as they went and disappeared in the direction of the house. Nehmen, Akhtoy and Uni paced after them.

The way was now open along the road. The King’s litter was approaching, carried high on the shoulders of six brawny soldiers and preceded by acolytes sprinkling holy water from the sacred lake beside Sutekh’s temple and waving censers over the hard-packed soil, the fragrant smoke scarcely visible in the bright sunlight. Ahead of them a High Priest glided, his shaven brown skull bound with one red ribbon, his leopard pelt held to him by one gold-gripped arm. In the other hand he held a staff topped by the head of Sutekh in silver, its wolf snout snarling a warning to those who watched. He was flanked by we’eb priests who chanted praises to the god and to the King. These took no notice of the family at all.

The water sprinklers reached the broad paved area and began to splatter every stone. Amunmose, himself decked in the garb of his office and attended by acolytes, moved to greet his fellow High Priest. The litter was almost upon them. Kamose felt the expectation and tension around him. The bearers came to a halt and lowered it carefully, then stepped away. Servants rushed to draw back the damask curtains, and as they did so everyone around the litter sank to the ground but for a man who came forward and halted beside the family. He was all in white. His kilt, helmet and sandals and the long staff he now raised were also white, ringed in gold. The Chief Herald, Kamose thought, a whiff of the man’s jasmine perfume reaching his nostrils. What was his name? He heard the man draw in a deep breath at the same moment that a brown foot contained in a heavily jewelled sandal appeared from the litter and sought the ground.