The Hippopotamus Marsh (45 page)

“It is all in the lap of the gods, Majesty. If they desire your success, nothing will stand against you.” He bowed and strode away, folding himself onto the deck in the thin shade cast by the arc of the prow, but Kamose stayed where he was, watching Egypt slide past.

The two hills that formed a backdrop for Pi-Hathor drifted into sight just after sunset when the last shreds of Ra’s fiery garment were still being dragged below the horizon and the sky faded from dark blue above to a flush of pink against which the hills stood out black and rugged. Between them and the river the town huddled, a motley confusion of mud-brick buildings interspersed with narrow streets. In the centre, the temple of Hathor reared, its stone pylons and pillared façade casting long shadows towards the Nile’s bank, where watersteps ran the whole length of the town’s frontage. Kamose, now sitting with the others amid the flotsam of the evening meal and craning forward, could clearly see the island with its deep bay that lay offshore from the town.

Here there was a different kind of confusion. Quays ran out into the water like the spokes of chariot wheels, all of them lined with craft of every description, some of cedar, some of reeds, some with their bones waiting to be fleshed, some drawn up onto the sand of the bay and listing like beached monsters to expose their damaged flanks. Smoke from cooking fires cast a faint haze over the peaceful scene and blended with the subdued din of cheerful activity. Coming to his feet, Kamose hailed his captain. “Find us a mooring to the north, away from the skiffs unloading the workers from the island,” he called. “Hor-Aha, select four soldiers to accompany us and deploy the others to guard the boat. Neither they nor the sailors are to speak to any curious townsmen who might wander by. It is one thing to be visiting the administrator of Pi-Hathor,” he added to Ahmose who had come up to him, “and quite another to start a premature rumour that could undo us. If the Princes have finished dining, we can prepare to disembark.” The craft nudged the watersteps, and at the captain’s curt command a sailor jumped out, rope in hand, to tether it to one of the poles sunk into the river. Others lifted the ramp. With a long, slow breath, Kamose glanced around the gathered company, but there was nothing to say. The ramp settled against the watersteps, and one by one they silently followed him off the boat.

With two guards before and two behind, they paced the street that led straight from the Nile to the precincts of the temple. The crowds they met were moving away from the centre of the community, intent on reaching their own doors after a day of labour, and the conversation around the group was merry. Few spared Kamose and his
companions more than a friendly glance. Pi-Hathor was used to travellers from Kush or the Delta who came on business for the King’s overseers.

Kamose knew that the offices of the mayor and his assistants lay behind Hathor’s domain, on the edge of the square of public meetings and town celebrations. He hoped that the man had not already gone to his house, for as he and the Princes approached the temple, there were already torches being lit, and lamps flickered in the open doorways they passed. Dusk was deepening. Under the now black shadow of the looming pylon they veered left, followed Hathor’s outer wall, and came at last to the dusty square. They crossed it, and Kamose saw to his relief that light still poured from the mayor’s office and a servant still sat on a low stool beside the door. He rose as they approached, bowing clumsily, and the little cavalcade came to a halt. “Is your master within?” Kamose enquired. The man cleared his throat.

“Yes, lord,” he replied uncertainly, “but he has finished his business for the day.” Kamose jerked his head at one of his soldiers.

“Take this man to the nearest tavern,” he ordered. “Buy him beer and a meal. Keep him under your eye until you are sent for.”

“But, lord, I may not leave my stool,” the servant protested. “Who are you? Let me announce you.”

“It is not necessary,” Kamose smiled, and at a further gesture one of his guards came forward, grasped the man’s arm politely but firmly, and led him away, still objecting. “That is one pair of ears dealt with,” he murmured. “Let us go in.”

The mayor of Pi-Hathor was rising from his chair behind an imposing desk that almost filled the small room, a short, stooped figure with mottled hands, wrinkled face and a pale skull. His scribe was also unfolding from his place at his master’s feet, palette in one hand and a roll of papyrus in the other. They had obviously just completed a dictation. Both looked rumpled and weary and Kamose, in the fleeting second before they turned to him in surprise, thought how heavy this man’s task was with the dual nature of the town’s industry. He would not be ignorant and easy to placate. “Het-uy, mayor of Pi-Hathor?” he said gently. Het-uy nodded, his dark eyes moving perplexed over the stern men ranked before him and coming to rest on the three remaining guards, one of whom stood in the doorway looking out warily into the gathering night.

“I am,” he acknowledged slowly. “But who are you and what is your business with me? Where is the servant who should have announced you?” His gaze narrowed. “I think I am addressing the Prince of Weset, am I not?” The bewilderment on his face had given way to suspicion.

“You are,” Kamose said swiftly. “I am Kamose Tao. My brother Ahmose and the Princes Mesehti, Intef, Iasen, Makhu and Ankhmahor are with me. This is my scribe, Ipi. Dismiss yours, Het-uy. We have an urgent and private matter to discuss. You may sit.” The mayor lowered himself behind the desk. His palms found its surface and rested there. Kamose noticed that the fingers did not tremble, nor did the voice when Het-uy answered him.

“My scribe is discreet, as all good scribes are,” he objected. “You will forgive me, Prince, if I ask that he might stay. You are under an interdict of disenfranchisement and
banishment and I would be wise to retain a witness to any business you might wish to conduct with me. Your sudden appearance without a formal message from a herald, in fact with no warning at all, does not indicate either a social visit or a frivolous affair.”

“You will be wiser to do as I command,” Kamose snapped, with a testiness he did not feel. Het-uy was going to be difficult. “The King’s judgement with regard to my fate does not become effective for another two weeks. Until that time I am still a Prince of Egypt and you, Het-uy, are merely a mayor. Send him away. Guard!” His man on the door turned. “Go to the other offices and fetch chairs. We will all sit.” Kamose returned his gaze to the mayor, eyebrows raised, and with obvious reluctance Het-uy nodded at his scribe. With a bow to his master and one to the company he backed out, palette clutched to his chest. Immediately Ipi went to the floor, set his own palette across his knees, and prepared to write. Other than the small sounds he made as he opened his pen case, uncapped his ink and unrolled his papyrus, the room fell silent. The mayor’s hands remained motionless on the desk. He scanned each solemn face before him, his own expression impossible to read. I wish I could gain this man’s loyalty, Kamose thought. He has great inner strength, but it is all for Apepa. Such is the pity and the sadness of these days that men like this, intelligent, honest and incorruptible, are become the enemies of the very country they believe they defend. They are outside the bounds of Ma’at without ever knowing it.

The guard returned with the chairs Kamose had requested, and there was a general loosening as the company relaxed onto them. The man regained his station,
blocking the door. Kamose touched Ipi’s shoulder, and taking up one of the lamps from the desk, he handed it to his scribe. “Say the prayer to Thoth,” he advised. “Begin the recording.” He crossed his legs and looked straight at the mayor. “I have come to ask you to sign an agreement of non-intervention with me,” he said without preamble. “My House is indeed under a decree of banishment from Apepa, but I have decided not to allow the members of my family to be scattered and my land go to khato. The blood of the Taos is ancient and honourable and cannot suffer such a final outrage. I intend to return to Weset this night and in two days begin a campaign against the invaders. Before the next Inun-dation I intend to besiege Het-Uart.” At last he had punctured the mayor’s composure. The man’s eyes widened and his hands slid to the edge of the desk and gripped it in a spasm of shock.

“Prince, you are mad,” he said huskily. “Will you compound your father’s grave error? Seqenenra fomented revolt and died. The One has been more lenient with you than any in Egypt believed safe for the stability of the Double Crown or the country. All that can happen is your defeat and the execution of every member of your household! What can you mean by non-intervention?” Yet he glanced rapidly from one of Kamose’s silent party to the other and his fingers slid into his invisible lap.

“I ask nothing more from you than this,” Kamose went on deliberately. “That you will swear to remain here in Pi-Hathor and go about the business of the city, neither conjuring war on Weset while I am away nor impeding any of my messengers that might pass by on their way farther south.”

“Ridiculous!” Het-uy almost shouted. “My duty is to send at once to my King and then sit back and watch you die! Highness, we all grieve at the eclipse of your House,” he went on more soberly. “For years beyond years your lineage has been rooted in the soil of Egypt. Yet your father committed treason, and now you threaten to do the same. For the sake of your ancestors, of your unborn descendants, do not allow such illustrious blood to dribble away forever into the sands of ignominy!”

“My ancestors were gods in Egypt,” Kamose broke in softly. “They were Kings. Why am I not King, Het-uy? Answer me that.” He uncrossed his legs and, placing his elbows on his knees, leaned forward so that his face was level with the mayor’s. “You cannot, because the only words you could form would be words of that very treason of which you accuse my father. You would have to say that I am not King because base foreigners have overrun this land and their chiefs have made themselves Kings. Deny it if you are able!” But Het-uy only stared at him mutely and Kamose sighed and sat back. “I have one hundred ships already launched on the Nile at Weset,” he said flatly. “I have a division of soldiers waiting to board them. If you refuse me this agreement, I will be forced to bring my army here and raze Pi-Hathor to the ground before I go north. I have not wasted the time Apepa so kindly and naïvely gave me, Het-uy, and I do not intend to squander much more of it here. Yes or no?” The mayor whitened, his eyes going to Me-sehti on Kamose’s left, and Kamose pressed him. “These Princes have already sworn their loyalty to me and put their own hosts at my disposal,” he said brutally. “Ask them, if you doubt me. Ask them!” But the mayor shook his head.

“Prince, you are brave but stupid,” he managed. “And these great men with you, they will pay a terrible price for their so-called loyalty. Apepa will crush you all. You do not seem to understand that, if I comply with any agreement you thrust on me, I am inviting my own portion of the One’s righteous anger.” I have him, Kamose thought in a wave of exultation. But he was careful not to let the relief show on his face.

“Not so,” he said. “I am not asking you or your town for any active support. All I want is your assurance that you will not move against Weset. That would be difficult for you in any case, for there are no soldiers here, only quarrymen and shipwrights. If Apepa defeats me, why you are absolved from any liability because of it. But if I win through to Het-Uart and snatch up the Double Crown, I will show my gratitude to the man and the city that did not impede my victory. Either way, Pi-Hathor is guiltless.”

Another silence fell. Het-uy blinked, sighed, looked to the ceiling, then down at his lap. Ipi’s pen was stilled. The shadows ceased gyrating on the walls of the room. Then the mayor let out a gust of breath. “Very well, Prince,” he said crossly. “You can have your agreement. Two copies, one for you and one for me to hide away. But I do not do this willingly!”

“Of course not,” Kamose smiled. “Thank you, Het-uy. In anticipation of your co-operation I have already dictated the document and Ipi has made a copy.” He gestured at his scribe who reached into the leather bag beside him and passed two thin scrolls to Kamose. One was placed in the mayor’s outstretched hand. “As you can see,” Kamose reiterated smoothly, “it contains nothing we have not
discussed. The wording is very simple.” Het-uy unrolled his scroll and scanned it briefly, then he looked up.

“You have no guarantee that I will not immediately break this arrangement and send it to the King with a warning,” he remarked. “You have, after all, threatened and coerced me into conniving at treason and my conscience would not awaken should I choose to betray you.” Kamose met his gaze.

“But you will not break it,” he said quietly. “Unwillingly or not you have given your word, and you are an honourable man. You will keep it so long as you may do so without repercussions, and that is all I have asked of you, Het-uy. However, all messengers and heralds coming up from the south will be stopped and questioned at Weset. In these dark days I think I may be forgiven for not putting my trust in spoken or written assurances alone. Ipi, give the mayor a pen.” Het-uy’s mouth set in a thin line. Without further comment he took the brush Ipi held up to him, and now his hand did shake, so that a drop of black ink sprinkled the desk. Kamose took the scroll he signed, passed it to Ipi, and gave him the other, watching while he inscribed his name again. “That one you must keep,” he ordered, coming to his feet. “We will not insult you now by accepting your hospitality. Long life, Het-uy.” The others had also risen. Het-uy bowed stiffly but did not return the greeting, and with a few steps Kamose was outside.

Sending one of the guards to search the taverns for his fellows, Kamose set off down the street. Full night had fallen. Lamplight from the open doorways he passed pooled yellow into the dust, seeming to carry with it the gusts of laughter and quick conversation that swelled out, only to
be sucked up by the darkness. Faint chanting came from the holy precinct of Hathor’s temple, but the sweet, high female voices only reminded Kamose that he must warn his mother to keep a careful watch on the river traffic and pay close attention to the reports of the spy he would send here to Hathor’s city. “Will he make trouble, do you think?” Iasen was voicing Kamose’s own thoughts, but it was Ahmose who answered.