The Oasis (40 page)

Kamose felt himself go cold, then hot, and at the same moment Ahmose gave an exclamation and clutched at his thigh. He looked up and their eyes met. Ahmose raised his eyebrows. Kamose nodded. His heart had begun to pound. Turning, he shouted, “Ankhmahor!” After a minute the Captain of his Followers appeared, emerging from the shadowed entrance of his tent. Kamose rose. He found himself trembling. “Choose senior officers, men who will understand the purpose of these instructions,” he said urgently. “Send them to every spring, well and pond in the oasis. Detail one to go into each village. As soon as every man has filled his water skin and the barrels for the horses are full as well, I want the oleanders cut down, ripped up, and tossed into the water. Do whatever is necessary to make sure that all sources are contaminated. All sources, Ankhmahor. Not one must be missed or we might as well not bother. Crush the bushes so that the sap oozes out. Make sure that the soldiers do not approach the water afterwards. And no one is to drink from their skins until the first halt tomorrow so that there is no waste tonight.” Ankhmahor had listened with barely concealed astonishment, but by the time Kamose had finished speaking his expression had become grim.

“You are condemning them to almost certain death if they cannot quench their thirst here, Majesty,” he said. “It will be a cruel end.”

“War is cruel,” Kamose replied curtly. “I know that you have considered the implications of the number sent against us here. We must increase our advantage by any means possible.” The Prince bowed and strode away.

“What of the villagers, Kamose?” Ahmose had come to stand beside him. “Without water they will die too.”

“It is their misfortune to be caught in the centre of this brutality,” Kamose said roughly. “What would you have me do, Ahmose? Leave them a spring somewhere? That would be ridiculous. The Setiu would waste no time in sucking it dry and then crawling after us refreshed and ready to pound us into oblivion.”

“I know. But if you abandon the peasants to such a terrible fate, you will incur the contempt of every common soldier in your army, let alone the Princes, who will begin to debate their decision to trust you. They strongly disapproved of the slaughter of last year. You will make more enemies than you already have. Please, Kamose!” Kamose found himself once again battling the rage that seemed to be always simmering just under the border of his control. I don’t care, Ahmose! he wanted to shout. Don’t make me care! I cannot afford such a gentle emotion! But as he had so often done, he swallowed the madness and faced his brother calmly.

“Then what would you have me do?” he repeated.

“Order a few men to see that the villagers pack up their belongings, gather up their animals, and march with us. They are hardy folk, these oasis dwellers. They will not hinder us. They are innocents, Kamose. They do not deserve such a fate.” And neither did the inhabitants of Dashlut or any of the other villages you ordered razed, his eyes said. Or am I imagining his accusation? Kamose thought. Does he even suspect the pain I endured last year and learned to dull with the opiate of necessity?

“You are right,” he made himself say. “You can see to it, Ahmose.” Then he smiled. “Spiking the water supply with oleander was a inspiration sent directly from Amun to both of us, was it not?” Ahmose’s face broke into an answering grin.

“It was indeed!” he said. “Now let us quit this arid place and give Apepa the thrashing he deserves!”

By evening the mustering was complete. All day the troops had been dribbling in from the farther reaches of the oasis where they had been billeted, an orderly stream of sun-hardened men carrying weapons as familiar to them now as the hoes and winnowing flails they had once wielded. Obedient to their officers, they ranged themselves along the eastern track in their several divisions, and sitting on their wooden shields, fell to gambling and gossiping as they waited for night.

Just after sunset Ankhmahor returned to Kamose to report that Uah-ta-Meh’s water supply was now undrinkable. Kamose acknowledged the news coolly. He knew that he did not need to press the Prince. The pool before which he now paced was choked with the debris of the dying plants and the petals of the flowers rocked gently on the darkening surface, still glimmering white in the fast-fading light.

The tent the brothers had shared would not be struck until dawn, and as Ankhmahor deployed the Followers around it and Kamose and Ahmose turned to enter its welcoming shelter, there was a commotion on the far side of the pool. With a snap of his fingers Ankhmahor directed two of his men to investigate. Kamose watched as the brawny soldiers walked to the place where a half-naked peasant was shouting at the officers who were holding him. After a moment the Followers returned. “It is the headman of this village, Majesty,” one of them began to explain. “He wishes to speak to you.”

“Then let him come.” At the guard’s call, the officers released the man, who immediately sped across the cooling sand and fell in an ungainly heap at the brothers’ feet. “Get up,” Kamose said impatiently. “What do you want?” Before rising, the man planted a kiss on Kamose’s dusty sandal. Kamose found himself looking into a leathery, seamed face and one sunken brown eye. The other peered at him sightlessly, a pale blue, filmy orb.

“Majesty, Great One, Favourite of the Gods,” the man blurted. “It is not for me to question your inscrutable judgements for you are infallible, chosen by the immortal ones …”

“I have not eaten since this morning,” Kamose broke in, “and my meal sits within, getting cold. What do you want?” The headman pursed his lips and looked at the ground.

“The people of my village have lived in harmony with your soldiers for many months,” he stammered. “We have shared meat, grain and water. We have not stolen from them. And in return they taint our pools and command us to leave our crops and our homes and follow them into the wasteland. We are bewildered and afraid. What is to become of us? What is your immaculate purpose for us, Beloved of the God of Weset?” Ahmose tensed and opened his mouth to speak but Kamose held out a hand and forestalled him.

“The God of Weset is Amun the Great Cackler,” Kamose responded equably. “Today you have learned something new, headman. As for your concerns, it was necessary to taint the water. I do not need to explain myself to you but I choose to do so. A force of Setiu is on its way here to your precious oasis to destroy me and very probably you. By poisoning the water, I trap them. I had no wish to condemn innocent Egyptians to certain death also; therefore I ordered the evacuation of your village. When we reach Het nefer Apu you will be placed in the care of the mayor of that town.” The headman swallowed, his adam’s apple working convulsively against the scrawny skin of his neck.

“But, Majesty, we do not want to live by the Nile. How soon may we return to our homes here?” Kamose sighed.

“Find one of the army physicians and ask him when the waters will be cleansed,” he said. “It is that or die of thirst. Be grateful that I have spared a thought for your fate in the midst of weightier matters.” Signalling to one of the listening Followers, he turned towards the glow of lamps spilling out of the tent. “Well?” he snapped at Ahmose, as they sat before the laden table and Akhtoy moved to serve them. “Are you satisfied? Was I magnanimous enough? Will the peasants love me now?” His tone was savage. Ahmose held out his cup to be filled and did not answer.

They had crossed the desert in four days without mishap and were welcomed eagerly by Paheri and Abana. Kamose ordered the army bivouacked on the edge of the cultivation, set up a strong perimeter of sentries, and ordered scouts back along the track to watch for the approach of any Setiu survivors. No word as to Ramose’s fate had come to Paheri. Kamose knew that if his friend had managed to escape, he would have found a way to let him know; therefore it was likely that Ramose marched with the Setiu and would perish with them. Yet Ramose is no fool, Kamose told himself as he sat outside Paheri’s tent in the shadow of the ships while the daily reports were read to him. If anyone can win through, he will. I must put him out of my mind for the present and concentrate on what is, not what might be.

For one day he and Ahmose moved among the troops that had been left at Het nefer Apu, met with all the Princes and the commanders of both arms of the army to discuss every contingency of engagement should a large force of Setiu win through to the Nile, dictated letters to the women at Weset, and swam and drew bow together.

Then Pezedkhu had come. Just before dawn on the second day, Kamose was woken by a hand on his shoulder. Ankhmahor’s worried face loomed in the dimness and a taller shadow filled the tent’s opening. At once Kamose sat up. Ahmose was groaning and reaching for the water by his cot. A flame flared, momentarily blinding them. Akhtoy replaced the now burning lamp. Ankhmahor bowed. “Majesty, the enemy is here,” he said without preamble. “Your scout waits to give you the details. I have taken the liberty of alerting all your commanders. Hor-Aha is already outside.”

“Bring him in.” Kamose ran a furred tongue over his teeth. As he stood, Akhtoy quickly wrapped a kilt around his waist then turned to Ahmose. The scout stepped up and bowed, and behind him Hor-Aha’s black face appeared suddenly in the yellow light, his hooded eyes swollen with sleep, his thick braids dishevelled. “Speak,” Kamose invited the scout. The man nodded.

“Majesty, it is the General Pezedkhu,” he said. “He sits just north of here with perhaps ten divisions. At present he is deploying his troops west to east from the edge of the desert to the river, with the bulk of his army concentrated by the desert. His sentries and ours are so close to each other that they could exchange conversation if they shouted. He has a full complement of chariots. You can hear the horses if you walk twenty paces along the riverbank. There is no attempt at secrecy.” Kamose folded his arms, cradling his naked chest. The air in the tent was chilly.

“How do you know it is Pezedkhu?” he demanded.

“I stripped off my insignia, left my weapons with one of my soldiers, tied back my hair, and joined the townsmen who had begun to congregate to see what was going on,” the man said laconically. “There does not seem to be any desire to come to battle readiness yet. I had no opportunity to talk to any of the Setiu. The officers soon drove us all away.”

“Thank you,” Kamose managed. “You can go. Hor-Aha, direct the Princes to gather outside Paheri’s tent. Akhtoy, rouse the cooks. We need hot food. On the way, tell Ipi to wait on us with the army scribes. Send in my body servant.” The steward bowed and left with Hor-Aha. Ahmose, Kamose and Ankhmahor were left. For a long moment they simply stared at one another. Then Ahmose blew out his cheeks.

“Why has Pezedkhu not attacked?” he wondered aloud.

“Because his scouts are in every way as good as ours,” Kamose replied. “He has been told that the infantry is here, not at the oasis. He knows that no engagement took place there. If he had arrived before us, he would have attacked Paheri and been victorious, then he would have sat and waited for either the other half of Apepa’s force to arrive from Uah-ta-Meh having defeated us, or for us to march out of the desert with that same force behind us and an equally large army in front. As it is, he has calculated his odds and found them wanting. He has his sixty thousand men. We now have a combined force of eighty thousand.”

“He will consolidate his position,” Ankhmahor put in. “He will do nothing until his fellows join him.”

“And if all goes as we planned, they are even now dying of thirst,” Ahmose remarked with an uncharacteristic relish that betrayed both his fear of the Setiu General and his relief that the odds were now overwhelmingly in the Egyptians’ favour.

“We can be sure that the plan to trap us in a pincer was not Apepa’s,” Kamose said. He was rubbing his upper arms vigorously. “Gods, it is cold this morning! Leave us, Ankhmahor.” The body servant had entered and was waiting with a bowl of steaming water. Behind him his assistant carried towels. Akhtoy had returned and was laying out clean linen. As the Prince lifted the tent flap, Kamose saw his frame clearly outlined against the sky beyond. The sun was rising.

Less than an hour later, washed, dressed and shod, the brothers joined the crowd of commanders waiting in front of Paheri’s tent. As they were reverenced, Kamose noted the bent back of Abana’s son Kay. “What are you doing here?” he addressed him sharply, taking his seat and motioning the others to do the same around the large table. The young man smiled at him apologetically but with a hint of polite defiance.

“They say that the Setiu General has a fleet of powerful ships hidden on the Nile, Majesty,” he replied. “If my marines are to engage the enemy, I want to be well prepared.”

“The ship
North
turned in the worst performance of all during the mock battle,” Kamose remarked dryly. “Besides, it is not true. Pezedkhu brought no ships. The Medjay and the marines will be fighting on land. And you, Kay Abana, are not a senior commander. Stop wasting my time here.” The other men were listening to the exchange with barely concealed and superior smiles. All at once Kamose felt sorry for Kay. “Still, you are a talented ship’s captain, highly regarded by your superiors,” he conceded. “You may stay as long as your mouth remains closed. Now have us served, Akhtoy. We will debate our situation while we eat.”

As food was placed before them, Kamose related the report, and they had barely begun the meal when they were interrupted by the first in a steady stream of scouts bringing a swiftly multiplying picture of Pezedkhu’s deployments. The General was not preparing an attack. As Kamose had surmised, he was posting sentries and sending out a stream of his own scouts who would bring him word when the rest of Apepa’s army appeared. “I want the Medjay off the boats and free to manoeuvre in the desert,” Kamose told Hor-Aha. “They will harry the flanks of whatever force does come from the west. Paheri, the remaining marines must stay on the river to strengthen my eastern detachments should Pezedkhu try to push through that way. Intef, Mesehti, Iasen, your troops and most of the chariots are to muster along the edge of the fields, looking west. I am not so concerned with the ground in between. It is very difficult to push across fields of crops slashed with irrigation canals and lines of trees. But we will have a small force placed north of the town just in case. I do not think it will be needed. Pezedkhu will come against us in an arc, heavy at either end and thin in the centre. His western arm will contain the bulk of his troops.”