The Oasis (65 page)

He bowed as he came to a halt, his expression strained, and his first words were of concern for Ahmose.

“He is still unconscious,” Aahmes-nefertari told him. “There is no change. Have you been to see your mother, Ramose?” He nodded miserably.

“She fumes and accuses and protests her innocence,” he said. “She expects me to set her free, as though I have more authority than Simontu. What will happen to her, Highness? Will she be tried?” Aahmes-nefertari considered him warily before replying. He was obviously under great stress but she was in no mood to indulge him.

“You were Kamose’s close friend,” she said. “Those who plotted against him included Nefer-Sakharu. There is some evidence that she had received orders to kill my son. What would you do with her?”

“She is my mother,” he said wretchedly. “How can I answer your question? The gods do not judge benignly those who do not honour their forebears. Yet she has committed treason and connived at my lord’s death.” His brown eyes were full of anguish as they met hers. “You are going to execute her, aren’t you, Aahmes-nefertari?” At his use of her name, Aahmes-nefertari was flooded with memories.

“Whatever is done must be done quickly,” she told him. “Egypt must see that retribution is swift, final, there must be no hesitation or the Princes’ disaffection may spread. Worse, Apepa may sense a weakness and move to take the country back, particularly with Ahmose wounded and unable to issue any commands.” She touched him gently. His skin was hot and she repressed an urge to run her fingers over it, to step closer to him and beg from him a purely masculine reassurance. “Only Mother and I stand between all Kamose achieved and utter disaster,” she almost whispered. “I do not think it will be possible to save Nefer-Sakharu.” Do not plead with me, Ramose, she spoke to him silently, urgently. Do not beg for a wrong to be twisted until it appears to be a right. Do not ask me to warp the divine decrees of Ma’at for the sake of filial allegiance. Please remember Si-Amun! He smiled sadly.

“I am ashamed,” he said. “Of my father, my mother, yet I love them both. I am the most unfortunate man to be living in this troubled age, Highness. I think that peace will always be denied me.” Bowing again he stepped around her, and she was left to continue on until she came to the thick wooden doors of the prison.

Simontu’s office, to the left of the passage leading to the cells, was large and bare. From his seat behind the desk he rose and greeted her with reverence. Yes, her mother was still within, questioning the Prince Intef. She had been with him for an hour or more. He would tell her Aahmes-nefertari was here.

Taking his chair, Aahmes-nefertari waited. The building was quiet, more than half-empty she knew, and she wondered, not for the first time why Kamose had chosen to restore it. Had he planned to fill it with Setiu offenders once he had taken Het-Uart? The workings of his mind had always been mysterious and now there would never be an answer.

Her mother came in shortly. Aahmes-nefertari rose respectfully and for a moment the two women regarded one another. Then Aahmes-nefertari said, “Tetisheri was drunk when I went to see her earlier and Ramose is distraught. What shall we do?” Aahotep waved her daughter down and lowered herself into the chair facing the desk. She was wearing blue, the colour of mourning. Her face had been carefully painted. A thin band of gold hung with tiny jasper scarabs encircled her forehead and her plain, shoulder-length wig, and gold glinted on her long fingers.

“My arm aches,” she remarked. “I had it massaged but it is still sore. Much strength is required to drive a blade into a man. I had not realized. Still …” She gave Aahmes-nefertari a grim smile. “It is a pain I welcome. I have had my soiled sheath folded and put away in a separate box. It is not pride, Aahmes-nefertari. It will serve to remind me of our vulnerability if the time ever comes when we feel ourselves to be invincible.” Aahmes-nefertari did not reply and presently Aahotep continued. “I have been here since dawn, questioning Intef and Iasen. I do not think that they have any concept of their own danger even though I killed Meketra. They believe that because we are women and thus to be discounted we will do nothing until Ahmose recovers, and they are confident that he will not only pardon them but understand their dissatisfaction with Kamose. Oh they have not said these things in so many words,” she finished as Aahmes-nefertari leaned forward with an outraged protest on her lips, “but their attitude is barely deferential. They have not changed much since Kamose bullied them into action two years ago.”

“Did they refer to Mesehti and Makhu?” Aahotep folded her arms and placed them on the table.

“No. We must send someone to Akhmin and Djawati to find them, that is if they have not journeyed straight to the Delta to pledge their loyalty to Apepa.”

“They may indeed have gone home, but according to Senehat they argued in favour of Kamose,” Aahmes-nefertari pointed out. “If they wanted no part in the plot and yet still felt some loyalty to the other Princes, what choice did they have but to run?”

“They could have warned him!” Aahotep flared. “The cowards!”

There was another hiatus. Aahmes-nefertari watched her mother. Aahotep’s jewelled fingers tapped out an absent rhythm on the scored surface of the table. She was breathing deeply, her full breasts rising and falling under the soft blue sheath, her dark brows drawn together in a frown, and all at once Aahmes-nefertari saw her in a different light. It was as though the easy categories into which she had placed her without reflection—mother, wife, mistress of a household— drew back to reveal the true and much more complex facets of her personality. She is indeed my mother, Seqenenra’s wife, the arbiter of the house, Aahmes-nefertari reflected with surprise, but I saw all those things in relation to myself. Even when she and Tetisheri and I used to meet to discuss the responsibilities Kamose placed upon us, I saw her as somehow woven into the family, not existing apart from it. Aahotep alone, without those trappings, Aahotep herself, is something detached. “Mother,” she ventured at last, slightly awed at her revelation, “Ahmose would not pardon them. Nor would he understand. They have mistaken his mild demeanour for weakness.”

“I know.” Aahotep sat back. “They must be dealt with quickly before others begin to assume that rebellion carries no punishment. I feel sorrow for their wives and children, but they must be executed immediately.”

“And what of Nefer-Sakharu?”

“She is the poison that drips slowly and eventually contaminates all that it touches,” Aahotep said gruffly. “What else can we do with her but end her life also? Exile her and her tongue will still wag. We are not safe from her wherever she might go.”

“Then I suggest that we send Ramose after Mesehti and Makhu. That way he will not be forced to see his mother finally disgraced or feel compelled to stand with her. I want to mourn for Kamose,” Aahmes-nefertari finished, getting up. “I cannot do so until every other consideration is settled.” Aahotep stood also.

“Then we are agreed?”

“We are.”

“Good. I will tell Hor-Aha to select ten Medjay archers and tomorrow morning the army will assemble on the parade ground to watch the executions. Aahmes-nefertari …”

“Yes?” Her mother had paused and was biting her hennaed lip.

“It is a terrible thing that we are doing. Killing Egypt’s nobles. Killing a woman. It is as though …” She gestured around the thick, naked walls of the chamber. “It is as though I too am in prison, a place where choices are no longer possible.” Aahmes-nefertari came around the desk and took her mother’s cold hand in both of hers.

“We did not begin this,” she said quietly, “but it is our fate to end it. I must go to Ahmose. Come with me, and then we will go to the temple and pray. By the time we return, Grandmother may be awake and sane enough to offer us advice.”

“I cannot imagine her proposing a more compassionate alternative,” Aahotep retorted. “She will want them dead at any cost.” To that there was nothing Aahmes-nefertari could say. Still hand in hand, the two women went out into the blinding midday sunlight.

In the evening they met with Tetisheri. Pallid and enfeebled by her bout of drinking, she had nevertheless regained her lucidity and was vehemently adamant that the Princes should die. “Why should we spare them?” she snapped. “They murdered Kamose without compunction and but for your courage, Aahotep, they would have killed Ahmose too. Sweep them away. They are not fit to call themselves Egyptian.”

“Then we are in complete agreement?” Aahmes-nefertari asked. “There must be no doubts, no brooding later.” Tetisheri shot her a contemptuous look from the bundle of sheets under which she was resting.

“I do not brood,” she said. “And as for you, my little warrior, I rather fancy that your brooding days are over. Ahmose will find himself somewhat short of commanders when he recovers. Perhaps he should offer you a division. The Division of Hathor?” Aahmes-nefertari swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat. Her grandmother’s tone had been sardonic but there was no mistaking the sincerity of the compliment. “Now go away, both of you,” Tetisheri finished. “If I am to stand with you tomorrow on the dais, I must have the last of the wine massaged away.” Outside the room Aahotep turned to her daughter.

“I will leave Ramose to you,” she said quietly. “I must summon Hor-Aha. This will sound cruel, Aahmes-nefertari, but I hope that Ahmose remains unconscious until the deed is done. If he opens his eyes before dawn, we will be forced to wait upon his decision. I do not think I could bear the delay.” Aahmes-nefertari put a hand to her mother’s cheek in silent agreement and they parted.

It was Senehat who opened the door when Aahmes-nefertari knocked. Seeing the Princess, she bowed and stood aside. “I must speak to Ramose in private,” Aahmes-nefertari said as she walked past her. “Be pleased to wait in the passage, Senehat.” The servant nodded, and at the closing of the door behind her Aahmes-nefertari turned to Ramose.

He and Senehat had been sharing a meal. His table held cups and a wine jug and several empty dishes. He rose at her approach, reverencing her, and she could see by his expression that he knew what was coming. “I want you to take a herald and a guard and go to Akhmin and Djawati,” she said without preamble. “We must know how it is with Mesehti and Makhu. We pray that they simply ran home, but if they headed for the Delta we will have to send troops after them. That is why you need the herald, to send back word as soon as you can. The matter is urgent. We want you to take ship tonight.” He looked at her speculatively for a moment, eyes narrowed.

“You have decided to execute my mother,” he said softly. “That is why you are sending me north.” There is no point in tiptoeing around the truth, Aahmes-nefertari thought, meeting his gaze. Not with Ramose.

“Yes,” she admitted. “You have always valued honesty, old friend. We see no alternative that will ensure our safety. Know that we are anguished for your sake but not for hers. She deserves nothing more.” He backed up against a chair and sank into it awkwardly.

“Will you at least tell me when it is to be so that I may pray for the journey of her ka? And, Highness, I insist on a proper beautifying for her. I will pay for it myself.” Once more Aahmes-nefertari wanted to kneel beside him and take him in her arms, this time for his sake not hers.

“Of course,” she replied steadily. “It will be at dawn tomorrow. Ramose, I am so sorry. I do not have the words …” He held up a hand.

“No more, Aahmes-nefertari,” he begged. “I will do as you have ordered, but now I must be alone. Please tell Senehat to go to her cell. I could not endure her presence either.”

Ahmose must compensate him for everything we have taken from him over the years, Aahmes-nefertari vowed feverishly to herself as she made her way through the darkening house. I will personally insist that he is given an estate, a princely title, trade monopolies, anything he wants when Ahmose achieves divinity. But she knew, as she settled herself beside her husband’s still form, that nothing could replace the loss of Tani or soothe the wound of his parents’ disgrace. Power would not warm his couch. Gold could not erase shame. And promises will not allay the guilt I feel, she sighed inwardly. All of us have become victims to a greater or lesser degree in this struggle, and there is no returning, for us or for Egypt.

She did not sleep that night. In a kind of confused need for expiation she remained with Ahmose, rising occasionally to stretch cramped limbs or trim the lamp but chiefly spending the hours leaning thoughtfully over the couch. Twice the physician came, examined his patient, and with a polite word to her, left again. Akhtoy also slipped in and out of the room with water and fruit for her but she neither ate nor drank. She could judge how time was passing by the quality of the silence both inside the house and outside in the empty garden. Twice she heard the guard change beyond the door and at the second watch she left her husband and went reluctantly to her own quarters. It was time to dress and Ahmose still had not opened his eyes. She did not know whether to be grateful or sorry.

In the chill pre-dawn air she, her mother and her grandmother were escorted to the parade ground by Ankhmahor and the few Followers who had escaped the Princes’ purge. The body of Meketra, now swollen and turning black, was carried before them. Aahotep had forbidden it to be wrapped, and Aahmes-nefertari kept her eyes on the helmets of the soldiers so that she would not see the man’s lolling, misshapen head. Nevertheless she was sure that she could detect the scent of corruption wafting from the corpse to her nostrils on the first stirrings of the morning breeze. I will not falter, she told herself firmly. I will not shudder or shrink from what I am about to see. I will remember Kamose and my father. I will think of my ancestors. But most of all I will conjure the face of my son and let my anger be my armour.

The huge expanse of the parade ground was already packed with troops. As the three women mounted the dais, Aahmes-nefertari noted that Hor-Aha had ranked them according to their allegiance, with the Princes’ men fronting the one open space. There was hardly a sound. The curious but familiar hiatus that always preceded Ra’s rising seemed intensified by the motionless assembly, line upon line of faces turned blankly towards the reviewing stand.