The Shepherd Kings (4 page)

The river ran strong and deceptively slow, in this its
season of waiting before the flood that would spread it wide over the valley of
Egypt. The day dreamed its way into evening, and thence into a night of bright
stars. They did not beach the ship even here in Ahmose’s kingdom, but sailed
nightlong, riding the river down toward the sea. Kemni would have slept among
the cargo, indeed had fallen into a drowse, but a hand on his shoulder brought
him suddenly awake.

He blinked up at a face he knew, but where he had known it,
or how, he did not just then remember. It was a Cretan face, and young, all
eyes and black curls. At first glance he could not have told if it was male or
female; but when he sat up and the Cretan drew back, he saw well enough that it
was a man, or boy rather, naked and brown and irresistibly cheerful.

He babbled at Kemni in his own language, quick and light as
water running. When Kemni simply stared, he sighed a little—just enough to be
perceptible—and said slowly, with an atrocious accent, “Captain says come. You
come. Yes?”

“Yes,” Kemni said. He rose and stretched, working stiffness
out of neck and shoulders and back. The Cretan boy grinned at him. He grinned
back, as a lion grins, baring fangs.

The boy laughed. “You come,” he said.

~~~

Naukrates the captain sat at ease in his cabin under the
deck, in the gentle rocking of water, by the light of lamps that burned sweet
oil. There was no gleam of gold here, no blatant luxury, but to eyes that knew
how to see, this was a great lord’s place, and no doubt of it. The lamps were
made of bronze, simple work but exquisitely fine. The coverlets on the bunk
built into the curved wall of the hull, the cushions that made it comfortable,
were somewhat worn but beautifully made, the work of a fine needle: noble
surely, perhaps even royal. Another such weaving covered what must be a
sea-chest of respectable size; and what was in that, Kemni could guess.

It was serving as a table now. Kemni had not expected a
king’s banquet, but this was a fair feast for a ship that made no pretensions
to luxury. The wine was Cretan, and very fine. The bread was well milled and
baked just so; and there was oil to dip it in, rich and pungent-sweet, pressed
from the olives of Crete. The roast duck and the platter of fishes from the
river, each cooked in a different herb, would have been reckoned elegant enough
even for the king. And there were onions, too, and lettuces, and bits of green
to cleanse the palate, and after those, cakes made of honey and spices.

Kemni sat back at last, full almost to bursting, and belched
his appreciation. “My compliments to your cook,” he said.

Naukrates smiled. “He’ll thank you, I’m sure.”

“Even though I’m an Egyptian, and therefore worth little?”

“Ah,” said Naukrates. “You understand us too well.”

“Egyptians think the same of Cretans,” Kemni said. “It’s the
way of the world.”

They sat for a little while in silence. Kemni watched the
lamps sway as
Dancer
rolled gently on
the current. He could hear the sounds of a ship at night: men snoring, rigging
creaking, the soft pad of the watch on the deck above his head. Warm wind
wafted through the port. Someone was playing on a flute, very soft, very sweet.

“Tell me now,” said Naukrates, “why you were given this
charge.”

“I, of all who could have been sent?” Kemni spread his
hands. “I look to be of little account, don’t I? Even for an Egyptian.”

“I think there is more to you than one might think.”
Naukrates reached for the winejar and filled both their cups. He took up his
own, but did not drink at once, turning it in his fingers instead, watching
Kemni over the rim of it. “Tell me who you are.”

“My name is Kemni,” Kemni said after a pause. “My father was
a lord, not a great one but respectable enough, up in the Delta past Memphis.
Our family lived in that holding, which we called the Golden Ibis, since before
there was a lord in the Two Lands.

“Then came the foreign kings, whom we call the Retenu. My
grandfather fought them, but was defeated. He kept his holding, held it and
ruled it as best he might, but paying tribute to a king who was never born in
Egypt. When he went to the Field of Flowers, where no doubt he received a just
and ample reward, his son took the lordship after him. That was my father. He
was a quiet man, little inclined to contest an overlord’s will. He married
late. I was born when he was already old. He may still be living; I don’t know.
I left him when I was old enough to fight, went with my mother’s brother to
offer myself to the king in Thebes.

“He took us as his servants, as was right and proper. And we
fought in battle against the invaders. We won—we were triumphant. We took the
greater part of the Lower Kingdom, and laid siege to their capital, to Avaris
itself. My uncle died there with a Retenu arrow in his heart. I was wounded.
Maybe I should have died. But the gods were watching over me. I never knew I
was hurt: after my uncle fell, I fought my way through a wall of enemies and
found myself back among my own people. We fought till there was no one left to
fight; and then I found myself back to back with a man who looked at me and
said, ‘Great Horus, they’ve spitted you like an ox!’”

“And had they?” Naukrates inquired.

“Almost,” Kemni said. “I was lucky. The spear hadn’t pierced
anything vital. I was a pitiful object for a while, and my new battle-brother
had much to do to look after me, especially after we broke the siege at Avaris
and ran clear south to Nubia to defend the kingdom’s borders, but in the end I
was as well as ever. By then I knew that my comrade in arms was one of the
king’s sons, and one way and another he’d taken me into his house. There I’ve
lived since, and served the king as I may, and I suppose prospered. But I’ve
never gone back to the lands that should have been mine. I’ve been branded
rebel. The Retenu would slaughter me on sight. Not that I care for myself, but
my mother, my father if he still lives—they would suffer if I came back.”

“So you have clear cause,” Naukrates said, “to want the
invaders gone.”

“Oh yes,” said Kemni. “Yes, I have cause.” It was an old
anger, that one, honed and polished like an antique sword. “I told my
battle-brother once that I would do anything to drive the Retenu out of Egypt.
Even—yes, even leave Egypt.”

“Egyptians never leave, do they?” Naukrates said.

“Why should we want to?”

The Cretan shrugged, half-smiling. “We sail the world over.
Home is here,” he said, and struck his breast lightly with his fist, over the
heart. “The land we come from, it is beautiful, but our souls yearn for the
sea. We’re sea-people, children of the wind. We ride on the wave’s breast. When
we come back to Earth Mother, we come as her beloved, to rest for a while
before we go back to the sea.”

“All that we are is in Egypt,” Kemni said. “The Red Land
that borders it. The Black Land that is the heart of it. And the river that
makes it all one. It is all we need, and all we ever look to need.”

“What strange people you are,” said Naukrates.

“No stranger than you,” Kemni said.

“Only promise,” said Naukrates, “you’ll not wither and die
out of sight of your Egypt. I’ll be hard pressed to explain that to your
king—or to mine.”

“I hope I’m a stronger soul than that,” Kemni said a little
stiffly.

“Ah. I’ve offended you.” Naukrates did not sound unduly
troubled. “Then let me offer further offense. Embassies prosper by the talents
of their interpreters. If you would be pleasing to the great ones of my
country, you would speak to them in their own tongue.”

“Would you ask that,” Kemni asked, “if I had been a great
lord in a golden barge, with armies of servants?”

“No,” Naukrates answered promptly.

“Well,” said Kemni. “Well then. I’ll have little enough else
to do, I suppose.”

“We’ll find uses for you,” Naukrates said, “and while we do
that, we can teach you to speak in words that the sea will understand.”

~~~

Kemni had never heard of such a thing before. To be turned
into a pupil, like a small boy in the scribes’ school—except that his teachers
were many, indeed most of the sailors on the ship, and his schoolroom was the
ship itself, riding down the river toward the conquered country. And
thereafter, if the gods were kind and the conquerors sufficiently blind, out
upon the sea, the Great Green that he had heard of but never seen.

There was no sharp line between his king’s lands and the
lands that bowed to the conqueror king. Much had remained the same: the
villages and towns, the cities spread along the river, the traffic and commerce
of Egypt. But as
Dancer
sailed
northward, Kemni began to see signs of the invader. A donkey caravan winding
along the river’s edge. A robed and heavy-bearded man sitting uncomfortably in
a boat, being rowed the gods knew where. And most striking of all, a troop of
chariots racing from Black Land into Red Land, with a glitter of spearheads and
a bright gleam of armor. Whether they were riding to the hunt or to a battle,
Kemni did not know. He would have given heart’s blood to learn the answer; but
he could have no part of it. Not now. Not by his king’s decree. He must
preserve his secrecy until he had passed out of Egypt.

He kept to such shadows as there were, and did his best not
to seem conspicuous. One brown wiry person must seem very like another, though
his hair was cropped close and not grown out in ringlets. He lent a hand where
he was needed, and learned the words that went with whatever he did, and
managed, after the first long day, to be much too busy for boredom, and much
too exhausted in the nights to do more than sleep. Dreams let him be. He was
doing as the gods bade; they kindly left him to it.

They came to Memphis on a day of heavy, humid heat. The
Cretans were gasping in it. Kemni roused to it, for he had been born in this
country, bred in it, raised and nurtured there. This city had been his city,
this world his world.

And he could not walk in it, not if he would do his king’s
bidding. He had to lurk and skulk and hide here more than he ever had before.

They would linger in the city for a day and a night, and
depart on the second morning. Naukrates had cargo to unload and cargo to take
on—for this was truly a trading voyage, whatever else it might also be. He
could hardly conceal a ship of this size or fashion, nor did he intend to try.

Because the riverside was crowded, and because they
preferred to remain afloat where they were not so vulnerable, they rode at
anchor and ran boats to the shore. Kemni kept to the cabin as much as he could
bear to. Even he found the air close there, the heat oppressive, and no breeze
to cool it. There was a fan, and water sweetened with wine, for such relief as
those might give.

He was glad of them when the harbormaster’s man came in his
gilded boat to inspect the ship and its cargo; for that voice, high and
somewhat affected, and that self-consciously ponderous step on the deck were
terribly familiar. Ptahmose had been a frequent guest in Kemni’s father’s
house: kin in somewhat distant fashion, and keenly interested in the holding’s
fortunes. If Kemni had been a daughter and not, thank the gods, a son, Ptahmose
might have hinted at marriage.

And now he was the harbormaster’s servant, and no doubt his
coffers were well lined with silver and with foreign gold. Kemni clung tightly
to the shadows and prayed that neither Ptahmose nor his trampling company of
guards would carry on their inspection belowdecks.

But he seemed content to loiter above, drinking Naukrates’
wine and eating the cook’s fine cakes. Kemni knew well how fine they were: a
napkinful had found its way down to his hiding place. The cook, who loved no
one, disliked Kemni less than most.

After an endless while, Ptahmose and his men removed
themselves from the ship. Naukrates went with them, or close behind them. There
was no urgency in it, that Kemni could hear or sense.

He was sweltering in the dim box of the cabin, but he did
not leave it just then. He lay on the bunk. Perhaps he slept. He might have
dreamed; but he did not choose to remember.

~~~

When he sat up with a start, the heat had abated a little.
The cabin was dimmer than ever.
Dancer
was as quiet as she could be, a sunset quiet.

He came out carefully, keeping to shadows. The deck was all
but deserted. Most of the crew had gone ashore. Those who remained were quietly
watchful. No ordinary sailors, those. Kemni knew the look of fighting men.

Naukrates might seem unconcerned, but he was well on guard.
Kemni eased a little, seeing that.

His frequent place on the deck had altered. Some of its
familiar boxes and bales were gone. Others had taken their place. Kemni found a
shadow to rest in, with even a whisper of breeze, and no more stinging flies
than strictly necessary. It was almost pleasant.

As he lay there, quiet but alert, like the watch, some few
of the crew came back—early, from the greetings they received. He could
understand a little of it, not every word but enough. They had met a friend, or
an ally, or someone equally well disposed toward them. They were bringing that
one to the ship. And indeed there was a stranger among them, a figure as
shadowy as Kemni tried to be. It was wrapped in a mantle even on such a night
as this, its movements almost soundless, slipping through the kilted or naked
crewmen. They gave way as it passed, as men would to one of greater rank than
they.

For a while Kemni wondered if Naukrates had come back, for
some reason in disguise. But this was a smaller figure, lighter on its feet,
and quicker, too. Before he was fully aware of its intent, it was standing over
him, a shrouded shadow, and deep within the darkness, a gleam of eyes.