The Shepherd Kings (65 page)

Kemni allowed his stallions to stretch their stride. A
murmur followed him, swelling to a roar as the armies understood what hurtled
toward them. That roar bore him up. It made light the feet of his horses, and
lifted the chariot as if on wings.

By the time they came down to the river, all the world was
one vast swell of sound. Kemni was dizzy with it and with the heat and with the
speed of his coming. Lion and Falcon had the bits in their teeth. He battled
for control of them before they ran from land into water—and perhaps, as swift
as they were, full onto the king’s barge.

They came to a rearing, plunging halt just short of the
river. Kemni met the king’s eyes across the brief stretch of water. Some dim
and distant part of him knew that a mere lord and commander did not do such a
thing; that to do it was to profane a god. And yet he could not help but do it.

The king was smiling. Not with his lips: his face was
composed into a proper and royal mask. But the eyes in their warding of paint,
beneath the blue crown of war—those were near to laughter.

He rose from his throne, uncrossed his arms from his breast and
laid down the crook and flail of his kingship, and beckoned imperiously.
Servants ran to his bidding. They bore him down off the ship, set him in a boat
of remarkably plain and ordinary aspect, and delivered him onto the land.

Then on his own feet, like a mortal man, he walked toward
Kemni in his chariot, and sprang lightly in.

The roar of the armies, that had died almost to a whisper
while the king did that utterly unwonted thing, mounted again until it shook
the sky.

As he had on the plain north of Thebes, the king rode with
Kemni for his charioteer, circling this far vaster army. The sight of the king
in a chariot, far from outraging them, swelled their hearts with pride and a
fierce yearning for battle. To take the enemy’s own weapon, to turn it against
him—however small or feeble it was in truth, in the heart it was a mighty and
powerful thing.

The king felt it. He stood taller. The light struck him more
strongly. He was a god indeed, strong in his people’s belief.

Belief, thought Kemni as he drove the horses in the king’s
shadow. Belief made a god. And if his men believed that he was a god . . .

He must not. The king and only the king was the living god
of this kingdom.

With the king, the living god, he raised the army’s spirits,
and showed them a face of victory. When they had circled the whole of the army
that was on the land, they returned to the river and the golden barge, to find
the queens waiting: Nefertari at last in her proper and glorious state, and
Ariana clad as an Egyptian royal wife. The truth of that, then, would wait for
yet a while.

The queens accompanied the king in his chariot, through the
massed ranks toward the Bull of Re. They came likewise in a chariot, with
Ariana as charioteer: such a sight as Egypt had never seen, nor perhaps had the
Retenu, king and queen side by side in golden chariots, their horses running
neck and neck up the road to the holding.

~~~

There was a feast that day, as was expected; but king and
queens left it early, just after the wine had begun to go round. They let it be
thought that they went to rest. But in truth they gathered for a council of
war.

Kemni did not put himself forward, but when the high ones
took their leave, Ariana caught his eye.
Come
,
her glance said.

He lingered for a little while, to divert attention. Gebu
was there, and others of the princes; Kemni had been hard pressed to avoid
them. But he let them catch sight of him then, and greet him with every
appearance of gladness, and insist that he share a cup of wine.

“I hope you left a chariot for me,” Gebu said, as warm as
ever, pulling Kemni into a half-embrace. Kemni did his best not to shrink from
it; to remember what this man had been to him for half a score of years before
treason tainted him.

“You still want a chariot?” Kemni asked him. “What does your
father say to that?”

“He gives me his blessing,” Gebu said.

“Well then,” said Kemni, “if your highness will submit to my
command again, I’ll do what I may.”

“Excellent!” said Gebu in open delight.

It was difficult, so difficult, to remember what this man
had done. Ten years of love and trust against a season of mistrust and growing
hate—the balance lurched and swayed. Kemni was glad to plead a bursting
bladder, to escape to the relative safety of the queens’ house.

They had not been waiting for him. Of course not. But when
he came, with lowered head and suitably modest demeanor, Ahmose greeted him as
gladly as his son had, and beckoned him to a chair among them.

There would be no ceremony here, clearly. They had all put
off their finery, the queens—and Iphikleia, who sat beside Ariana—for plain
linen gowns, the king for a kilt and his own cropped greying hair. Kemni in
festival clothes felt out of place, until Ahmose’s words made him forget such
frivolities.

“I still am not assured that the enemy is ignorant of this
war,” he said. “He’s had ample opportunity to send and receive spies. There can
be no doubt that I’ve mustered my armies, nor any at all as to where I’ve
directed them. Nubia is secured behind me—or as well as it can be; I’ll not repeat
my brother’s error, there, and lose the Lower Kingdom because I failed to
remember the kingdom at my back.”

“Still,” Nefertari said, “he’ll not be as ready as he might
be.”

“Maybe,” said Ahmose. “But he will close the gates of the
Lower Kingdom, and fortify Avaris against a siege. That would be the most
sensible course, yes? My brother won by driving straight down the river to the
capital.”

“You have another plan?” Ariana asked.

“I had been thinking,” said Ahmose, “that we might attack
from another direction. The enemy’s strength comes from Canaan. His kin are
there, his people, his trade and his wealth. Whatever he needs that Egypt
cannot or will not give him, he takes from the land of Retenu. Suppose,” he
said, “that we cut him off from his native country. The gate is at Sile. If we
take that gate and hold it, he’ll be taken by surprise—or so we can hope—and
with all his forces drawn away to the inner parts of his kingdom.”

“Sile.” Nefertari frowned. “Yes, that’s the gate to Canaan.
But it’s well past Avaris. Are there river routes to it that the Retenu aren’t
guarding?”

“There is the sea,” said Ahmose. “Suppose that we keep the
fleet in abeyance just south of the border into the Lower Kingdom, and take a
strong part of the army—and my chariots—toward Sile. If the Cretans come to us
there, and we take that city by both water and land, then hold it with Cretan
aid, the enemy will lose his reinforcements. He’ll have only himself to rely
on, and such of his people as are in the Lower Kingdom.”

“And those are few.” Nefertari nodded slowly. “Then, when
Sile is fallen, let the fleet sail on down the river and lay siege to Avaris.
Will you command the fleet, my lord? Or the attack on Sile?”

“I go to Sile,” Ahmose said. “As for the fleet . . .
my ladies, do you think that the bold river-sailors of the Upper Kingdom will
look to a pair of queens for their command?”

Kemni had been looking for the sudden light in Ariana’s eye,
but it was Nefertari who lit like a lamp. “What, my lord,” said the elder
queen, “have you no sons or lord commanders to take that office?”

“Well,” said Ahmose, “I’ll give you an admiral or two, and
more than enough princes and lords to keep the men in hand. But I need someone
I can trust, to be overlord to them all.”

Nefertari inclined her head. “If they will accept me, I will
do all you wish.”

“They will accept you,” he said amiably, but there was the
strength of stone beneath.

Kemni wondered if Ahmose had noticed that Nefertari spoke of
I
and not of
we
. If he did, he chose to ignore it. And so, it appeared, did
Ariana.

Ahmose rose with an air of satisfaction. “Good, then. It’s
all settled, and will be seen to. Now I advise that we sleep. Tomorrow begins
before dawn. We’ll march and sail by sunup.”

“As you will, my lord,” Nefertari said with no evidence of
dismay.

It was no great matter for Kemni to alter the direction of
his chariots’ march. A march was a march, whether direct to Avaris or
roundabout to Sile. But he had another concern, which he must settle before he
slept.

Iphikleia did not try to keep him in the house. He would
have been sore tempted if she had. But she kissed him and pushed him away. “Go.
We all have much to do.”

Even then he would have lingered—for if the queens were
commanding the fleet, then Iphikleia would come to the war in the end; but not
till after Sile was taken. He might not hold her in his arms again for a long
season; perhaps even longer than that, if the war proved more difficult than
the king expected.

But she had never been one to linger over farewells. She was
gone even as she spoke, striding in Ariana’s wake, and leaving Kemni alone and
heart-cold.

He called himself to order. It was not so very late—just
barely past sunset—and that was well; he had a long night ahead. He went in
search of his charioteers, who were, for this night, housed again inside the
Bull of Re, except for those who stood guard beyond the walls, warding the much
enlarged herd of horses.

Seti was, as he had hoped, still awake and still unblurred
with either wine or beer. He was passing round a jar in the guardroom and
playing at hounds and jackals with what seemed to be a conspiracy of
charioteers. There were wagers and laughter, and a girl or two.

They quieted somewhat at Kemni’s coming, a hush he knew well
from other times:
The commander comes
,
it said.

They remembered their insouciance soon enough, with Seti for
ringleader. “My lord!” he called. “Come here, lend me your wits. I’m sore
outnumbered.”

“Surely,” Kemni said, “if I may borrow you a moment first.”

Seti betrayed no reluctance. “We’ll return and conquer you
all,” he promised as he left them.

Kemni’s old workroom was cleared of its clutter now, the
heaps of scrolls put away or packed for the march, the table unwontedly bare.
The lamp at least was there still, and primed with oil. Kemni lit it from the
lamp in the guardroom and set it on the table. He did not sit, though Seti
perched on a stool, waiting with a servant’s patience for his lord to deign to
speak.

It was almost insolence—but then most of what Seti did was
like that. “Help me with a thing,” Kemni said to him. “Prince Gebu is here. He
wants a chariot; and the king hasn’t spoken to forbid him. Who is unwaveringly
loyal, strong with the horses, and willing to serve as both guard and
charioteer to a prince who may be a traitor?”

“May be?” Seti shook his head. “Well. He might have changed
his mind, after all. Let me think.”

Kemni was happy to do that. He wished he had brought wine or
a jar of beer from the guardroom; he was suddenly parched. But there was
nothing here but a locked scroll-case and the empty table, and a stool or two.

Seti did not take overlong to run over in his head the
muster of the chariots. “There’s one man,” he said, “rather young, but steady.
His name is Ahmose, like the king’s. People call him Ahmose si-Ebana—Ebana’s
son. He’s asked for a change of companion; he was matched with one of the
recruits, who’s proved to be a poor fighter. If you’ll shift that one to the
reinforcements, the prince can ride behind si-Ebana.”

“Will si-Ebana stand fast if there’s sign of treachery?”

“I’ve found him trustworthy,” Seti said, “and rather
interesting, too. He was a scribe before he came into the army. He can read,
and he writes well. If the treachery takes the form of anything written as well
as spoken, he’ll be able to read it.”

“Bring him here,” Kemni said. “Let me speak to him.”

Seti was not visibly insulted that Kemni had not taken him
at his word. But then very little dismayed Seti. He went to do Kemni’s bidding,
leaving Kemni alone, dry, and regretting his decision to linger.

The boy who brought bread and beer would never know why
Kemni laughed. Seti the wise, Seti the perspicacious, had seen Kemni’s distress
and set about disposing of it—and without a word spoken, either, that Kemni had
heard.

Just as Kemni had downed most of a cup of beer and begun to
gnaw on the hard barley bread, Seti returned with a young man behind him—a boy,
in truth, whose cheeks barely knew the razor. But he had the eyes of a much
older man, weary and wise.

In that, he was very like Seti—who could not have been past
a score of years himself. He bowed to Kemni, not too low, but low enough for
respect. “My lord,” he said in a youth’s light voice.

“Ahmose si-Ebana,” Kemni said in return. “Has Seti told you
what I need?”

The boy nodded. “A charioteer, my lord, for a prince who has
ambitions to be a king.”

“And are you incorruptible?” Kemni asked him.

The world-weary eyes lit with a spark of amusement. “My
lord, no man is incorruptible. But reward me well and command me fittingly, and
I’ll be yours till the gods release me from my oath.”

“What reward will you take?”

“I’d have to think on that,” he said.

“You’ll be paid in gold,” said Kemni, “and the king will
honor you. Will that content you?”

“It will do,” said Ahmose si-Ebana.

~~~

They marched in the morning. The army was divided as the
king had ordained, the fleet embarked down the river for yet some distance, to
a haven where it would wait to be summoned into the Lower Kingdom. The bulk of
the fighting men, and the chariots, set off on the long road to Sile.

Kemni was the king’s charioteer. If he had thought at all,
he would have expected that the king would be borne in a chair as kings in
Egypt had gone to battle for time out of mind. But Ahmose was not one to be
left behind in the march of years.