"I return as I went—with one ship!" Nereb was bitter. "And I had thought to head a fleet to Pharaoh's aid! If all his messengers have served him so ill, then indeed will Thebes have cause to weep."
"Not so." That was Methen. "You return with a company of picked Scouts, Lord, men trained to their duty by constant warfare in a harsh land."
"Thirteen men—" Rahotep was inclined to share Nereb's pessimism.
"One man, with his spirit bent to the task, can plow the desert and raise a vineyard. From small beginnings do armies grow. Let each messenger of Pharaoh bring back but thirteen such men and there will be a regiment of seasoned warriors."
The party on its way to the quay was brought to a halt by the sharp impact of something thrown on the pavement before them. It was a crude reddish bowl as the captain could distinguish by the shards into which it had splintered. One of the archers picked up the largest fragment, passing it to Rahotep's waiting hand.
He saw a sentence scratched in a temple scribe's hematic script: "Rahotep, born to the Lady Tuya and the Royal Son Ptahhotep, shall die."
A cursing—such as he had used against the Kush. He did not realize that he had read that aloud until he heard Methen's sardonic comment:
"So Rahotep shall die? So shall every man who walks Egypt when his time comes and it is Re's will to summon him before the Judges."
His hand struck the fragment of bowl from Rahotep's loose clasp, and then deliberately he kicked it and the other shards from their path. "Anubis curses, but Amon-Re smiles. And do the gods ever take as great an interest in the affairs of men as their mouth pieces would have us believe? Let them keep their warnings for the barbarians and the Kush!"
Kheti laughed and planted his sandal on one small piece, grinding the clay to dust against the stone.
"Arrows fly, spears have points, fever comes up from the river marshes, and a man can die of belly ache safe in his bed. Dedun shall have a fat ram and we shall see what will come of it. Ah, Lords, this is a fine ship we go to—"
It was a ship such as they seldom saw on these upper reaches of the Nile. The carved head, turned inwards on the prow, was the Ram of Amon, and the cabin was hung with walls of painted linen, which could be rolled up for the cool of river breezes. At this season the Nile moved sluggishly, starved for the flood of waters that later would swell the current. The britde, searing winds from the south teased the sail, but it was the current, not those unpredictable gusts, that would take them downstream.
Someone waited for them on the quay, standing a little to one side as if his natural humility made him wait for their recognition. Rahotep dropped Kheti's arm and went up to Hentre.
"You go with us also, old friend—"
The elderly scribe smiled wistfully. "Not so, my son. A handful of wornout brushes and a palette that has served a man for almost a lifetime cannot stand for spear and shield. And it is the weapons of war not the arts of peace that are needed now. I am too old to be torn from my rooting to seek a new growing place—"
"But—" Rahotep began a protest, realizing what it might mean for Hentre to remain in Semna. The scribe's sympathies were widely known. He had made no effort to conceal his allegiance to the Lady Tuya and then to her son. And Unis was petty-minded. Hentre must go with them now!
"There is no need to fear for me, young lord," the scribe hastened to add, as if he read Rahotep's thoughts as fast as they crossed the captain's mind. "I have taken service with the Voice of Amon, and Re shall protect His own. I but come now to wish you well and to bring you that which is rightfully yours. When the Hawk was slain by the Hyksos, making his last defense against those who swept over his land, I was one of those who stole away his body to lay it in safety. And thinking that one of his line might indeed again raise his standard, I brought away from his entombing this which such an heir could use as valiantly as did my lord—" From beneath his cloak Hentre brought out a packet done up in a twist of time-yellowed linen. "Wear it on the day when you go up against the Hyksos, Lord, so that he whom I served before will, by the grace of Re, see it flash in battle once again!"
Rahotep put aside the wrappings to find that he held a fine archer's bracer, shaped to cover the hand, with a chain to go about the thumb and a thong to lace it in place at the wrist. This was fashioned of rare silver, and it was engraved with the Eye of Horus, the Winged Hawk of his mother's nome, and the Feather of Maat—the Truth of the Gods. Since this had been shaped to fit the hand of another, Rahotep slipped it on experimentally, believing it would not fit. But the cold metal was smooth against his skin as if it had been forged to his measure. Hentre smiled happily.
"It is just so, Rahotep, that I have many times seen your mother's father—my good lord and friend—fit that into place. Aye, even on that last day when all of us knew that there was no hope of victory! But no barbarian called it his spoil, and now it will gleam again among the arms of Pharaoh's following. Hail Hawk!" He gave Rahotep the salute due a nomarch.
The young captain laughed ruefully. "A nomarch without a nome, heading a party of eleven archers into a misty future, Hentre. But my thanks be unto you, not only for this"—he rubbed the bracer— "but for all else you have done for me since I was a child in the Women's Hall of the Viceroy's palace, tumbling over my own feet. And for what you did for the Lady Tuya, whom you served exceedingly well!"
So it was Hentre's figure Rahotep watched recede into the distance as the ship Shining in Thebes cast off its moorings and passed into the pull of the current under the careful direction of the bow pilot. A gong sounded and oarsmen bent to the task of adding speed to their going. Behind them first the quay with Hentre, then even the towering walls of Semna grew smaller and were gone as the turns of the river took them out of sight.
Once this waterway had been thronged with river traffic. The cargoes from Nubia, gold, ebony, ostrich plumes, aro- matic woods, and fine skins had gone north, while south had flowed in exchange the finished work of city craftsmen. Now trade was dead. No one moved a cargo willingly into Hyksos territory, except as tribute wrung from nomes by threats. Nubia's wealth stayed at home. Consequently, there was a sad lack of the manufactured articles she needed.
In place of the laden cargo boats, they passed the rafts of herders taking their charges from one side of the river to the other in search of better pasturage. And these half-wild rovers looked upon the energetic downstream swing of the oared ship with amazement.
If the simple people of the land were amazed, their lords were almost uniformly hostile. When Shining in Thebes tied up at quays and Nereb tried to bargain for extra supplies, he was met coldly. For the most part he had to deal with insolent overseers who might not laugh openly at Pharaoh's seal on a royal order, but who, trained by years of outwitting tax collectors, were able to evade any direct compliance with official demands. But there were wild fowl among the reed banks, and Hori of the archers proved himself adept with a throwing stick. They might not feast upon roast goose, but neither did they lack something to add to the hard snail-shaped loaves of bread.
No more recruits were added to Nereb's party until they reached the boundaries of old Egypt and came into the domain of the Elephantine lords. The nomarchs of Elephantine, while not yet ranged openly under the Theban standard, were inclined to join in support of Sekenenre. Two regiments of spearmen marched on board transports, making an armada behind the swifter Shining in Thebes. Meanwhile, Nereb, impatiently pacing the confined deck space of his ship, talked and Rahotep and Methen listened.
To the veteran, much of this was already an old story. To Rahotep some of the information was puzzling. The rest he grasped because of his interest in the north. But most of all he listened eagerly to all Nereb had to say about the Hyksos military might.
When the invaders had lapped over the Sinai causeway into the delta lands two hundred years earlier, they had come as a destroying wave into an Egypt already war-torn and divided by puppet kings and rebel nobles. Nobles drew back to their nomes, holding what they might, t
rying to take more from weaker neighbors. They had not joined together to fight a common enemy.
The chariots of the invaders swept like locusts across a field of new grain. And, like those avid insects, they left but the bare earth behind them. In the delta they built Avaris, that city that was mainly a fort such as Egypt—or Nubia—had never dreamed could stand. From it they ruled not only Egypt but also the lands of the Asiatics, until a man wondered where they had not set up their false god and their frowning cities.
Every Egyptian, from the delta to the Third Cataract in the Kush lands, knew that old tale of destruction and death. But it was from Nereb that the Nubian party heard for the first time of the Theban challenge.
"Chariots," said the northern officer. "We have horses. We have bought them, traded for them, stolen them!" His teeth gleamed suddenly in a smile as if he remembered some foray of his own. "The Royal Son and Heir, Kamose, is a master of chariots, training his own horses, schooling young officers in the art. Look you, a smashing line of chariots to front your attack, and then footmen to follow after—"
"Archers on the wings!" Rahotep could visualize that in part—though he had seen only one chariot. And his examination of that had been limited to a passing stare.
"Archers?" Nereb did not appear to be impressed. "Archers could not stand up to the barbarians' charge before—"
Methen lauehed softly. "Ah, but, Lord Nereb, the Captain Rahotep speaks of archery as it is not known among us in the north. Show the lord your bow, Kheti!"
The Nubian brought out his weapon and strung it. Nereb rested the strength of its pull, ran a questing hand down the curve of the arch, which was built of layers of wood and horn glued together.
"You have not seen such a weapon at Thebes," said Methen. "Nor could any archer of the north loose a shaft from it, for the desert archers are trained to launch their arrows to the mark from the month they first stand upon their feet. Moreover, Lord Nereb, they have yet another trick to aid them besides the excellence of their arms." He looked to Rahotep, and the captain took the hint.
"Hori, Kakaw, Intef, Baku." He named some of his men.
Glad of the chance to vary the monotony of sailing, his small force assembled on the narrow deck in line, their bows strung, blunt hunting arrows to hand. One of the rowing oars splashed on the river surface, sending a covey of waterfowl flapping up into the blazing sun. As one, bow cords were drawn, and, almost as one, the arrows were released at a snap of Kheti's fingers.
Fowls fell. And Nereb uttered a short word of surprise. They had been aiming at birds. But supposing such archers had been sighting against a troop of charging chariots?
"Had the Hyksos urged their forces into Nubia," Methen said, "perhaps they would have discovered that their horses and chariots might not have won the day. We have brought you archers, Lord, such as Egypt has not truly known before. Also they have as keen noses for a tangled trail in tracking as they have keen eyes for an arrow target. Pharaoh may not have his three regiments, but you do not return to him quite empty-handed!"
"So it would seem." Nereb was watching the crew of the ship retrieve the dead waterfowl. "Such archery as that I have not seen before. Nor has our lord."
"Plant your archers on the wings"—Rahotep took up the argument where he had left it before Methen's practical demonstration—"and lead your enemy between them—"
Nereb hooked his fingers in his dagger belt. "The prince must see this and speedily. Aye, perhaps I have brought Pharaoh some good out of Nubia after all and am no failure in his service."
Chapter 5
KAMOSE, COMMANDER OF CHARIOTS
The fleet of ships came into the quays before Thebes in mid- morning, Nereb's smaller vessel leading. Behind the city of the eastern bank stood the limestone cliffs, already faded from their early morning red-gold to a dull, whitish-brown overlaid with a gathering heat haze.
But it was Thebes itself that held the full attention of the party from Nubia. Semna was a great fort with its attendant administration courts, the villas of its officials. Elephantine, the Ivory Island, had been a fine sight. But this was Thebes, for centuries capital of Egypt. And to the men from the border, it was as unknown as the courts of the Minoans in the salt sea.
Soft fur brushed the underside of Rahotep's chin as the cub he held made a jealous bid for his attention. The captain was struggling not to reveal his wonder at the sight before him as a crewman tossed a mooring rope to the quayside and the Shining in Thebes was brought into her berth.
The larger troop vessels, which had joined them at Elephantine, were maneuvering to land, the men crowding their dccks, when there was a stir ashore. Merchants gathered up their wares and hastily pulled back from the road, hearing a shouting from the town, the scurrying of burdened work slaves.
Two spearmen, their heavy pikes at carry, their shields between their shoulders, came as outrunners, and behind them was a light chariot, the stallion that drew it snorting impatiently as the driver kept him to a trot. It was clearly a war chariot. Strapped to the sides of the light equipage were cases of arrows, and a standard pole was mounted beside the young man who stood on a swaying platform, his body weaving expertly to balance against the movement of his unsteady flooring.
A company of spearmen, which Rahotep was forced to approve, followed at a steady lope. They had neither the height nor the heavier build of his archers, but any officer could appreciate that these were seasoned fighting men. Did they represent a picked corps, the well-trained personal guard of a liigh ranking commander, or were they representative of Sekenenre's whole force? If the latter were true—the captain's excitement grew— Out of Thebes hundreds of years earlier had poured such a force under Sesostris, the conqueror of Nubia, the subduer of Kush. If another Sesostris had arisen here—!
The chariot came to a stop at the end of the dock, and one of the spearmen darted forward to grasp the reins the officer tossed him. Nereb had leaped ashore and gone to meet the newcomer, but the impatience of the latter was such that that meeting occurred halfway down the quay.
As the young charioteer's head moved, Rahotep saw a wide strip of patterned linen drooping from the side of his headband. And he did not need to witness Nereb's low obeisance, the prostrations of the commoners along the dock, to know that this was one of the royal princes.
But it was a prince impatient of ceremony, for his staff of rank touched Nereb's shoulder, excusing the ceremonial greeting, and it was apparent he was asking a flood of questions. Then he looked to the Shining in Thebes. Rahotep was ready. His archers were drawn up in a line behind him, Kheti a little to the left. And at the rattle of his sistrum they gave their native salute, the deep-throated roar of their war cry carrying across the river, into the town, until the buzz of life there stilled for an instant in wonder.
Then Rahotep made his own salute, echoed by Kheti and Methen. And he waited with bent head for acknowledgment. It came quicldy, called across the short space between deck and shore.
"You are seen, Captain!"
He straightened to face the prince. Seen so closely the Royal Son was younger, younger and somehow frailer than he had seemed when in command of his chariot. He might be Rahotep's age, or perhaps a year or two older. His thin young body moved tautly, almost awkwardly, as if he had to force it to his will. The flesh on his face was close to the delicate bone structure, but his eyes were intent, old, measuring, as he surveyed the men from Nubia.
Those eyes examined the line of archers, weighing, speculating—as if each man was checked, assayed, and fitted into some pattern known to their new commander alone. Rahotep was certain that not a single foreign detail had been missed— that the size of those bows and the lean fitness of the men who bore them had been noted. And when that stare reached him, he braced himself to meet it unmoved.
"These are Border Scouts, Captain?" The clipped northern speech was spare and to the point.
"They are, Royal Son. All veterans in that service."
"We have heard of the Sc
outs." That was a quiet, almost colorless statement, but it warmed Rahotep. His men were accepted with the recognition they should and did merit.
"You will remain unattached until Pharaoh commands
you—"
Rahotep could not allow his instant disappointment to show. So they were not yet accepted into the army after all. It would depend upon Pharaoh's decision. And his thoughts went on to practical matters—where could they find quarters in the city when they had no official standing? Or should they remain on the ship? But he continued to stand at attention with his men while the prince spoke to Nereb, then moved on to inspect the regiments now disembarking from the ships of the southern nomes.
Rahotep dismissed his men before he spoke to Methen. "So we are not after all in the service of Pharaoh," he broke out hotly. "These northerners perhaps class us with the barbarian Kush—"
"Hold your tongue!" Methen bade him as sharply as he had a decade earlier when he had been putting a boy hardly out of the Women's Hall through his training. "Our Lord uses his tools handily. You have not been passed over—to the contrary, you will appear before Pharaoh personally—a great honor. That was Prince Kamose, the Royal Heir, and the commander of the right wing of the army. And has he not said that you shall rest under the orders of Pharaoh? Walk carefully, Rahotep. There were dangers in plenty in Semna— there may be more waiting in Thebes for the unwary."