"Pharaoh would see the power of your arms, Captain. Let your men fire at the targets." It was the Prince Kamose who advanced to relay the order. And Rahotep, not daring to look up at the face beneath that blue helmet, worked his way backward through the dust until it was permissible to rise and face the stuffed cowhide bags being set up on the range.
He frowned at the shortness of that range and, forgetting everything but the necessity of doing their best, waved the targets back and yet back again, though the men setting them were agitated at his gestures.
"Each man will fire in turn," he said to Kheti, "and then two volleys together upon signal."
"Even so, Lord," the other agreed and passed along the order.
One after another the Nubians stepped to the line, the huge bows were bent, and arrows sang through the air, to be buried feather-deep in the hide targets. Kheti took his place, and, last of all, Rahotep, the silver bracer winking on his hand. Though his bow was less than these his men carried, it was made to the same pattern and his aim was as good.
Then, as one man, the archers drew into a level line, Kheti at one end, Rahotep at the other. The captain threw a quick glance along the line and then his lips shaped a whistle. Twelve arrows flew almost as one, and all twelve hit the targets. A hum of comment arose from the watching officers and men, but a messenger came from Pharaoh's platform.
"It is Pharaoh's will that you fire against moving targets now," the officer told Rahotep. "They shall release birds from a net. Let your men be ready."
What followed was much like the exhibition they had given Nereb on the Nile ship. None of the birds got across the field to freedom. And Rahotep was given orders to approach the platform once again. He stood with bowed head to hear the Lord of the Two Lands speak for the first time.
"It is pleasing that Captain Rahotep and his men be taken into our service. Let them be enrolled as Scouts attached to the troops of the Prince Kamose."
"Life! Prosperity! Health!" Rahotep voiced the conventional answer. "May the Son of Re live forever!"
He was turning over in his hands with a vast pride the new Captain's flail that had been presented to him, admiring the lion head on its butt, when a chariot pulled up in a puff of dust. Its driver, controlling the impatient horse with ease, leaned over the rail to call to Rahotep.
"Captain!"
He recognized Ahmose, the prince's broad face framed by a linen headdress as simple as his own but bearing the royal uraeus. He saluted with his newly won baton and hurried closer.
"Tomorrow we hunt lions in the desert strip. Since your men are noted Scouts, let them display their talents in that manner—as well as they have shown their marksmanship here today." He smiled. "It is in my mind, Captain, to attach to my heels a cub like unto yours—if we can flush out any such. At any reckoning, we should have good sport—very good sport—" He spoke the last words slowly as if they might convey some double meaning. Then he released the reins and whirled away.
"That is a great lord, brother." Kheti had come up behind his commander. "A true warrior by his looks."
"That is the Prince Ahmose"—Rahotep corrected him with a hint of sharpness—"the younger of the Royal Sons."
"So?" Kheti watched the rapidly dwindling chariot across the training plain. "Well, still I say he is a warrior before he is an officer—or a Royal Son. What wished he of you, Lord?"
"That we go with him tomorrow for the hunting of lions. He desires to see our Scout craft—"
Kheti nodded. There was satisfaction in his tone as he replied: "And so he will, Lord. I trust that one may someday come into Nubia—for Teti will not find him an easy mouthful in any feasting! Aye, Scouts we shall be, and if any lions lie in this land, they shall come forth for his sport!"
The archers, now accepted into the royal command, were given a section of the barracks, a small side building opening on a court, which offered them semiprivacy. Rahotep and Kheti had a room to themselves, and the others spread their sleeping mats in a hall. This was infinitely better than their quarters at Kah-hi, and when they were supplied with good rubbing oil, excellent rations, and not called upon for immediate duty, they chanted their praises of this new life.
Hori produced one of the small hand drums of his people to mark time, and one after another the men joined in the warriors' dance, which was a part of their training, its body movements designed to keep a man both lithe and quick on his feet.
Then, as they flung themselves panting to earth, they were aware of a group of newcomers, some of the spear-armed infantry by their dress. They were escorting a taller man, his skin glistening with oil, only a brief cloth about his loins. Rahotep grinned, knowing well the reason for such an approach—the old challenge to be faced by any company new to a fort. And he glanced around to see Mereruka already rising to his feet, unbuckling his kilt belt, while his fellows sat up alertly, bringing out of their belt pouches small personal possessions that were good items for wagering. Having seen Mereruka in action, most of them indeed having served as his easily thrown wrestling partners, none of the Scouts had any doubt about the ability of their champion.
If these northerners thought their man fit to stand against a Scout, especially one whose skill had enabled his comrades to beggar most of the frontier posts of the Kush border, they had better take second and longer thoughts. With sighs of pure happiness the Nubians settled down to what they knew would be a profitable evening. Truly Dedun smiled upon them this day!
Chapter 7
"LION" HUNT
The hunting party set out from the barracks before dawn, in order to be well on its way before the full heat of the sun hit the desert lands. And for the second time Rahotep shared a chariot, holding on with one hand to the rim of the bucket as Nereb, at the reins, rocked them along in the wake of the prince's more resplendent vehicle. His men were pattering on ahead with the houndboys, having been given a good hour's start on the drivers.
"A bull of Min's temple herd was pulled down by lions this month," Nereb said between jolts. "There is a pair of young males seemingly without fear of man."
As Nereb spoke, Rahotep was assessing the equipment lashed to the sides of the chariots. Throwing spears—aye, a trained hunter used throwing spears against lions—and the bow case and quiver were also usual. But he continued to use his eyes and make no comments on the two shields that the pressure of Nereb's knees kept in a standing position before him. Nor had the captain missed the fact that Nereb's spearmen had padded off along with the houndboys earlier. They might be required as beaters, that was true. On the other hand, there was surely no need for them to perform that duty in complete battle array.
As the chariots made a turn from the Theban road onto a wide expanse of black baked clay, which, when flooded a month or so later, would be productive fields, Rahotep approached the subject indirectly.
"How far south do the Hyksos hold?"
"From a day's journey north of Thebes our people still pay tribute. But their first fortress is again a sunrise away. Twenty years ago Thebes loaded tribute ships and invader princes sat in government here—"
"You expelled them? Why did they not then return in force?"
Nereb smiled, an odd cold smile. "They did not go, they died. Their god turned his face from them and there was a plague. What man can raise bow or spear against the sickness that strikes between sunrise and sunset? Their king sent a message unto the Lord of Thebes saying he was awakened by the snorting of the hippopotami of the river and that we should clear our land of anything that displeased him. So with those who returned his governor's body to him, we sent also the hides of hippopotami. But it seemed that with those hides went also the curse of Amon-Re, for the sons of Set sickened and the plague struck into their ranks, though it did not harm those who obeyed the true gods. And fearing the illness, the barbarians made a decree to withdraw from the south until the danger was past. Only it seems that that time has not come yet. There are tales that in the lands of the Semitics there has been much tr
ouble and that the King of the Hyksos needs must turn his attention to putting down rebellion there." Nereb shrugged. "It matters not how it has come about—plague, curse, or trouble beyond the rim of the world, but they have given us a space in which to set about the preparations for their undoing."
There were odd gaps in Nereb's story to Rahotep's mind, a certain evasiveness on some points. Also he noted that they were now traveling a northward route. But he shelved his suspicions when they came at last to a wide waste area where dried reed beds and papyrus thickets stood brittle and sere on the parched land. Smoke, black and thick, curled up from isolated points in a semicircle and moved slowly forward through the craclding reed forests, marking the advance of the beaters with their torches, the smell of which was designed to rout out any lion that was lying up after a good night's hunting.
The dogs, freed from their leashes, were yapping excitedly, their paths through the dead and dried wilderness marked by the wild waving of yellow reed crowns. There was a deep, coughing roar. Nereb had pulled the reins of his chariot horse about his waist as he would do in battle, leaving his hands free for the throwing spear he drew from its carrying thongs. Rahotep, a little uneasy as to marksmanship from his unsteady footing, selected an arrow and set it to bow cord.
Their chariot was to the left of that driven by the prince, and on the opposite side of Ahmose's position was a stranger to Rahotep, an older man in civilian dress who had a driver to manage his horse while he handled a short spear. By custom Ahmose would be allowed the first cast at any lion breaking between either chariot, and the prince had followed Nereb's example of reins about the waist, a war bow in his hands.
The horses had been well trained, holding their places without movement, their heads high, their ears pricked forward a little as if to catch any sound from the reeds. Again that cough, deep, resentful. And above it the yapping of highly excited dogs and the shouts of men.
Papyrus plumes were agitated, snapping off as the smoke of the torches showed the path of the beaters. But there was no other sound from the aroused lion. Had they not known the habits of the beast, those waiting in the chariots might have been disastrously off guard when a tawny shape, magnificently maned, snarling with rage, burst through the last screen of dried herbage in a bound, which carried it between the chariot of the prince and the one in which the civilian balanced his spear.
A bowstring twanged sharply, and the lion came to earth in a smashing somersault, tearing at the brick-hard clay with frenzied claws.
"Ho!" They raised the cry of congratulation, and Ahmose, with a boy's glee—the very first really youthful gesture Rahotep had seen him make—waved his bow over his head, while two of the spearmen trotted forward with a rope to drag the trophy to where it could be skinned.
But the beaters had disturbed a second beast in the reed jungle. There was another roar, and then a flurry among the reeds. The yap of a dog became a scream of agony. Against all nature some lion must have turned at bay, refusing to be driven from its chosen place, and was now about to fight it out with the men on foot. Rahotep levered himself up an inch or two against the side of the chariot, striving to see more of the melee than just the wildly agitated reed tops.
Such dried-out land contained, as he well knew, traps. Hard as the sun cooked the earth's crust, there were places where some moisture lingered underneath. And anyone breaking through the flinty upper surface might well be engulfed in the mud beneath, entrapped past his own efforts to escape. Rahotep had seen a cow so caught once—until it had had to be killed because it could not be drawn forth. Intent upon a lion at bay, any one of the beaters might be so caught before he realized his danger.
The chariot horses were affected by the clamor, and both Nereb and the prince put aside their weapons to control the nervous animals. Ahmose's black reared with a scream of stallion rage until Rahotep feared for the safety of the light vehicle it drew. The prince was talking to it soothingly, his voice steady, as he gripped the reins with sure knowledge.
A shout arose from the reeds, and out of that dried morass shot a dun-brown streak, skidding almost under the feet of Nereb's horse, sending it plunging ahead. Rahotep's grasp on the rim of the bucket was broken with that jerk, and he fell backwards, landing on the ground with force as the chariot bowled away, the horse momentarily out of control.
Gasping, watching the sky spin dizzily from right to left and back again over his head, the young captain suddenly knew that he had not landed flat upon the earth after all, that under his shoulders something squirmed vigorously, squalling in rage and fear. Hardly knowing why, but with some dazed memory of past wrestling bouts in which he had striven so upon the ground, Rahotep threw himself over and flattened down that wriggling body, feeling coarse fur under his hands and the hot breath of a flesh eater upon his face.
He held on because he had to. Only so long as he kept those kicking limbs pinned to the ground could he hope to escape a wicked mauling from the claws. Luckily his captured beast was but little more than half grown, or he could not have held it for more than a moment past its initial surprise and panic.
The captain was holding on grimly when another form plunged through the dust. Rahotep sat up, coughing hollowly, his eyes streaming, as he made futile motions to rub them free of dust. Kheti's big hands, with the full weight of the Nubian's great strength, pinned the snarling young lion flat. He grinned at Rahotep through a mask of dust and sweat.
"Ha, brother, this is a catch! Somewhat larger than Bis, but of the same spirit. Did he mark you?"
Shaken, Rahotep inspected the damage. His kilt bore a ruffle of tatters down the thigh, but there was no mark on the skin beneath to overlay the older scar there. He had indeed been lucky, for it was well known that a lion's claws were unclean and the wounds dealt by them healed slowly and painfully, if at all.
Two of the spearmen came running up, a coarse net between them. And by the efforts of all four the lion was made captive just as the prince reached them on foot. He touched Rahotep on the shoulder, bringing the captain around to face him.
"Have you taken a hurt, kinsman?"
Rahotep laughed, a little unsteadily. "By the favor of Horus, no, Royal Son. And it seems that you have now the cub you wished to serve you. Nay"—he inspected the still writhing body more closely—"more than a cub. If one taken so well grown can ever be tamed—"
"Never have I seen or heard of such a happening!" The concern faded from the prince's face. "It shot under the chariot close to the ground, and in the same moment you landed full upon it! Who would believe such a tale if he did not witness it with his own eyes? Truly you are one favored by some Great One—"
But they were not yet done with the hunt. Perhaps the vocal fury of the captive drew its companions from the reeds, or perhaps they only fled before the beaters. Two more tawny animals erupted from cover, another yearling cub and a lioness.
The cub ran straight, a flitting brown shadow, belly fur brushing the ground between leaps. But the female showed fight, speeding for the men clustered about the captive. There was no time for protocol of the hunt. Kheti's ax went up, a spear pointed—and both weapons struck home.
Ahmose drew a deep breath and stirred the now limp body with the toe of his sandal. Then he eyed the reed screen.
"It would seem that there is more than one surprise for us this day. But since even the favor of the Great Ones can wear thin in time if one stretches it too far, it would be well to be satisfied with one's luck to this point." He signaled for the groom to lead up his chariot.
"Nereb"—he hailed the other vehicle pounding up to join them—"so that red one of yours has answered at last to his nose reins? But then, I do not think even Moonrunner"—he drew his hand in open affection down the arching neck of his own horse—"would stand for a lion beneath his feet, a living lion, that is. You were prudent to stand aloof, Sebni." He spoke now to the civilian. "Horses and attacking lions do not love one another—"
The man in the third chariot smiled thinly
. "So it would appear, Royal Son. And may I suggest that it would be well for you, Prince, to be more prudent—"
There was a chill in his tone that matched the thinness of his smile. Rahotep eyed him covertly, surprised by the underlying note of disapproval in his speech. Could he be a tutor, attached by court custom to the prince's household? But surely Ahmose was of an age to claim, as a man and a warrior, freedom from such restraints.
Sebni, too, could not be old enough to have fostered the prince from infancy as the overseer of his household. Though it was difficult to judge the courtier's age, the man could not have been more than ten years older than the prince he served. And he was not the type to fit well among a fighting man's company—not with his fine robes and air of fastidious detachment. Who was he and what position did he hold that he accompanied Ahmose in a sport he could not find to his liking?