Ramose made the mistake of suggesting an easier route than the rocky path that was close to the river that the commander had chosen. The soldiers had hesitated, unsure of who to obey. The commander shouted at them even louder than usual until they obeyed him.
It took three days of backbreaking work to get the boat around the cataract, but the commander would not allow the exhausted soldiers to rest. Ramose tried to protest. The commander only ever shouted at his men, and his voice seemed unnaturally polite when he told Ramose that he wanted to keep moving.
Ramose had often caught the commander watching him suspiciously. He was sure that Hatshepsut had paid the commander to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t leave the boat. No doubt when they reached Sai, others would be paid to watch him.
The soldiers still kept their distance from the strange brother of Pharaoh. Ramose had tried to be friendly and help whenever he could, but having a prince bring them water when they were at the oars only seemed to make them more uncomfortable. If it hadn’t been for Hapu’s company, Ramose thought he would have gone mad from boredom.
“Another week and we should be in sight of Sai,” said Hapu.
They had just had a brief stop in the town of Semna. There was a fort at Semna similar to the one at Buhen, probably similar to the one in Sai. The land as far as the sixth cataract had all been conquered and was all part of Egypt, but the people who lived in these lands didn’t think of themselves as Egyptians. All along the river in these southern lands there were fortresses built to protect the conquerors from possible uprisings.
“Look at that,” said Hapu through a mouthful of fruit.
They were just south of Semna. Hapu was pointing to the western bank of the river where a new temple was being built. Instead of being built out of blocks of stone, brought from a distant quarry, it was being chiselled straight out of the natural rock that rose from the river on both sides.
Steps led up from the river to four enormous statues of Pharaoh sitting with his hands on his knees. Sculptors were working on one statue as they passed, chipping off pieces of white rock with chisels to turn the shapeless rock into a royal hand. Others below were concentrating on the detail of the Pharaoh’s toenails. A shapeless piece of rock was where the head would be. The other three statues were closer to completion. They all had blank faces staring peacefully in front of them. None of the faces looked anything like his brother.
Hapu went back to eating his midday meal. Ramose was still amazed at the amount his friend ate at every meal. He’d already eaten three loaves, six fish and a dozen figs and he still wasn’t full. He was looking at the half loaf that Ramose had left in his bowl.
“If you’re not going to eat that…” he said.
“Take it,” replied Ramose. “I couldn’t possibly eat another thing.”
Hapu took the bread. “I have to build my strength,” he said, stuffing it into his mouth. “Ready for my next shift at the oars.”
The farmland grew sparser and the villages grew smaller. On either side of the Nile, the strip of fertile land was so narrow that the desert beyond was visible from the river. This land was wild and untilled. Trees and bushes grew wherever they chose.
There were no farmers pausing during their work to watch them pass, no cattle grazing. Flocks of ibis and heron flew overhead and then settled to wade along the muddy banks looking for worms. If anyone lived in the wilderness, they kept themselves hidden.
Hapu was unsettled by the wild land. He had never seen fertile land that hadn’t been tamed by the plough for the purpose of growing crops. It seemed strange that this land, capable of growing food for many people, lay unused. Ramose remembered having a similar feeling when he had first travelled that way.
“Could Karoya have gone to visit her family?” Hapu asked, breaking the silence.
“She has no family,” said Ramose sadly. “They were all killed more than two years ago.”
Hapu looked uncomfortable. “By Egyptian soldiers?”
Ramose nodded grimly. “She has only one relative left. Her mother’s sister who has married into another tribe.”
“Where is she?”
“She lives in a small village east of Tombos.”
“You couldn’t blame Karoya if she didn’t want to live among Egyptians,” said Hapu. “And you know how she loves the desert. I think the most likely thing is that she’s joined a nomad tribe.”
Ramose knew that if Karoya wanted to go back to her nomadic life and never see an Egyptian again, not even him, there was nothing he could do about it.
“But what if you’re wrong?” he said. “What if Kashta did kidnap her and she’s in danger?”
Hapu shrugged his shoulders. “Then you have to find her.”
There was an eerie silence. The landscape had changed again. On either side of the river, barren, rocky land rose up to bleak hills. There were few pockets of earth where plants could grow. All Ramose could hear was the rush of the river and the occasional screech of monkeys. Ramose knew that this empty land was where the Kushite rebels hid.
It was hot, hotter than it ever got in Thebes. The soldiers, tired as they were, were rowing hard. They wanted to get away from the barren land as quickly as possible. When they stopped for the night, a double guard was posted. Ramose didn’t sleep well. The unfamiliar silence kept him awake. He suspected he wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Whenever he woke, there were always others shifting and stirring.
Once they were through this eerie stretch of country, they would reach the island of Sai where another fortress, originally built centuries ago by one of the old pharaohs, had been rebuilt and strengthened. That was where Hapu and his fellow soldiers would be garrisoned, ready to attack the rebels and bring them to heel.
The river was now so wide Ramose could barely see either shore. On the eastern side of the river, the rocky landscape was finally changing. On the western side, they saw the first village they’d seen for several days. It was stranded on a low hill surrounded by floodwater. The houses weren’t built of mud bricks like the houses in Egypt. They were made of twigs and straw covering a framework of branches. The raging river waters had easily broken the fragile walls of the houses. More than a third of the village had been destroyed. Oxen and goats crowded on another small island, the water lapping at their feet. Ramose had seen the bloated bodies of drowned cattle further downstream. He wondered what the fate of these animals would be.
Even though the oarsmen were sweating and straining at the oars and the sail was full, the boat seemed to be moving in slow motion against the fast and furious current. Ramose had plenty of time to observe the worried faces of the villagers watching helplessly as the Nile ate away at their homes.
“The inundation is bigger this year,” said Ramose. He had heard of times when the annual flooding of the Nile was greater than usual, when villages were destroyed by the fast-flowing waters. Cattle died, and people too. Ra’s blessing could easily turn into Ra’s curse.
The rowers were coming to the end of their two-hour shift at the oars. They were exhausted, their arms shaking from the pain in their muscles.
“Keep going,” shouted the commander from his comfortable post at the stern of the boat. “You’re soldiers of Pharaoh’s army. You’ll have to withstand more than this.”
The river suddenly narrowed as it squeezed between the steep walls of a gorge. The water was rushing through it at a frantic rate, crashing against the rock cliffs, foaming and roaring towards them. The oarsmen laboured and grunted with each stroke.
Ramose stood up to get a better view. “The oarsmen are worn out. We need a fresh crew before we attempt to go through the gorge,” he shouted at the commander over the roar of the river. “Even then, it’s still dangerous.”
The commander glared at Ramose. “Row faster!” he shouted.
The boat entered the gorge. The rowers strained and groaned. The boat’s progress against the current slowed even more. The oarsmen were dipping their oars into t
he water as fast as they could, at two or three times the pace that they normally rowed. The raging water crashed into the prow and broke over the sides soaking everyone. The boat was hardly moving forward at all.
Ramose called out to the commander again. “We have to let the current take us back out of the gorge. They’ll never make it through this torrent.”
“I’m in charge,” the commander shouted back. “I’ll make the decisions.”
The commander yelled at the off-duty crew to take to the oars. Hapu glanced anxiously at Ramose, then hurried forward. It was no easy task to change over the crew in such conditions. The new crew had to take over the oars without missing a stroke. The boat was dipping and rocking, the deck was wet from the waves that were breaking over the prow. One man slipped as he stood to allow his replacement to take his place. His oar was ripped from his hand by the force of the water. Two other men stopped rowing, instinctively reaching out to catch the oar. The commander shouted orders at them, but no one could understand what he was saying over the roar of the water. The lost oar smacked against the rock wall and broke in two. With one oar gone and two momentarily stationary, the boat was carried by the current back the way it had come. It skewed to one side and hit a submerged rock. Then the stern crashed into the cliff face. The impact threw the commander and two soldiers into the water. The boat heeled to one side. Ramose tried to find something to hold on to as the sacks of wheat soaked up water and became heavy as rocks. He grabbed hold of the sternpost carved in the shape of a snake’s head.
Hapu was yelling at his fellow soldiers. “Over to the other side! Keep your weight over on the other side.”
The rest of the soldiers threw themselves to the other side of the boat trying to right it, but the force of the rushing water under its keel was too strong. The boat turned over like a child’s toy and the soldiers were plunged into the raging waters. Ramose closed his eyes and clung onto the sternpost. He felt the cold water engulf him. He opened his eyes. The snake’s head had been broken off and he was hanging on to the stern of an upturned boat. He let go.
The rushing waters carried him back down the gorge, tumbling him over and over as if he were no heavier than a papyrus stalk. His head bashed against the wall of the gorge. His arms and legs smashed against submerged rocks, but couldn’t get hold of them. He tried to raise his arms to swim to the surface, but the force of the water made it impossible. He swallowed so much water he couldn’t breathe. Something loomed towards him in the murky green water. It was a stone sculpture which must have fallen from another upturned boat. Ramose tried to move his heavy arms to turn his body away. He couldn’t. The water was carrying him straight towards it.
Time seemed to slow. Ramose had time to realise that the statue was a hawk-headed figure of Ra. It was probably the last thing he’d ever see. He waited for the impact. Instead he felt large hands take hold of him. Perhaps it wasn’t a statue after all. Perhaps it was the god himself waiting to take him on his journey through the underworld. In the hands of Ra, Ramose thought.
Ramose could hear someone calling his name. Someone a long way away. Ra is calling me, he thought. He wants me to go with him.
“Ramose,” said the voice of Ra.
Ramose felt a sharp pain on his cheek. He thought that Ra would have more magical means of getting his attention than slapping his face. He opened his eyes. A shape leaned over him. It was dripping on him. It wasn’t Ra though. It was Hapu.
“Praise Amun, you’re still alive,” whispered Hapu and immediately disappeared from view.
Ramose got up on one elbow. The bright sunlight made it difficult for him to focus, or maybe it was the blood flowing from a cut above his eye. He felt warm squelchy mud beneath him. The sound of the rushing river was deafening. He looked around. Hapu was on his knees next to one of his fellow soldiers who was lying in the mud on the edge of the river. Ramose sat up. There were other soldiers cast on the mud bank. Some were face down. Some had their arms and legs bent at strange angles. One had a mask of raw flesh instead of a face. Hapu came back to him.
“Can you get up?” he asked in a shaky voice that didn’t sound anything like Hapu.
“I think so,” said Ramose as he moved his legs cautiously. “I don’t think I’ve broken anything. You tend to the soldiers.”
Hapu shook his head. “There’s nothing I can do. They’re all dead.”
Hapu’s face was lit by the light of the fire he had made. It was unmarked. Ramose had seen his own face reflected in a pool of water. It was cut and bruised like the rest of his body.
Hapu had still been on the boat when it overturned. He had somehow managed to hold on to the upturned boat as it was flung around in the raging waters. A pocket of air had allowed him to breathe and he had been safe until the boat was finally smashed to pieces. Even then he had held on to a plank of wood.
By some miracle he had seen Ramose struggling beneath the surface and grabbed hold of him just before he was about to smash into the statue at the bottom of the river. Then he had let the river carry them where it wanted until an eddy took them to shore. The same current had deposited the bodies of other soldiers on the muddy bank.
“I’ve looked up and down the riverbank,” Hapu said. “I haven’t found any other survivors.”
“The rest may have been washed up further downriver,” said Ramose. “Some may have survived.”
Hapu nodded, but Ramose knew he didn’t believe that. The two boys stared into the fire. They had no food to cook. It didn’t matter. Neither of them were hungry.
“Where do you think we are, Hapu?”
“I don’t know. In the barren land somewhere.”
“Do you think we’re closer to Semna or to Sai?”
“I don’t know, Ramose. It’s hard to tell how long we were carried downstream. It seemed like hours, but it might have only been a few minutes.”
A monkey screeched in the darkness. Then another. Soon there was a chorus of squawking. The animal noises set Ramose’s nerves on edge. It sounded like the monsters of the underworld were calling to them. Just as suddenly the noise stopped. The silence was worse. Ramose had been in many foreign places, but he had never felt so threatened and defenceless.
“We’ll make a decision in the morning,” he said. His body ached all over, he was exhausted but he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep.
The monkeys started screeching again. There was the sound of a rock falling.
“Ramose!” shouted Hapu, staring back behind his friend. Ramose whipped round and saw dark figures appear out of the darkness. At first he thought they were huge monkeys come to attack them. Then he realised they were men, dark-skinned men. They were rebels. Two of them rushed towards him, pushed him to the ground and tied his hands behind him.
He tried to call out, though he knew there was no one for thousands of cubits who might come to their aid. One of the dark figures shoved something foul-tasting in his mouth to stop him from shouting. He tried to look around at Hapu. His friend was bound and gagged, just like him.
The rebels didn’t speak. Not even to each other. They led them through the moonless darkness. There seemed to be nothing to mark the way. Each rock that Ramose stumbled over seemed the same as the last, but the rebels walked with confidence. They knew exactly where they were going. Ramose felt the ground beneath his feet rise steadily. After a while, a blank black shape loomed in front of them until it blotted out half the stars. The men pushed them through a ruined mud brick gateway.
Ramose blinked as the glare from a large fire blinded him. The flames threw shadows over huge walls that surrounded them on all sides. There were about twenty rebels around the fire. They weren’t sitting though, they were all on their feet moving rhythmically around the flames to the beat of a drum. The dust rose in clouds as they stamped and whirled. From time to time, they let out strange whooping cries. Their faces were lost in concentration, deep in their own world. They spread their arms and turned all at the same time.
One of
the rebels took the foul-tasting thing from Ramose’s mouth. In the firelight, he could see that it was a screwed up strip of uncured animal skin. The rebel removed Hapu’s gag as well.
“What are those men doing?” Hapu asked in a whisper.
“They’re dancing,” replied Ramose.
“It’s the strangest sight I’ve ever seen,” said Hapu. “I’d heard stories about barbarian men dancing, but I’d never imagined it like this.”
Ramose remembered his own amazement when he’d first seen such dancing. In Egypt, men never danced, only women. There was a saying, “stop dancing around like a barbarian”, for when a man was dithering and timid like a girl. The barbarian dance was nothing like the gentle floating movements of Egyptian dancing girls though. It was menacing. They didn’t shake rattles and tambourines as they twirled. They waved sharpened sticks and axes.
As Ramose was pushed closer to the fire, he saw the faces of his captors for the first time. He realised that they were all boys, not much older than himself. They led him towards the only figure that wasn’t dancing. He was sitting in what must have once been the chair of an Egyptian official. One armrest was broken and there were holes where jewels had been dug out. The boy was sitting in a confident pose with one foot resting on the opposite knee. When he saw Ramose, he sat up.
“This is an interesting catch that you’ve pulled out of the river,” he said, leaning forward in his chair to peer at Ramose.
Ramose looked at the face that was examining him so closely. It was familiar. Ramose was dead tired and still stunned from his ordeal in the river. It took him a while to work out where he knew the face from.