Chapter 6
EYES AND EARS FOR PHARAOH
"Cover yourself, the head also!"
A hooded traveler's cloak of the desert country was held out to Rahotep. But he was not ready to be so easily ordered about by a stranger. With Bis purring against him, he did not take the covering, but asked again, "Where do I go? I do not follow a no-name so quickly. In whose service are you?"
The other clicked his tongue impatiently. He stood, as Rahotep had already noted, carefully in the half shadow, out of the full beam of the door torch. But now he held his hand palm up into the light, and on that palm lay a flat seal. Rahotep bent his head to see it closer. There was no mistaking the curve of the royal cartouche—Pharaoh's messenger—though why he should be so stealthily summoned after this fashion, the captain could not understand.
"I must return Bis to my quarters first—"
But the messenger flung the cloak about Rahotep's shoulders. "You will have to bring the beast with you. There is no time, and we must not be seen leaving, boy! Come!" His grip closed about the captain's arm and tightened, urging him toward the wall. Reluctantly Rahotep obeyed.
They came to a smaller gate half hidden behind a row of bushes and so out into a narrow lane. A chariot waited there, with a man, who wore a servant's waistcloth but bore himself as a warrior, holding the reins, while a companion nursed a traveler's torch.
Rahotep's guide jumped to the floor of the vehicle, and the captain at his gesture followed a little gingerly. It was a bit like standing on one of the reed rafts used for bird hunting in the river marshes, he decided, bracing his body against the sway of the plaited floor as the groom sprang away and the driver loosened rein. The groom and the torch bearer sprinted ahead as Rahotep's companion handled the nose ropes skillfully, bowling along between the blind outer walls of the noble houses of the quarter. Rahotep knew so little of the city that he could not guess in which direction they were heading. But if he was indeed obeying a royal summons, and no one would dare to use the Pharaoh's seal except by his order, then they should leave Thebes altogether for the country beyond.
Though the princes of Thebes were lacking in the wealth of their ancestors, when Sekenenre's father had assumed the throne with hope for his country's freedom, he had followed the ancient custom and had erected his own royal dwelling palace beyond the old town. His son, confirmed now in the semidivine rule, still lived there, but in time would build for himself another House of the Two Doors.
Rahotep was right in his guess at their destination, for they were outside the city. The driver let out the horse in a dash, which made the captain shut his teeth hard and close a fist about the side of the chariot bucket. Ahead was a dark bulk of building with a trace of lamplight showing faintly through window lattices. But they did not head for that. The chariot swerved, bearing toward the east in a sweep, which took them behind the building to a length of wall over which dropped the long leaves of palms.
A groom sprang from an angle of the wall to catch the reins, and the driver dismounted, jerking Rahotep's cloak in a silent signal to accompany him. They were before a postern gate, and a figure stood there holding a small lamp in one hand and shielding its fluttering flame with the other. Rahotep saw it was a woman and, by the glint of jewelry at her throat and wrist, no common servant.
She edged back, her lamp a beacon to bring them on, and then the door curtain fell behind them and they were in what Rahotep judged to be a garden. The lamp flitted ahead, and they paced single file behind it to a house. Then they were in a corridor with painted walls and a score of lamps to light it.
The woman who had guided them was of middle age, her elaborately curled wig encircled by a band of gold ribbon. As she moved, double ankle rings set with inlays of dragon- flies in light green chimed faintly together. A fan hung from a cord about one wrist, and Rahotep's eyes widened, remembering his mother's stories. This could be no other than one of the senior ladies of the court, a fanbearer to one of the Royal Wives, or to one of the Royal Daughters! But why—
He studied the details of the corridor down which he walked. A painting of flowers in a garden with delicate winged butterflies at play over them caught light from the lamps. The lady reached a door at the far end and turned to face Rahotep and his companion, a critical gleam in her eyes. Rahotep's guide pulled the cloak from the young man's shoulders and pointed to the captain's sandals with a swift motion.
Rahotep kicked his toes free of the thongs. One did not wear foot covering into the presence of a superior. Bis moved in his hold, and he looked down at the cub in perplexity. If he left the small feline here, it might wander into the garden and be lost. But if he was going to an audience with Pharaoh, dare he take the cub with him?
The lady waved them on. Rahotep tried to fit the squirming cub tight against his side and hoped for the best. He ducked beneath the door curtain and stood in a miniature copy of a great hall. The same dividing pillars, the same wall coverings, the same high seat dais at the far end as could be found in all noble houses, yet this one was both richer and on a smaller scale than any he had seen. And noting the serving maid adding fuel to the pottery brazier in the floor, the other girls standing in attendance about the group at the high seat, he halted with a sudden sense of foreboding. He was in the Women's Hall of some great noble—or could it be the House of the Royal Ladies?
Fully alert, he used a Scout's eye to catalogue the room and the people in it.
As yet it appeared that he went unnoticed, and he had those few moments for a quick survey. The two chairs before the end wall hanging were both occupied. And, as he caught sight of the blue-green sheen of the Vulture Crown on the elder woman, Rahotep bit his lower lip. One of the queens—Teti- Sheri the Royal Mother, or Ah-Hetpe the Royal Wife?
He was able to see them better as he advanced a step or two. She of the Vulture Crown must undoubtedly be the Queen Teti-Sheri, while the other, leaning over to move a piece on the Senit board, was much younger. A fragile circlet of gold wires studded with tiny blue and white gem flowers caught together with inlaid lotus blossoms held in place the long locks of her own wavy hair. Yet there was such a marked kinship between the finely cut features of both women that their blood relationship was plainly close.
The flower-crowned royal lady made her move and laughed, lifting her forefinger in a concede-defeat sign to the boy hunched over the board as her opponent. His sturdy body was in contrast to the willowy elegance of the ladies, for he had the broad shoulders, the stocky build of a wrestler. And his face, now expressing concentration as he looked upon the spindles of his board army, was not handsome, for his upper teeth projected slightly, raising his lip, and his nose was broader and lacked the straight line seen in both feminine faces.
But Rahotep had very little time to study the party as the lady who had led them to the hall moved swiftly toward the queens, where she "kissed dust" in the ancient form.
The Queen Teti-Sheri straightened in the embrace of the cushions that filled her chair. And Rahotep went down in the full obeisance in his turn as those keen eyes, rendered larger by the darkened lids and corner lines, fastened on him. He crouched on the pavement and then gave a little gasp as Bis broke from his nervous grasp, flopped on the floor, and eluded, with his usual speed and grace, the wild grab the captain made in his direction.
The younger royal lady laughed again, but there was no mockery in that amusement. Rather it was an invitation to them all to join in her fun. Rahotep, scarlet under his weather- browning, heard the tread of feet but dared not look up to see who was approaching.
"Rise, kinsman!" It was a deep young voice, richly masculine, that gave that order, and he felt the tap of an honor stick on his shoulder. His head went up to see that the boy from the Senit table stood there smiling.
And, strangest of all, Bis, who steadfastly refused to show any friendship with any human other than the captain, was rubbing catlike on the other's ankles. Then Rahotep noted the prince's tassel on the band confining the othe
r's thick brown curls and knew this to be Ahmose, the younger of the Pharaoh's sons.
Rahotep arose, astonished, as the sense of the other's greeting words struck home. And he moved shyly behind the prince to the queens.
The Royal Mother Teti-Sheri was watching him eagerly, studying his face as if she sought there some feature she had once known.
"So you are son to Tuya." She motioned him further forward when he paused at the proper distance. And then, noting his bewilderment, she explained. "Did you not know that the Lady Tuya was reckoned among our household when she was but a little maid? How else should it be when the Lady Heptephaas of the royal line was her mother? Ah, that was in the dark days when no man knew whether he would live from the Coming of Re in the morning to His Departure at night. The Hawk made a marriage for Tuya with the Viceroy of Nubia for her safety, for a prince of the Hyksos looked upon her and finding her fair, demanded her for his House of Women. So she departed from us—and we wept—" Her words fell into silence like the fading note of a silver- stringed harp.
Rahotep's hands tightened behind his back. Never had his mother mentioned life at the court of Thebes. Had that been because she dared not let herself remember—in a house where the Lady Meri-Mut ruled—a happier day? Looking now upon the Royal Mother, the captain did not doubt that her household was far different from that of his father's half-Nubian First Wife's.
"Tell me of Nubia, son of Tuya!" The Queen was alert again, and as Rahotep hesitated, not knowing whether she wanted to hear of his mother's unhappy life there or of the land itself, she prodded him into speech with a skillful question. So that, as time measured by the water-jar clock dripped away, he realized she was wringing out of him information he had not even known that he possessed, squeezing him dry as a man squeezes dry a grape skin.
And, gathering confidence because he did know those answers, he dared to glance once or twice beyond the Royal Mother's chair. A rug hung against the wall there, but now and then it stirred slightly as if it did not cover wall but some alcove or doorway. And he was convinced that while the Queen Teti-Sheri, the Royal Wife Ah-Hetpe, and the Prince Ahmose listened to him openly, there was another listener behind that rug and that he spoke to a larger company than he saw.
"This Prince Teti—would he raise his own standard?" asked the Royal Mother.
"It is so rumored, Royal Lady. But rumors are not always rooted in the truth."
She smiled. "You are cautious, Captain. It is a good trait in one so young. The Prince Kamose has heard tales of the skill of your archers. It is likely that they shall be asked to display that same skill before our Lord. Meanwhile, know this, child—the favor that was Tuya's is also her son's. Now bring me this Nubian leopard which the Horus Hawk showed you"—for that story, also, she had had out of him. "I would see him the closer."
Her change from the exacting inquisitor to the gracious lady was so sudden that Rahotep blinked, but he obediently looked about him for Bis. Then he started. The leopard cub was installed under the chair of the Royal Wife and he was very much engaged. By some means known only to himself, Bis had stolen a section of roasted pigeon from a small table laden with delicacies. And this he was devouring with great gusto and dispatch.
Ahmose, following Rahotep's horrified gaze, broke into laughter. His mother, startled, leaned over the arm of her chair, striving to see what they were all looking at.
Teti-Sheri echoed her grandson's mirth. "A thief in the palace! A looting warrior!" She stooped gracefully and snapped her flat fan against Ah-Hetpe's chair. Bis, clinging to his pigeon, backed out to where Rahotep could seize him. But when he would have pulled the remnant of bird away from the cub, the Queen Mother shook her head.
"Let the bold one keep what he has taken. A good omen for you, Captain. When the occasion warrants it, be as bold as Horus's gift, for the time has come for boldness and an end to lurking!" It seemed to Rahotep that her eyes went to the rug as if her words were meant as an encouragement to someone else also.
Shortly thereafter he was graciously dismissed, and his return to the house of Sa-Nekluft was engineered in the same manner as his earlier departure. If the treasurer or his son knew about that secret expedition, they said nothing, and Rahotep gathered, without its being told him, that the whole surprising episode was to be kept to himself. Later he found his way to Methen's room and, under the pretext of learning more about Theban life and the undercurrents to be found in the city, asked the veteran questions to build up a background into which he could fit the personages he had met that evening.
Methen spoke of the Royal Mother with the deepest respect. As the Heiress she would have been queen whatever betided, but she had been queen in fact as well as in name. To her influence was attributed her husband's resistance to the Hyksos, and now her son's open rebellion. The Royal Wife Ah-Hetpe, her daughter, was of the same independent mind. Sekenenre, himself, though as yet untried in any great battle, had the foresight of an able administrator, and his son, the Prince Kamose, was a leader of value—
"And the Prince Ahmose?" questioned Rahotep.
For the first time Methen shook his head. "Ahmose is very young, unproven. It is rumored that he has petitioned Pharaoh for a command in the campaign. The Prince Kamose, as Royal Heir, is the one men look to for leadership."
But when Rahotep was stretched on his couch late that night he wondered. He had felt the impact of the Prince Kamose's personality there on the quay true enough. But there was something elusive in that Royal Son, a consuming fire within his slender body, as if he were a flame igniting a palm frond, burning fiercely, yet as quickly gone. But Ah- mose was different, the same drive and purpose but on as solid a base as the young prince's stronger body. Kamose could fire men to victories, but he would waste himself cruelly in the process. Ahmose would set to battle methodically, as a man would follow a trail, and in the end the same victory would be his and he would still be fresh.
Rahotep swung his feet from the couch and sat up, staring into the dark. How he knew this, or why, he could not have explained. But in that moment he was certain that if he had any choice in the future, it would be to serve under Ahmose. And, as if he had made the necessary decision, he straightway found the sleep that had eluded him earlier.
The summons to assemble his men and march them to the field of warriors came early the next morning via Nereb. Since the heat of the day was such that the sun punished those laboring under it, any training must be held before Re's Boat was in mid-sky. The northern commander had put aside his dress uniform and appeared in the simple kilt of a field officer, marching beside Rahotep as a guide.
Yellow dust was churned up from the broad expanse of the level, sun-baked soil where chariots seesawed into line. The impatient stallions reared and squealed, and then, at the flash of their commander's baton, thundered across in a spearhead formation led by the vehicle of the Prince Kamose. Rahotep, watching that charge, could now well understand the downfall of Egyptian arms when such an advance had been turned on spearmen and bowmen by the Hyksos who had poured into the Two Lands generations earlier. But also he could estimate, with eyes narrowed against the sunlight, how a company of well-placed archers could deal havoc. A horse, even when galloping, was a larger target than a man. Pick off the horses and your chariots would crash and foul against each other. Your spearhead would crumple in upon itself.
Kheti's archer-wise eyes had marked that as quickly. "A volley from the right and left, Lord," he remarked, "and those wheels would cease to turn. Though I grant you they have speed, and the archers would have but a single chance and needs must be well placed to do it!"
Nereb turned to them with an intent look. "You both believe that your archers could break such a charge?" he half challenged.
"It is as Kheti has said. The ground must be right, the archers posted properly, and it must be well timed—there would only be an instant or two in which all would be just right. But—given those instants, aye, even a gang of Kush raiders could cause you trouble. Nubian
bows have both the power and the range."
"You may have to make good that boast," warned the other.
"It is no boast, Lord," Rahotep returned. "I have seen Hori of my command drive an arrow clear through an oryx while it fled. And all of my men are proven marksmen."
Nereb left them to report to his superiors, and it seemed that they were not to have an early opportunity to prove their skill and so win formal admission to the ranks before them. The archers grew restless, grumbling in half whispers. And those whispers became pointed criticism at the performance of a company of bowmen using the shorter bow of the north and shooting at targets the Nubians viewed with open contempt. Only his presence, Rahotep knew, kept those comments from being voiced aloud.
He was heartily tired of breathing dust, baking in the sun, and standing without employment, when a runner dodged around a company of spearmen, to reach the Scout archers.
"Lord," he panted to the captain. "Pharaoh would look upon you—come!"
They followed the messenger at a jog trot in a zigzag path to avoid chariots and footmen, until they came up before a platform on which was a folding stool under a sun canopy. Two fanbearers kept the sultry air moving over the blue war helmet of the man who sat there. Captain and archers alike, they prostrated themselves before the Lord of the Two Lands.