Warrior King, page 2
The Aamu convulsed as he breathed his last breath, but Kamose took his dagger across the dying man’s neck. He stood over the Aamu with nostrils flaring and his mouth curled in bitter disgust. He spat at the Aamu before looking up at Ahhotep. His eyes burned black.
She nodded her approval. “It seems he will not be taking my son with him,” she muttered.
Kamose’s deep voice defeated any clash or cry in the room. “I will avenge my father, the King Seqenenre Tao, and I will reclaim what is ours, Great Wives, Ahhotep and Tetisheri. I will unite our land where my father could not.” His chest heaved, and his words rolled in revenge.
Ahhotep stepped forward and placed her hand on the arm of the golden-covered throne. “Call the priests of Amun. We have a coronation to conduct.” Her eyes drifted to Tao’s body at her feet. “And the priests of Anubis, for we have a King to send to Re.” Her hand covered her womb, having birthed twins only ten days, a decan, prior. They would never know their father, but if she and Kamose were victorious, they would see him again in the Field of Reeds. And if not, she was sure they would all wander in unrest for eternity.
2
A TIME OF PERSUASION | AHHOTEP
SEDJEFATAWY, 1575 BC
Ahhotep watched her son Kamose stand in front of his Sedjefatawy throne with the blue woven khepresh crown firmly placed upon his head. She had wanted him to wear the white hedjet crown of the Upper, but he chose the celestial khepresh, the crown of war. His fingers gripped the handle of the royal mace in his hand. The color drained from his knuckles just as it did when he slew the Aamu messengers at her command.
She glanced at the spot where Tao’s body had been laid only a few days earlier before she lifted her eyes to the pristinely painted reliefs that wrapped each of the throne room pillars, depicting Tao and her father smiting their enemies.
The princes of Upper Kemet’s nomes had gathered, and what was left of the military leaders stood in front of Kamose, waiting for him to speak. Toes tapped in leather sandals. Arms crossed over bare chests. Kohl-lined eyes stared at them from beyond the dais.
Even though she and her mother stood in support behind him, beads of sweat formed beneath his silver-sashed diadem. It’s shining band with the twin encrusted lotus blooms on the back reminded her of the gods’ divine renewal of their appointed one. Kamose glanced back at her and Tetisheri. The diadem’s golden cobra, poised to strike, cast a shadow down the bridge of his nose. His eyes, dark as the fertile soil of the Nile after the flood, called to her. She envisioned them as they were when he was a young child, and his arms outstretched to her in need. But as an adult, there was confidence in his eyes, not worry. He did not need her anymore. Yet as he looked back, a flash of anxiety sparkled in his irises.
Ahhotep gave a reassuring nod before Kamose turned to face the throne room’s crowd again. He would always be her son—her firstborn son. A part of her heart was reserved only for him.
His twenty years of life had prepared him to take the crown, but she had hoped it would come after his father defeated the Hekka Khasut. Perhaps it was his destiny to expel the foreigners and not Tao’s. She had bound him to this path, had she not? She gave him the silent command to attack the Aamu messengers. If he were slain, as was Tao, his blood would be on her hands.
A lump grew thick in her throat, and the torchlight in the room spun. She shut her eyes, grounding herself in the silence of the room. She pushed the fear of losing her child from the farthest reaches of her mind. Kamose had wanted to fight; he saw the vision Tao had. But how was he going to accomplish such a feat? He was only twenty years old, and Tao was not even in his tomb yet.
The last eight years of his life had been spent training for war. And now, his training would be put to the test. But there was a void that needed filling. Tao’s general and admiral were slain, and such positions could not go empty—that should be the first order.
Once a general and admiral were by his side, they needed to create a strategy—one far better than those employed by Tao and her father. Kamose could not win a war with obsolete weaponry and tactics. They needed warriors, not farmers with axes, yet that was what they had. For this reason, Tao had been doomed to fail.
Ahhotep shifted in her son’s silence.
What words would Kamose speak as his first command? How would he say it? What if they came out in error? The contrasting fear for his future yet confidence in the legacy he would leave grabbed ahold and twisted her belly as she envisioned both the worst and the best of what was to come.
Have faith in your son, she told herself and opened her eyes. He can do this.
As if reading her thoughts, Kamose relaxed his shoulders. The white alabaster curve and golden base of Kamose’s royal mace threw the room’s torchlight across the faces of those gathered before the King.
Kamose pointed his royal weapon at the fleetsmen. “Who among you has had the longest tenure in the King’s Fleet?” His voice commanded even the gods’ attention.
Well-spoken. Good first words, she thought, and her hesitations diminished, replenished with pride. Why had she worried? Her son was mighty, trained, and prepared. This was her beloved son, with whom she had always been well-pleased.
Kamose swung the mace and pointed it toward the army soldiers. “Who among you?”
Ten men stepped forward, but all were of low rank: a Greatest of Fifty, a fleetsman, a Boat Captain . . . Their collars were simple, no evidence to indicate valor or other feats—no golden fly, no lapis jewels . . .
Ahhotep scanned the men dressed in soldier’s uniforms. Farmers. Simple farmers. How would her son beat the Hekka Khasut with men who did not know how to lead? They were not warriors; they would not do.
He lowered his mace. “You are to leave the throne room. Only the highest-ranking officers will remain.”
Ahhotep nodded in agreement, and Tetisheri’s chest puffed, seemingly satisfied with her grandson’s decision.
Those who would not do left the throne room, leaving four men standing before the King: one from the army, three from the fleetsmen.
The last battle with the Hekka Khasut had been a monstrous defeat. Some princes wanted to withdraw from the rebellion, but she and her mother had urged them to stay the course. All of the princes now watched from the back of the throne room, some rubbing their shaven chins in anticipation of how this new king would ensure their promised victory.
He looked at the lone soldier. “Rank?”
“Troop Commander.”
It was three ranks below General, but the others had been slaughtered along with Tao. Troop Commander was an honored position, one usually awarded for might, victory, and selflessness in battle.
Ahhotep ran her eyes up and down the smaller man’s body. He did not appear mighty. It did not seem he could have had many victories, but his looks could be deceiving. Tao had not been a large man either. She looked upon her son; Kamose was taller than her but shorter than most men.
Kamose nodded at the Troop Commander. “Name?”
“Pennekhbet.”
Kamose swung his mace and sat on his throne, slamming its wooden handle into the golden-covered arm of his wooden chair. “Then Pennekhbet, you will be my General, for my brother is too young for the honor, and the former General had no sons. Let Pennekhbet be dressed in the golden collar and the bronze and leather armor uniform of the General.”
When the servants and stewards obeyed his command, Kamose focused on the three fleetsmen. “Ranks and Names.”
The first man spoke. “We are all Captains of the Fleet. I am Baba; this is Mahu and Thaneni.”
Ahhotep scanned the fleetsman named Baba. He looked like a mighty man with a well-decorated collar and well-defined features against his oiled burnt-umber skin. His eyes shifted to meet hers, and in them, she found a softness, a warmth, a similar sorrow. She blinked, and his gaze returned to her son, who spoke.
“Why do three of you stand before me when there is only one Troop Commander?”
Mahu and Thaneni’s eyes fell to the floor, but Baba stepped forward. “We were holding the ports already conquered. Seeing the Hekka Khasut sails flowing freely up the Nile in force, we knew our fellow soldiers had fallen. We retreated to the Upper to save our men’s lives so we could all fight another day. If we were in error, take our lives in dishonor.”
Mahu and Thaneni’s eyes grew wide, and they shuffled back.
Baba glanced at them and then cleared his throat. “Take my life in dishonor. There is no sense in taking three lives when we have so few to spare.”
Kamose chewed his lip as he thought. Ahhotep considered the three men. Of the three captains, Baba had the most lapis gems on his collar. He was brave, and he was right. Had they tried to stop the Hekka Khasut, they would have been slaughtered—the few of the fleet retained to hold the position. As much as it pained her to acknowledge Tao had made a foolish mistake, an all-out surge on the next city down the Nile could only have ended in failure. He should have stayed and built a perimeter before advancing.
“Was it your order to retreat, Captain Baba?” Kamose’s question rang out.
Baba nodded. “Yes, my King, and I will take full responsibility, whatever the consequences.” Baba stood tall—confident in his decision.
Mahu and Thaneni shifted their weight behind him and glanced at the guards in the room, perhaps afraid to lose their comrade. Kamose pointed the mace toward Baba, but Baba remained calm.
He would make a good officer, one who was steady in moments of stress, and Kamose spoke what she thought he should do. “This man shall be my new Admiral. Dress him in leather and a collar fit for such a position.”
Kamose scanned the officials. “Vizier, is the transport for the slain Aamu ready to be sent?”
Tao’s vizier, Tetinefer, stepped forward. He had served the prior king well, so Kamose had allowed him to keep his position at the suggestion of Tetisheri.
Tetinefer bowed. “Yes, and the Aamu’s khopeshes have been withheld, per your command.”
Kamose nodded. “Who among our ranks is interested in weapon design, to study the khopesh and produce them for the armies of Kemet?”
Silence befell the throne room. Kamose looked to the princes, still quiet. “No one in all the nomes?”
The princes looked at each other, remaining silent with leery eyes.
Ahhotep knew the answer but sensed none would give up any more men for the cause—not after the slaughter they had endured.
Baba again spoke. “My son, although young, has shown exceptional skill with all weapons. He is fascinated by their design and would give his life in service for the greater Kemet.”
“Then bring him to the fortress tower my father built, Per-djed-ken, south of the palace, to begin his analysis,” Kamose said and turned his attention to the nomes’ royalty in the back.
Ahhotep eyed the princes, who remained silent. They were skeptical; it was clear. She narrowed her eyes, debating whether she should give Kamose a chance to remedy their doubts or ignore them in case they were substantiated. But any uncertainty would increase the wedge between Kamose and their support, so she made a decision and spoke for her son. “Speak, princes. What have you to say?”
A prince among them lifted his head, so the torchlight flooded his frustrated face. An overabundance of kohl was fresh around his eyes, and his skin was excessively oiled to a superior shine. “It was disappointing to see yet another Waset royal fail in his attempt to retake the Lower.”
Heads bobbed. Murmurs reverberated in the room.
Tetisheri shifted on her feet and lifted her chin at the prince. Her eyes narrowed at him, and Ahhotep did the same. Had she spoken in error? No, it was time to put the doubts to rest. Her son was prepared to be king, and they would believe it by the end of the day.
Kamose pushed off his throne to stand, and the crowd quieted. “Prince Tetian of Ta-Seti,” he said. “It was disappointing to see yet another battle take place without the full support of the nomes.” He swung the royal mace and pointed it at Tetian. “Had the nomes given their all for the cause their words so nobly support, perhaps my grandfather would have been firstly successful, and perhaps my father’s body would not have been brought home in disgrace.”
Some princes averted their gaze, knowing it to be true, yet others, such as Tetian and Metjen, stared full in the face at the Waset royal. Kamose continued. “Especially the trade-rich and flourishing nome of Ta-Seti. Perhaps you do not support the unification of Kemet under Re, King of the Gods? Perhaps you would prefer the Set-worshipping imposters in the Lower to continue their reign over—”
Tetian slammed his fist into an open hand; its resulting smack drew the gazes of those in the throne room. “I worship Re. Do not dare insult my obedience to the supreme god.” He threw his hands to his sides. “We all wish to see the Set-worshippers gone and our land reunited—”
“Then why do you hold back your trade, resources, and men, Prince Tetian, Prince Metjen, Prince Setka?” Kamose’s deafening question made a few princes cower.
Kamose’s breath was ragged, and his knuckles again drained of color as he held fast to the royal mace.
If they had provided, Tao’s body would not be in the tents of Anubis.
Metjen sneered. “Because the Waset family has never gained victory!”
Setka added more respectfully, “Your grandfather spoke great words, but his ax never saw battle. Your father struck without strategy after a few simple taunts from King Apepi. And then you, King Kamose, slew two royal messengers when they came with an offer of peace. Where is the victory warranting—”
“We had no choice,” Kamose defended his family’s actions. “It was a justifiable act of war.”
He looked at all the dissenting princes one-by-one and then finally addressed Prince Tetian as he would make the perfect example.
“Not all the nomes are as trade-rich from the south as Ta-Seti. The Hekka Khasut squash our trade from the Nile’s north. They parse the crumbs of trade to us after eating their full course. Every generation, we grow weaker. Soon, the Hekka Khasut will continue their infestation south, and we, the true inhabitants of Kemet, will be forced to be wanderers in the Dashret.” Kamose found the eyes of the princes of those nomes. “Do you wish for your children’s children to be wanderers in their own kingdom or to worship Set, the god of chaos and darkness, as the King of the Gods?”
Heads shook, and Kamose continued.
“Then give me your resources; give me your men! I will lead us to victory. I will restore the kingdom of Kemet. I will ensure our future will not end but live on. I will raise Kemet into one great nation under the rightful gods, but I cannot do it alone!”
Prince Paser of the nome Herui, the nome just north of Waset, raised his hand, balled tightly into a fist. “Herui is with you, King Kamose.”
“Ta-Ur as well,” Prince Setka said in an uncomfortable decree.
“Because you have an Admiral now from my city of Nekheb, then my nome of Nekhen will be by your side,” Prince Nakht said in reserve.
“Meseh will supply all able men and send our sons to train at Per-djed-ken,” Prince Baufre said with a yawn and a rub of his round belly.
Ahhotep licked her lip in anticipation of what was to come. But the offers of aid stopped there. The remaining four princes said nothing. The dissenting voices had sway over the others. At least, they had the support of four nomes, only one of which was enthusiastic. Kamose’s speech had turned Setka, for the time being.
She narrowed her eyes at them while Tetisheri stepped forward to stand beside her grandson. She opened her arms wide—her dress’s translucent, pleated sleeves diffused the sunlight from the ceiling’s vents, basking her in an aura of divinity.
Her sights were on Tetian. “The princes who have not offered aid seem to support this vision with their words, but their actions speak louder in dissent.”
The four princes leaned back, crossed their arms, and remained silent. Tetian, though, shifted his weight and averted his eyes from God’s Mother, the queen mother of Seqenenre Tao.
Ahhotep shook her head at the hypocrites as she joined her mother in line with her son to reinforce the stance of unity. The wealth, if given only from Tetian’s Ta-Seti, would cut the war short, but as it was, his greed and hoarding, along with the other three princes, would prolong the struggle. No, they would need to secure a significant victory before seeing any more wealth or men flow in from the nomes.
Kamose seemingly ignored the dissenters and gave a firm nod to the princes who had joined him, raising his mace in the air. “Your names will be remembered, princes of Kemet, who aid the divinely appointed in his hour of need!”
He looked at his new general and admiral before peering at his mother and grandmother for their approval and blessing. Ahhotep gave a slight nod, and his grandmother’s face remained as stone, but the pride was evident in her eyes. Yet her gaze seemed to go past him toward Tetian. Perhaps she was happy at how Kamose handled the dissenter, and that was how she thought of it. Kamose’s first commands as King were good. Now, a far more difficult task lay before him—no, lay before them, for she would never let him bear this burden alone.
“Adjourn to the council room so that we may decide how to overcome the Hekka Khasut,” Kamose said and led the way to the adjoining council room.
Ahhotep assumed, without all the nomes’ full support, it would be years before they could reclaim what they lost, much less retake the Lower in full. They needed a victory—a decisive victory—to collect the contents of the four princes’ storehouses. She doubted the princes would give anything until the complete Upper Kemet was retaken and they could push into the Lower.
She grimaced as the servants lit the torches in the council room. They couldn’t even spare oil to burn all the torches for the day. They needed to be wise with their resources and make them endure, not just for months but years. Full-out surges on the large cities would end in failure, just as Tao’s final attempt had shown them. A much slower pace and more efficient and effective strategy would have to be enacted.
