Warrior King, page 33
A breeze blew the black smoke in her face causing the braids under her vulture headdress to sway. The reek of the blood-flowing Nile reached her nostrils.
“When the river runs red, it means a new divine king is known,” she said to the guards and soldiers surrounding her as the Ta-Setians turned their ships to flee. “And it is not Tetian of Khnum’s Ta-Seti.”
“May the gods renew Ahmose, Given Life,” the men said in unison.
“Amun seals our divine appointment this day.” She sneered, curling her lip. “Pursue and put down,” she commanded, and the soldier beside her blew a horn to tell Troop Commander Uahbra. The celebrating ships soon followed.
“I want Tetian, alive or slain, at my feet before the end of the month.”
“Yes, Royal Commander,” the soldier said before blowing the order on the horn—three long, blaring notes.
The lead ship took her attention. “Viceroy Si-Tayet and his five units will keep them from venturing too far south,” she muttered before lifting her head under the dimmed sky and placing one hand behind her back. That is, if they are still alive, she thought. No one had come from the past year to report to her about the dealings in Wawat. If Si-Tayet had sent a messenger, he would have known about the siege. If then, why had he not come to their aid unless Kush had rebelled and he could not spare resources? Her other hand gripped a cane as she sighed. Well, she thought, we will soon find out what became of Si-Tayet and his five units.
She turned around expecting to see Meret and Nena, but two guards stood in their place. The familiar shadows were no more: Meret lay waiting for burial, and Nena was given in service to Ahmose-Nefertari. But Ahhotep mused: she did not need maidservants, for she was Royal Commander. She needed guards.
Her back straightened as she began the long walk across the roof toward the stairs with a half-empty heart. So much blood. So much killing. Tears gathered behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.
Soon, she thought. Soon, it will all be over. Soon, we will have peace.
The new year would be upon them in the coming month, but there would be no Birth of Re Festival to welcome it—they had no food or preparations. Yet an opening of a new year brought healing. Maybe she should arrange something, however small. Yes, perhaps she would. They all needed healing from this war and rebellion, starting with Tetian’s flesh burning on a stake.
The nomarchs lined the throne room before Ahhotep, seated on the throne. Her leg was wrapped tightly; the pain had never left.
The royal family stood behind her, heavily guarded. Princess Tair stood with bloodshot eyes, her hand cupping the bottom of her small pregnant belly. Sapair leaned upon a cane with his head and arm wrapped. He had been badly wounded but wanted to be on the dais for what was about to transpire. His wife Senseneb held Ahmes’ and Thutmose’s hands. Mutnofret and the new three-year-old Crown Prince, Amenhotep, stood next to Ahmose-Nefertari on the right hand of the throne. Meryet-Amon, at ten years old, held her arm around Amenhotep’s thin shoulder, and Tetisheri stood on Ahhotep’s lefthand side.
The doors to the throne room opened with a creak, and the sound of grunts and groans filled the otherwise silent hall. Ahhotep stared with hard eyes as soldiers brought a bloodied and struggling Tetian before her. Metjen and Baufre were prodded in behind him by spearpoint.
Sound decisions. Sorrow can wait. Show your people the gods are with them, Ahhotep thought before clearing her throat to speak.
“Tetian, Metjen, Baufre, you have brought arms against your king, and Tetian, you have ordered the slaying of all the sons of King Seqenenre Tao and King Ahmose. The Crown Prince Ramose was killed by your command, leaving his youngest brother, Amenhotep, as the Crown Prince. Prince Sapair and Prince Thutmose live. You have failed in your quest, yet in your failure, you have proven to all the world the line of King Ahmose is divine. The gods provide for their appointed king. For such an act of blatant treason, the gods’ law is eternal death.”
Baufre collapsed to his knees, weeping uncontrollably. “Have mercy, Royal Commander, God’s Mother of King Ahmose,” he begged—his hands clasped tightly together and head bowed in shame.
Ahhotep ignored the empty-minded fool. “This day, the crown will have power over you in your treachery.”
As Baufre wailed about helping fight Ta-Seti, Tetian scoffed and ripped his arms from the guards’ grips. They seized him again, but Ahhotep held up her hand to halt them. She would afford him this one last luxury, not out of pity or mercy, but to prove he was powerless.
The guards sneered at the traitor and released him. Tetian took a step forward. His eyes lifted in arrogant pride. “You have no power over me, Ahhotep. You will have to slay the prince of Ta-Seti, for I will never succumb to that of a nomarch.”
He spat at her feet and turned to the nomarchs, lifting a finger and pointing in their faces. “One day, you will remember my warning and wish your power returned, but it will not be. You will go hungry and starve and send your men into slavery under this line of so-called divine kings. Heed my words!”
But they remained mute and looked to Ahhotep to speak.
She scanned the hall and sighed, shaking her head at him. “I tire of this man’s blasphemy. Cut out his tongue.”
He spun around, wide-eyed, yelling, “I am the prince of Ta-Seti! You will not lay a hand on me.”
Tetian swung his fist wildly at the first guard who approached him, connecting with an audible thud. The guard staggered back, clutching his face. Three guards attacked, wrenching his arms behind his back and pinning him to the ground. He writhed and kicked, but to no avail.
“Your heart will be heavy, Ahhotep! You commit such an act against the prince of Ta-Seti! The greatest of the nomes?” Tetian yelled as the guards made him stand and stretched out his arms and legs so he couldn’t move.
A third guard approached and drew his dagger. Tetian pulled back. “You have all pledged your loyalty in vain. My grandfather was a fool, just as you are now. Look at what they have done to you! Rise up! Take what is yours!”
A fourth guard grabbed Tetian’s jaw and pulled out Tetian’s tongue while the other raised his dagger. Tetian squirmed and yelled as the blade lowered.
“Halt!” Ahhotep’s command flung through the air, and the guard stopped before slicing the soft pink prickled flesh. All eyes turned to her as she stood in elegance and majesty. A servant approached her with her cane with his head bowed, and she received it in grace. She moved to the edge of the dais. The soft echo of her footsteps and the cane’s clack trumped the sound of Tetian’s grunts while the guard held his tongue and the other still wielded the dagger.
“Do you see the women before you, Tetian?”
He sneered at the obvious question.
“You took the son of the Great Wife Tetisheri by refusing aid. You took the son of the Royal Commander by demanding he retake Buhen. And now you take the son of Chief Wife Ahmose-Nefertari in cold blood. You will know the penalty for treason against the divine crown, and you will meet the flame.”
He jerked his head out of the guard’s grip reclaiming sovereignty over his tongue, and gritted, “No one here would burn the prince of Ta-Seti.”
Ahhotep scoffed and looked around. “No one here acknowledges there is a prince of Ta-Seti.”
His face blanched.
“Continue,” Ahhotep ordered the guards. “And then burn him as an example of those who dare attack Kemet’s chosen king.”
“Your heart will weigh heavy, Ahhotep!” he yelled his last, before the screams of agony came.
She watched the bloody order carried out before returning to the throne to sit. It was not long before the pungent miasma of burning flesh wafted through the wall vents.
Baufre was prone on the floor, sobbing. “Please, Royal Commander. I did not know. Mercy! Mercy!”
Metjen kneeled in silence before the throne, gaze downcast, waiting for his sentence.
“Baufre, Metjen,” Ahhotep barked. “Now, you shall have your future declared.”
Baufre was forced to kneel alongside Metjen.
Ahhotep’s jaw grew taut. She had thought about what to do with these two. Her words had been carefully constructed in the days leading up to the moment.
“These two men before the Royal Commander do not deserve to live. They do not deserve an afterlife.”
Metjen glowered at Ahhotep while Baufre cried, “But we fought for you, Royal Commander. We did not know Tetian would kill anyone.”
Ramose’s bloodied face flashed before her. “Yet because of your actions, the Crown Prince was slain, along with hundreds of soldiers and servants, children, and citizens of Waset, Nekhen, and Herui.” Tetian’s fleshly stench reached her nostrils. “You could be burning by Sedjefatawy’s port as Tetian is now. You should be gracious to me.”
Baufre cried like a child and put his face on the floor. “Yes, Royal Commander,” he whimpered.
Ahhotep regained her posture and secured the attention of all in the room before speaking again. “I spoke pardon of the blood spilled upon your first entry into the throne room after the siege from this dais; you listened, and you fought for your king. I shall keep my word, but for your willful act of treason and conspiracy with Tetian, you both will be stripped of your position and wealth. Your army is now the king’s army. You shall live the rest of your long lives in disgrace for taking up arms against Amun’s divinely appointed.”
She stared at Metjen, wanting him to suffer more than Baufre, for Baufre was a dim-witted fool. Metjen at least had a mind about him. “You will keep your afterlife. Your tombs will remain untouched until your journey west. But until then, Metjen is henceforth exiled to the land of the Bedu with his officers. Anyone loyal to Metjen over Ahmose will be stripped of their worth and sent to farmlands in Tjenu.”
Metjen lifted his eyes at Ahhotep, sneering, but bowed his head in acceptance of her sentence. She surmised he knew he had done wrong and was grateful he would be allowed back into Kemet for his internment and journey to the Field of Reeds.
Ahhotep turned her focus to the fool who sat wringing his hands. “Baufre and his officers will live in disgrace as servants to those who farm the land of the Amun priesthood. They will never be allowed to leave their servitude.”
Baufre cried, not understanding the extraordinary generosity that had been granted to him, until Metjen elbowed his large belly and told him in a harsh whisper, “Shut your mouth. You could have ended up in the Bedu like me, you of an empty mind.”
Baufre’s eyes widened, and his jaw fell ajar as the realization of Ahhotep’s decree dawned on him. He wiped a forearm across the bottom of his nose and stopped wailing.
With Baufre’s sniffles in the background, Ahhotep scanned the room of nomarchs. This can never happen again, she told herself.
“These dared betray their oath before Ma’at. These dared betray the King of Kemet. Tetian and his followers dared betray the will of Amun, Re, Hathor, Isis, Horus, and Bastet.” She squared her shoulders to them, and emphasized her last words: “If you dare to attempt the same, you will be struck down.”
The nomarchs shifted on their feet, and Paser nodded. “Divine blood runs through your veins, Royal Commander!” he yelled out, and the other nomarchs followed.
Metjen and even Baufre said nothing as guards took them away, stripping them of their wealth and visible status.
Ahhotep took a proud breath amid the cheers. Paser kneeled before the royal family, and those in attendance did the same. When all was quiet, Paser said, “Royal Commander and her son, the Warrior King Ahmose, lead us into a new era.”
Ahhotep looked at the midday sun pouring onto the courtyard beyond the throne room doors. Kamose’s statue had been pieced together—tied in place—until another could be sculpted. His cracked stone visage found her eyes. His presence descended upon the dais, and his embrace wrapped around her. A tear budded in her eye as the falcon shrieked. His ba was satisfied. He had not perished in vain, and her mother’s instinct and the gods’ victory at Sedjefatawy told her Ahmose was indeed alive.
41
A TIME OF DOMINATION | AHMOSE
THE LEVANT, 1550 BC
At the end of the third year of the siege, King Apepi left his palace out of cowardice. King Ahmose’s army chased him and his Aamu people into the Levant, burning everything to ensure they could not resettle the land.
Ahmose rode in his chariot, returning to Hut-Waret from the fortress city of Sharuhen in Canaan. They had claimed victory over it and burned it to the ground, leaving King Apepi to flee like the coward he was from wherever his line had descended.
It was then the Hekka Khasut were no more, and Ahmose could return home victorious. The salt of the Great Sea filled his nostrils, and the cool sea breeze whipped past his collared chest. Though the Aten’s rays were plentiful, he felt cold, having been in Kemet all his life. He looked to his right, and the leader of the Medjay named Gorte rode along beside him. He was shivering. It made Ahmose chuckle. He looked to his left, and Ahmose-Ebana rode in his chariot, hiding a slight quiver on his lip.
It seemed they were all cold past the boundaries of Kemet, so Ahmose decided to take their attention from the elements and try to shorten the trip with conversation.
“Without the chariots and the Medjay, we would not have been victorious. We owe many blessings upon you, Ahmose-Ebana, and you, Gorte,” he said.
“You are too generous, my King,” Ahmose-Ebana said, and Gorte grunted in reply, “Agreed.” But the cold made his chin quiver and not say much else.
“I shall establish a chariotry division of my army,” Ahmose declared, hoping for something more to keep the conversation going.
“Most wise decision, my King,” Ahmose-Ebana again replied.
Silence ensued. Ahmose cleared his throat.
“Like Admiral and General, I will need another chief officer for these wheeled beasts.” Ahmose patted the rim of the chariot as it rolled along the sea-smoothed rock path.
Ahmose-Ebana remained silent, and Gorte only said, “Yes, it would be logical to have a hierarchy of officers too.”
Ahmose chewed his lip as he glanced at Ahmose-Ebana. It was his father that had saved him. The arrows had left a scar; it seemed on both of them. Ahmose ran a finger down his chest along the scar’s smooth edge, remembering the arrow that had barely missed his head and nicked him before Baba’s shield covered him. The hard thud, thud, thud of arrows hitting the shield was nothing compared to the wincing pain in Baba’s face.
He pushed it from memory, trying not to dwell on the past, and hoped Ahmose-Ebana did not hold ill feelings against him.
“What name should I have for this chief officer?” Ahmose asked.
“Chief Charioteer,” Gorte offered.
Ahmose-Ebana shrugged. “Master Chariotry Leader,” he said.
“Yes, good names,” Ahmose said, but both suggestions did not have the important ring he wanted. He would think about it further.
Baba would have known a good name to call it, he thought. He glanced to Gorte, where Baba formerly rode alongside him. He missed Baba even with his constant hovering. He had many conversations with the man, who was almost like a father to him. And in some ways, with Baba’s secret relationship with his mother, Baba was like a father to him.
His gaze fell to the ground as it swept by underneath the chariots’ wheels. He would need a new Admiral soon, but he hadn’t the heart to replace Baba over the last year, not after all his sacrifice.
HUT-WARET, 1550 BC
A few days later, they returned to the place they had called home for three years and found the Hekka Khasut palace razed and the city gutted. All that remained were the Apiru’s homes.
Ahmose smiled at the good work as he rode through the encampment, looking for the Admiral he left in charge. His army bowed to him and parted as he journeyed through the ranks until he finally came upon Baba, whose arm was in a sling and who walked with a cane.
Ahmose dismounted along with Ahmose-Ebana.
“My King and my son,” Baba said, greeting the duo with a pride-filled beam.
“Admiral,” Ahmose returned. “I am glad to see you are up and walking.” He eyed the cane. He had been worried the arrows to Baba’s leg would have rendered him paralyzed.
Baba chuckled. “Not very well,” he said. “But I will learn to use this cane much better each day.” The ghastly healed wounds on his shoulder, arm, and leg were like starbursts on his sable skin.
Ahmose placed a hand on Baba’s uninjured shoulder and locked eyes with him. The Admiral’s military career would be over because he had been determined to save him, and the King’s Fleet was worse for it. But a small smile crept to Ahmose’s lips. “Let us journey back to Waset and celebrate our victory, Admiral. And perhaps, you can find contentment at Sedjefatawy and a woman of your choosing.”
Baba pressed his lips into a thinned smile as if trying to contain himself. “I have been at war all of my adult life. It will be good to rest,” he said. “My son, Ahmose, son of my late Ebana, is proud to follow in my footsteps.”
Ahmose-Ebana bowed his head in agreement. “Yes, my King. For you, I dedicate my life just as my father. I have no greater honor.”
Ahmose smiled. Perhaps Baba’s son held no ill contempt toward him. But past Baba’s ear, Ahmose saw a royal boat from Sedjefatawy dock at the port at Hut-Waret.
“We finally have word from home,” he said, and the three men turned to face the queen’s messenger, who disembarked with news from Waset.
The man grimaced, however, and his brow furrowed, giving no notice of happiness.
Ahmose’s smile faded quickly, and his heart sank into his stomach—anticipating a grave message—as the man came to greet the King.
