Warrior King, page 5
“I see,” she told Ahmose-Ebana with a smooth tone. Her sights fell to the large, heavy khopesh and then to the spears lining the wall. They had fallen obsolete over time while the Hekka Khasut grew stronger.
“But I have made this,” he said and drew another weapon. “Its blade is thinner, and the end is more curved, making its tip and sickle sharper. It requires less bronze, but it’s just as strong. I have a thousand of these ready for war, but we can make no more.”
The corners of her mouth threatened to rise in a grin. “Then let us use them. Keep one hundred here to supply the soldiers of Waset and Per-djed-ken. Send five hundred to King Kamose and your father in the north and send the remaining to Abu with General Pennekhbet.” The rays of Re fell through the wall-vent and sparkled in her eyes. Now, they could give their enemies a good fight.
Ahmose-Ebana bowed before Ahhotep. “As God’s Mother commands.”
“What of the chariot and the beasts?” she asked, an urging in her voice. She was hopeful there was another excellent response.
“I have only disassembled the chariot, and the horses require time to breed. I do not know how long it takes for a horse to breed and grow for use in war. Neither do I know how to train it.”
She nodded grimly, seeing the look of dishonor crawl across his face. “Never worry. We shall take one at a time. You have done well with the khopesh. Start next with the chariot. Improve upon it so that our archers may make use of it. I will pray to Thoth for his wisdom in how to deal with the beasts.”
Ahmose-Ebana bowed low. “You are most gracious, my Queen.”
She took one last look around the room. “You have done well, servant of the King.” He arose with another beam on his face.
She allowed herself to return a warm smile before speaking again. “Now, I must give offerings to Amun in favor of victory for his divinely appointed.” She whipped around, her sheer white dress swishing around her legs. “To The Rising,” she declared to Meret and Nena. “I must go to Amun’s temple.”
5
A TIME OF TRAINING | AHMOSE
THE KAP AT SEDJEFATAWY, 1572 BC
The heavy wooden training ax burned his hands as he squeezed his small fingers around its handle. An itch on his leg, where his shendyt met his knee, made him want to scratch it, but the leopard-waisted Medjay named Ketti stood at the forefront of the Kap’s training yard, staring at him. It wasn’t the time to indulge an itch.
“Prince Ahmose!” Ketti barked in a heavy Kerman accent and pointed at them. Ahmose straightened up, garnering his tutor’s approval nod for his form.
Ketti turned his fierce attention toward the tiny naked boy beside Ahmose. Ketti’s shoulders dropped, and he shook his head before yelling: “Prince Sapair!”
The dark-skinned Kerman warrior put fear in Ahmose, but at the lack of Sapair’s response, Ahmose glanced at his brother.
Sapair admired a cloud and swung his training ax without a care in the world.
“Sapair,” Ahmose shot between his teeth. His eyes darted from his brother and their annoyed tutor at the front of the training yard. “Sapair!”
That got his attention, and the boy of five stared wide-eyed up at his brother of eight. “What?”
“We are to spar.”
Sapair sighed with a breath worthy of Shu, the god of the wind. His shuffling feet kicked up the sandy dirt as Sapair turned to face his brother. The ax sagged in his hand, and its training blade dragged by his feet.
Ahmose dipped his chin to his brother. “Lift your weapon. Block me or attack me.”
Sapair only stared blankly at him.
Ketti yelled out, “Fight!”
Ahmose lifted his ax giving his brother ample time to raise his own weapon, but the child did nothing.
Smack.
Sapair howled in pain and gripped the side of his arm as he toppled over to the side, screaming for help.
Ahmose dropped his ax and stood observing the mass dramatics. “I did not even hit you that hard, Brother.”
But his words were lost on Sapair as the child’s body servants ran to him.
Their half-sister, Ahmose-Henuttamehu of fifteen years, sat in the shade along with Sitkamose, the daughter of Kamose. Sitkamose was eleven, almost the age of marriage. She had not yet had a blood moon, so she still wore the sidelock of youth instead of a bountifully braided wig like Henuttamehu. They both shook their head at Ahmose.
He shrugged his shoulders. “What? Tutor Ketti told us to fight, and he did not fight.”
“He is a child, Ahmose!” Henuttamehu leaned forward and shouted, but Sitkamose placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, reigning her back.
“Next time, Ahmose,” Sitkamose called in a smooth, calm tone, “if he does not resist, do not hit.” Her eyes shimmered as her sheer linen dress swayed at the ends by her feet in the soft breeze.
Even with the serenity in her eyes and voice, a hot hue blossomed on Ahmose’s cheeks beneath Re’s sun. Embarrassment and anger built within him until he spat, “Will the Hekka Khasut be as gentle? What of the Kushites?” He shoved a harsh hand toward his still-wailing brother, being pulled to his feet by his body servants.
Another sister, Ahmose-Nebetta, at twelve years old, entered through the Kap’s training yard gateway. “He is still your brother; hold your strikes,” she said and shook her head at his presumed folly. The royal pet cat sat snuggled in her arm. At the tone in her voice, the cat lifted her sandy spotted head. Nebetta stroked her fur between the ears. “Shh, Kit. All is well.” The cat lowered her head again, satisfied with the princess’ soothing.
Nebetta flicked her newly acquired woman’s wig with the tips of her fingers. “And you are greater than a mere Aamu or Kushite; you are a prince of Kemet.”
Ahmose sneered. “Aren’t all you girls supposed to be in the temple? Why are you here in the man’s yard?” He stooped to grab his ax and turned to face Ketti.
He heard the flutter of rebuke bubble up on their tongues and shut his eyes tight to bear the verbal lashing, but Sitkamose shushed them. He drew in a deep breath and released it.
That is why I like Sitkamose more than I like any of my empty-headed sisters . . . well except, Ahmose-Nefertari. I like her too.
His eyes opened, and he swung the ax in his hand. It is quite amazing they even listen to her since she is the youngest. Perhaps it’s because she is Kamose’s daughter.
His little brother wiped the tears from his eyes, and his body servant handed him his ax.
The burgeoning red spot on Sapair’s arm had turned dark, radiating purple and blue. Ahmose’s jaw grew taut as he stared at his brother’s arm, and guilt churned in his stomach, knowing he had caused the bruise. Maybe he had hit him harder than he thought. He wrapped an arm around Sapair. “Brother, listen to me. If you do not learn how to fight, you will be killed in battle like Father. Is that what you want?”
Sapair’s eyes popped wide open with fresh, budding tears while a grimace twisted his lips. The same vision probably filled his head as it did Ahmose: the three bloody ax wounds to the head, the crushed face, and the broken limbs. They had all been summoned by the Hekka Khasut to see their father’s body and hear King Apepi’s plea to stand down and return to the status quo: a prince of their nome, each nome to self-govern and pay tribute to the true King Apepi. Ahmose had been five years old and did not remember much else about his life then, but the image of his father’s bloodied corpse and the Hekka Khasut messenger’s bold voice would stay with him forever as he imagined it would for Sapair too.
“Well? Is it?” Ahmose asked again and squeezed Sapair’s shoulder.
Sapair’s little head shook fast back and forth.
“Then, fight me.”
Ketti cleared his throat at the end of the training yard. “Prince Sapair, ready your ax as I have taught you.”
Sapair pushed Ahmose away and readied the ax.
“Good, Brother.” Ahmose nodded and readied his ax in response. “Attack or defe—”
Sapair’s wide arc came out of nowhere. Ahmose lifted his weapon just in time to avoid a straight hit to the head. He stumbled backward and parried the fast, angry strikes from his brother. But the ax was heavy, and Sapair’s anger-fueled vigor soon wore out. And Ahmose took the opportunity. He swung hard, wrenched Sapair’s ax from his hands, and halted his ax in front of his brother’s nose. “Ketti never said to start,” Ahmose said as he caught his breath.
“Will the Hekka Khasut and Kushites give you a time to start the battle?” Sapair said and pushed away Ahmose’s wooden ax head. He took a deep breath as well.
“No,” Ahmose said and grabbed Sapair by the shoulder. “Spar once more?”
Sapair received his ax from his body servant, who had fetched it. “Yes,” and he jabbed the end of it into Ahmose’s stomach, sending him to the dirt. “For hitting my arm, Brother.”
Ketti started marching toward Sapair with his papyrus switch. “Prince Sapair!”
Ahmose rubbed his stomach and rolled to his knees. He looked up at his brother. “Fine, we are now even. No more strikes like a coward?”
“Good,” Sapair said to show his agreement and readied his ax just as Ketti approached with his switch held high. He swatted both of them on the backs of the legs. “Enough of this foolishness. Ready your training weapon.”
Ahmose looked to his sisters, who all sat giggling at him. His eyes narrowed, and Sitkamose again shushed them. The corner of his lips rose at his friend. Somehow, Sitkamose knew when to speak and when to shush. She would make an excellent queen for the next king. Her mother, Tep, still could not have another child, much less a son. Their mother had ensured Kamose married his elder sister, Tep, and his secondborn sister, Hentempet, for they were the only ones old enough to have blood moons by the time Kamose took the throne. She had wanted Kamose to ensure the lineage, but it seemed Kamose’s other sister-wives were not able to bear children. So, without an heir, whoever married Sitkamose would be the next King. Divine royalty ran through her veins.
Ketti’s voice rang out: “Spar!”
Ahmose brought his ax to defend against his brother charging like the Apis bull. “I was not ready,” Ahmose yelled.
“Well, I was!” Sapair yelled back and struck again. The glare of the sun paled compared to the fire in his eyes.
Ahmose grinned at his younger brother fighting him with every bit of strength he could muster. He swung back hard and gave him a good fight.
“Good, Brother. Good,” he whispered to Sapair once Ketti called for peace. He patted him on his shoulder. “You may just live if we are attacked.”
Sapair glared at him and pushed his hand from his shoulder. “And so might you.” He threw his ax on the ground and ran his forearm against his leaking nose. “You did not have to bring up Father,” he said and spat at Ahmose’s feet before leaving.
“I had to, Sapair. You were not taking this training seriously,” Ahmose called after him.
Ketti called after Sapair as well. “We are not finished here.”
But Sitkamose slowly stood and stared at Ketti until he dipped his chin to her and went about his duties in the training yard. Her gaze drifted to Ahmose and nodded in the direction where Sapair had run off. Her large shoulders and boyish face lifted to the sun disc, the Aten.
“The princes are finished here,” she told Nebetta and Henuttamehu. Then she turned to run her hand along Kit’s furry back. “Come; my mother has decreed we shall learn to fight too.”
Ahmose watched Sitkamose and his sisters take up training sticks before he turned a corner. Their body servants stood close to them as Ketti instructed them with their grips, careful not to touch the royal hands. Sitkamose’s boyish figure with broad shoulders deceived those who thought she might be strong. Her frail fingers gripped the training ax, but its head was firmly on the ground as she tried to lift it.
Ahmose sighed and hoped she would get well soon, for it seemed she had been sickly since he first knew her. He kicked the dirt off the toe of his leather sandal as he walked and came upon the nursery. He glanced inside at his older sister, Ahmose-Nefertari, holding his youngest sister, Ahmose-Tumerisy. Her sweet vocal melodies of a hymn to Hathor calmed him as it did Tumerisy. Her little body lay limp in Ahmose-Nefertari’s arms.
Binpu lay motionless in the nurse Lady Rai’s arms. His half-sister Ahmose, or as they called her Mosi, was tightly curled under a light blanket on a cot on the floor. Her hands pressed tightly under her cheek. All three were born the month before receiving their father’s body back from the Hekka Khasut.
His gaze fell to the floor as he walked past. First, his father had gone, and next would be Binpu and Tumerisy. At least they would be in the Field of Reeds soon and not in pain anymore.
The sound of their pitiful coughs followed him down the corridor until he saw Sapair crouched in the corner at the corridor’s turn. He covered his heart with a hand as he walked toward Sapair to shield any harsh thoughts from turning into words.
Unlike his father and youngest siblings, if the Kushites killed them and destroyed their bodies, he saw the grim end and eternal restlessness just as the Aamu messenger had said.
Sapair kicked at him when he drew near. “Leave me, Brother.”
But Ahmose put his back against the cracked mud-brick and slid down next to him. “Sapair, you know I will never leave you.” He threw an arm around his brother’s shoulders. “It is you and me until the beginning of the next life, and then we shall be together in the Field of Reeds.”
Sapair sniffled and wrapped his arms around his drawn-in legs. “I wish this war would end. I have dreams of seeing Kamose come home as Father did.”
Ahmose leaned his head back. “Me too.” A twitch overcame his eye as the sight of his father’s mangled corpse again flooded his vision. “But if he does, I will strike every one of those Hekka Khasut down. I will avenge them and fight along with whoever is appointed King. I will finish what they started. And if I am struck down like Kamose and Father, you will finish what we started.”
Sapair snapped his gaze to Ahmose, who looked off at the trickle of sunlight falling through the wall vent. “Then you will have left me alone in this life.”
Ahmose met his brother’s eyes. “I will ask your forgiveness when you are with me in the Field of Reeds.”
Sapair pushed Ahmose’s arm off of his shoulders. “Then that would make you a liar. You lie to me today. You caused me pain today. You are no brother of mine.”
Ahmose gritted his teeth and spoke in defense when he should have comforted. “I did what I had to do. The Kushites may come, and you need to fight. If Kamose fails in the north, the Hekka Khasut will be here with the next Nile flooding, intent on putting us in our place. Do you think they will honor you as the son of the Waset prince who was declared the king of Kemet? Do you think they will give you your body for the afterlife after Kamose slew the royal escorts that returned Father’s body? Will there be any of us left to send you off and open your eyes and mouths for the westward journey if they leave your body untouched by the flame?”
Sapair jolted to his feet. “Stop it, Ahmose!” He threw his hands over his ears. “I want . . . I want—”
“What you want is not what we must do!” Ahmose stood up and pulled Sapair’s hands off of his ears. “You will wear a man’s shendyt in the next season like me. You will no longer be a child.”
“You are still a child too! You are not that much older than me!” Sapair yanked his wrists out of Ahmose’s grip.
“But I have to be a man. I am the oldest son that remains in the palace. Who will protect the throne if they come? You? Until today, you cared more about playing senet with Mosi.” Ahmose took a step backward, shocked such a tone came from his mouth.
Sapair’s eyes filled with tears. “I want to play senet with Mosi!” He growled. “You know nothing!” His hot breath blasted Ahmose’s face before he ran off again.
Ahmose threw his hands in the air, and an exasperated breath forced its way from his chest. His hands fell to his hips, and he kicked dirt in his brother’s direction. “Why must you be so difficult?!” he yelled at Sapair’s diminishing shadow.
Ahmose-Nefertari stuck her head out of the nursery and eyed him. His cheeks turned red at his sister’s silent rebuking. He shrugged and crossed his arms, hating having older sisters who did nothing but giggle at his failings and scold him for his errors.
She walked from the room and motioned Ahmose to walk alongside her. She stood only a head taller than him even though she was ten years his senior. Born from their mother, only Tep and Hentempet were older than her. She would marry Kamose when he returned since her blood moon came late after Kamose had already left for war three years prior.
Ahmose glanced up at her as they silently walked down the corridor. “What do you wish to say to me, Sister.”
“Let Sapair be a child while he still can be.” She stopped and squared her shoulders to Ahmose. “We let you be a child until you wore the shendyt of a man. Let him. You both saw something which you should never have seen.” A glisten overcame her eyes, and her gaze turned inward. “One more season of innocence for Sapair will not hurt the future palace.” She shook her head with a despondent sigh at Ahmose’s crossed arms. “And Ahmose, consider this: how would a child fare fighting against an armed Kushite or a khopesh-wielding soldier of the Hekka Khasut?”
Ahmose’s arms twitched at the thought, but still, he kept them crossed, too prideful to answer.
She reached out and touched Ahmose’s cheek. “You have such heart, Ahmose. Such passion. Sometimes others cannot bear such passion. It hurts them.”
The same churn of guilt twisted his stomach upon realizing he had hurt his younger brother. “What should I do?” His arms dropped to his sides.
Ahmose-Nefertari’s hand fell back to the folds of her pleated royal dress. “Love your brother. Live the principles of Ma’at and be sure your heart does not weigh heavy.” She pressed her lips into a thinned smile. “I am going to tend to Tumerisy and Binpu with Rai and the other nurses.” She looked back down the corridor. “I will give my love to them before I marry Kamose and be tasked with the burden of war like my sisters and Mother before me.” She placed a hand on his shoulder. “We are all sacrificing in this war. I know you think you are doing good by helping Sapair see why he needs to pick up the training ax, but let him be for now.” She popped the underside of his chin in a playful gesture and walked away.
