now, Ahmose! Please!” Turning his back on his brother, he sank to the floor, a sudden tide of anguish breaking over him, and felt the tears come.
All afternoon the dead were dragged to the edge of the river, and when no more were to be found, Kamose sent Akhtoy and his servants to herd the women and children into the houses. Then he commanded the fire to be lit and the boats readied for departure. At sunset word came to him from his divisions still marching steadily north, and he decided to wait for them four miles on, halfway between the ruin of Dashlut and the challenge of Khemmenu. Akhtoy, having discharged the distasteful duty Kamose had imposed on him, came back on board to see to his master’s evening meal, but neither Kamose nor Ahmose wanted to eat. They sat together on the deck with a flagon of wine between them as Dashlut slid away from view, the greasy black smoke from the burning bodies coiling upward in a thick column to stain the peacefully darkening sky.
They tied up a little over an hour later and Kamose fell into a sodden slumber, from which he woke with a start to hear the watch changing on the bank. The night was quiet. No wind was stirring and the river reflected placidly the white clarity of the stars as Kamose left the cabin. At once his body servant rose from his mat but Kamose gestured him down, going softly to the ramp and descending it quickly. He answered the guard’s salute and gaining the narrow track that ran beside the water he turned left, instinctively veering away from the faint but still identifiable whiff of kindled flesh, and when the boats with their sleeping cargo were out of sight he waded into the Nile.
The water was cold, making him gasp, but he plunged beneath the surface, pulling towards the bottom and then presently letting himself drift slowly upward until he lay spreadeagled, face down and rocking on his own small swell. When his lungs began to beg for air, he stood, reaching back into the murky depths and bringing up handfuls of sand. Vigorously, almost savagely, he abraded himself, not for a physical cleansing but in an effort to peel the agony of Dashlut from his ka. When his skin was raw and tingling, he regained the bank and, sheltered by some bushes, he stretched out his arms and began to pray. Dashlut is only the first, he said to himself, to his god, and already my ka cries out its danger and its pain. Harden my heart, Great Amun, against the things that I must do so that Egypt may be purified. Let me never forget my father’s sacrifice and let it not be wasted. Forgive me the murder of the innocent, for I dare not try to distinguish the innocent from the tainted for fear of the night that would engulf my country if I should fail.
He did not know how long he stayed there, but dawn was a hint of definition in the shrubs around him and a quick puff of breeze, soon over, touched him as he walked back to the boat. The Medjay were stirring, talking in low voices to one another, and on the bank the first tentative flames of the cooking fires were springing up. Akhtoy met him as he stepped onto the deck. “There is a scroll for you from Weset, Majesty,” the steward said. “Will you eat before you read it?” Kamose nodded. “Also a scout is waiting to see you.”
“Let him come.”
Ahmose greeted him soberly as he entered the cabin and he replied in kind, waiting while his body servant brought hot water and fresh linen. He admitted the scout and heard the news while he was being dressed. Survivors from Dashlut had been spotted during the night making their way north on the edge of the fields, and in another day the army would be here. Kamose thanked him, and when he had gone he turned to Ahmose. “Teti will hear of the sack of Dashlut before noon today,” he said. “That is very good. I hope he trembles in his jewelled sandals.”
“He will send at once to Apepa,” Ahmose remarked. “That is both good and bad. Fear will spread through the towns along the
All afternoon the dead were dragged to the edge of the river, and when no more were to be found, Kamose sent Akhtoy and his servants to herd the women and children into the houses. Then he commanded the fire to be lit and the boats readied for departure. At sunset word came to him from his divisions still marching steadily north, and he decided to wait for them four miles on, halfway between the ruin of Dashlut and the challenge of Khemmenu. Akhtoy, having discharged the distasteful duty Kamose had imposed on him, came back on board to see to his master’s evening meal, but neither Kamose nor Ahmose wanted to eat. They sat together on the deck with a flagon of wine between them as Dashlut slid away from view, the greasy black smoke from the burning bodies coiling upward in a thick column to stain the peacefully darkening sky.
They tied up a little over an hour later and Kamose fell into a sodden slumber, from which he woke with a start to hear the watch changing on the bank. The night was quiet. No wind was stirring and the river reflected placidly the white clarity of the stars as Kamose left the cabin. At once his body servant rose from his mat but Kamose gestured him down, going softly to the ramp and descending it quickly. He answered the guard’s salute and gaining the narrow track that ran beside the water he turned left, instinctively veering away from the faint but still identifiable whiff of kindled flesh, and when the boats with their sleeping cargo were out of sight he waded into the Nile.
The water was cold, making him gasp, but he plunged beneath the surface, pulling towards the bottom and then presently letting himself drift slowly upward until he lay spreadeagled, face down and rocking on his own small swell. When his lungs began to beg for air, he stood, reaching back into the murky depths and bringing up handfuls of sand. Vigorously, almost savagely, he abraded himself, not for a physical cleansing but in an effort to peel the agony of Dashlut from his ka. When his skin was raw and tingling, he regained the bank and, sheltered by some bushes, he stretched out his arms and began to pray. Dashlut is only the first, he said to himself, to his god, and already my ka cries out its danger and its pain. Harden my heart, Great Amun, against the things that I must do so that Egypt may be purified. Let me never forget my father’s sacrifice and let it not be wasted. Forgive me the murder of the innocent, for I dare not try to distinguish the innocent from the tainted for fear of the night that would engulf my country if I should fail.
He did not know how long he stayed there, but dawn was a hint of definition in the shrubs around him and a quick puff of breeze, soon over, touched him as he walked back to the boat. The Medjay were stirring, talking in low voices to one another, and on the bank the first tentative flames of the cooking fires were springing up. Akhtoy met him as he stepped onto the deck. “There is a scroll for you from Weset, Majesty,” the steward said. “Will you eat before you read it?” Kamose nodded. “Also a scout is waiting to see you.”
“Let him come.”
Ahmose greeted him soberly as he entered the cabin and he replied in kind, waiting while his body servant brought hot water and fresh linen. He admitted the scout and heard the news while he was being dressed. Survivors from Dashlut had been spotted during the night making their way north on the edge of the fields, and in another day the army would be here. Kamose thanked him, and when he had gone he turned to Ahmose. “Teti will hear of the sack of Dashlut before noon today,” he said. “That is very good. I hope he trembles in his jewelled sandals.”
“He will send at once to Apepa,” Ahmose remarked. “That is both good and bad. Fear will spread through the towns along the
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