Magic of the Nile (12 page)

Ptahnetamun nodded. “Aye. It sits wrong with me as a good Egyptian citizen to see the Hyksos making yet another attempt to gain a toehold in our country. I know too much about their evil god and his demands for human sacrifice. But I’m a caravan master, not a soldier.” He shrugged, pouring more wine. “I live by the sacred oath of my peers, to protect my people, my cargo, and my passengers. I’ll pay my toll and continue north whoever opens the road, you know? I’d let the authorities in the next Egyptian city know what was going on when I arrived, but it’s not my job to fight the battle. I only care when the road is opened for traffic. Let Pharaoh regain his own.”

“He sent me here to accomplish the task,” Sahure answered.

Ptahnetamun raised his mug as if in salute. “And I wish you well with it, but expect no help in battle from me, or the other caravan masters.”

“I expect none,” Sahure assured him. “But any information will be useful. What of the local villagers?”

“Now there you can help yourself.” Ptahnetamun leaned forward. “The nomads took hostages, which I believe is why the villagers have stayed on the sidelines.”

Sahure was unsurprised, this being
a standard ploy on the part of the enemy.
“Where are they holding the hostages? Any idea how many?”

“In their own camp, on the southern rim of this compound. Not too many, I believe, but the most important are relatives of the old woman who’s the matriarch of this place. Believe me, if old Iensesu tells you to do something, you don’t ask twice. Even an outsider like me knows enough to attend to her wishes.” Ptahnetamun leaned closer. “She’s a priestess of Sekhmet in addition to being the village’s hereditary chief. The townspeople say she usually protects them with her black magic, although the enemy stymied her this time by seizing her loved ones, lest they die as punishment for rebellion on her part.”

Sahure filed the information away, asked a few more questions about the size, discipline and experience of the forces ranked against him and then took his leave of Ptahnetamun. Wrapping his nondescript cloak tightly around himself and slipping into the predawn night, he detoured to spy on the nomad encampment, pinpointing the most likely tent for the hostages. As with the area where the caravans were being detained, the guards were few and far between and not very attentive. The length of the siege and its coming end seemed to have the enemy celebrating their victory prematurely.
 

Rejoining his waiting scout, Sahure set a fast pace to where he’d left his chariot and a small guard. He raced back to his own camp, where his officers waited eagerly for the results of his reconnaissance.

***

At dawn the next day, Sahure stood beside the driver in his chariot, at the head of the column, watching while his 250 foot soldiers raced in a defiantly screaming wave across the plain to attack the combined nomad and Hyksos forces. As he’d hoped, the nomads lacked the discipline of seasoned troops and poured out of their camp to engage in hand to hand combat with the Egyptians. Sahure gave the command to set his chariots in motion. They swept out of concealment and down upon the enemy, moving as fast as the horses could go, archers in each chariot launching arrows with deadly effect as each wave swept up to the combat zone and wheeled away, executing their standard maneuver. Sahure was in the thick of the battle, leading a wedge of ten chariots, trying to break through to the town and the fort beyond. He heard his trumpets answered by a clarion call from the fort and saw the gates open, a pitifully depleted force of Egyptian soldiers emerging, determined to do their best to assist the relief column by attacking from the rear.
 

A thin line of Hyksos warriors augmented by mercenaries formed between Sahure and the fort but with his momentum, the deadly aim of his archers, and the pent up ferocity of the defenders, the Egyptians made quick work of the enemy. Sahure jumped from his chariot to engage in hand to hand combat with the last few Hyksos, who gathered in a rough circle, surrounded by Egyptian warriors. Wading into the fray, Sahure slashed the sword arm of a Hyksos about to gut a downed foot soldier and then parried a blow from another with his shield. The newcomer who’d attacked him pressed close, landing powerful blows on Sahure’s shield, driving him back. Digging his heels into the loose soil, Sahure took a stand, shoved the attacker off balance with the shield, launching his own series of blows in the next moment. The Hyksos retreated, his defense growing weaker until at last he fell, Sahure’s sword drinking deep of his blood. Breathing hard, surveying the field of combat, Sahure was satisfied the oasis and fort would soon be his. The well trained Egyptian infantry were more than a match for the few Hyksos professional soldiers and the mercenary rabble had already broken ranks and fled.

 
He’d hoped to capture a few Hyksos alive, for questioning so now he had the drums and trumpets sound the all clear but as the smoke and dust settled, it was obvious the remaining Hyksos had to be mercifully dispatched to meet their god, too wounded to be patched up for interrogation and imprisonment. Most were already dead, having a no-surrender code as part of their warrior oath.

Pulling his sword from the corpse of the Hyksos officer he’d just defeated, Sahure made a quick check of the battlefield. His men were in command, the remaining nomads fleeing to the south, pursued by chariots.

Proud his well disciplined standard bearer and shield mates were still with him, Sahure returned to his chariot and drove through the village, through the scarred gates of the battered fort. Cheers went up around him as his driver pulled the horses to a halt in the big courtyard.

A gaunt young officer with one arm wrapped in blood stained bandages and a half-healed cut across the face, marched up to Sahure and saluted. “Lieutenant Kagemni, reporting, sir.”

Sahure returned the salute. “Sahure, sent by Pharaoh. Are you the current commander of the fort?”

Standing at attention as best he could, the officer clenched his jaw and nodded, although Sahure saw the man trembling with the effort it was taking him to remain on his feet. “Yes, sir, I am. Although now, I yield command to you.”

“You did a valiant job, holding out until we could arrive.” Sahure rested one hand on the injured Kagemni’s shoulder for a moment. “I’ll want a full report later today, after our physician has tended those wounds and you’ve eaten. For now, point me in the direction of the commandant’s office so the scribes can set up my headquarters.”

“I’ll be glad to escort you myself, sir, before I see the doctor.”

But before they could leave the courtyard, a runner darted in through the open gate, heading straight to Sahure. Saluting both officers, the man said, “Captain Menkheperr requests your presence at the enemy camp, sir.”

Knowing his second in command wouldn’t ask him to attend unless there was something seriously amiss, Sahure beckoned to his driver and was soon on his way across the battlefield, flanked by two chariots full of guards.

The nomad compound was a scene of carefully controlled chaos, as the Egyptian forces checked the tents for any hidden enemy soldiers and gathered weapons, maps and other useful prizes. Sahure’s driver pulled the chariot to a halt in front of a medium-sized black tent. Menkheperr exited the tent, apparently having heard the chariot arrive.

“Are all the hostages alive?” Sahure asked, descending from the chariot.

“Yes, we were successful in rescuing them. The special unit you sent in from the west was able to create a defensive perimeter around the hostage tent, kill the guards and hold off the enemy until two squads of my men relieved them. I’ve sent word to the village and the chief is coming. I thought you’d want to meet her.” Menkheperr stepped closer and lowered his voice. “There’s another issue as well, sir. Some unexpected hostages.”

Sahure followed Menkheperr into the patched and sagging brown tent and found his soldiers busily striking the chains from a small group of the Oasis residents— men, women, and several children. Anger burned in his heart that the Hyksos had told the nomads to take the innocents as prisoners. He thought of Tyema briefly, remembering the stories surrounding the Hyksos’s pillaging of her village when she was a child.
I hope she was never their victim
.
Another topic we never discussed.

Acknowledging the fervent thanks from the villagers with a nod, he asked Menkheperr, “Where are the unexpected prisoners?”

“Step over here, my lord.”
 

A totally different group of hostages stood in chains against the far wall of the tent, apparently members of some tribe from the far southern reaches. One man stood in front of the others, fists clenched and raised in defiance, as if he was ready to defend his comrades no matter how hopeless his cause. There were two other men and a woman, all haggard and bruised, skin over bones as if they’d been starved.

“They don’t speak Egyptian,” Menkheperr said as he and Sahure came to a halt in front of the prisoners. “Or any language I know. The villagers said these people were already in chains when they were brought in here. They were trying to shield the children of the village from the enemy when my men arrived.”

Sahure stared into the leader’s eyes. “You come from beyond the mountains where the sacred Nile begins?” he asked in a pidgin trade dialect he’d picked up during his travels in Kush and Punt.

The prisoner was startled and behind him his companions whispered excitedly. The man answered, “Far to the south, where the elephants and gazelles roam great plains. Till we were brought here we knew nothing of your river.”

Sahure was curious, his interest piqued by the mention of the grasslands, which he knew were a tremendous distance away, on the other side of several mountain ranges. “How came you to be the prisoners of these nomads and Hyksos? They don’t roam the jungles and plains so far south.”

“It was the others, the traitors from our own tribe, the Nkwondola.” The man spat. “Old rivalries, revenge for past events. They took my sister and me and these other unfortunates by treachery, when they attacked our home. They hoped to break the heart of my father, the great chief, by stealing his son and daughter, never to be seen in our home again.”
 

So the mercenaries kidnapped them and brought them north.
Sahure extended his hand. “I’m Sahure, sent by my chief, the Pharaoh of all Egypt, to recapture this town and defeat his enemies. We’ve no quarrel with you or your tribe, and are grateful to you for trying to protect our children while your own lives were endangered.”

Lowering his fists, the man stared at Sahure, ignoring the outstretched hand. “What do you plan to do with us?”

“Set you free. Have your wounds tended to by my physicians. I’ll give you weapons and supplies and then you’re on your own. Can you find your way home again? For it must be a far distance to your father’s lands.”

Eyes narrowed, the man exchanged a quick glance with his companions before addressing Sahure. “We will find our home or die trying. Why do you do this?”

“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,” Sahure said. “My Pharaoh would have you and your people as our allies.”

Flashing a wide grin, the man nodded and shook Sahure’s hand with surprising strength. “I’m N’ruhi, prince of my people.” He spoke with his comrades in rapid fire dialect.
 

Sahure gave crisp orders to Menkheperr. “Release them. I’ve promised them medical care, food and weapons, and then they’re free to go. See if anyone in the ranks speaks trade talk so I don’t have to keep translating while they’re still here.”

“Yes, sir.” Menkheperr saluted and gestured for a pair of soldiers to come forward and start working on the chains.

“Magnanimous and well done,” said an approving voice behind him.
 

Sahure wheeled to find himself facing a petite elderly woman, dressed in green robes, with a purple sash elaborately tied, her wrinkled face made up as elegantly as any lady at Pharaoh’s Court. Her wig was tightly curled and set with red-and-black striped beads and garnets. She was flanked by four burly men who were unmistakably her sons or grandsons. The family resemblance was strong. Before Sahure could say anything, two of the recently freed children ran past him, throwing themselves into the woman’s arms, nearly knocking her over. Two of the men braced them all.

He stepped away, drawing Menkheperr with him. “Give them a moment.” The family reunion was noisy and emotional, with much weeping, but eventually the village leader patted her grandchildren on the back as they clung to her and said, “I must speak with the men who rescued you now. Go with your father as quickly as you can and let your mother rejoice.” The children kissed her wrinkled cheeks and left the tent holding hands, shepherded by two of the men. The elderly woman adjusted her robes, shifting her focus to Sahure.

“Bring a chair for the headwoman,” he said, seeing how she trembled, whether from age or emotion he didn’t know, but he was sure maintaining her dignity was important to her.

Inclining her head graciously, Iensesu took a seat in the chair Menkheperr rushed to provide. Her two remaining sons took up a position behind her. Folding her hands in her lap, the elderly woman kept her gaze on Sahure. “As I was saying before my exuberant grandchildren interrupted us, I approve of how you treated the hostages from the south. And I’m grateful to you for rescuing my family and my village.”

Hand on the hilt of his sword, Sahure bowed. “It was my honor, Lady Iensesu. Pharaoh sent me to find out what was wrong here and solve the problem.”