Pharaoh (15 page)

Narmer, Nitho and the porters set up camp by the palace’s old silo, which at least still had a roof, leaving the palace ruins to Hawk. Portho and Jod built a fire from driftwood and dried roof reeds, a massive one to signal to the survivors. Nid had speared a gazelle, and set it up to roast on a makeshift spit. Bast prowled through the ruins, leaving her droppings in every sand drift, as though to tell other wildcats that this place was hers.

The first survivor crept back when Ra was still high in the sky, drawn by the smoke and the smell of roasting meat. He peered from the ruins, then gave a cry.

‘The Golden One! The Golden One has returned!’ He ran to Narmer and prostrated himself. ‘It’s a miracle!’ he cried joyfully. ‘Ra be praised! Our Golden One back again! And walking!’

Narmer touched the man gently on the shoulder to indicate that he should rise. ‘It’s Rintup the rope maker, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Lord.’ Rintup stood up and stared around the camp—at the donkeys munching the grass that grew among the ruins, at the cat sprawled across Nitho’s lap—
as though trying to take in these new wonders. He gave a reluctant bow to Hawk, then turned back to Narmer. ‘Have you come to save us, Lord? To give us back our town?’

It was as though the past three years had never happened, Narmer realised. ‘I will try,’ he said honestly. He gestured to Portho to give the man some meat.

All afternoon more survivors came to join them, first peering from the shadows at the fire and the donkeys, then coming out boldly when they saw who was there, or fetching friends to join them, till finally more than a dozen were crouched around the fire. All were men. Those whose families had escaped too had left them in safety, hidden in the hills.

‘Our Golden One,’ said one of them, gazing at Narmer as though he feared he would vanish like a desert mirage. He’d farmed the fields behind the palace, Narmer remembered.

Each person had a story, a family tragedy—a child pierced by a Yebu spear, a wife torn away screaming, an aged parent led into slavery, their hands bound, their heads bowed. They had stories of escape, of hiding, of scavenging in the remnants of once productive fields, living on lotus roots or bulrush shoots or whatever animals they could trap.

‘And always knowing that one day,’ said Hierotep, ‘the Yebu men may come again, and try to take us too.’

‘No,’ said Narmer calmly.

The man stared. The others stared too. Nitho looked up from the rock where she was baking fresh flatbread. She’d put on her male clothes again, the scarf over her face. Bast sat close by, a charred gazelle hoof between her paws.

Hawk snorted. He seemed to have regained some of his confidence with others around. ‘No? How will you stop
them? How can a handful of men defend a ruined town? We don’t even have city walls any more.’

‘We won’t defend,’ said Narmer firmly. ‘We will attack.’

Hawk chuckled in disbelief. ‘A fine boast, and an empty one.’ He brushed the crumbs from his dinner into the fire. ‘I never took you for a fool, brother.’

‘He’s no fool!’ said Nitho hotly. ‘He left here a cripple. Now he’s Ur’s richest merchant, admired by the whole city!’ Which was true, thought Narmer—though it left out the fact that it was because he’d been adopted by the Trader.

‘Travellers’ boasts,’ returned Hawk scornfully. ‘How convenient that there is no way to check if they’re true. And even if they are…how can a trader defeat a town like Yebu? Swap victory for a bag of spices?’

The men gazed from Hawk to Narmer. Suddenly Hierotep bowed, as low as he would have to Narmer’s father. ‘Prince Narmer fought the crocodile and won. He has crossed the Endless Desert and lived. He has tamed the wild donkeys and the wildcats. The Golden One can do anything.’

‘What is your plan, Lord?’ asked Rintup.

‘I don’t know yet,’ admitted Narmer. ‘But I promise you this: by the next flood our people will be free.’

It was impossible to sleep. There was too much to think about. His father’s bones, washed away by the River, with no grave goods or spells to speed safely him to the Afterlife. His people, serving masters in Yebu. His brother, who had betrayed not only Narmer himself but also all of Thinis, still king in name, if not fact.

Nitho, asleep in her tent nearby.

The people trusted him—much more than they trusted their king. But what had Narmer to give them? Had his promise been an empty boast, as Hawk had said? A way of saying to his brother, ‘You lost the kingdom, but I can gain it back?’

He wished Nammu were here. He needed the old trader’s wisdom, and his experience. Or an oracle, he thought with a smile. One who could tell him how a handful of men could conquer a town and set their people free. If only there were a real oracle in the wadi—even one like Nitho who would make him realise things he already knew.

How could they break through the walls of Yebu? Only two things destroyed mud walls: an army and the River, and only working together. But he had only a handful of men—and as for the River, it answered to no man’s orders…

Narmer sat up so suddenly that Bast—who had been sleeping on his feet—hissed and stalked off into the darkness, annoyed.

He’d been a fool! He already knew how to make a river move! But could he make it move to Yebu?

He’d never get to sleep now. He stretched silently, then walked into the old First Courtyard.

The moonlight shone onto the water of the pool. It was almost possible to believe that if he shut his eyes, when he opened them his father would be on his chair, and Seknut fussing in the shadows…

He had to put the hurt aside. Pain made it hard to think. He had to plan, to think of Thinis, not himself…

‘Are you all right?’

It was Nitho. Of course it was Nitho, thought Narmer. She still wore her boy’s clothes, but had left off her scarf, and her hair hung to her shoulders. He had a sudden longing to touch it, to feel its softness. ‘Whenever I need you, you’re there,’ he said to her.

He wondered if she was blushing in the darkness. ‘There were too many mice in there to sleep. One of them just ran up my leg. Where were you going?’

‘Nowhere. Just trying to think.’ He hesitated. ‘I have an idea.’

He outlined it to her, watched her face grow thoughtful in the moonlight.

‘It might work.’

‘Only “might”?’

‘What do you want me to tell you?’

‘The truth. You always do anyway,’ said Narmer.

‘The truth is that I think you have a chance. I’ve seen Yebu, remember. We came that way on our last visit.’

‘I didn’t know,’ said Narmer, surprised. He had never been there himself.

Nitho laughed. ‘You should know by now that traders don’t mention doing business with a town’s enemies. We went to Yebu before Thinis. They gave us a good price for our myrrh too. Yebu has higher walls than Thinis had. But I’m sure the River is on higher ground than the town. It’s only the drifts of silt deposited by the River that keep the town safe. I can draw you a map tomorrow. ’

‘And if we can cut a canal through the silt, the River will move the walls.’ Narmer smiled at her. Things no longer seemed so impossible. ‘All we need now is an army.’

Suddenly Nitho screamed. It was a small scream, more a muffled shriek.

‘What is it?’

Nitho reached down into her tunic and brought up a struggling mouse. She shuddered. ‘I hate the things! I’d rather face the whole Yebu army than—’ She stopped, as the cat slunk into the courtyard. Bast gazed at the mice scurrying across the ground.

And then she pounced. Once, twice, three times, then again and again, leaping, jumping, prancing across the courtyard, grabbing and gulping and snatching and crunching…Narmer stared, half disgusted, half fascinated, till at last there were no more mice to be seen. The cat sat in the middle of the courtyard and began to wash herself. She wore an expression that Narmer had never seen before: the look of a cat who had eaten a whole bellyful of mice. And who was already dreaming of doing exactly the same thing again.

‘Ugh,’ said Nitho. She spoke to the cat sternly. ‘If you’re thinking of coming into my tent now you can forget it.’

Bast took no notice. She lifted another paw and began to wipe her whiskers. Narmer laughed.

‘Time to sleep,’ said Nitho softly. She vanished through the shadows, back to her tent.

I should sleep now too, thought Narmer. Weariness was finally beginning to seep into him. If I were king, he decided, as he lay in his sleeping cloak in the now mousefree darkness, I’d have a tame cat for every silo in the land.

If I were king…

Ra’s chariot was sailing above the River mists the next morning when Narmer woke. He went out into the courtyard to see a flock of herons wheel above him, then land in the shallows.

Narmer stretched. The town might be ruins, the fields destroyed, but this land was his heart. Every scent this morning welcomed him home.

And suddenly, as he looked across his land, he made another decision.

Nid had already stirred up the fire. The ragged Thinis survivors were huddled around it. As Narmer approached they looked up at him hopefully.

My people, thought Narmer, as he gave the orders for the day. Some men were to set fish traps, others to collect wood. Others were to start repairing a couple of the houses, so their families could move back in.

‘And what will my noble brother do today?’ It was Hawk. Once more he eyed Narmer’s tunic, the amulet from Punt. ‘Has the Golden One decided yet how to destroy Yebu for us?’

Narmer looked at him calmly. ‘Yes, I have.’

‘What?’ Hawk gave a grunt of derision. He looked around at the watching men. ‘Listen to the fool, then. Your so-called Golden One. He can make you an army out of ashes.’

‘Not a fool. A trader. I am going to Min to bargain for an army.’

This was the biggest trade deal of his life. An army in exchange for…what? A vision? Knowledge of what life along the River could be, in a new age of trade and farming. The donkeys, the metal ploughs, even the cat, were symbols that Narmer could do what he promised.

Four of them made the journey: Narmer, Nitho, Jod and Nid. Portho stayed behind, supposedly to start teaching the Thinis survivors how to use the metal-tipped spears. In reality he was keeping an eye on Hawk.

‘Don’t trust him,’ Nitho had said as they were preparing to leave.

Narmer shrugged. ‘What can he do?’

‘Go to the Yebu king. Betray us.’

‘How? Say that an army of rags and dust is coming to attack him? He’d laugh. As long as Hawk doesn’t know the plan there is nothing he can do. Besides…’ Narmer hesitated.

‘What?’

‘Hawk is the king. He wanted to be king badly enough once to try to kill for it. Maybe he wants it badly enough again.’

‘He doesn’t deserve to be king!’ said Nitho fiercely.

‘But he is. He was consecrated as my father’s heir in the Temple of Horus. He is king before the gods.’

‘The gods took his town from him too,’ said Nitho drily.

Narmer met her gaze. ‘While my brother lives, he is king.’

‘So after all this is over you’ll go back to Ur? Live there as though none of this ever happened?’

‘I don’t know,’ confessed Narmer. He hesitated. ‘You could go back if you like, before the fighting starts. And take the others.’

Nitho snorted.

Though smaller, Min was so like Thinis had once been that Narmer felt a shiver across his skin. The same mud walls, the same wide main street, the same bakers’ ovens and carpenters’ shops. Even the colonnades of the palace were the same, their columns made of tall bundles of reeds encased in mud.

Once he would have taken it for granted that every town looked like this. Now he had seen enough strangeness to be struck by how similar this town was to the one where he’d grown up.

Narmer felt memories well up. He forced himself to concentrate as he strode into the Royal Courtyard, with Nitho, Nid and Jod behind him. Bast stalked beside them, as though Narmer commanded her. In reality, Narmer knew, she was hoping for some grilled quail. But she looked impressive nonetheless.

The King of Min was seated on his royal chair. The Royal Courtyard was smaller than the one at Thinis, but there was a lotus pool, the sycamore and carob trees, the bougainvillea.

Narmer bowed, as he would have to his father: the bow of a prince to a king. ‘Your Majesty,’ he began, ‘ruler of great Min, I greet you.’

The King peered down at him, his faded eyes filled with surprise. ‘Narmer of Thinis,’ he said, his voice hoarse from the sand cough. Around him his family sat too, watching the stranger who had come to plead with their king. ‘I thought you were dead—or somewhere in the Endless Desert.’ He shrugged, as though they were the same thing. ‘My servants have told me why you have come. You cannot be serious.’

‘I am, Your Majesty.’

The King shook his head, puzzled. ‘Thinis is our enemy, but you say you come in peace. You come in peace, but you ask for our men, to take part in a war. You want an army, but you no longer even have a town. None of this makes sense.’

‘Please, noble King.’ Narmer fought to find the words he needed. He had the strangest feeling that what he said today might change the world forever, far beyond the fate of a few small towns. ‘I have come from the land between the rivers, a land where there are no wars, because their towns have united. By themselves they are small. But together they are too strong for their enemies.’

‘Yebu is
your
enemy, not ours.’

‘Is it? What if the next time the People of the Sand come they breach
your
walls? The land is drying up. The desert springs are vanishing, the game, the grass. The People of the Sand will be growing desperate. What if Yebu decides to invade
your
town then too? One town alone is vulnerable. Two together are strong.’

The King lifted an eyebrow. ‘But Thinis is no more. Not much of an ally if we’re attacked. Why should we do your fighting for you?’

Narmer took a deep breath. ‘I have an ally greater than either of us. The River.’

‘You speak in riddles, like a temple priest.’ The King waved a hand as though to dismiss him.

‘Please, o noble King. In Sumer, the land where I have been living, there are men who know how to control the rivers. If we cut a channel through the rise behind Yebu we can destroy the walls and flood the whole town.’

The King’s washed-out eyes widened. ‘Impossible. And what you say is blasphemy! Using the River! The River is a gift from Khnum! Did your father never teach you about Khnum the ram-headed, who sends us the River from his home in the caverns?’

‘Yes. My father taught me that. But my foster father taught me that rivers can be tamed.’

The King shook his head. ‘Using the River for war…’ he muttered.

‘Not just for war, Your Majesty! If we win—
when
we win—I can promise you much more than that. Back in Ur, where I have been living, men build channels called canals to take the water to their fields. They trap the floods and use them as their own. For every field of grain you grow now along the River I can promise you ten more, watered by these canals. I can show you metal harder than stone to use for tools and weapons. I can show you how to build walls so high your town will be safe from invaders. I can show your people how trade with other nations can make everyone who lives along the River rich.

‘The towns of Sumer started with no more than we did—a river and some mud. Now they are larger and richer than us
by far. But their real treasure is knowledge—knowledge that we can use too—and peace, with towns trading together instead of wasting their wealth in fighting.

‘This is what I offer you, great King. Not just a victory over a single town. I offer you peace and riches far beyond any you have known. It’s like throwing seeds into shallow water after the flood. Some will rot—but those that root give us abundance.’

Had Narmer convinced the King? The old man just looked puzzled, as though these new ideas were more than he could comprehend. ‘It’s too dangerous,’ he muttered. ‘To ally ourselves with a band of fugitives…’

‘But what is there to lose?’ A young man stood up among the seated watchers. He was a few years older than Narmer, and wore the white pleated kilt and gold necklace of a member of the royal family.

The young man turned to the King. ‘If this man can make Yebu’s walls fall there will be riches for all of us. Slaves, cattle, all the wealth of Yebu for the taking—’

‘But that’s not…’ began Narmer, then stopped. Had this prince or his father heard anything he’d said?

But did it matter if they came for plunder, not to fulfil his dream? At least they’d come.

Or would they?

‘Father—give me an army. If Prince Narmer’s plan fails, if the walls don’t fall as he says,’ the prince said eagerly, ‘We don’t attack. We just come home. There is no risk—but so much to gain.’

The King was silent.

Finally he nodded.