The first pharaoh the fi.., p.42
The First Pharaoh (The First Dynasty Book 1), page 42
As we descended the dunes toward the valley floor, I was once again reminded how different are our imaginings from the realities of war. Before embarking on our march, bathed and refreshed, the young recruits thought they would arrive to fight in a similar state of alertness. How quickly a soldier’s urge to battle subsides when he finds himself in such dreadful circumstances. It is only the mortar of leadership and discipline that can still bind such men into an effective fighting force. In that regard, we were fortunate to have a man like Rekhmireh, tutored under the wings of Kagemni, as the commander of the army. He walked among his men, at times taking me with him to help rally our troops. With one unit he would simply share a story that left the soldiers laughing and with another he would share his water skin. Whatever action he took, in every instance he managed to motivate his men to their utmost.
In another hour, we were close enough to Ta-Ihu to make out individual people in the town. Rekhmireh ordered the soldiers to retrieve their breast plates and ready their arms. Soon, a delegation of priests and officials could be seen leaving the village, slowly making their way toward our army.
Rekhmireh conferred with me and then ordered his men split into five large units of one thousand men each. Three of the units, occupying the central formation, were close together, with me and the King’s Guard behind them. Far to the left and right the flanking units were dispersed. The sandy plain was silent, save for the rustling of men and equipment, as the entourage from Ta-Ihu reached us. After a brief discussion with them, Rekhmireh sent a messenger to me with advance notice of what had transpired.
Meruka appeared agitated after hearing the messenger’s report and as soon as the delegation was escorted to us to continue their discussions, he began asking questions of the temple’s head priest. In just a few minutes, despite their evasions, he determined that the priests and villagers had indeed supported the Ta-Tjehenus. I said not a word, but listened impassively to the entreaties of the priest to us to accept their pitiful offer of tribute.
I had not seen Meruka so agitated since the trial following Anhotek’s murder. “This entire situation has the foul smell of deception and betrayal,” he said, pacing before me. “I had not an inkling of something so rotten in our midst. I… I was fed wrong information all along and I did not seek to question it.” Meruka looked at me then. “I am terribly sorry, Narmer. This situation is in large part my fault.”
However, it was Rekhmireh who felt most ashamed, for he had not sought to establish a military outpost to protect our western lands, thinking that the battle of Dep would have lasted longer in the minds and legends of the Ta-Tjehenus. Together he and Meruka would make quick amends to rectify the situation, but for now I focused their attention on the task at hand.
We placed the entire delegation under guard at the rear of the army. Scouts were sent to the edges of Ta-Ihu to observe and test their defenses, which were meager. They had obviously not anticipated our army marching against them in such force. Yet our water supplies were now only beginning to arrive and we were parched from a lack of water. If we waited for the supplies to fully water the troops, it would be days, enough time for the Ta-Tjehenus to slither away during the long nights.
We decided that our best hope lay in taking the village quickly and using the plentiful water supply of the oasis and its large lake to water our men. Rekhmireh dispatched an entire division of one thousand men to circle Ta-Ihu from the rear, to cut off any escape route. Once they were positioned, they signaled us with a mirror and we marched on the oasis. I can only imagine the fear in the hearts of the people that day. Such is the folly of men, to assume that all is well, that their day of judgment will never arrive, despite their wrongful behavior. Did the people of Ta-Ihu not know that we were a united land? Did they not realize that they threatened ma’at with their foolish actions?
We were at the very edges of the village itself when Rekhmireh gave the command to charge. With one of the center divisions now deployed to the rear of Ta-Ihu, the two remaining center divisions charged first, spreading out to cover the entire village. Once they were engaged, the flanking divisions would enter the battle. Hor-aha’s division was on the left flank. Once the center divisions charged, I whispered a silent prayer to Horus to extend his protection to my son.
The battle to reclaim Ta-Ihu did not last long. Most would have considered it a minor skirmish. So it is that the gods play tricks on mortals. Within minutes our troops swept through the village, their war cries penetrating the air. I watched them from my chair perch as they cut down the few enemy Ta-Tjenhenus that dared oppose us. Then our forces dissipated and I watched our soldiers walking about in the village, dragging their swords and bows and lances, as if they were lost.
Rekhmireh’s aide came to retrieve me and when I finally entered the village, no traditional cries of victory greeted me. When I saw Rekhmireh, he was possessed of a sadness in his eyes that I had never before seen. He stood in front of a poor farmer’s hut and he stepped aside so that I could enter. When my eyes adjusted to the shadows and the play of Ra’s light through its reed stalks, I saw all around me a collection of body parts scattered, of arms and legs, of heads and male members, of children and mothers. Never before, not even upon the terrible killing fields of Dep, had I had the overwhelming desire to vomit at a sight of carnage. In every hut in the village, the same scene was repeated. The Ta-Tjenehus had slowed our approach long enough to slaughter our people and escape, leaving behind only a small group of suicide warriors to defend their illegitimate territory.
I walked out into Ra’s full light, too dazed to speak. I cast my head down in shame, shame that men, men who walked the lands just as did I, could act so cruelly, like desert jackals that tore at the flesh of their own kind. Ahpety brought me a goatskin filled with water, but I refused to drink, so fearful was I that I would heave up the contents of my stomach. Throughout the village, clumps of men stood silently. Lone soldiers slumped to the sands and cried, and several vomited along the edges of buildings, brave men who would have readily thrust their swords through another warrior’s chest in battle.
As I walked from hut to hut with Rekhmireh, reports began to arrive from unit commanders, listing the casualties of the skirmish. Again, the gods must have had their fun that day, for among the few casualties was Hor-Aha. He led a charge against a group of Ta-Tjehenus who had hidden amongst the stalks of emmer wheat in a field on the outskirts of the village.
I ran to the site of the skirmish and found Hor-Aha laying on his right side, the fletching of a Ta-Tjehenu arrow sticking out of his left shoulder. Meruka was crouched next to him and beside him was his assistant, Sennedjem. Of all matters to enter my thoughts at that moment was the odd observation that the skin of Meruka’s bare neck was now wrinkled and hung in gentle folds. Then I saw the rivulets of blood that poured from Hor-aha’s wound. I knelt down next to my son and by the mercy of Horus, saw that he was alive. He batted his eyelids at me and managed a wry smile.
“I am sorry, father… I…”
“Be quiet and put this between your teeth!” Meruka said forcefully, taking a small piece of leather from Sennedjem and shoving it into Aha’s mouth. “Bear down… I have to remove this cursed arrow.”
I watched, dazed, as Meruka pushed hard on the shaft of the arrow until it finally emerged on the back of Aha’s arm. Aha bit down until he turned the color of a ripe pomegranate, before all color left his face and he fainted. With the arrowhead now protruding, Meruka broke off the fletching and Sennedjem then pulled on the arrowhead until he extracted the remainder of the shaft.
One of the swordsmen under Hor-aha’s command reported that when Hor-aha had seen the slaughter in the village, he instructed his men to search for any Ta-Tjehenus who might be hiding. Hor-aha himself followed several tracks in the sand into the emmer field. He saw Ta-Tjehenus laying among the wheat and, without waiting for his men, he recklessly charged into their midst. By the time his men arrived, Hor-aha had cut down four of the Ta-Tjehenu swordsmen. But, as he turned to rally the rest of his unit, several Ta-Tjehenu archers arose and let loose their fateful volley. Hor-aha lay wounded and two of his men were killed.
Throughout the rest of the day, Meruka and Sennedjem tended to Hor-Aha, cleansing the wound and trying to stem the profuse bleeding. I refused to leave Hor-Aha’s side until Meruka took me aside.
“Narmer, it does no good for you to buzz about like a fly. He is your son and the Prince, but he is also a soldier. The best you can do is pray to Horus to act in his behalf and go visit with your troops.” Meruka was right.
I met with Rekhmireh, who gave me a quick assessment of the skirmish. Only thirty-four of the village’s inhabitants were left alive, out of a number that most estimated at more than six hundred and fifty. There was no way our soldiers could estimate the true number from the condition of the dead. Five of our soldiers were killed and twenty-two injured.
With a heavy heart, I added to the number of dead. After showing the head priest what his allies had done to his own people, I had him executed. His assistants I spared, to spread the word of what the Ta-Tjenehus had done, and of my retribution, to future inhabitants of the village. For those merchants who had stolen from me by withholding taxes, I had one of their hands cut off. Farmers who had aided the enemy had their land confiscated. The task of rebuilding the village, establishing an army outpost and a loyal priesthood I left to Meruka and Rekhmireh.
With evening approaching, I visited Hor-aha. His wound had already become poisoned with pustulence and he thrashed about with a fever. Sennedjem and Panehsy alternated forcing liquids and applying an unguent to the wound. I knew I could do no more than watch and so, carrying a heavy burden, I walked off into the western desert to be alone with my thoughts.
I have heard from stories traders that come to Kem from Babylon, and even Setjet, that they cannot tell the difference between one desert and another, that they are all the same and all to be avoided when possible. Yet, I cannot understand that way of viewing our land, for the differences between the eastern and western deserts are so obvious even a fool would be able to tell them apart. And all but a fool would choose the eastern desert over the western.
I walked away from the camp, over flat sections of deep sand and over tall dunes, only to find more flat sand and even taller dunes, as far as my eye could see. There were no mountains within which I could seek refuge, not one acacia tree to break up the view or provide shade, nothing at all but endless sand. By now, Ra’s setting disk cast huge, dark shadows and the temperature began to drop, yet I continued to walk.
Away from the encampment, even the barren western desert soon worked its magic on me. I lived in cities, I visited villages of every description, I heard reports of far-off lands from emissaries and traders. But the desert gives gifts that no other land can give. Solitude. Quiet. Peace. No noise from Mother Nile rushing to Wadj-Wer, no trickles from meandering tributaries, no leaves to rustle in the wind. Just silence. Utter and complete silence.
Soon I was beset by the desert’s magic. Each crunch of sand under my feet became a welcome relief from the affairs of state. Men did not curry my favor. The only decision I needed to make was where to place my foot. I climbed a high dune, higher than any I had encountered that evening, and there I sat, removing my dagger belt and my water pouch. As the gentle evening winds picked up and tickled my skin with grains of sand, I sheltered my arms within the tunic I wore.
So I sat, time itself becoming meaningless, as the last sliver of Ra’s orb disappeared into the underworld and his silver night disk rose into the sky, full and bright, casting his light onto the undulating forms of the desert landscape. I waited for my ka to absorb the desert’s peace, to suck it in and calm me. Instead, my mind would not shake loose the images that confronted it. Before me flashed the gruesome scenes of the dead in Ta-Ihu, jumbled together, tormenting my heart. One image from that day burned my eyes, that of one small hand clutching tightly to an even tinier hand. Two hands, without bodies, laying on the sand, a mother clutching her infant.
I imagined Hor-aha, thrashing on his blanket, of Neith-hotep pacing the floor of our palace in worry, awaiting word of our success and of her son’s and husband’s safe return, of Anhotek… of Anhotek. My mind raced through scenes of my childhood.
Where was he now, my Anhotek, my teacher and father, the one man who I could count on above all others? Tears filled my eyes as anguish filled my heart.
“Where?” I shouted into the silvery darkness. “Where are you when I need you more than ever?” I held up my fist, shaking it at the bejeweled sky.
“Use your magic! Appear before me!” I screamed. “Or was it all an illusion?” I hung my head down and the tears fell softly onto my ankle. “Where…?” But the words would no longer form. There were no words. Only tears.
I sat thus for a long time, allowing the pain in my heart to pour upon the sands, as Anhotek had done with Mafdet’s blood when she was stung by the scorpion. I felt as if every moist part of me had dried and I was nothing more than a desiccated hide. Only then did I feel a lightness overcome my ba, as if it were freed of a weight that I dragged along behind me for so long.
Images of Neith-hotep flew into my heart, illuminating it, lightening for a moment the burdens of Kingship that weighed upon me. And I thought of all the good that Neith-hotep brought to me and to our land. And I thought of Towi, the Two Lands, the lotus and papyrus, the black and the red. And then, for the first time in many years, I again saw the vision of the wondrous Towi that would someday be. The night winds came then, gentle and cool, like Anhotek’s soft touch upon my face and I knew then that Horus’ wings were spread wide to protect us all.
In that moment, with the shimmering eyes of the gods watching from their perches in the endless night sky, I understood. For the first time, I truly understood. To feel the breath of our loved ones from the next world, to experience the ka of the gods mixing with our own, to illuminate one’s heart with the love of family, that is the Divine, the egg of creation, the purity of ma’at. All else, all the rituals and buildings, priesthood and ceremonies were tools, a means to an end. Anhotek knew this, and that night, when he visited me in the western desert, he taught me that lesson, the most valuable of all. We are not only of the gods, but also part of them.
With my ka centered, I stood and breathed in the sen-sen breaths and felt myself fill with Horus’ loving spirit. I knelt upon the cool sands and together we prayed, I for Hor-Aha and he for the future of Towi.
Scroll Twenty-Five
Horus
It is hard to be this old, to be held captive by a body that no longer quickly responds to your command, if at all, to be possessed of a heart that frequently does not remember a familiar name, nor even what it did earlier that day. Was it not only yesterday that I leaped over enemies, ducked the avenging arc of their swords, rolled away and then quickly thrust my sword through them? I laugh at that image now, for my flabby middle can hardly obey any other command but to shuffle to the table for meals. Thanks be to the gods for also dulling our senses as we age, so that we may at least laugh at ourselves in our infirmity.
Dare I even complain? Despite my frustrations, I am yet alive at fifty-six years. I sit erect and still have my teeth, while most of my countrymen walk stooped over from carrying their heavy burdens by time they are half my age. How many of the elderly must eat only cooked cereal or have their loved ones chew their foods like they were infants again, all because they had no choice but to eat sandy breads and fruits their whole lives that mercilessly grind down their teeth like the worn stones that grind emmer wheat?
It is not the infirmities of the body, or even the heart that are most difficult to tolerate, it is those of the ka. I dwell on my complaints because my ka is unsettled, restive, pressed on every side, in every moment, by the demands of Kem. I sit atop a pyramid of power, few able to make decisions in my stead, none able to decide matters that only the King may rule upon. I look around me and see no one, none others to whom I can turn. My dearest Neith-hotep has journeyed to the next life. Meruka no doubt now ministers to her there. Ahpety no longer serves me, for he wanders in and out of the dreams that precede death itself. These are the times when I pray to Horus to escort me on my next journey, to reward my trials by reuniting me with my lover and my friends. Oh, Kem, how I love and hate you!
“He has arrived,” Weneg called to me softly, interrupting my thoughts. He was already bowing and backing away by time I noticed him. How his reverence sometimes irritates me! From the time I ascended to the throne until I reached the age of fifty, Ahpety served me dutifully, but with the familiarity of a brother. To be served by a youngster who thinks me a god is more difficult than I would have ever imagined.
I walked to the mud-brick wall that ran around the edge of the portico. Ra’s disk was halfway through his journey and the dust from the constant construction of Inabu-hedj sat like a fog over the land surrounding the palace. Through the haze, I could see the armada of ships making their way toward us, oars out, the drummers beating a cadence to which the soldiers could pull in unison.
Hor-aha would be aboard the first ship to slip into the stone piers that now jutted out from the banks of the busy river in front of the palace. I looked down, over our lush gardens, bursting with the colors of plants gathered from many lands, and the many pools that watered them, all lovingly planned by Neith-hotep. An army of servants tended to the plants, silently pruning and watering. I wondered what the mood of Hor-aha’s soldiers would be. Somber? Angry? And what would I say to Hor-aha, the son that I so loved?
