1

DURING THE REMAINING DAYS of mourning for Kamose, Aahmes-nefertari saw little of her husband. She had expected the solemnity of grief to finally descend on the household now that the rebellion had been put down, and it was true that peace of a kind embraced the family, but it was more a silent sigh of relief than a quiet tribute to her brother. The weight of bitterness, the constant urge for revenge that had driven Kamose to so much killing and destruction, had pervaded them all for so long that they had become accustomed to living in a state of underlying tension. Now the source of that strain was gone, and they felt its withdrawal as a strange cleansing.

Nevertheless they had loved him, and as Mekhir flowed into Phamenoth and every small field around Weset came alive with the songs of the sowers as they flung their seed onto the glistening dark soil, they each grieved for him in their own way. Tetisheri kept to her rooms, the incense that accompanied her private prayers blurring the passage outside her door in a thin haze. Aahotep moved about the house with her usual calm regality, but she could often be seen sitting motionless under the trees of the garden, her chin sunk into her palm and her gaze fixed unseeingly before her.

Aahmes-nefertari found that her own sorrow made her restless. With a servant holding a sunshade over her head and a patient Follower plodding behind her, she took to walking. Sometimes she paced the river road between the estate and the temple. Sometimes she ventured into Weset itself. But more often she found herself skirting the fields where the germs of new life were being trodden into the wet earth by sturdy, naked feet. It was as though purposeless movement might enable her to escape from the misery that dogged her, but everywhere she carried with her the curve of his smile and the sound of his voice.

Ahmose would rise early, eat quickly, and disappear just after dawn. In answer to his wife’s remonstrations he smiled absently, kissed her gently, assured her that he was feeling stronger every day, and left her. At one time he would have been fishing, she knew, but he had kept to his vow and had even given away his favourite rod and his net. Occasionally she happened to be passing the mangled gates leading to the old palace and glancing inside she caught a glimpse of him, once standing with hands on hips staring up at the frowning edifice and once emerging from the gloom of the huge reception hall. Several times she saw him coming along the edge of the canal that joined the temple forecourt to the Nile, surrounded by his retainers. Then he would wave and smile. She did not wonder what was in his mind. There was no room in her for anything but memories.

The strange serenity of those weeks was broken by the return of Ramose, Mesehti and Makhu. They came sailing up the river one warm afternoon, a small flotilla of servants’ crafts behind them, and Aahmes-nefertari knew that the time of introspection was over. A herald had arrived the day before to warn Ahmose of the Princes’ arrival and he was waiting for them above the watersteps with Hor-Aha and Ankhmahor. Aahmes-nefertari was there also, acutely conscious of her husband’s stiff stance and the expressionless set of his features as he watched the boat nudge the steps and the ramp slide out.

Ramose was the first to disembark. Climbing the steps, he strode to Ahmose and extending his arms in a gesture of submission and reverence he bowed. Ahmose beckoned him forward and then pulled him close. “My friend,” he said quietly. “Welcome home. I do not know yet how I may repay the debt to you that has accumulated since my father’s day. Nor can I describe the pain your mother’s execution caused me when I recovered enough to hear about it. I am well aware of how much agony a man can suffer when he must choose where to place his loyalty and you have been forced to make that choice too often. I pray that never again will such a bitter cup be offered.” Ramose smiled sadly.

“It is good to see you restored to full health, Majesty,” he replied. “With your permission I must go at once to the House of the Dead and make sure that my mother is being correctly beautified.” Turning to Aahmes-nefertari, he took the hand she offered. “You are not yet wearing a commander’s armbands,” he said lightly, and she laughed and hugged him impulsively.

“Dear Ramose!” she exclaimed. “In spite of our common grief it is wonderful to see you smile.”

The two Princes had been standing silently behind Ramose and as Ahmose’s attention became fixed on them they knelt on the paving. Pressing their foreheads against the stone and sweeping the ever-present grit into a tiny pile before them, they sifted it over their heads in a gesture of repentance and submission. Ahmose watched them for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “They have redeemed themselves, Ahmose,” Ramose said in a low voice. “You spoke of the distress of divided loyalties. They have made their choice. They are here, not in Het-Uart. I beg you …” Ahmose held up a peremptory hand.

“Do you realize,” he said to their dusty skulls, “that the woman standing beside me has shown more courage and performed more deeds of desperate loyalty than either of you? That if you had managed to find one drop of such bravery in your pale and watery blood my brother would still be alive? If you had warned him, Kamose would still be alive!” he shouted, bending over them. “But no! You closed your mouths! You made no choice! You recoiled from the responsibility and slunk away like a couple of hyenas! Amun’s curse on you for the cowards that you are!” He straightened and for a moment his eyes wandered to the second boat, now moored, where the servants crowded watching the scene avidly. “Well, get up,” he ordered more calmly. “That is, if your feeble spines will hold you. Tell me what I am supposed to do with you.” Slowly they came to their feet and bowed.

“Majesty, you are correct in all you say.” It was Mesehti who answered him. “We listened to Meketra and the others and did not take our knowledge to the Osiris one. Yet we did make a choice. We chose to withdraw. We could not support our fellow nobles although we owed them the fidelity of our common station, but neither could we betray them. If we erred, it was not through cowardice but from uncertainty.”

“Uncertainty,” Ahmose repeated. He sighed. “Uncertainty dogged Kamose from the start and his greatest uncertainty was always the true temper of his Princes.” Suddenly he swung to his wife. “Aahmes-nefertari, you have the right to speak on this matter, you know. You were compelled to risk your life on the training ground. You stood and watched the executions. You have been harmed and changed. What do you advise?”

She looked at him, startled both by his generous public acknowledgement of her importance and his sensitivity to the turmoil that had raged and then subsided in her ka. All at once she knew that the substance of her answer would determine whether or not that importance was maintained. I must speak honestly and wisely, she thought in a panic. He has heard what I did but he was not there. He wants a validation he can see and hear for himself. Three pairs of eyes were fixed on her. Two were anxiously enquiring. The third was amused and Aahmes-nefertari, meeting her husband’s quizzical gaze, realized that his vehement speech to the prostrate men had been an act. But how much of an act? she wondered. What does he want? Further retribution? Two more executions? A reason to pardon them?

No, she told herself resolutely. I will not try to fathom what he expects of me. I will speak from my own judgement and mine alone. “The bestowal of mercy can be interpreted as a weakness,” she began carefully. “Yet mercy is greatly prized by Ma’at and together with justice is a quality every King must possess.” She turned fully to Ahmose. “Justice has been done to the fullest extent, Majesty,” she went on. “Our brother is dead. His murderers were executed. Mesehti and Makhu have pursued and slain the last remnants of a rebellion that belonged to an old order, Kamose’s order, and in doing so they have rediscovered the portion of Ma’at that they once threw away. A new order begins. Let your first act as a King be one of forbearance.” He was squinting at her now, his eyes alight.

“Forbearance, perhaps, but not pardon,” he retorted. “Not yet. Trust must be earned, Aahmes-nefertari, don’t you agree?” He swung to the Princes. “Where are your soldiers?”

“They march on the edge of the desert, Majesty,” Makhu said hastily. “They should arrive tomorrow.”

“Well, get yourselves out of the sun and into the guest quarters,” Ahmose ordered. “Thanks to your Queen you have one last chance to prove yourselves. Do not fail again. And do not go near the barracks or I shall suspect yet another plot!” He turned away from their bows, and taking Aahmes-nefertari’s arm he began to stroll towards the house. Ramose had already left in the direction of the House of the Dead.

“I do not understand, Ahmose,” his wife said hesitantly. “You shouted your anger at them but I sensed that it was forced. Did you intend to spare them all along and I simply told you what you had already decided?”

“No,” he replied. “My anger was real, is real, deep inside me, my dearest, but I wanted it to appear forced. If you had recommended their execution I would have taken your advice, but I am glad that you appreciate both the power and the trap of mercy. Let us hope it has not been a trap in this case.”

“I still do not understand.”

“Then I will tell you.” He took a moment to lift his face to the brilliant blue of the sky and his hair fell back, revealing the jagged scar behind his ear, still rough and red. “I loved Kamose,” he went on slowly. “He was brave and intelligent and he inspired an awed respect, but that respect was tinged with fear. In this he was foolish. His manner was harsh. His method of revenge was implacable. The ordeal we have suffered was the direct result of that inexorable drive towards the extermination of the Setiu. It frightened the people and insulted the Princes. I loved him,” he repeated, a tremor in his voice, “but the result of his terrible need was entirely predictable.”

“Ahmose,” Aahmes-nefertari broke in urgently. “Are you saying that you will abandon the fight? Give Egypt back to Apepa?”

“Gods no! Do not be deceived. My own hatred and desire for revenge against Apepa burns just as strongly as Kamose’s did. But I have a new policy. I will strew smiles like lotus petals. I will toss titles and preferments and rewards like so many brightly painted baubles. I will not make my brother’s mistakes, and thus I will flog every Setiu back to Rethennu where they belong.” They had reached the shade of the pillared portico before the main entrance to the house and Aahmes-nefertari shivered in the sudden chill.

“I think I see,” she said cautiously. “Kamose ruled the Princes by coercion. You will control them more subtly. But, Ahmose, if our brother had not flayed Egypt with the whip of his pain and rage, if he had not prodded and shamed the Princes into action and drenched Egypt in blood, your strategy would not work. He drew the poison for you. He cleared the way for a gentler approach.”

“And I owe him that? You were afraid to finish your thought, Aahmes-nefertari. You are right. I owe him a great deal. He was like a farmer who takes possession of a field which has been left untended for hentis. His task was to slash and burn the weeds. I know this. I honour it. But I owe him nothing more. He was mildly insane.” One ringed finger crept up to his scar and rubbed it absently. It was a gesture that was becoming a habit and Aahmes-nefertari was beginning to recognize it as a signal of speculative thought.

“But Amun loved him!” she blurted, alarmed. “He sent him dreams! Take care that in hardening your heart against his memory you do not blaspheme against the god, Ahmose!” For a moment the face he turned to her was blank. Then it lit with his guileless smile.

“He died in trying to save my life,” he said. “I slept beside him, fought beside him, and in our youth he was always there to protect me. My heart will never harden against him. I speak facts, Aahmes-nefertari, not feelings. The emotion is for you and me alone. But a new order begins, as you said, and there is great danger to me if I present even a hint to the nobles that I am prepared to continue the brutal policies of my brother.” He leaned close to her. “I intend to render them impotent, every one of them, and make them thank me for doing it. I will never trust them again. I also intend to put a torch to Het-Uart, that stinking nest of rats, and thus Kamose will be twice justified. But I must never allow one drop of the acid of blind revenge to stir in my veins or we will not be allowed a second chance at salvation.” He straightened. “I trust you, Aahmes-nefertari. I have opened my mind on this matter to no one else. When I ask you for advice, I expect you to give it to me without fear, as you did a short while ago. I have requested a meeting with Hor-Aha this evening in the office. I want you and Mother there.” Aahmes-nefertari blinked in surprise.

“You want me to be present at a discussion about strategy?” He put a thumb against her chin, and lifting her face he kissed her firmly on the mouth.

“Of course,” he replied. “I need a Queen who can do more than sip pomegranate wine and listen to servants’ gossip.” He stifled a yawn. “Now I need an hour on my couch. My head has begun to ache.”

Aahmes-nefertari stifled an impulse to put a hand on his forehead. A shyness had overtaken her as she looked at this man, so sweetly familiar and yet so suddenly alien, and he must have divined her aborted inclination, for he put an arm across her shoulders and propelled her firmly towards the doorway. “Akhtoy can nurse me now,” he said. “That is his job. You will have other responsibilities.” Releasing her, he strode away down the corridor and she watched him go. He did not say Tetisheri, she thought. Was it an oversight or a deliberate exclusion? If he antagonizes Grandmother, the house will be full of wrangling. Then she laughed aloud, shrugged, and set off towards the nursery. I doubt if a quarrelsome house has a place in the new order, she mused. Our King will insist on domestic peace.

She approached the office just after dusk, greeting the servants who were lighting the torches bracketed in the passage as she went and returning the salutes of the guards taking up the first watches of the night. Outside the imposing cedar door she paused, momentarily intimidated. She had never before been invited into the place where her father and later Kamose had dealt with the myriad affairs that made up the world of men: dictating directives to the headmen of the villages under their care, going over the tallies of grain, wine and oil, discussing judgements regarding the often petty grievances the peasants brought to them, and later wrestling with the agonizing decisions that had resulted in the Weset uprising. She knew what the room contained, of course, having often inspected it for tidiness and cleanliness after the servants had swept it, but to enter it for the purpose of business—that was different. She could hear voices within, her husband’s rich treble followed by Hor-Aha’s rough, rare chuckle, and with a frown of irritation at her own hesitation she knocked and, without waiting to be bidden, let herself in.

Aahotep was already there, sitting quietly at one end of the heavy table. Hor-Aha had his back to the door and, as Aahmes-nefertari walked across the floor, he rose and turned to reverence her. Ahmose, seated opposite with Ipi already cross-legged by his knee, smiled at her and waved her to the empty chair at the other end. Light filled the sparsely furnished space from two standing lamps in the corners and one on the table at Ahmose’s side. Three walls were full of nooks from which the ends of rolled papyri protruded and below which were the chests containing records not in current use. The fourth wall was simply a line of pillars giving out onto the darkening sky.

For one second, as she settled herself facing her mother, Aahmes-nefertari could have sworn that she inhaled a faint whiff of her father’s perfume, a mixture of sweet persea and oil of frankincense. Wondering if it somehow lingered deep in the very grain of the table where he had so often placed his hands, and resisting the desire to put her nose to its surface, she linked her own fingers in her lap and waited. Ahmose cleared his throat. “Ipi, are you ready?” he enquired. The man glanced up at him and nodded and Aahmes-nefertari heard him whispering the scribes’ preparatory prayer to Thoth beneath Ahmose’s next words. “Good. As you can see, Akhtoy has provided us with wine and sweetmeats but you will have to serve yourselves. This discussion is not for servants’ ears.” He already had a cup before him and he drank briefly before continuing. “While I lay on my couch regaining my strength, I had many hours to ponder the course my rule should take,” he said. “And it seemed to me that the most urgent project confronting us is a reorganizing of the army. Without a coherent, efficient fighting force we are nothing. We cannot even defend ourselves, let alone mount effective campaigns. Kamose performed a very difficult task in taking raw peasants and turning them into soldiers. He began with one unit, the Medjay, and a motley collection of peasants. He had officers who had never drawn a sword and commanders who were reluctant to command. In short, what he did must have earned him the wonder and applause of the gods themselves.” He shot a glance at his wife. “But he was hampered by a peasant’s need to till his soil in the spring and a prince’s need to assert the superiority of his blood. The rebellion has taught us the danger of both. Peasants whose minds are full of worry about their arouras and Princes who chafe to return to the luxury of their estates are not to be trusted.”

He already uses that word a great deal, Aahmes-nefertari thought, hearing the mildly disdainful emphasis he had placed on it. It has become a preoccupation for him. I pray that it may not become an obsession. She turned her attention back to what he was saying. “Therefore I intend to implement a standing army. Give me your response.” Aahotep pulled the wine jug towards her and carefully filled her cup.

“Egypt has never maintained a standing army,” she said slowly. “The peasants have always been conscripted temporarily, either for war or for building purposes, by the King or the temples. They have always known that no matter how long their services may be required they will eventually be allowed to go home. If they are told that they may not go home, you will have one mutiny after another.”

“Surely that depends on how it is done,” Aahmesnefertari objected. “It might be possible to form a military core of permanent troops with their own village and then augment them with others during the Inundation. Or perhaps take a census of all males and cull those not necessary for working the land. They would have to be supported and armed out of the royal treasury. You would have to create new orders of scribes and stewards who would do nothing else. You would need the authority to tax all Egypt. But it would mean that each man was fully trained, professional, and it would remove the threat of another revolt.”

“Hor-Aha?” Ahmose looked at his General, who had been listening with his head down, one finger tracing an intricate and invisible pattern on the table before him. Now he pursed his lips and, folding his arms, he nodded.

“It could be done. I consider my Medjay first. I know them, Majesty. They would be willing to leave their villages to be cared for by their women and slaves, if they were allowed several weeks of freedom a year and sufficient beer and bread. As for the rest, you already have the embryo of such a core in your Weset contingent.” He stirred and Aahmes-nefertari saw him take a slow, quiet breath. “But what will you do for commanders?” he asked smoothly— too smoothly, Aahmes-nefertari thought. This is the question closest to his strange heart. This is where his true interest lies. “Will you promote the sons of those who have died?”

“Been executed for treason you mean!” Ahmose retorted. “No, I do not wish to train their offspring in the art of command. A professional army needs professional officers at its pinnacle. I want to promote from the ranks.” But that is not your real reason, Aahmes-nefertari told him silently. You have already expressed that to me. You will never trust a nobleman again.

“The ranks?” Aahotep expostulated. “But, Ahmose, what common soldier will have any respect for a commander who has no noble blood in him? There must be distance between them!”

“I am inclined to disagree, Mother,” Ahmose told her mildly. “Perhaps a lowly fighting man will have more confidence in the directives of someone he has already seen in action. He may also dream of his own promotion if such an avenue becomes open.” He spread his hands. “In any event it is worth the gamble. Kamose attempted the traditional way. He did great harm to Apepa but came close to destroying us in the process. We lose nothing by changing the rules.”

“I would like to come back to the matter of support,” Aahmes-nefertari said. “The war has cost us and the rest of Egypt. We have had two harvests since Kamose removed the peasants from the land and the granaries are filling again, but our situation will not bear any extra burden. Not yet. Do we not invite a future disaster by scrambling to fill the mouths of thousands of troops who will fall idle once the war is over?” He favoured her with one of his wide, benign smiles of approval.

“A good point,” he responded. “Firstly I do not envisage the soldiers idle. With their training and skills they will be invaluable in policing the towns and villages, escorting caravans; we can even sell their time to the temples, all in rotation of course. And if an emergency arises, they can be recalled to Weset already armed and proficient.”

“Majesty, will you also allow them to be used as private soldiers?” Hor-Aha interrupted. There was a pause during which Ahmose appeared to be considering the question, but Aahmes-nefertari suspected that he was merely hiding his annoyance at it.

“When Egypt has been scoured and peace returns, there will be no necessity for private armies,” he answered with the exaggerated docility he used to hide disapproval, anger or boredom. Mother and daughter caught each other’s eye, but Hor-Aha seemed unaware that he had put Ahmose on his guard. “However, escorts will surely be permissible, although they will not be privately recruited nor staffed with officers who are not answerable to me. This is a detail, Hor-Aha.” He turned to his wife. “Secondly,” he went on, “I have no intention of raping Egypt in order to preserve her! Don’t forget the gold routes, Aahmes-nefertari. We have blocked the passage of gold to the Delta. Now we can take it for ourselves. Also I intend to send emissaries to Keftiu. They are an eminently practical people. They care nothing for our internal squabbles. Trade is what they like, and trade with Het-Uart has become sporadic since Kamose captured the treasure ships. I believe that they will be eager to draw up new agreements with Egypt, particularly after the next campaign, when I hope to clear the Delta of the Rethennu troops dribbling in.”

“Our ancestor Senwasret erected the Wall of Princes between the Delta and Rethennu hentis ago to keep the Setiu out and to protect the Horus Road into the east,” Aahotep reflected. “He could not have imagined that they would still come seeping past his defences, first as sheep herders pasturing their flocks and then as traders, that they would become masters of Egypt through commerce. Perhaps through commerce you may slowly strangle them, my son. How ironic that would be!”

“It is certainly one weapon I have considered,” Ahmose agreed. “But Apepa’s fellow Princes in Rethennu, those he calls his ‘brothers,’ do not want him to relinquish Egypt without a fight. We provide them with too many riches. Spies in the Delta from the navy at Het nefer Apu tell me that their soldiers continue to trickle in.”

“They can keep coming steadily while we are hampered by the Inundation and are immobilized,” Hor-Aha put in gruffly. “It may eventually be necessary to fight them even while Egypt lies under the flood.”

“That is why Kamose was anxious to form a navy,” Ahmose pointed out. “He foresaw such an eventuality from the moment we learned of the influx of Setiu from Rethennu. And that is why, General, I need an army that will not disband and scatter every year.” Hor-Aha frowned.

“I do not think you will defeat them this year, Majesty,” he offered.

“Neither do I,” Ahmose admitted. “But my grip can tighten around their fat necks. I have the upper hand and I intend to keep it.” He poked about intently in a dish of shat cakes and honeyed figs encased in pastry. “Ipi, are you following us?” he asked.

“Yes, indeed, Majesty.” The scribe’s voice floated up from his position on the floor. “But I hope I have a sufficient supply of papyrus sheets.”

“Ah, papyrus,” Ahmose commented, abandoning the food for the wine jug. “Now that is something the Keftiu crave.” He glanced around at them all. “I wish to pass now to the reconstruction of our forces. We can still call upon fifty-five thousand men, eleven divisions, can we not, General? Apart from the few hundred Ramose, Mesehti and Makhu pursued and killed during the rebellion.”

“Yes, Majesty. But only one division is quartered here.”

“I know. I want you to arm yourself with scribes and go to every nome. Begin to interview every officer I have. Talk to them about the men under them. Note any that have impressed their superiors either by their expertise in weaponry or by an ability to lead. Judge the officers’ own fitness to continue as such and weed out those with direct allegiance to any prince, living or dead. Bring all names and descriptions to me. Until the Delta is completely mine I need all eleven divisions active, but I want to retain five divisions of infantry and one of marines permanently, all officers to be answerable only to me as Commander-in-Chief. We will discuss the breakdown of troops later, but it will be far more precise than ever before.”

“May I include the Medjay in this survey?” Hor-Aha enquired with a hesitation Aahmes-nefertari had never seen in him before, and Ahmose shook his head.

“No. The Medjay will return to being an irregular force, adaptable to any situation, with their own officers. Any Medjay officers at present commanding Egyptians will be replaced. And before you open your mouth to protest, Hor-Aha, think about it. A large part of the unrest that boiled up into revolt stemmed from resentment against both you and the Medjay. Egyptian soldiers are not ready to place their confidence in black skin, and Egyptian nobles consider you inferior to them in every way.” He leaned across the table and grasped Hor-Aha’s forearm. “I speak of harsh realities, my friend. I must. To me you are Egyptian, and not only Egyptian but one of the finest. I love you. I will not deprive you of the title of Prince my brother gave you, but it will not be used until the Double Crown sits on my head and the Horus Throne rests on the dais of the old palace. Forgive me and try to understand.”

“Oh, I understand,” Hor-Aha said huskily. He did not withdraw his arm, but Aahmes-nefertari saw its muscles tighten. “I have risked my life for your family. First Seqenenra, then your brother, received all the worship and loyalty I had to give. Indeed, your father was more to me than my own life and I loved him deeply. I have endured the arrogance and condescension of men who could not walk without falling over their own swords and who, when it came to military strategy, could see no farther than the end of their own aristocratic noses. And for this I am rewarded with contempt. It stings, Ahmose.” He swallowed. “Yet I am the greatest tactician you have and as such I know that if you are to build and control an army out of Kamose’s half-disciplined, half-trained rabble you must indulge its ignorance.” He fixed Ahmose with a cold stare. “Do not forget that I am Egyptian. Ny mother, Nithotep, was Egyptian. Regardless of the colour of my skin I belong here, and because I do and for no other reason, I will trust you to fulfil the promise Kamose made to me at the appropriate time and I will continue to be yours to command. You need me.” Now he took his arm away, pushing his silver bracelet up over the place where Ahmose’s fingers had grasped him, and Ahmose sat back.

“Of course I need you!” he repeated vehemently. “What else can I say? This meeting is at an end. Come to me tomorrow, Hor-Aha, before you leave. You have a month to gather the information I want. I will give you a more detailed list of the officer positions I intend to create. I would like to leave for the Delta as soon as Kamose is buried.” He came to his feet and the others followed. Bowing, Hor-Aha strode from the room and the door slammed behind him. Aahotep blew out her breath.

“Gods, Ahmose, I pray that you have not made an enemy of our most precious ally. Do you no longer trust him?”

“I love him, Mother,” Ahmose replied wearily. Dark smudges had appeared under his kohled eyes and his pallor betrayed more healing to be done in spite of his insistence that he had fully recovered from his wound. “I love him but I do not trust him. I have often sensed the kind of pride in him that must be bridled. He muzzles it, but without a firm hand on him it will bolt and destroy him.” Aahotep came around the table and, kissing him on the cheek, she drew her linen cloak around her and crossed to the door.

“I am astounded at the foresight and cunning you have shown this evening,” she said. “I should not be, for I birthed and raised you, but I am. Egypt will be safe with you. Sleep well, Majesty.” This time the door closed with a demure click. Ahmose’s shoulders slumped.

“I am suddenly very tired,” he murmured. “My head is pounding. I think I will drink poppy tonight, but I want you to sleep with me, Aahmes-nefertari. I need the feel of your body against mine. I would make love to you but I do not have the energy.” Going to him, Aahmes-nefertari put an arm around his waist.

“We can always lie side by side and pretend,” she teased him. Then more soberly she asked, “Ahmose, why did you exclude Ramose from this discussion?”

“Oddly enough Ramose is one man I do trust completely,” he replied. “But he is not a soldier. Besides, he is mourning for his mother and I do not wish to interfere with his grief.” But you interfere with ours for Kamose, she wanted to retort. Instead she said, “Will you send him to spy in Het-Uart instead? And what of Mesehti and Makhu? And Ankhmahor for that matter!” Holding each other, they moved towards the passage.

“I do not need a spy in Het-Uart after all,” he told her as they left the office. A cool draught blew through the passage beyond, making the torches gutter, and the guard on the door straightened into a respectful salute. “Hor-Aha is correct in his surmise that the city will not fall to me this season. It is well defended. I will concentrate on killing the fresh Setiu entering the Delta. As for my two Princes, I will offer them new titles and keep them beside me, but I have already taken their divisions away from them, although they do not know it yet. And Ankhmahor …” They were passing the open doorway to the rear garden and he slowed to inhale the gusts of scent-laden air before walking on. “Ankhmahor is a jewel. He will continue to order my Followers and act as Commander of the Shock Troops of the Division of Amun. He is one Prince for whom I make an exception. Would you like to captain the household guards, Aahmes-nefertari?” He was smiling down at her, his eyes sparkling in spite of their shadows.

“Yes, I would,” she responded immediately. “I have come to know our local soldiers well. If I can select them myself, I will feel quite safe. Some of them will be Medjay, Ahmose.” Akhtoy was rising from his stool as they approached Ahmose’s quarters.

“That is fine,” Ahmose said. “You, my dearest sister, I do trust implicitly! Akhtoy, bring in hot water and send to the physician for poppy. Aahmes-nefertari, return as soon as you can.”

She left him then and walked the short distance to her own quarters. Tetisheri will be furious when she learns how she was excluded tonight, she thought as Raa came forward to undress her. He ought to do his best to placate her. A new title perhaps? She laughed aloud as she raised her arms and the sheath was lifted up over her head.

That night she dreamed of the death of Ramose’s mother, Nefer-Sakharu, and woke sweating and trembling in the thick darkness. Sitting up, she wiped her neck and breasts with the crumpled sheet, thankful that she was not alone. Turning to drink from the water jug by the couch, she was startled to hear Ahmose’s voice. “What is the matter?” he mumbled. “Are you all right?”

“A bad dream, nothing more,” she whispered back, feeling for the reassurance of his warm flesh and finding the curve of his hip. “Why are you not sleeping, Ahmose?”

“I did sleep,” he replied more clearly. “Until your muttering and tossing woke me up.”

“I am sorry.” She lay back down on her pillow. “Can you sleep again, do you think?” He stirred and rolled towards her.

“I could,” he said. “But my headache has gone. Let us make love now, Aahmes-nefertari. Do you want to? It will be a unique experience. I have never made love to a soldier before.” Go away, she said silently to the image of the Medjay with Nefer-Sakharu’s blood spurting over him, and she opened her mouth to her husband’s kiss.

The expected outburst from Tetisheri did not come, much to Aahmes-nefertari’s surprise. She wondered whether perhaps her grandmother was not aware that the meeting had taken place, but doubted it. Tetisheri had always kept a sharp ear for the casual conversation of the servants. It was more likely that she sensed a shift in the hierarchy of the family and, not wishing to find herself on the bottom rung of the ladder, she had decided to keep her wounded pride to herself. She showed her displeasure, however, by questioning Ahmose sharply regarding the state of Kamose’s tomb at dinner one evening. “You have been absent from the house on many occasions,” she said to him abruptly as he was feeding morsels of roast duck to Behek. The dog had spent the days since Kamose’s murder wandering disconsolately from his master’s empty rooms to the watersteps and back as though he hoped Kamose might return at any moment from some river voyage, until Ahmose had the animal leashed and led behind himself as he went about his business. Ahmose affected to ignore Tetisheri, continuing to tear pieces of meat from the bones on his plate and slip them between Behek’s strong teeth, but she persisted. “Have you been overseeing the completion of Kamose’s tomb?”

“No, Grandmother,” he finally said patiently. “Actually I have had matters to attend to in the temple.”

“Matters that are more important than your brother’s resting place?” she pressed. “Do you want him to lie amid stone chips and unfinished inscriptions?” Ahmose straightened and dipped his fingers in the fingerbowl.

“You presume a great deal, Tetisheri,” he said with mild rebuke. “You would like to think that I am capable of such a petty revenge. You have always chosen to believe that I was jealous of Kamose, but it was never so. We disagreed on many things, but I loved him just as much as you did.”

“I doubt that,” she responded tartly. Aahmes-nefertari saw her husband’s jaw tighten at her tone, but he did not rise to her bait. Drying his hands, he indicated that his plate could be removed and sat back.

“I have been to the tomb twice,” he said evenly. “It will not be entirely ready but that is no one’s fault. Kamose did not expect to die so young. The inner chamber with all the correct inscriptions is complete because I commanded the artisans to work at night as well as during the day, but the carving along the passage to it cannot be done before the funeral. The pyramid stands finished but unfaced. That can be completed later. The enclosing wall of the courtyard is also finished. The men are exhausting themselves, but there is a limit to what I can ask of them, Tetisheri.”

“So the prayers and incantations that will surround his body are correct but his mighty deeds will not be recorded,” she grumbled. “It is disastrous.”

“The prayers and divine protections were far more important,” Ahmose retorted. His forefinger was straying to his scar, betraying his tension, and Aahotep spoke up before Aahmes-nefertari could pour a little oil on the exchange.

“You are being deliberately disagreeable, Tetisheri,” she said. “Would you rather have Kamose protected from evil in the next life or lost because Ahmose insisted on having his deeds chronicled? There is no time to do both!”

“I know what you are thinking.” Ahmose had turned to his grandmother and was looking at her coolly. “In your secret heart you fear that I will begin to claim Kamose’s victories, all his great attempts to free us, all the pain of his heart, as my own. But even if I wanted to, I could not. The archives are full of his letters and dispatches to you, and unless I burned them all I could not assume my brother’s sad history. Nor would the gods approve of such dishonesty.” He sighed. “I pity you, Tetisheri. You think so ill of me that you are unable to lift up your head and see either Kamose or me as we really are. But I also warn you. I am now the King as well as your grandson. Try to curb your tongue if you cannot curb your thoughts, or you may find yourself accused of blasphemy.” She glared at him for a moment before slumping forward.

“You are right,” she managed through stiff lips. “I apologize to you, Majesty. I am an obstreperous old woman.” But Aahmes-nefertari, seeing the glint of mutiny in her hooded eyes, knew that the words she spoke were not the ones churning in her mind. Presently Tetisheri left the dais, stalking through the lamplight in the direction of her quarters.

“Forgive her, Ahmose,” Aahotep pleaded. “She grieves terribly for Kamose.”

“Grief can excuse much, but not everything,” was all Ahmose replied.

He continued to be absent a great deal, sometimes vanishing in the direction of the temple, sometimes walking with his ever-present guard of Followers to the barracks and the training ground. Several times in the month that followed, heralds arrived at the watersteps with messages for him, and Aahmes-nefertari, passing the closed door of the office, heard his voice interspersed with the rumble of other men’s tones. But she did not fret because she was excluded from their news. She had his confidence, and if anything of importance was reported to him she knew he would tell her at once.

Rising late one morning, she requested that her first meal be brought to her in the garden, and after being bathed, dressed and painted she made her way to the pool, only to find Ahmose already there, lying on his back under a billowing canopy. Hent-ta-Hent was sprawled naked on his stomach, deeply asleep, one tiny thumb still resting between her half-open lips, her wisps of soft black hair stirring in the breeze. Ahmose had one hand across her chubby back to prevent her from slipping and with the other he was gesticulating at Hor-Aha who sat cross-legged beside him. They were surrounded by Ipi and three of his under-scribes, all bent industriously over their palettes. Ahmose-onkh, also naked, stood by the water under the watchful eye of a servant, his shaved head, but for the wet and bedraggled youth lock straggling to his shoulder, gleaming in the strong light. When he saw his mother coming over the grass, he toddled towards her beaming, palms cupped. “Look, look!” he exclaimed in his excited high treble. “This frog jumped onto my foot!” Squatting, Aahmes-nefertari kissed his round cheek and admired his catch.

“But you must throw it back into the pond,” she cautioned him. “If you hold it too long its skin will become dry and hot and you will make it sick. It is special, Ahmoseonkh, and you must not harm it. Frogs are tokens of rebirth and we honour them.” He shrugged, already bored, and pouted, but he did as he was told, pausing on the edge of the pool to stroke the creature before tossing it carelessly away. It struck the water with scarcely a splash and Aahmes-nefertari, rising, saw it kick its way beneath the green spread of a lotus pad. She beckoned to the servant.

“Braid his youth lock,” she said. “He looks very untidy. And put him in a loincloth. He is three years old now. He must become used to being dressed.” Ahmose had turned his head at her approach, smiling broadly, and Hor-Aha had come to his feet to reverence her.

“Hor-Aha returned with his lists last night,” Ahmose said as she moved in under the shade of the canopy. “It was too beautiful a morning to waste in the gloom of the office, so I am listening to them out here. Later I must question the more senior men recommended myself, but I cannot move until Hent-ta-Hent wakes up.” He glanced fondly down at his daughter. “I think she is teething, Aahmesnefertari. She was dribbling and crying a great deal and the nursery servant could not calm her. What will you do today?”

“I thought I might take a litter and go out beside the fields,” she replied. “I want to see how this season’s crops are growing.” Then she burst out laughing. “Ahmose, you look ridiculously domestic with a baby draped over your belly!” Hent-ta-Hent stirred at the sound, made little smacking noises, and half-opened her eyes before relaxing into slumber once more. The thumb that had been in her mouth slid out to rest on her father’s chest.

“Yes, but the beat of my heart soothes her and the warmth of her body pacifies me,” he replied. “Your food is coming, Aahmes-nefertari. Sit and eat here while I finish my business. Then I think I will come with you. The officers are settling into the barracks. I can talk to them this evening.”

Surprised and pleased, she accepted his offer, savouring her meal with her eyes on the play of sun and shadow across the verdant spring glory of the garden and her ears open to Hor-Aha’s voice as he submitted a seemingly endless array of names together with descriptions of their strengths and weaknesses. Ahmose had eleven divisions to staff. That meant everything from Commanders to Standard Bearers, Charioteers to Captains of a Hundred, Greatest of Fifty to Instructors of Retainers.

Many of the rankings were entirely new to her, and she realized as she listened that Ahmose was creating them as he went. The army would indeed be different, rigidly codified and completely under his control. The knowledge brought her a certain peace, but sadness also. Kamose had done everything he could, but he had not had either the time or the foresight for something like this. He had prepared the way for his brother, hewing a crude beginning, but Ahmose would refine and perfect it, building on the foundation Kamose had left, and perhaps in time Kamose’s contribution would be forgotten. After all, he had been a mystery to his family, a dictator to his nobles, and a terror to the peasants whose villages he had destroyed. If Ahmose were able to bring about freedom and prosperity for Egypt, his brother might even become an embarrassment whose memory would be allowed to dwindle until he faded from the annals of the nation. Aahmes-nefertari shuddered. You would not have made a good King, dearest Kamose, she thought for the first time. The gods knew it, and that is why they used you to plough the ground and then took you away. It was not your destiny to rule.

Ahmose-onkh was emerging from the house, his youth lock decorously braided, a white loincloth around his small hips, and Raa followed him, several scrolls in her grasp. She is going to read him stories, Aahmes-nefertari mused, but he is almost old enough to begin to learn to read and write for himself. Soon we must find him a good tutor. He must know the history of this country if he is to succeed Ahmose on the throne. The connection of her ideas depressed her for a moment and she shook off her reverie. Hent-ta-Hent was waking, moving restlessly in her father’s grip, and Aahmes-nefertari rose. “Let the nursery servant have her before she makes you wet,” she said to Ahmose. “I will order the litters and wait for you by the river path.” He nodded, passed the grumbling baby up to the patient attendant without pausing in his speech, and Aahmes-nefertari left the men to their deliberations.

For several precious hours she and Ahmose had themselves carried around the environs of the estate, talking lightly across the space between their litters of how thickly green and healthy the crops were and leaning out to peer at their blurred reflections in the canals that criss-crossed the fields. One of the Tao’s farmers had invented a method to raise water from the Nile, lift it over the dams that prevented the annual flood from spilling out of the canals as the river shrank, and pour it back into the channels. Aahotep had made him Overseer of Granaries and his invention was now in common use. Ahmose often had the litters halted so that he could watch the shadufs in motion, fascinated at their efficiency, but Aahmes-nefertari simply enjoyed the glitter of sunlight as the water cascaded from the buckets.

Later they left the litters and walked along the palmshaded river road hand in hand, commenting idly on the skiffs tacking by, the fragile long legs of the white ibis standing lazily in the shallows, the heat shimmer of the barren cliffs they could glimpse on the west bank. Often they met citizens of Weset bound on various errands, who bowed respectfully and stood aside as they passed. “I do not think that we will do this much more,” Ahmose said as they neared their watersteps. “It is not good for the King to be so visible and available to the people. He must, of course, be ready to hear their problems through his judges, but in these times it is better that they do not envision him with muddy feet and sweat-stained kilt. While I am gone, have the wall enclosing the estate built higher, Aahmes-nefertari, and a solid gate put in above the watersteps so that those passing cannot look into the edge of the garden.”

“You are planning many changes, aren’t you, Ahmose?” she said, and he nodded solemnly.

“Yes, but first I must address the enemy in the Delta. That is my priority.” He pulled her arm through his and together they turned away from the river towards the house that lay familiar and welcoming in the afternoon heat.