The Hippopotamus Marsh by Pauline Gedge Page B

and Recruits, no skilled charioteers. Forgive me for doing what has to be done.” Tetisheri had said nothing. Neither had Aahotep. Kamose was away touring the nomes, but Ahmose had exclaimed immediately, “Kamose and I will fight, of course. Ma’at is onyour side, Father. We will see the Horus Throne returned to us before next New Year’s Day!” Looking into the sixteenyear-old’s bright eyes Seqenenra wondered whether Ahmose indeed believed that the Setiu would be driven out of Egypt by then or whether he was offering cheer to the despondency he sensed in his father.
    Aahmes-nefertari tried to control her tears and could not. Sobbing, she struggled to her feet, flung her arms around Seqenenra’s neck, then fled the room. At his father’s nod Si-Amun went after her. Tani clung to her mother, her eyes huge and frightened.
    “Father, this is treason,” she whispered. “The gods will punish you. What will I do without you? Why are you doing this to me?” There was nothing he could say. To Tani this suicide must seem the height of selfishness.
    “What can I do?” Tetisheri asked quietly.
    “Keep the estate running as normally as possible, you and Aahotep. Make excuses for my absences. Deflect questions.” His shoulders slumped. He had been about to say that it did not matter in the end, but the sight of Tani’s disfigured, uncomprehending face had stilled his tongue.
    Uni had spluttered and expostulated when Seqenenra had told him why he needed a full accounting and a revision of the budget of his governorship.
    “This is madness, Prince. Madness!” he had shouted. “I shall have to purify myself of this stain every day so that the gods will not punish me!” Wearily Seqenenra heard him out without rebuking him for his insolence.
    “Uni, I know that like Mersu your ancestors were Setiu,” he said. “You are free to leave my service and do what you wish with the information I have given you, but pleaseknow that I need you.” Uni had bowed shortly and turned away sullenly.
    “I will make a report on the state of your holdings, Prince,” he had muttered. “I will also glean a list of new sources of revenue. If there are any.” He had stalked away stiff with anger and Seqenenra had let him go. In spite of his outrage he had indirectly given Seqenenra the answer he craved.
    He did not have much time to reflect on his undertaking. His days were spent with Ahmose in the burning heat of the desert behind the western cliffs watching Hor-Aha and his new officers try to beat and cajole the new men into soldiers. New bows were coming out of the craftsmen’s shops. A substitute for the unobtainable birch wood had been found. Hor-Aha had experimented unsuccessfully with various possibilities until out of desperation he had applied his glue to the stripped ribs of palm branches. The results were surprisingly good, and once full production was underway, he had left the task to the military craftsmen and had turned his attention to the recruits.
    Seqenenra and his younger son sweated with the rest, enduring Hor-Aha’s taunts and insults as they struggled to draw the bows. Both had experience with the weapons but had only used them for an occasional friendly competition. Now they worked in earnest, Ahmose glorying in his swift progress, Seqenenra grimly drawing and loosing, cursing under his breath, feeling time flow by him like the river in flood while Ra tried to boil his blood and blister his skin.
    Sometimes Si-Amun came to the practice ground and stood beside his father and brother, handling the bow with silent preoccupation or racing in his chariot during themock charges Hor-Aha had decreed, but he did not appear often. Seqenenra tried to force aside his disappointment in his son and behave as though all was well, but Si-Amun had withdrawn into an icy arrogance. At meals, in the temple, during the informal moments of each day when the family gathered by the pool, Si-Amun’s eyes slipped past the gaze of his