Egypt

15

We quickly accustomed ourselves to the repetitive rhythm and routine that was necessary for covering the great distances involved. We rose in the dark, travelled under the late stars, and reached the next way station, with its supplies and security, before the sun reached its zenith, to eat, rest and-where there was a water tank-wash. Pairs of young soldiers, lounging in the shade of their little huts, and army units near the villages and towns also guarded the way. Nakht’s documentation always carried us immediately through these checkpoints; as soon as they saw it, we were waved on with a brief salute of respect. I remained close to him at all times, scanning the landscape and the horizon for any signs of danger, conscious of my responsibility for his safety.

It was the harvest season; local farmers sold baskets of olives, grapes and pistachios, as well as mounds of wheat and barley at the side of the road. We were well-attended and fed with friendliness and respect. By midday the air grew impossibly hot, but a wind from the sea in the evenings-and a vivid breeze from the highlands at night-cooled the air wonderfully. I felt both exhausted and light, and I slept strangely, with powerful dreams that left a strange sad taste in my mouth. I woke often, because we were always alert. I remembered my family, and my home, and my heart ached for them; but they also seemed small and distant. Often, as I looked ahead into the distances yet to be conquered, or behind along the way we had travelled, the air shimmered with mirages. Out of these, caravans and horse riders arose to meet us, greeting us cautiously, and then continued on south. A strange sensation of unreality gradually took hold of me; I felt the darkness in my blood changing into something lighter, as if every step away from Egypt was turning me into a different man. Into a stranger; a man without a home.

We were soon travelling through a much less hospitable, much more remote, part of northern Canaan; here the few villages that served the Way of Horus were poor and squalid. The great fertile agrarian hinterland to the east had given way to barren highlands, grey and green and white, that encroached close to our path. Beyond them, in the clear distance, I glimpsed mountains far greater than any I had ever seen in Egypt. Instead of farmers, we mostly encountered shepherds and their straggling herds of goats, grazing on the sparse scrub that now covered the landscape. And as we passed through the increasingly impoverished villages, I noticed glances of undisguised unfriendliness, and the abusive chatter of unseen children in a language we could not understand. Sometimes stones from unseen assailants would land near us from a hideout of rocks or grasses.

And as we continued onwards I began to be haunted by the skin-crawling instinct that we were being followed, traced by unseen figures hiding just out of sight. Every gnarled tree, every rock, every derelict hovel seemed to suggest danger; my dagger was constantly in my hand. I might have thought myself paranoid, had I not also noticed the same tension in our guards; they, too, held their weapons ready, and their arrows primed in their bows. Hattusa’s two bodyguards never left his side, and I was Nakht’s shadow. So a few days later, when the next way station, with its familiar square mud-brick walls, and central lookout tower, finally rose up out of another of the mirages and became real, we were all quietly relieved.

But as we entered through the big wooden doorway, under the crenellated walls, and came into the courtyard, expecting a respectful welcome and some measure of comfortable accommodation, we found the crude wooden furniture had been smashed and broken up; most of it had been burned on a fire which had gone out some time before, leaving ashes that drifted around. A few untethered goats helped themselves to whatever they could find, and the floor was scattered with goat-shit. But most surprisingly of all, the place was full of native people: poor, evidently hungry herders and their families, huddled silently in the shade, gazing at us with fearful eyes.

Nakht was furious.

‘What has happened here? This is a disgrace. Find the captain.’

I found him in his stifling little chamber. He was drunk, curled up in the corner, his head crooked to one side, his mouth wide open, his hands clasped together like a child. His heavy linen headdress, which should have served as his helmet, had fallen askew, revealing his bushy hair. A tame little jackal was waiting patiently at his feet, guarding him; it snapped at me as I approached. This woke the captain, who peered at me with bloodshot, bleary eyes. Suddenly he threw his arms around me, blubbing like a baby. I could hardly make sense of his words, but it was clear he was overjoyed to see me.

‘Forgive me,’ he said, eventually, wiping his tears. ‘It has been such a long time since I saw a friendly Egyptian face. A true face from home.’

‘I think you’d better be ready to explain yourself to some less friendly Egyptian faces,’ I said.

I hauled him into the courtyard, where he stood swaying and rubbing his eyes at the sight of Nakht glaring at him.

‘Ambassador, please forgive these appalling circumstances. If you will be patient, I will have everything quickly organized for your comfort,’ Nakht said to Hattusa.

‘I certainly hope so. This is not what one expects of an Egyptian military garrison,’ replied Hattusa, and he retired angrily to the shade, to wait.

Nakht took the captain inside for a dressing-down, while Simut and his men set about imposing some sort of order on the chaos, commanding the extended local families to leave-which they did with extreme reluctance, wailing, pleading and remonstrating in their strange language.

‘I would have thought a place this far north would definitely have a proper set of guards, not just one drunken captain left to cope on his own. There isn’t even a mule to carry supplies. It’s as if the whole place has been abandoned,’ said Simut.

‘Haven’t you noticed? These people are terrified of what’s outside these walls,’ I replied.

‘Perhaps they’re only afraid of missing out on the free food and water,’ he countered, as he watched his men round up the last stragglers, and shoo an elderly couple away.

‘No, there’s something else,’ I said. ‘They’re nomadic herders. They would only take shelter here out of fear for their lives.’

‘So what are you suggesting?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. But I think we should question the captain. And we should make sure all your men are on guard all through the rest period.’

Nakht and Ambassador Hattusa ate and rested in a chamber we cleared for them, arranging the travelling furniture as well as possible. Simut and I settled down outside in the courtyard to a meal of bread and goat-meat stew prepared by a mad old woman in the garrison kitchen who had adamantly refused to leave her pots and fires, insisting in her own toothless tongue on her right to remain. As we were eating our way through the bony meal, and discussing the strange state of affairs there, the captain himself appeared. He had the grace to look ashamed of himself, and had made some effort to smarten up. His heavy linen headdress was now set correctly on his head.

I invited him to join us, and he sat down gratefully, cross-legged, next to me. He looked hugely hungover, but when he saw the wine jug-for Nakht had brought with him what he called ‘a modest sufficiency’ to share among us on the journey-his eyes brightened, and a big smile graced his stubbled face. To Simut’s annoyance, I poured him a generous measure in one of the crude, cracked mugs which were all the station could offer.

‘Life, prosperity, health! To the King!’

The captain saluted, and then drank the wine, closing his eyes with pleasure.

‘Do you know, to taste fine Egyptian wine, in the company of fine Egyptian men like yourselves, is a pleasure I thought I had lost for ever,’ he said, mournfully.

I thought for a moment he was going to cry, and indeed tears had begun to spring once more to his eyes.

‘This wine tastes of home. I salute you, comrades. You have brought me joy. Yes. Joy abounding…’

And he nodded, drank deeply to confirm the deep truth of his statement, and then attended hungrily to his food.

‘How long have you been in charge of this garrison?’ I asked him.

‘Six years,’ he replied, his face falling deeper into depression. ‘Six long, hard, lonely years. It feels like an eternity. But this is the fate of soldiers like myself. A long tour of duty in a miserable dump like this is the only way up the ladder of promotion. When I get back to Memphis, I’ll be set up for life. In return for this hopeless existence, I’ve been promised a quiet post in one of the division headquarters. Weaponry, I hope. Yes, I like weaponry… And then I’ll find a wife. And have a family. Before it’s too late…’

‘Tell us how it has been for you here,’ I asked.

He looked at me, as if surprised I should even care. His eyes were crazed, glassy like the glaze on a cheap dish.

‘I have been dwelling in Damnationville!’ he cried. ‘I’ve had no support, no company, no supplies, no letters; and although I’ve received promises of these things, nothing has arrived. Nothing. Not even messages. The supplies I brought with me are long gone; and there aren’t even any mules, they’ve all been stolen or eaten. So I spend the day observing the birds, and fishing, and watching the way, and all the while suffering such terrible homesickness…’

Simut and I glanced at each other.

Quietly, Simut asked: ‘I find it hard to believe the army of General Horemheb would simply abandon you to this situation. Where are the other men? Where are your fellow soldiers?’

‘Gone!’ cried the captain. ‘Probably dead,’ he added, nodding his head. ‘After they deserted, they most likely didn’t make it. They’ll be nothing but bones by now.’

‘And what of their replacements? Surely this post has strategic value?’ asked Simut.

‘Strategic value? Of course it has strategic value! But I’ve been abandoned! No one comes here, other than the one platoon, once in a while, and they share nothing of their own, even though they are plentifully supplied with excellent food and wine, and then they leave, without saying a word. They never invite me to drink or eat with them. No, they don’t even spare me a kind word.’

‘Which platoon are you talking about?’ I asked.

Suddenly the captain looked as if he regretted his words. He pushed his mug forward for more wine, which I refused to give him until he answered my question.

‘I cannot say,’ he said warily. ‘I cannot remember.’

‘You will remember if you wish to drink more of the taste of home,’ I replied.

He scowled, caught out.

‘They are a platoon from the Seth division.’

Simut and I glanced at each other. The Seth division was from the delta. They were known to be fiercely loyal to General Horemheb. The captain nodded expectantly. I poured him wine.

‘I shouldn’t be talking so much. They made me swear never to speak of them, but I’ve no one else to talk to, except that mad old bitch in the kitchen, and neither of us has a clue what the other’s saying.’

Simut was suddenly angry.

‘You are a soldier of the Egyptian army, and a representative of the powers of the King of Egypt. Why have you allowed this place to fall into such a mess? Where is your sense of duty? You are a disgrace to your uniform!’

The captain rose to his feet, reluctantly, and with the last of his pride he smoothed out his creased, food-stained kilt and tunic.

‘You are right, sir. But I am alone here. I live in fear. I have nothing to depend on. Every night I pray to the Gods to guard me, so that I may live to see Ra rise upon another day.’

‘Why are you afraid?’ I asked quickly. ‘Why were all those herders afraid?’

‘They are everywhere,’ he answered. ‘They attack by night. They destroy everything. They spare no one.’

‘Who do?’ I said.

‘The Apiru!’ he whispered furtively.

I confess a shiver ran down my spine at the mention of this notorious name. And yet I might have laughed at the absurdity of his manner.

‘The Apiru were wiped out years ago,’ said Simut contemptuously.

‘Perhaps,’ replied the captain. ‘But I can assure you they are very much alive again.’

He turned to go, but I still had one question.

‘Why did this platoon from the Seth division swear you to secrecy?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘They promised I would be killed if I spoke of them. But you won’t say anything, will you?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘I won’t say anything.’

Simut and I retired to our pallets for the afternoon’s rest.

‘Do you think he was talking nonsense?’ I said.

‘He’s a drunk, he’s failed in his duty, he’s no idea what’s going on. Why would I take such a man’s absurd claims seriously?’ Simut said. But he looked distinctly anxious.

‘But what if he’s right? That would explain why the herders were afraid to leave. And a merchant’s caravan like ours is a prime target for the Apiru,’ I said.

‘Even if he’s right, they’d be no match for my guards. The Apiru were only ever a bunch of disaffected bandits. And their hunting grounds were known to be far away to the north-east.’

And he went outside to check on his men.

I lay back, my hands behind my head, thinking. The Apiru’s reputation as a wild band of notorious killers had once spread far and wide. It was said they roved across the Levant, plundering, massacring and destroying villages and small towns. Marginal, lawless people, without ethnic or religious affiliation, they were mostly escaped convicts, slaves and horse-thieves who had formed into bands of mercenaries, often for hire by small-scale despots and chieftains in petty local wars. They were known to have caused chaos and bloodshed in Canaan, especially in Byblos and Megiddo, and the other cities of the Levant coast during the time of Akhenaten. But Simut was right: that was years ago, and they were said to have destroyed themselves through internal power struggles. And so no one took them seriously any more.

I pulled the remaining papyrus from my leather bag, and stared at it. The black star; the star of chaos, of nothingness, of disorder and disaster. It was not an Egyptian sign. And it made no sense to connect it to the Apiru, if they still existed, for they were known only to range in the badlands of the north-east. The killers of the new Thebes cartel were, from what I could tell, highly trained. I wondered about the platoon from the Seth division, and their cargo. Were they perhaps Horemheb’s private division? Were they part of his intelligence network? But if so, why would they habitually travel along a route if they knew it to be vulnerable to attack from a band of mercenaries? Something was not making sense. And it would not let me sleep.