By the middle of the hot season we had secured all the mines, pushing the Kushites back until they were forced to make a stand. Our chariot squadrons were deployed, we made the offering to Horus; incense was burned on a scalding rock, we intoned the litany of supplication and hitched up our horses, now not so plump, ribs showing through their dusty coats but still eager and ready for war. We deployed in a line of battle. The Veiled One sent a messenger to Colonel Perra: he wanted to be with us. Perra shrugged and, shamefaced, Horemheb ordered Sobeck to stand down whilst we waited for him to arrive. He came leaning on his cane, walking in ungainly fashion in his leather kilt and jerkin. He wore no sandals and his head was now completely shaven: the reddish-haired sidelock had gone. The Veiled One had decided he was now an adult, a warrior. He climbed into the chariot beside me, grasped the reins, nodded to his left and right, then passed his hand gently up and down my arm.
‘You wonder why?’ he murmured. ‘Because I have to, Mahu. My Father wishes it.’
I was sweat-streaked, thirsty and tired.
‘Your father?’ I asked. ‘The Magnificent One?’
‘The One I love, Mahu, who is in the very air I breathe.’ He wrapped the reins round his wrists and glanced away. Colonel Perra and Horemheb were now moving their chariots forward, standards displayed.
‘Horus the Victor!’ a lector priest intoned. ‘Spread your wings above us. Devour the enemy! Let your heart be with us!’
The refrain was taken up by the rest. I remained silent. The Veiled One whispered a different prayer to his Father, face turned towards the sun. Ahead of us lay the Kushite host, formed into three distinct battalions across the desert, blocking our advance. They carried their own grisly standards, long poles bearing the heads of slaughtered Egyptians, and their raucous war-chant echoed across the plain. I was aware of the sweat, the clinging dust, the shifting heat haze, the hordes of flies. I briefly thought of Aunt Isithia and wished she was with me, to suffer from the flies. The Veiled One was singing softly under his breath. Horemheb was eager to move, the Horus squadron taking pride of place in the centre of the battleline. Perra, shading his eyes, seemed anxious.
‘The Kushite line is moving,’ the Veiled One whispered.
I strained my eyes. The heat haze hung like a shifting veil between us and the enemy. At first I thought my eyes were playing tricks.
‘They are moving,’ I replied. ‘They are retreating!’
They were gone. Horemheb was furious. He insisted on a pursuit, and a shouting match broke out between him and Colonel Perra, who was determined that we would stay in line and not follow.
‘It’s a trap,’ he warned Horemheb. ‘Only the gods know where they have gone or what they can see.’
In the end he had his way. Our battleline broke up and we drifted back to the camp. The Veiled One threw the reins at me, grasped his cane and left the chariot without a second glance. We fortified the camp and made ready lest the Kushites attack. Colonel Perra was now in constant communication with the army high command. Now the province behind us was clear of a hostile force, messengers could move quickly backwards and forwards. Late that evening, just before darkness, a chariot pulled by the finest horses in the imperial stables clattered into the camp. The messenger reported to Colonel Perra, who came to discuss the matter with Horemheb and the rest of the Horus unit. Colonel Perra was anxious and dust-streaked. Despite his personal bravery and military bluster, Perra depended heavily on Horemheb for advice and guidance.
‘I have news,’ Perra peered down at us squatting in a circle round the fire, ‘from the Viceroy himself.’ He held up the sheet of papyrus, kissed the seal mark and showed it to us. We bowed our heads. ‘The Kushite chiefs have sued for peace and are eager to surrender. Early tomorrow morning I am to go out to accept their surrender.’
‘I’ll come.’ Horemheb got to his feet.
Rameses of course joined him.
‘That’s why they vanished, wasn’t it?’ Huy remarked. ‘A last act of defiance.’
‘I don’t care about that.’ Perra made a cutting movement with his hand. ‘Horemheb, you will stay. I will go with five chariots and some Nakhtu-aa. You will be left in command. Oh,’ Perra smiled grimly at me, ‘and you are to come with me.’
‘He will not accompany you.’
I whirled round. The Veiled One, dressed in a beautiful gauffered linen robe, sandals on his feet and a blue and gold striped head-dress covering his scalp, stood resting on his cane beneath a palm tree. He walked slowly forwards.
‘Colonel Perra, you received a message? I was not informed!’
‘My lord.’ Perra coughed and cleared his throat.
‘I accept your apologies.’ The Veiled One’s voice was terse and clipped. ‘But you will not take Mahu. He will stay and guard me. The Strong-Arm Boys are to accompany you.’
Colonel Perra glanced at Horemheb who shrugged.
‘Your wish is my command.’
The Veiled One turned and marched off into the darkness.
The next morning Colonel Perra left. He and the accompanying four chariots clattered off, the Nakhtu-aa running beside them. Horemheb was anxious. He insisted that the camp remain on a war footing: shields up around the defensive perimeter, carts pulled across the entrance, every unit ready for battle. At first I thought he was showing off to the rest of us. I had been taken aback by the Veiled One’s intervention and wondered why, but he never sent for me or asked me to stay near him.
As the day grew on I began to share Horemheb’s unease. In the late afternoon a look-out cried that Perra was returning. I joined Horemheb on the perimeter. The entrance carts were pulled back as the chariots emerged from the cloud of dust, men running alongside them.
‘Well, it’s over,’ Pentju sighed behind us, ‘and the gods be thanked. We have done our service to Pharaoh and now we can go home, the ever-conquering heroes.’
I and others drifted away as Horemheb went down to the gates to await the Colonel. I was by the pool wetting my lips when the alarm was raised. I raced back on the path. Horemheb was screaming; the carts had been pulled across and the chariots swung through. A nightmare. The driver was not from our corps but a Kushite wearing Colonel Perra’s head-dress and uniform. Each chariot had a thornbush attached to it to raise the dust and conceal the surprise attack. Perra and his group must have been slaughtered and their chariots and uniforms taken to penetrate the camp. Horemheb’s warning had given us some respite. Conch horns and trumpets wailed. Every man was still ready for battle but the Kushite foot burst into the camp and a bloody hand-to-hand struggle took place amongst the trees. The first chariot contained only two, those behind more warriors, whilst enemy foot raced up the escarpment knocking aside our shields, eager to cause devastation. Chaos ensued, not so much a battle but separate fighting as our units clashed with this group or turned to face another. Corpses bobbed in the still water of the pool. Cooking pots and carts were overturned, a small well-armed group of Kushites reached the horselines to hamstring our mounts.
Horemheb saved the day, organising a phalanx of Menfyt and leading them forward to clear the camp. I struggled through the press, lashing out with sword or club or whatever weapon was at hand. A Kushite who had speared one of our lector priests slipped around a tree, lance back, shield slightly down, exposing his soft belly. I ducked and rushed in, thrusting my dagger deep, pushing the body away and moving on. I glimpsed Pentju beneath a cart, eyes all tearful. The swirl of fighting became less intense. Stumbling, searching for a sword, I glimpsed the Veiled One’s pavilion, no guards before it as everyone had left their posts. I lifted the flap and entered. The Veiled One was on his knees trying to strap on his leather kilt, fingers fumbling with the thongs. I heard a sound and turned. Two Kushites had slipped through the entrance: they separated, shields up, moving their spears backwards and forwards. I glimpsed the Veiled One’s khopesh and grasped it with two hands. One Kushite closed but he was nervous, leading with his shield. I crashed into him and knocked him aside; the other, slightly crouched, jabbed at me with his spear-point, but missed. I lashed out, slicing off his arm just beneath the elbow. The man staggered away, blood spurting, face contorted with pain. I turned, the other one was scrambling to his feet. I swung the khopesh and its razor edge sliced deep into his head, cutting through the top part of his skull, shearing it away as if it was the top of an egg. The pavilion was rent by screams, hot blood spurting, splashing my leg. I closed, hacking down with my sword on the Kushite’s chest. I was screaming, sweat pouring down me.