Andre Norton - Shadow Hawk Read online

  Rahotep sat up. There were improvised pallets about the floor of the chamber. On one Kheti lay snoring, his bandaged leg bound to a spear shaft to keep it straight. On another sat Nesamun nursing his broken arm across his chest. It, too, had been expertly tended. And the other Nubians, lounging at ease or fast asleep, had the outward appearance of well- satisfied men.

  When the captain stood in the washing place with Anhor ladling the water over him, he came fully awake and fired a volley of questions at his attendants, which they answered to the best of their ability.

  Aye, Neferusi was completely under Egyptian control. The remaining Hyksos were now imprisoned in the slave warehouses.

  "But there are few of them," Ikui supplied, "for, Lord, these men are mighty fighters, and it was to their mind to go and greet their god with the blood of many enemies hot on their hands. So only a few threw down their arms before us. Rather did they choose to fight to the death. And in the inner courts there is still a tower where their lords hold the door and will not come forth, so that Pharaoh has ordered that there be no more useless killing of our men, but that a guard shall sit down there and watch until lack of food and water brings them out. And the people of this town who were slaves unto the Hyksos have come forth to 'kiss earth' before Pharaoh, rejoicing. Now they labor with us to hunt down those who hide from capture, for they hold a high hate against these horse lovers! And if the tales they tell all comers be true, then rightfully do they nurse that anger."

  "Lord"—Anhor came back into the small bathing place, clean clothing across his arm—"they have not yet brought up our baggage from the camp. But the women of this house, who had no cause to love their master, have fashioned this for your wearing before the Pharaoh. And the hour grows late—"

  The captain found his new kilt to be of the finest linen, and the belt that held it was set with garnets and gold in the form of a bull's head with gemmed eyes. There had been no striped cloth to fashion the proper headdress, so the one he wore was of a dull red. The silver bracer must serve in place of his noble's bracelets and gold-of-valor armlet for formal adornment. Somehow he had clung to his baton throughout the melee—they had found it on him when they rolled him into bed hours before.

  As he returned to the improvised barracks room, Rahotep found the archers alert and smartened up, with Kheti criticizing and scolding from his pallet, in high dudgeon because he was forbidden by the healer priest to set foot to the floor without permission.

  "You—Kakaw—" he was saying as the captain came in, "must serve as the Lord Rahotep's shield man in my place. Pull that belt tighter, goat with a sheep's wits! Let me see a line of warriors worthy to wear valor gold and not a gathering of boys not yet bearing their man scars! Intef—you stand like a shy maiden about to see her chosen lord at the paying of the marriage price. Put those shoulders back, stupid one, and that chin up. Aaah—doubtless you will march before the Son of Re as oxen ambling into the threshing floor. Lord"— he appealed to Rahotep—"speak you to that shaven skull who says that I must be bound by one leg like a gander in the field and have me cut loose so that this rabble will not altogether shame Nubia before all eyes!"

  Rahotep, with some difficulty, swallowed a smile as he inspected the line standing at attention under the tongue lashing of their invalided leader. As his own, their uniforms were improvised, but with method so that all wore kilts of the same red as his own headdress. Their headbands were proudly set with the feathers accorded a victorious warrior; even if those feathers had plainly been looted from different sources and did not match in kind or color. But each man's ax was polished and gleaming at his belt, his bow pointed skyward behind his shoulder, and he carried a filled quiver. The captain turned to Kheti.

  "This guard does you credit, Leader of Ten. They will stand proud in the presence of the Son of Re, as is their right, since they have won their plumes! Even as you, Kheti, son of Ahati, the Strong Lion, son of Forge, the Warrior of Many Shields, the son of Khorfu of the Stone Ax"—he had lapsed into the Nubian tongue of the border army, and those names and titles rolled sonorously through the room—"even as you, Kheti, who shall henceforth be known as Kheti of the Great Bow!" He raised his baton flail in salute, and behind him the archers' fists went up in the homage of their own race.

  Kheti's hands were balled in fists upon his knees as he stared back at the captain.

  "It is well, brother?" asked Rahotep softly.

  Kheti appeared to have some difficulty in answering, and when he did, it was in a small voice.

  "It is very well! Stand for the pride of the Land of the Bow before the Son of Re, that he may know we breed men in the south!"

  Kamose was holding court in what must have once been the justice hall of Neferusi. The walls were blackened with smoke, the roof had been burned away so that they stood under the open sky, and there was the smell of burning and death warring with the incense given off from the line of braziers someone had assembled between the rows of pillars that now supported nothing.

  The Pharaoh still wore the blue helmet, thus signifying that he gave audience as the leader of the army and not as the Son of Re, so his officers did not "kiss earth," but saluted as they approached upon summons. Rahotep, at the head of his small force, waited for orders.

  "The Lord Rahotep, Captain of Desert Scouts, together with his command."

  Lie heard Prince Ahmose's call and marched forward, though by custom he did not raise his eyes to the man on the improvised throne.

  "The Lord Rahotep, Commander of a Thousand!" That correction came in the usual hurried speech of the Pharaoh. He spoke as if he were harried by the passing of time, that there was so much to be done that he grudged each moment's delay.

  Rahotep went down on his knees. "Life! Health! Prosperity! May the Son of Re live forever! I am one unworthy of his notice! Let the Son of Re know that this one is less than the dust on his sandals, unused to the leading of a Thousand—" "The Thousand shall be of your own raising and training, Commander! Six bowmen stand behind you now. We would see a full regiment of their like. We are told that countrymen of theirs have been enslaved within this city, men who threw off their bonds and fought with our army. Do you seek them out and make of them a weapon for our hand. This duty do we lay upon you here and now. Giving also this 'gold of valor' that all men shall know how well you have served Egypt this day—"

  Someone had come up beside the captain, and he realized that he was to have the great honor of being handed his award by the Royal Son. He dared to glance up as the Prince Ahmose slid from his own upper arm a broad gold band supporting a dagger after the new fashion. At the same time one of the officers at the foot of the throne tossed an ornament to each of the archers.

  The silver bracer clicked against the dagger as Rahotep advanced to put his lips to the Pharaoh's sandal strap. To be whirled from a simple Scout captain to Commander of a Thousand was a dizzying experience—even if it still lay before him to bring those thousand men into line before lie had a regiment.

  He came out of the hall to face the city eagerly. Had Huy, Icar, and Menon survived the battle? Perhaps they would aid him in seeking out the men he must have.

  An officer saluted him—Methen!

  "Lord—" the older man began, but Rahotep shook his head.

  "Not 'lord,' Methen!" He dropped his hands on the other's shoulders in a kinsman's greeting. "Praise be to Re you, too, have seen the end of this fighting unmarked!" Then he stood back, planting his fists on his hips as he surveyed the city. "I do not know if I shall make a commander worthy of Pharaoh's notice, but he has set me a task and I must be about it. I need archers for bows and bows for archers! Shall we go questing for them both?"

  He went on into the murk of the city, Methen walking beside him, the Nubians at their parade tread trailing him as they had out of Kah-hi months earlier. Bis trotted soft-footed and unleashed to his right. Shadow Hawk he might be, he thought with some secret pride, but a shadow warrior he was not!

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  Andre Norton, Andre Norton - Shadow Hawk