armed men fell across them, and the sound of one of the water jugs smashing on the ground echoed clearly in the limpid air. One of them screamed. Both of them turned and ran shrieking into a narrow lane between the squat mud houses and impassively Kamose watched them go. “No one is to disembark and no arrow is to be loosed until I give the word,” he called to Hor-Aha. “Stand to arms.”
Dashlut was stirring in the wake of the girls’ loud panic. Anxious faces began to appear, sleepy, puzzled, wary, and a whispering crowd began to gather, well away from the silent men on the decks. A few children straggled closer, staring up at them in wonder until sharp words from the women sent them scurrying back. Kamose waited.
At last the throng parted and Kamose felt his brother tense beside him. The mayor of Dashlut was approaching, the confidence of his stride belied by the expression of alarm on his face. He was accompanied by two distinctly apprehensive officials. They came to a halt near the foot of Kamose’s ramp and stood for a moment irresolute. Kamose continued to wait. The mayor inhaled visibly. “I am Setnub, mayor of Dashlut,” he called. “Who are you and what is this force? Do you come from the Delta?”
“You are addressing King Kamose the First, Beloved of Amun,” Kamose’s herald called back. “Prostrate yourselves.” A sigh of mirth passed through the listening crowd and the mayor smiled.
“I believe I am honoured to be speaking to the Prince of Weset,” he said, bowing. “Forgive me, but is the King not on his throne in Het-Uart? What passes here?” Kamose stepped forward and looked down.
“He will not be on the throne much longer,” he said smoothly. “I am reclaiming my birthright, Setnub, Mayor of Dashlut, and I demand the surrender of this town in the name of Amun.” One of the men beside Setnub began to laugh and an answering chorus broke out behind him. The townspeople swayed.
“Highness, you are in the Mahtech nome,” the mayor responded promptly. “The governor of this nome is Teti of Khemmenu and his overlord is His Majesty Awoserra Apepa Living-for-Ever. What you are asking makes no sense.”
“He has fallen under the special protection of the gods,” the other official murmured, and Kamose heard him.
“No, I am not insane,” he rebuked the man. “I have five hundred bowmen present and four divisions of foot soldiers marching towards Dashlut to give weight to the clarity of my sanity. Setnub, I ask you once again, will you surrender Dashlut or take the consequences?” The mayor flushed angrily.
“You are a Prince, Highness, and I am nothing but an administrator,” he said. “I cannot assume such a responsibility. You must either go home to Weset or sail on and put your request to our governor.” The combination of condescension and bluster in his voice caused a wave of muttered indignation among the Followers, but Kamose was unperturbed.
“These are harrowing times, Setnub,” he replied evenly. “A man may be compelled to assume many decisions beyond the scope of his authority or ability. This is such a moment. Surrender or be destroyed.” The mayor glanced towards the garrison which had disgorged a group of men who were clutching various weapons and looking about with a confusion that was rapidly becoming vigilance.
“Surrender?” the mayor shouted. “You have indeed lost your wits! I would be the laughing stock of every town administrator in Egypt! I would lose my position and perhaps even my freedom!”
“Would you rather lose your freedom or your life?” Kamose said quietly. The mayor whitened.
“Ridiculous,” he spluttered. “Remember Qes, Prince Kamose, and go home!”
He does not understand, Kamose thought. He sees but does not see my soldiers. They do not belong to the reality of Dashlut on a warm and sunny morning, therefore they do not exist. Deliberately he held out a hand and the captain of the Followers laid an arrow on his palm.
Dashlut was stirring in the wake of the girls’ loud panic. Anxious faces began to appear, sleepy, puzzled, wary, and a whispering crowd began to gather, well away from the silent men on the decks. A few children straggled closer, staring up at them in wonder until sharp words from the women sent them scurrying back. Kamose waited.
At last the throng parted and Kamose felt his brother tense beside him. The mayor of Dashlut was approaching, the confidence of his stride belied by the expression of alarm on his face. He was accompanied by two distinctly apprehensive officials. They came to a halt near the foot of Kamose’s ramp and stood for a moment irresolute. Kamose continued to wait. The mayor inhaled visibly. “I am Setnub, mayor of Dashlut,” he called. “Who are you and what is this force? Do you come from the Delta?”
“You are addressing King Kamose the First, Beloved of Amun,” Kamose’s herald called back. “Prostrate yourselves.” A sigh of mirth passed through the listening crowd and the mayor smiled.
“I believe I am honoured to be speaking to the Prince of Weset,” he said, bowing. “Forgive me, but is the King not on his throne in Het-Uart? What passes here?” Kamose stepped forward and looked down.
“He will not be on the throne much longer,” he said smoothly. “I am reclaiming my birthright, Setnub, Mayor of Dashlut, and I demand the surrender of this town in the name of Amun.” One of the men beside Setnub began to laugh and an answering chorus broke out behind him. The townspeople swayed.
“Highness, you are in the Mahtech nome,” the mayor responded promptly. “The governor of this nome is Teti of Khemmenu and his overlord is His Majesty Awoserra Apepa Living-for-Ever. What you are asking makes no sense.”
“He has fallen under the special protection of the gods,” the other official murmured, and Kamose heard him.
“No, I am not insane,” he rebuked the man. “I have five hundred bowmen present and four divisions of foot soldiers marching towards Dashlut to give weight to the clarity of my sanity. Setnub, I ask you once again, will you surrender Dashlut or take the consequences?” The mayor flushed angrily.
“You are a Prince, Highness, and I am nothing but an administrator,” he said. “I cannot assume such a responsibility. You must either go home to Weset or sail on and put your request to our governor.” The combination of condescension and bluster in his voice caused a wave of muttered indignation among the Followers, but Kamose was unperturbed.
“These are harrowing times, Setnub,” he replied evenly. “A man may be compelled to assume many decisions beyond the scope of his authority or ability. This is such a moment. Surrender or be destroyed.” The mayor glanced towards the garrison which had disgorged a group of men who were clutching various weapons and looking about with a confusion that was rapidly becoming vigilance.
“Surrender?” the mayor shouted. “You have indeed lost your wits! I would be the laughing stock of every town administrator in Egypt! I would lose my position and perhaps even my freedom!”
“Would you rather lose your freedom or your life?” Kamose said quietly. The mayor whitened.
“Ridiculous,” he spluttered. “Remember Qes, Prince Kamose, and go home!”
He does not understand, Kamose thought. He sees but does not see my soldiers. They do not belong to the reality of Dashlut on a warm and sunny morning, therefore they do not exist. Deliberately he held out a hand and the captain of the Followers laid an arrow on his palm.
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