Desert God

The troops from the Cretan camp who had survived the destruction of the pontoon bridge were drawn up on the open river-bank in full battle array. The officers commanding them had chosen a point where the navigable channel ran close to the bank. The ranks of their archers were lining the edge of the water, as close as they could get to the channel. They were prepared for us to attempt to run the gauntlet towards the north to reach the open sea. Their bows were strung and every one of them had an arrow nocked and ready to draw.

Four of their senior officers, those with the tallest plumes in their helmets and the most decorations glittering on their breasts and shoulders, were mounted. They sat their horses behind the formations of archers, preparing to direct the arrows of their men at us as we passed on our way down to the Middle Sea.

Their astonishment was apparent as they watched us make the turn into the southern branch of the channel and begin to sail away from them. For a short while none of them reacted. Only when the trireme commanded by Dilbar followed our ship into the turn did they start to move. Then when Akemi, whose ship was bringing up the rear of our squadron, followed us around the voices of the Cretan officers shouting orders became frantic. They carried clearly to me across the water, and I laughed as I watched them spurring their horses back along the river-bank in a futile attempt to head us off.

The Cretan archers broke their perfectly ordered ranks and in an untidy rabble ran after their officers, but as we began remorselessly to pull away from all of them they stopped. They lifted their bows and sent volley after volley of arrows arching after us on a high trajectory. However, these all fell pitifully short and plopped into the wake of Akemi’s ship.

The mounted officers refused to abandon the chase. They flogged their mounts and drove them down the towpath to try and catch up with our flotilla. When gradually they came level with Akemi’s trireme they drew their swords. They stood in the stirrups shouting abuse and wild challenges across the water at Akemi’s men.

Akemi had my strict orders not to shoot arrows at the Minoans. Although they would have made an easy target for his archers on the upper deck of his trireme, he and his crew ignored them. This seemed to infuriate the Minoans. They galloped up the towpath, passing first Akemi’s ship and then that of Dilbar. At last they came level with where I stood in the leading ship.

On my orders our men made no attempt to conceal themselves. The quartet of Cretan officers was able to examine our authentic Hyksos uniforms and accoutrements from a distance of a mere hundred paces as they pounded along the towpath keeping pace with our ship.

By this time they had pursued us for well over three leagues, and their horses were beginning to tire rapidly. When the onshore breeze from the Middle Sea began to rise in volume, driving us southwards, we pulled away from them steadily. The towpath deteriorated into swamp. The hooves of the horses threw up clods of black mud and the struggling animals sank to their knees in the muck. They were forced to abandon the pursuit. They reined in their horses and watched forlornly as we sailed away from them.

I was well pleased with how it had all turned out. The Minoan officers had seen all that I had wanted them to see, which was three shiploads of Hyksos pirates with five hundred lakhs of the Supreme Minos’ silver bullion heading southwards down the river towards the capital city of King Beon at Memphis.

Now it was time to begin the transformation into our next role. I gave the orders for the Cretan uniforms and weapons that we had captured at the Tamiat fort to be brought up on deck. Then our men, laughing and joking, stripped off their Hyksos uniforms and gear and replaced them with the full panoply of Minoan military splendour, from gilded helmets and engraved swords to knee boots of fine soft leather.

Both Akemi and Dilbar had my strict orders not to allow their men to jettison their discarded Hyksos uniforms into the river. If these were to be washed down by the current and retrieved by the Minoan troops at Tamiat, then my deception would be discovered.

It would not take a great leap of imagination for the Cretans to realize how we had bamboozled them. So I had the discarded Hyksos equipment bundled up securely and packed away below decks.

With the wind directly behind us, our sails bulging and our banks of oars rising and falling like the silver wings of a wedge of great white swans in flight, we ran on southwards. These Minoan triremes were the largest and swiftest ships afloat. Despite the massive burden of men and silver they carried their speed was exhilarating. Added to the speed there was an infectious excitement in knowing that we were heading homewards which put my men in high spirits.

As we left the delta and its myriad tributaries behind us and sailed out at last into the main river the three ships of our flotilla spread out into a line abreast and raced each other southwards. The crews shouted challenges and friendly abuse from one trireme to the other.

We flew past anchored fishing boats and swiftly overtook other small vessels laden with produce and trade goods. In passing I could look down into them from the height of our upper deck. I saw a few Egyptian faces amongst the crews who stared up at us in astonishment as we passed them, but most of them were Hyksos.

It is a simple matter for me to tell the difference between these two races. My Egyptians are a handsome people with lively and intelligent faces, high foreheads, large widely spaced eyes, and finely etched features. In short, one is usually able to tell at a glance that they are a superior race.

The Hyksos on the other hand have very few of these attributes. I am not in any way mindlessly prejudiced against them. However, I do have every reason to loathe them with a deep and bitter hatred. They are thieves and bandits; every one of them, with no exception whatsoever. They delight in cruelty and torture. Their coarse and guttural language offends the ears of civilized men. They worship Seth who is the foulest of all the gods. They have stolen our land from us, and enslaved our people.

But I am not a bigot. I abhor those who are. Indeed I have tried my very best to find laudable traits in the Hyksos national character. All the gods know that it is not my fault that I have discovered none.

Now as I looked down upon examples of this unfortunate race, an idle thought occurred to me that at some time in future it might be appropriate for me to express my disapproval in a more definite and unambiguous manner. I should make a gesture that even King Beon might fully recognize as being well deserved.

That will be a joyous day indeed for all Egyptians, I mused. I smiled, and then the thought hardened in my mind: Why should that day not be sooner rather than later? The entire plan sprang into my mind almost fully formed, conception to birth taking place in moments.

I had seen a number of papyrus scrolls and a writing tablet in the captain’s cabin on the lower deck. The Cretans are a literate people. They employ a variation of cuneiform not dissimilar to that of the Sumerians. I can read and recognize the symbols although I confess that at that time I was not yet conversant with the Minoan language.

As one would expect, the Hyksos are entirely illiterate. However, I had learned through my spies that they have captured and enslaved Egyptian scribes whom they force to read, write and translate our hieroglyphics for them.

I also knew that they had learned from these same scribes the use of birds in sending their messages swiftly over great distances. Like the apes the Hyksos are great imitators; although they are seldom able to solve a problem with original thought, they are often able to plagiarize the inventions of greater minds than their own.

I excused myself from Zaras with a few short words and hurried down into the cabin below the main deck. The writing equipment was where I had last seen it. It was contained in an ornate casket decorated with miniature paintings of Thoth, the ibis-headed god of writing.

I sat cross-legged on the deck and opened the writing case. To my delight I saw that apart from the papyrus scrolls of different sizes and shapes, and a selection of brushes and ink blocks, the case contained four miniature pods the size of my thumbnail, skilfully woven from strands of hair from a horse’s mane. The pods could be knotted to the leg of one of the common pigeons that we breed for eating. These birds also have a strange ability to return unerringly to the same coop in which they were hatched from the egg, unwittingly carrying with them one of the tiny message pods attached to their leg.

Swiftly I chose a scrap of papyrus small enough to fit into a pigeon pod. Then I selected the finest of the writing brushes and ground a fresh batch of ink from the block of carbon.

I did not have to ponder the composition of my message for it was clear in my mind. When necessary I am able to form hieroglyphics which are not only tiny and closely painted but also lucid and legible, for I have been gifted with a fine writing hand.

‘To mighty Beon, Pharaoh of Upper and Lower Egypt.’ I opened with the customary salutation. Of course he was none of these things, but those attributes are amongst those to which he aspires. ‘I, Supreme Minos of Crete, greet you. As an earnest of my friendship and favour I am sending to Your Grace three of my great treasure ships laden with tribute. They will sail on the second day of the month of Epiphi from my outpost at Tamiat in the delta of the Nile. I trust that they will reach your palace at Memphis on the fifth day of that same month. I have delayed informing you of these events until the final hours to prevent this intelligence falling into the hands of evil men before it comes to your noble attention. I trust in your amity to receive these gifts in the same spirit of respect and accord as that in which they are sent.’

As soon as the ink on it dried I rolled my little scroll carefully and placed it in one of the pigeon pods. This I sealed with a glue of gum arabic. Then I left the cabin and descended to the lower deck and went to the door of the cargo hold.

The lock had not been repaired since Zaras’ rough treatment. It opened readily to my hand. I closed it again behind me. The chest which I had opened to inspect its contents stood apart. The lid was not firmly secured. I prised it open again with the dagger which was part of my Cretan costume. Then I knelt beside it and took out one of the silver ingots. It was heavy but I placed it in the pouch on my belt. Then I returned to the upper deck and took my place at Zaras’ side. I spoke to him quietly so that none of the crew could hear my words.

‘Within the next hour we should reach the river port of Kuntus where Beon maintains a customs post to collect taxes from all passing ships—’

Zaras interrupted me with a chuckle. ‘That is of no consequence, Master Taita. We will not be long delayed. I will brush them aside like mosquitoes …’

‘No, Zaras. You will back your oars and sails to let the customs boat come alongside. When it does you will show them all respect. I must bespeak the tax collector, because I need his cooperation.’ I turned away to the ship’s side before he could pester me with more questions. The truth was I was uncertain of what to expect when we reached Kuntus.

We sped on up the river, taking all other shipping by complete surprise. We were the swiftest ships on the Nile. Even a man on horseback could not outrun us to give prior warning of our approach. As soon as they saw us coming up against the stream every boat tried to avoid us, either by running into the bank or by dropping their sails and turning to the north to allow the current to carry them out of our way. They did not know who we were. But in these uneasy times fraught with the smoke clouds of war looming over all the world no sensible man took chances.

When we swept around another wide bend in the river I saw the port of Kuntus lying on the east bank ahead of us. I recognized it by the tall stone-built watchtower on the hill above the town. There was a large black flag waving from a pole set on top of the tower. This was the emblem of the tax collector. I knew that he would have men posted on top of the tower to watch for any vessel that tried to slip past without paying its dues.

As we sailed closer to the port a felucca flying another black tax flag shoved off from the stone jetty of the port and set a course to intercept us in mid-river. I ordered Zaras to furl our own sails and back oars to enable the felucca to come alongside. There were a number of heavily armed Hyksos grouped on the open deck of the felucca. Zaras leaned over the side of our ship and commenced a shouted conversation with one of them, who told us that his name was Grall and that he was the provincial tax administrator.

I was greatly relieved by the fact that this conversation was in Hyksosian. If this creature Grall had addressed us in Minoan it would have been extremely awkward to try to explain how nobody on board a Minoan trireme spoke a word of the language. In that instant I determined that at the very first opportunity I would begin a study of the subject. With my ability to master foreign languages I was confident that within a mere few months I would be able to pass as a native of Crete.

From the deck of the felucca Grall was demanding in the name of King Beon to be allowed to board our ship. As I had coached him, Zaras did not demur but immediately ordered our crew to lower a rope ladder to enable Grall to come aboard. He was a wiry little man and he swarmed up the rope with the agility of an ape.

‘Are you the master of this ship?’ he demanded of Zaras. ‘It is my duty to inspect your ship’s manifest.’

‘Certainly, sir,’ Zaras agreed. ‘But first let me invite you to my cabin to partake of a glass of our excellent Minoan wine and then you shall have whatever else you require.’ He took the little man by the arm in a friendly grip and ushered him down the companionway to the master’s cabin.

Up until this time I had kept myself well in the background. Now I waited until I heard Zaras slam the door of the cabin beneath my feet. Then I followed them quietly below deck.

Zaras and I had planned this meeting carefully, and I had taken the precaution of drilling a peephole in the bulkhead through which I could watch and hear everything that took place within the cabin. Now I saw that Zaras had seated the visitor facing my peephole. Grall bore more than a passing resemblance to a poisonous giant toad. He had the same wide mouth and beady eyes. In addition his face was decorated with large warts. When he swallowed a mouthful of the wine which Zaras had poured for him his entire throat contracted as though he were gulping down a water rat, which is the favourite fare of the giant toad. I found myself fascinated by this exhibition, which was so true to nature.

‘Of course you are aware that King Beon has accorded our shipping diplomatic exemption from taxation.’ Zaras was speaking respectfully and reasonably.

‘It is for me to determine whether or not you qualify for that exemption, Captain.’ Grall lowered his wine mug. ‘However, even if you do qualify I may have to charge you for my expenses.’ His smile was sly and knowing. ‘But it will be a paltry sum, I do assure you.’

‘Of course.’ Zaras nodded. ‘All of us must live. However, I am grateful for this opportunity to speak to you in private. I need to send a message to Memphis informing King Beon of our imminent arrival. I am conveying to him a large amount of silver bars as tribute from our Supreme Minos.’ Zaras reached under the table and produced the silver ingot which I had given him earlier. He placed this on the table top between them. ‘Here is a sample.’

Grall set aside his mug slowly and fastened his gaze on the ingot. His eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets. His toad’s mouth hung open slackly so the wine dribbled over his lips and ran down into his scraggly beard. He seemed bereft of the power of speech. Probably he had never laid eyes on such a treasure in his entire lifetime.

‘I wondered if you have carrier birds here at Kuntus; birds that can fly to Memphis and take my message to your king to alert him ahead of our arrival at his capital city?’ Zaras continued.

Grall croaked and nodded his head. He was unable to answer coherently or to take his eyes off the glistening bar of silver.

‘Perhaps we should look upon this ingot as the payment for your invaluable services.’ Zaras nudged the silver bar an inch towards him. ‘A token of the accord that exists between our two great nations.’ Zaras placed the pigeon pod containing my missive beside the ingot. ‘This is the message that must be sent to your King Beon, if it so pleases you.’

One of Grall’s hands crawled across the table like a great hairy spider and spread itself over the silver ingot. He lifted it reverently and pushed it down the front of the stained leather jerkin that he wore, and knotted the fastenings. His hands were trembling with emotion. The ingot made a considerable bulge under his jerkin, but he clasped it to his breast as tenderly as a mother giving suck to her infant.