Free The Hippopotamus Marsh by Pauline Gedge Page B

trembling.
    “May I read?” he asked tersely. Seqenenra nodded.
    “Read it aloud. I may have misinterpreted a portion of the script.” Kamose and Si-Amun exchanged a swift glance, then Kamose picked up the scroll. His eyes ran rapidly over it and he cleared his throat.
    “‘To my …’”
    “Not the salutation!” Seqenenra cut in harshly. “That hypocrite!” Uni started, then regained his composure beside the desk. Kamose continued.
    “Very well, Father. ‘For a time I slept peacefully in my palace, disturbed by no more than the night cries of birds, butsoon once more the coughing of your hippopotamuses intruded on my dreams so that my voice is weak and my eyes are dim from lack of rest. The muzzles of your leather-workers have not prevented the beasts from tormenting their King. Therefore I have consulted with the priests of Set the Mighty, whose children the hippopotamuses are, to enquire of them why the god’s charges are still calling to me.’” Kamose paused, even his customary control almost deserting him. Seqenenra sat rigid, his mouth grim, looking down at his tightly clasped hands. Si-Amun’s patience was a motionless, tense thing. Taking a deep breath, Kamose went on. “‘The children of the god are angry because their lord’s homes are far from Weset. They are sad because there are no priests to do them homage. Therefore I, Awoserra Apepa, Beloved of Set, recommend to you, Seqenenra, that a southern home be built for my lord the god Sutekh so that he may be worshipped in Weset and his children may be appeased. When word of this intention becomes known in the nomes of the governor of Weset, the people will rejoice, and will flock to the site of the god’s home to build it, and will make tribute to the god’s servants who will tend it. If the governor of the south does not answer my message, let him no longer serve any other god besides Sutekh, but if he makes answer and he does what I tell him to do, I will take nothing whatsoever from him and I will bow myself down never again before any other god in the whole earth besides Amun, the King of the gods.’” Kamose put the scroll on the desk with exaggerated care and folded his arms.
    “I am surprised that he had the intelligence to string so many coherent words together all at once,” Seqenenra grated. “Filthy aati!” The anger that had sprung upon himwith such familiarity and had so shocked him during the intense and now almost forgotten exchange with Teti burst into immediate life. Its sudden force balled in his stomach and he winced. Si-Amun started forward.
    “Father, you are speaking blasphemy,” he said, his face pale. “Think whom you are calling a fever and a pestilence! It is true that Set has no temple south of Khemennu. It is possible that the god is displeased. That he spoke to the King through his children and his priests.” Si-Amun’s sweat was soaking the band of his short black wig and trickling down his neck, and the stifling heat in the room seemed to intensify. “If he wants a home here in Weset, you must comply.” Seqenenra looked up at him slowly.
    “A son who says ‘must’ to his father is in danger of discipline,” he snapped, but he was calmer. “Of course, it is possible that the god spoke to his priests, but I do not think so. Kamose?” The young man began to pace.
    “I do not think so either, Father. Apepa is tightening the vise. A temple for Set here will mean royal representatives in Weset at all times. Our every move will be watched. For us and for the nomes it means large numbers of conscripted farmers for construction and an even heavier tribute to pay architects, stonemasons, engineers.” He reached the step that led down between the small lotus pillars to the garden beyond, turned, began a measured walk back. “If we agree to the King’s veiled command, our lives will change forever. We will lose whatever freedom we may have. If we refuse, we give him an excuse to charge us with