him, and he heard him whisper, in a barely audible voice, “Sharef!” He imagined he must be talking to him, so he turned to him and found that he was looking at an ancient man carrying a basket of flowers and walking about the garden with feeble steps. The old man heard the voice calling him and he looked all around him, searching with his weak eyes for who was calling him. However, Ahmose shunned him and turned his back on him. Isfinis was astonished and threw a questioning look at Ahmose, but the young man lowered his gaze and did not say a word.
They reached the ship and went on board, and found Latu waiting for them, great concern showing on his pale face. Isfinis smiled and said, “We succeeded, through the kindness of the Lord Amun.”
The anchor was raised, the oars moved, and Isfinis had drawn close to Latu and was telling him all that had been said at the interview, when his words were interrupted by the sound of weeping. They turned toward its source and saw Ahmose leaning on the railing of the ship sobbing like a child. His appearance startled them and Isfinis remembered his strange behavior in the garden. He went up to him, followed by Latu, and, putting his hand on his shoulder, he said to him, “Ahmose, why are you crying?”
The boy did not answer, however, or give any sign he had heard a word of what was said. Instead, he surrendered himself to his tears in a transport of sorrow that rendered him oblivious to all else. Disturbed, the two men gathered round him, took him to the cabin, and sat him down between them, while Isfinis brought him a cup of water and said, “Why are you crying, Ahmose? Do you know that old man whom you called Sharef?”
Ahmose replied, shaking with the force of his tears, “How could I not know him? How could I not know him?”
Isfinis asked him in amazement, “Who is he? And why are you crying so?”
Sorrow shook Ahmose out of his silence and he gave vent to everything that was inside him, saying, “Ah, Lord Isfinis, this palace that I entered as one of your servants is my father's!”
Isfinis registered astonishment, while Latu peered at the youth's face with keen interest as he resumed his speech, absorbed in the throes of his sorrow, “This palace that Governor Khanzar has usurped is the cradle of my childhood and the playground of my youth. Between its high walls, my poor mother spent the days of her youth and ease in the protective arms of my father, before the disaster befell the land of Egypt and the invaders’ feet trod the sacred soil of Thebes.”
“Who then — was your father, Ahmose?”
“My father — was the commander of the army of our martyred sovereign Seqenenra.”
Latu said, “Commander Pepi? My God! Indeed, this is the palace of the valiant commander.”
Ahmose looked at Latu in astonishment and asked him, “Did you know my father, Lord Latu?”
“Was there any of our generation who did not know him?”
“My heart tells me that you are one of the nobles whom the invaders drove away.”
Latu fell silent, not wanting to lie to the son of Commander Pepi. Then he asked him, “And how did the life of the valiant commander end?”
“He was martyred, my lord, in the final defense of Thebes. My mother obeyed his final testament and fled with me amidst a throng of nobles to the quarter of the poor where we live now. The ancient nobility of Thebes dispersed and some of them disguised themselves in tattered clothes and escaped to the fishermen's quarter, while the family of our sovereign took a ship for an unknown destination. The temple of Amun closed its doors on its priests, all ties between them and the rest of the world severed, and it was left to the white foreigners with their beards to stroll about the land without a care, owners of all. Khanzar did the best out of it, for his sister is the king's wife and he gave him my father's estate and palace and appointed him governor of the South in reward for the crime committed at his hands.”
Latu asked him, “What crime did the governor commit?”
Ahmose had stopped crying and said in a tone of great anger, “His criminal hand it was that brought down our sovereign Seqenenra!”
Isfmis, recoiling as one touched by a searing flame, was unable to remain seated and leapt up threateningly, anger of a sort to strike terror into men's hearts drawn on his face, while Latu closed his eyes, his face pale, his breath labored. Ahmose looked from the one to the other and found, at last, people who shared his burning emotions. He raised his head to the heavens and murmured, “The Lord bless this sacred anger!”
The ship arrived at its moorings as the sun — was sinking into the Nile and the glow of evening stained the horizon. They made for Ebana's house and found the lady lighting her lamp. As soon as she became aware of their approach, she turned toward them with a smile of welcome on her lips. Latu and Isfmis came up to her and bowed to her with respect and the older man said in a solemn voice, “The Lord bless the evening of the widow of our great commander Pepi!”
The smile disappeared from her lips and her eyes widened in amazement and alarm. She fixed a look of reproof and rebuke on her son and tried to speak, but could not, her eyes brimming with tears. Ahmose went up to her, put his hands between hers, and said to her tenderly, “Mother, do not be afraid or sad! You know what kindness these two have shown me. Know too that they are, as I thought, among the ancient nobles of Thebes whom tyranny forced into exile, brought here by their longing to see the face of Egypt once again.”
The woman regained her composure and stretched out her hand to them, while they gazed at her, their faces eloquent with candor and sincerity. They all sat down close to one another and Isfmis said, “It is a great source of pride for us to sit with the widow of our brave commander Pepi, who died in defense of Thebes so that he could join his lord by the noblest of routes, and with his zealous son Ahmose.”
Ebana said, “I am truly happy that a fortunate coincidence has brought me together with two noble men of the old order. Let us reminisce together over days past and share our common feelings about the present. Ahmose is a youth full of ardor, worthy of his name, which his father gave him in honor of Ahmose, grandson of our sovereign Seqenenra and son of our king Kamose, the two being born on the same day — may the Lord bless him wherever he be!”
Latu spread his hands in support of her words and said honestly and sincerely, “The Lord keep our friend Ahmose, and his mighty namesake, wherever he be!”
12
The affection between the two traders and Ebana's family took firm hold and they lived together as one family, spending only the evenings apart. The men learned that the fishermen's quarter was crowded with people in hiding, merchants of Thebes and former owners of its estates and farms. Happy to learn this, the men desired to make the acquaintance of some of the more prominent among them, a wish that they made known to Ahmose, once they had made sure of the trustworthiness of the people. The youth welcomed the idea and chose four of those closest to his mother: Seneb, Ham, Kom, and Deeb. Having revealed to them the secret of the traders’ identity, he invited them one day to his house, where Latu and Isfinis received them. The men were dressed in the garb of the poor — a kilt and worn linen upper garment. All welcomed the traders and exchanged greetings with a warmth indicative of their honesty and affection. Ahmose said, “Those you see are, like yourselves, ancient lords of Egypt and all of them live as do the miserable, neglected fishermen, while the accursed Herdsmen have sole possession of their land.”
Ham asked the traders, ‘Are you from Thebes, gentlemen?”
Latu replied, “No, sir. However, we were once landowners in Ombos.”
Seneb said, “Did many fly, like you, to Nubia?”
Latu replied, “Indeed, sir. At Napata especially there are hundreds of Egyptians, from Ombos, Sayin, Habu, and Thebes itself.”
The men exchanged glances, none of them doubting the traders after what Ahmose had told them of what Isfinis had done for his mother at the court. Ham put the question, “And how do you live at Napata, Lord Latu?”
“We live a life of hardship like the Nubians themselves, for the soil of Nubia is generous with gold, miserly with grain.”
“You are, however, fortunate, since the hands of the Herdsmen cannot reach you.”
“No doubt. That is why we think constantly of Egypt and its enslaved and captured inhabitants.”
