Eye of the Moon (24 page)

I looked from him to Tuthmosis. “I'm not sure . . .”

The old man sighed heavily. “All you need is a wood shaper, a sharp carving knife, strong fingers, and patience. Sit down.” He indicated a place at his fire for both of us.

I moved so I was upwind of the steam and stench of the boiling cauldrons.

“Bow skills are based on how good your bow is. To learn how to be a good bowman, you need to be a good bow maker first. You need to make your
own
bow and arrows to understand bowing properly. None of these soldiers knows a thing about bow making. If I were their commander, I'd force them each to make their own. But I'm old and no one takes any notice.”

He began to demonstrate with his gnarled, callused hands. “The horn of an ibex is split down the center into two halves. Then the outside is worked smooth and shaved down. By boiling the horn to soften it and then clamping it down, it stays flat once cooled. Then the horn piece is shaved into thin strips to fit the wooden bow piece. The strips are covered with hare-bone paste, clamped against the bow, and left to dry. The purpose is to make the bow flexible. To allow the archer to pull it back farther, without breaking the wood.” He scowled at me. “Do you understand that?”

I nodded.

“A bowman is a musician.”

“A musician?”

He nodded. “It's not about brute force.”

Not about brute force? Katep should hear this!

The old man ran his fingers along a bow. “A bowman must know what his bow can do. Know exactly how much tension it can take. His fingers must be as sensitive as a butterfly's antennae. Each shiver must be felt as keenly as a quiver in a lute string. When a bowstring is pulled, energy is stored in the bow limb. When the sinew is released, the energy is transferred to the feathered arrow. It's all very simple.”

I nodded, even though I knew it wasn't so simple.

“Let me see your hands.”

I held them out.

“Hmm . . . long, slender fingers, sensitive enough to be a musician's. But I see you have blisters!” He scowled again and shook his head. “I can't have you carving horn for bows when you already have blisters.”

“What, then?”

He squinted back at me. “Are you good at bringing wildfowl down?”

Tuthmosis nodded. “She's superb with a throw-stick.”

“I'll tell you what, then. . . . You can search for arrow feathers for me. I'm getting too old and tired for bringing down wildfowl and plucking feathers to make arrows for the troops. You'll make a good fletcher.”

“A fletcher? What's a fletcher?” I looked from Tuthmosis to the old man.

The old man sighed at my stupidity. “A fletcher is someone who makes arrows, as simple as that. He attaches feathers to the shaft of an arrow to give it lift. We need hundreds of arrows. In battle each man must have a full quota in his quiver. Without good arrows an archer is nothing.”

Tuthmosis's eyes searched mine, waiting for my answer. I bit my lip, then nodded. Making arrows sounded like more fun than trying to pull a bow.

The old man eyed me. “So it's settled, then. Every day you'll report for duty and make your quota of arrows for the day. If the sun has set and you've not made the required number, you'll work into the night by firelight. There's no dragging your feet here.”

So it was that Anoukhet became an archer spending most of her days training alongside Katep, and I became a fletcher.

From under the awning of the old man's workshop, sitting as far away from the stench of the boiling cauldrons as I could, I sometimes spotted Katep standing close to Anoukhet, guiding her shoulders and her arms, repositioning her head as she took aim. And sometimes, too, in the late afternoons when the sun had lost its sting, I caught sight of them walking out into the desert.

Each morning I rose before sunrise and went out with my throw-stick into the dunes in search of falcon and quail and guinea fowl. Sometimes I went as far as the river to bring down waterfowl. I carried
them back to camp and plucked them well before handing them over to the cooks to add to the day's meal. The best feathers for fletching were the stiff tail and wing feathers. These I sorted and tied into bundles according to their patterns.

The arrows I made were unmistakable.

While I was out, I collected whatever wild herbs, grasses, bulbs, and fragrant leaves I could find for the cooks as well. I soon discovered from carrying them together with the wildfowl that some plant juices stained the feathers. It was possible to color them. From the crushed root of alkanet, I made red dye. From safflower thistles, I made orange. I boiled the dyes and steeped the feathers in the liquids. The light parts between the dark stripes and patterns took up the colors.

When the dyed feathers were dry and trimmed to shape, I slotted them into grooves I cut in the tail ends of fine straight saplings.

I was pleased with my work. So was the old bow maker. I could tell this when he held them up without comment and peered down their length to see if they were true.

They were fine arrows. Well made. Each with its own distinctive, unmistakable coloring. The archers
were well pleased, too. Soon each phalanx asked for its own particular color and pattern combination. And each man branded his arrow shafts with his personal signet.

For Tuthmosis, I chose white feathers with no markings so the white took the dye entirely—wing and tail feathers of spoonbills, white egrets, and storks. But they were larger birds and more difficult to bring down. There was a beetle that if squeezed gave off a bluish paste. If Tuthmosis couldn't wear his blue Khepresh warrior crown in battle, he could at least have arrows of blue. Blue for eternity and life, to mark his royalty.

I made Katep's arrows with entirely red feathers. A dark, solid red. For bravery and fire. A symbol of life and victory. And I colored Anoukhet's arrow feathers green. Green as a symbol of friendship. Green because it's the color of happiness, energy, and power. To the tail ends of her arrows I added tiny shreds of red ribbon to tie up evil and as a sign of her bravery.

The old man, Kha, instructed me to make the arrows with small barbed stone flints instead of bronze.

“Flint is harder than bronze and won't bend if it strikes bone. Even if the wound is not immediately fatal, barbed flint heads are better. They have to be bound to the shaft in such a way that the head dislodges when someone tries to withdraw the shaft. With the head stuck in flesh or bone, the wound will fester and finally be fatal.”

I shuddered. “It sounds barbaric!”

“All war is barbaric!”

I nodded. “War is not something a woman would easily dream up!”

Yet what about Hathor? Her double image was Sekhmet—the lioness of war, the fighting goddess. She was called on to vanquish enemies in battle. It was the lionesses of Sekhmet who lined the pathway to the Temple of Karnak—put there by Tuthmosis's father.

   
24
   
THE EGYPTIAN ARMY

T
he tips of my fingers became callused and strong with cutting and shaping the arrows. The days passed quickly as I searched for dyes and feathers and sat alongside the old man, Kha, listening to him tell stories of great battles and bravery.

When Katep called Tuthmosis, Anoukhet, and me to his tent unexpectedly one night, I felt my heart slip into my throat. I sensed something was about to change.

“Spies have told the commander that the Egyptian army has arrived. They are encamped a short distance away.”

I glanced quickly at him. “With chariots?”

Katep nodded. “They traveled from the southern fortresses by boat and have dragged them the rest of the way through the desert. They're intent on war and forcing the boundaries of Egypt farther south. But this isn't their full intent.”

“What is, then?”

“The southern boundary is an excuse. They've been sent by Wosret.”

“How do you know?”

“Why else would they leave the forts and come so far south now?” He shook his head and turned to look at Tuthmosis. “Your brother's too young to be planning war. No. Word must've got out and traveled back to Thebes. Wosret must know you are here with the Kushite army.”

I glanced across at Tuthmosis. This was what he wanted. But now that the time had come, I was terrified.

“Their camp is set up near some cliffs to the north alongside the river. Their chariots are lined
up—too many to count. The commander has asked me to go under cover of darkness tonight to study its layout, so we can make plans for attack.”

Tuthmosis eyed him. “I'll go with you.”

“Me too!” Anoukhet said.

Katep shook his head. “It's too risky. Only you, Tuthmosis. You know the Egyptian strategy. How they'll use their chariots. Timing is essential. We need to strike within hours, while they're still resting from their long journey.”

“Within hours? So soon?” Despite the weeks of preparation, suddenly I felt ill with fear.

Katep caught my eye and nodded. “We have to take them by surprise. Unprepared. Their chariots will be difficult to maneuver into position in the confined space between the river and cliffs.”

The campfires were doused. Anoukhet and I sat hugging our knees to our chests in the darkness as Katep and Tuthmosis set out. They carried no torches, but in the moonlight we saw them creeping from the shadow of one dune to the next.

Suddenly Anoukhet jumped up. “I can't sit here waiting. I'm going after them.”

“No! You heard what Katep said. It's too risky!”

“Are you coming or not? Make up your mind before we lose sight of them.”

The soft sand muffled our footfalls as we ran. When we saw their dark shadows pause near the top of a sand dune crest ahead, we lay down on our stomachs and wriggled closer like snakes.

“What do you see?” Anoukhet whispered as we came up alongside them.

Katep's head whipped around. “I told you to stay.”

“I'm not some pet dog to be trained!” Anoukhet hissed.

“Go back to camp.”

“We're here now and besides—”

“Shh, then!” Katep put his hand across her mouth. “Just keep silent and do as I say. Keep back now.” He edged forward on his elbows and peered over the crest. Then he beckoned Tuthmosis to do the same.

We crept closer as well.

An icy shiver went through me as I looked down.

A carpet of soldiers spread out from the base of the cliffs right down to the river. Their fires made as many stars as were in the sky. Their helmets, their
spears and swords, and their linked armory on their bodies caught the moonlight and sent flashes of silver in every direction. And, as if to magnify their force, their armory reverberated with a sharp metallic clinking, more menacing than musical.

Behind them, right against the cliffs, row upon row of golden chariots turned silver in the moonlight. Even from where I lay, I could see the Double Crown of Egypt emblazoned on their sides. Next to them, powerful horses, like statues of molten silver, grazed from fodder bags lying on the sand.