But their king had been planning for a long time. Reports reached Thebes of a vast army bearing down upon this civilised land. The Red Pretender, that false pharaoh in the Lower Kingdom, with all his forces, had been crushed as if he were nothing. And then the Hyksos had turned their attention to the south, to the Upper Kingdom.

The Hyksos wanted it all.

In Thebes, the Pharaoh heard these tales of blood and destruction from the north and dug deep into his coffers to repel any invasion. New galleys were built and the army was marched along the banks of the Nile to destroy these arrogant intruders. Even after hearing what had been wrought upon the Red Pretender, the Pharaoh still drank deeply of the heady brew of the myth of Egyptian supremacy.

Taita had trembled when he recounted how the great Egyptian army had been routed in just one day, and his master was not a man given to displays of emotion. Galleys sank in flames and the Hyksos drove the remnants of the once proud force south, harrying them at every opportunity. It had turned from battle to mere sport.

Since that day, Egypt had known endless war and bloodshed and death. Fifty years of it. After Thebes had fallen for the first time, Taita had fled south with the current Pharaoh. The great king had only been a boy then. After a stay in the lands beyond the cataracts, Taita had returned with renewed vigour to drive the enemy out of the City of a Hundred Gates and back towards the Lower Kingdom. But the Hyksos never relented, pressing ever onwards, recapturing land lost only to lose it again. And under Taita’s guidance the brave resistance had continued. But over time the Egyptian army became diminished, the chance of reclaiming the land of their birth beginning to fade like the morning mist.

Now they had reached a time of desperation.

Smoke swept across the fields from the farmstead blazing nearby, the roar of the flames combining with the laughter of whoever was gathered out of sight.

Piay pushed the flat of his hand down and the men behind dropped lower. He slipped forwards below the level of the swaying barley, sensing Hannu at his back.

The laughter was louder, and he could hear the guttural notes of that strange barbarian tongue.

On the edge of an irrigation channel, Piay dropped to his belly and slid forwards like a serpent. The steady heartbeat of the shadoof rolled out as the water wheel turned, plunging the bucket on the pole into the water, then swinging it back up with the counterweight.