The Eye of Ra

by Dakota Chase

  “Two regiments await you just outside the city gates, my pharaoh. The vizier and General Horemheb wait to the south with the larger portion of your army, near where we must cross the great river to reach the Hittite camp.”

  “Good. Summon my servants to bring my weapons and shield, and ready my chariot,” Tut ordered. He glanced back at Grant and me. “Outfit my friends with weapons as well. Take them from my personal armory. I’m sure they will not want to miss an opportunity for glory in battle!” he said as he walked away briskly. He never looked back at us again, as if he were certain we would be eager to follow him into combat. He left before either of us could voice an argument.

  He said it as if going to war were nothing more than a field trip to an amusement park. Grant and I stared after him with our mouths hanging open. Surely, he didn’t mean he expected us to fight? We didn’t know the first thing about being soldiers, ancient Egyptian or otherwise!

  “This is nuts,” Grant whispered. He looked every bit as shocked as I felt. “We can’t go to war… we’re just kids.”

  “We’re adults here,” I reminded him. “Besides, if anything happens to Tut, we’ll never get the amulet! What if he loses it on the battlefield and the enemy finds it? We’d never get it back. We can’t risk it. We have to go, if for nothing else than to keep him from losing it.”

  “Yeah? And while we’re protecting Tut and the amulet, what’s going to keep us from getting dead?”

  I rolled my eyes, not wanting to seem like a coward, although in truth, I was shaking in my sandals. “We’ll be careful. Besides, Tut is the pharaoh. He won’t be on the front lines or anything, right? Don’t kings stay behind the troops, calling the shots? I mean, our president doesn’t actually pick up a machine gun and lead the charge when we’re at war, does he?”

  Grant didn’t look convinced, but he knew what I did… we had to stay close to the amulet, or we’d never get home. “Okay. I suppose you’re right. We’ll keep our heads low, but whatever you do, don’t try to be a hero, okay?”

  “Hero? The only ‘hero’ I know is a sandwich,” I said, as a couple of servants entered the room, dragging shields, spears, and knives with them.

  The servants, both younger than Grant and me, expertly outfitted us. They handed us each a shield—a dark brown sheet of heavy leather stretched across a wooden frame—that was nearly as tall as we were. The spears were long, smooth shafts of wood topped with a bronze blade that was easily the length of my hand and almost as wide at its bottom, narrowing to a wickedly sharp point. The servants strapped sheaths to our waists with leather belts. The sheaths held knives, and when I pulled mine out, I saw that it had a carved ivory handle and a razor-sharp, bronze blade.

  Weighted down by the spear, shield, and knife, I felt like I could barely walk, never mind defend myself. The shield especially was big and awkward. It covered me from head to knee, though, so I figured it was a good thing. I only hoped the leather was thick enough to stop an arrow. I didn’t plan on getting close enough to anybody to risk getting stabbed with a spear or sword.

  News of the attack by Tut’s enemies must have traveled like wildfire through Memphis. Crowds of people had gathered at the gates to watch the soldiers waiting outside the city walls get ready to march. They cheered and threw flower petals at the feet of the soldiers.

  Grant and I struggled with our equipment as we followed the servants out of the palace to where the chariots—I cringed as I recognized my horse-enemy, Meek—waited. In each chariot, an archer stood.

  “Who are those guys?” I asked Grant. Since my hands were full carrying my shield and spear, all I could do was point my chin toward the archer who stood behind Meek.

  “Archers.”

  “Well, no duh. What are they doing in our chariots?”

  “Maybe we’re walking,” Grant mused, looking as confused as I was.

  “Oh, swell. Walking through the desert carrying all this crap? I’ll be dead before we even reach the Hiccups.”

  “Hittites,” Grant growled, rolling his eyes at me. “Pay attention, will you? The least you can do is get the name of the enemy right.”

  “Wow, somebody got up on the wrong side of the pyramid this morning.”

  “Gee, maybe I’m a little grouchy because we’re marching off to war when I should be marching off to physics class!” he retorted.

  I had to hand it to Grant… he could be quick with a comeback sometimes. “Yeah? Well, here I am marching out along with you, but you don’t see me biting your head off.”

  He grunted and mumbled an apology, which I accepted with a snort.

  We were big on communicating with noises, Grant and me.

  A commotion behind us drew our attention from our little spat. Tut had arrived in all his battle regalia. Escorted by eight guards, two on each side, two in front, and two behind, he stalked straight toward his chariot with his chin held high and excitement gleaming in his eyes.

  I don’t know what I expected him to be wearing—a suit of armor, maybe—but this wasn’t it. Tut wore a white linen kilt thing or “shendyt” edged with sparkling gems. He was bare-chested, but wore a necklace that was so wide it practically constituted a shirt. It was made of small, golden scales, studded with jewels, and covered the top part of his chest, back, and both shoulders. Merlin’s amulet—Tut’s amulet at the moment, I reminded myself—lay on top of it. Gold bands encircled both of his biceps and ankles. His tall, cone-shaped white hat trimmed with ostrich feathers sat on his head. As he walked past me, I noticed the soles of his sandals had been painted with tiny figures.

  “Jeez, did he really need to decorate the bottoms of his shoes?” I whispered to Grant.

  “Maybe it’s supposed to show that he’s walking all over his enemies,” Grant offered.

  That made sense, in a weird, ancient Egyptian sort of way. Even back here in the B.C. of time, it was all about intimidation and looking impressive—like guys who tattoo their knuckles, or paint flames on the hoods of their cars.

  Tut held a shield with one hand and in the other he carried a wicked-looking short sword that was curved like a scythe. Its bronze blade glittered in the sunlight like the jewels in his collar.

  Tut didn’t speak to us or even look in our direction as he walked to his chariot and climbed up behind another man. His driver, I guessed. I supposed kings didn’t drive themselves when going to battle.

  Even his horses were decked out. Someone had again tied ostrich and peacock feathers to their manes and tails, and in addition to the colorful blankets on their backs, there was a sort of golden mask fitted over their faces.

  Then I saw other soldiers climbing aboard the chariots behind the archers and taking the reins. Each chariot had two men on it, so I figured we were all riding double today. I nudged Grant, and we headed for our chariots. I jumped aboard the closest one, crowding in close behind the archer, who turned sideways to allow me to reach the reins, and left the chariot Meek was harnessed to for Grant. I grinned at the black look he shot me when he realized which horse was part of the team pulling his rig.

  Hey… you snooze, you lose, right? Besides, I’d put up with Meek enough on the trip to the pyramids. It was Grant’s turn to deal with Meek trying to take a bite out of him.

  Tut raised his weapon high in the air and gave a shout, and we began to move. Grant and I were close behind Tut. We kept to an arrowhead formation, with Tut’s chariot in the lead as we headed south across the desert to where the rest of Tut’s army waited.

  Chapter Seventeen

  TUT’S ARMY was camped near the river on a wide expanse of empty land. I supposed I thought there would be a couple of hundred men or so, and I was shocked to see thousands of men, a sea of warriors, spread out across the sand. Hundreds of chariots were parked, row after row, and on the far right-hand side, farthest from the water, the horses turned out to graze.

  The noise of so many people and horses was incredible, a constant thrum that resonated in my bones. But it was the smell that surpr
ised me more than anything. I’d been in crowded places before—concerts, theme parks, and county fairs, but this… it was as if someone had taken all the foul smells in the world, put them in a test tube, and stuck it under my nose.

  I’d forgotten that we were in a time before deodorant. You know that funky smell gym socks get when they’ve been sitting forgotten in your locker for a couple of weeks? Combine it with the smells of horses, manure, human waste, smoke, food cooking, the mucky, fishy smell of the riverbank, bake it all for hours under the broiling desert sun, and that’s the stench that hit me squarely in the face when we rode into camp. It was almost enough to make me blow chunks.

  I glanced at Grant. He had his arm crooked over his nose and mouth, so I knew I wasn’t alone in gagging on the smell. Somehow, while we’d been in the city where people bathed often, constantly used perfumed oils, flower petals, and candles, it hadn’t stunk nearly as badly. Oh, don’t get me wrong, there had been places in Memphis that we’d passed by that smelled like ripe armpits, but here in the desert, where thousands of men were sweating buckets, belching, and farting, horses were crapping wherever they felt like it, and meat and fish burned on campfires, it was a complete stink fest.

  We left the chariots near the others where servants were waiting to tend the horses, and followed Tut to a large, white tent set up near the center of the encampment. The roof was peaked, and it had steeply sloped sides. Two guards stood sentry by the entrance. Both Grant and I had to duck to enter through the front flap.

  Inside, large pillows covered the sand and two servants stood ready to tend to Tut’s needs. He looked tired as he sank onto the pillows and motioned for us to join him. “Food and water,” he ordered, sending the servants scrambling out of the tent to secure both for him. They returned quickly, pouring water for all of us, and placing a large platter of meat and fruit in front of Tut.

  Inside the shade of the tent, it had to be a whole quarter of a degree cooler than it was outside, but at least it didn’t smell as bad. I noticed there were tall stands set at all four corners of the tent. Each of them held bowls of sweet-smelling herbs and burning incense. They helped keep the air inside the tent relatively stench-free, for which I could’ve kissed the servants.

  Word that Tut had arrived at the camp must’ve spread quickly. We didn’t have long to wait before Ay entered the tent. He looked angry when he saw Grant and me, but didn’t say anything to us. I knew he didn’t like us much, considering that we were outsiders and yet had quickly become Tut’s friends. He probably didn’t trust us.

  Ay was right about that. Trusting us would’ve been a mistake on his part. I was still determined to do everything in my power to keep him from murdering Tut after we got the amulet and went home. I didn’t like Ay any more than he liked me.

  He sneered at Grant and me, and faced Tut. “My lord, I must speak with you.”

  “Speak, Ay,” Tut said, after taking a long drink of water. He selected a thick slice of meat and motioned for us to help ourselves.

  “Privately, my lord. What I have to say is for your ears only,” Ay insisted.

  “Speak or hold your tongue, it is your choice,” Tut snapped. “I have traveled all day and am weary. I have no patience for secrecy where none is needed. My friends know of the Hittite attack already.”

  If looks could kill, Grant and I would’ve been worm food. Ay shot us a look brimming with hatred, although he kept a respectful tone when he spoke to Tut. “As you please, my lord. It has been suggested by our spies that the Hittites sent men into Memphis to take Nefertiti,” he said. “I fear her dead, my lord.”

  Bull, I thought, but kept my mouth shut. Strangers might’ve been able to get inside Tut’s palace—after all, Grant and I had, and easily—but how could they get past Nefertiti’s guards and into her bedroom, and then smuggle her out without anyone noticing? It was clear to me that it was an inside job, and I felt sure it had Ay’s name written all over it.

  “Of course, I sent men across the river as soon as I received the news. They slaughtered many Hittites in Nefertiti’s name. Her honor is restored, and her death, avenged,” Ay said, puffing out his chest proudly. The hatred gleaming in his eyes was unmistakable, although I couldn’t decide if it was for Egypt’s enemies or for Tut.

  Tut quirked an eyebrow. “What of the attack on our village?”

  I already knew what Ay was going to say before he said it.

  “The Hittites launched the attack on the village before sunrise and razed it to the ground, my lord. Our scouts were watching the Hittite campfires. None were extinguished, and we had no idea that the Hittites would dare cross the Nile under the cover of night. None in the village survived. The souls of the dead cry out for vengeance! We must march at daybreak and fight until the sands run red with their foul blood!” Ay replied.

  I exchanged a meaningful look with Grant. It was Ay’s order to attack the Hittites—probably for no other reason than to strengthen his lie that the Hittites had taken and killed Nefertiti—that had caused the Hittites to counterattack. As far as I was concerned, the blood of everyone in that village was on Ay’s hands.

  If I didn’t like or trust Ay before, I sure as heck didn’t now. What sort of a-hole allowed his own people to be massacred to cover his own treachery?

  Tut, however, either couldn’t see through Ay’s lies or didn’t care. Maybe he hated the Hittites so much that he wanted to believe what Ay claimed was true. I suppose it’s easier to put the blame on your enemy than on someone who you thought was your friend.

  He nodded in agreement with Ay. “Yes, that is a good plan, indeed. At dawn I want the infantry ready to cross the river, followed by the charioteers and archers. We will leave no Hittite alive between the riverbank and their camp. If Nefertiti lives, I want her found. If she is dead, I want her body returned for mummification and burial as befitting a queen of Egypt.”

  Ay bowed and spun on his sandals, stalking out of the tent without another look at Grant or me. I didn’t miss the smug look on his face. What a jerk! What sort of guy would be willing to not only wipe out the enemy but his own people to cover his butt?

  The kind that would be willing to kill his king to get his greedy hands on the throne, that’s who, I silently answered myself.

  I drank some water, but my appetite was gone. “Where will you be tomorrow, Tut? Here? Or do you set up a command center somewhere else?”

  Tut looked confused. “Command center? What is this? Another You-Ess custom?” He shrugged. “It matters not. I will be where I should be—leading my troops into battle. The enemy shall fall to my scimitar and be trampled under the wheels of my chariot! The world will know that the gods ride with me!”

  I locked eyes with Grant, feeling the blood drain from my face. Tut was going into battle? How were we supposed to protect him and the amulet now?

  I could see Grant was as clueless as I was. He gave a tiny shake of his head, and I knew he meant for me to drop the subject before Tut caught on that we had no intention of fighting. I mean, this wasn’t our war, right? We weren’t even old enough to fight for our own country, let alone for a pharaoh who’d been dead for three thousand years!

  Again the question rose in my mind: if I died in the past, would I revert instantly back to my own time, or would I remain dead forever? Would it be as if I were never born in the future?

  But Merlin said we couldn’t change the past. Wouldn’t my dying here do just that? Or would my death count only in changing the future? Was there a difference?

  I had no idea and no intention at all of finding out.

  “The hour grows late, my friends. Go find your rest, and I will do the same. We must be fresh for the morning battle!” Tut said, dismissing us. His servants instantly closed in, preparing to ready him for bed.

  Grant and I left Tut’s tent with no real idea of where to go. Grant grabbed my elbow and led me away toward the far side of the camp. All around us, men sat staring quietly into the campfires or sleeping, stretched out o
n the sand. We wove our way carefully between them, not wanting to draw attention to ourselves.

  Finally, we reached the perimeter of the camp where we found a little privacy behind a couple of palm trees. We sank down to the sand and looked at one another. I shivered a little in the cool desert night air.

  “Now, what do we do?” Grant asked me. “Tut plans on fighting tomorrow, not sitting back giving orders. We can’t do this, Aston! We’re not warriors. I don’t know the first thing about fighting!”

  “Me either.” I frowned, trying to think of a way out of the mess we’d found ourselves in. What would I do if I was in my own time and needed to keep somebody from doing something stupid?

  Then it came to me.

  If I wanted to keep a friend from going out to fight somebody and maybe getting killed and he wouldn’t listen to reason, I’d do something to make sure he couldn’t get to wherever he was going.

  I’d give him a flat tire.

  I swiveled my head to look at the area where the chariots were parked. Tut’s was easy to spot—it was the only one trimmed with gold. Even in the moonlight, it glittered.

  Chariots, of course, didn’t have tires, but they did have wheels… wheels that could be removed.

  I was grinning when I turned back to Grant. “Come on, I’ve got an idea,” I said. “You need to cover me and make sure nobody can see what I’m doing.”

  Grant narrowed his eyes at me. “What are you going to do?”

  “Mess with Tut’s transportation. If he doesn’t have his chariot, he can’t go into battle, right?”

  A slow smile stretched across Grant’s face. “Genius. Pure genius.”

  “I have my moments,” I said, returning his smile. “Let’s go. We have to make this quick.”

  We kept to the dark shadows at the perimeter of camp as we ran, keeping our heads low, toward Tut’s chariot. I felt a little like Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible, and fought the urge to hum the theme song.

  Slipping behind the chariot so that it would hide us from anyone in camp who might glance in our direction, I studied the wheel. It was made of wood with metal, probably bronze, covering the spokes, and gold decorations. A thin strip of metal encircled the wheel, like a flat tire. I took out the knife I’d been given, and used the blade to saw through the hardened leather thongs that bound the spokes to the wheel, then pushed hard until the spokes broke free.