The Amarnan Kings, Book 2: Scarab - Smenkhkare

by Overton, Max

  "What do you want?" Khu gasped, holding his side where bright blood trickled slowly through his fingers, staining his kilt. "All we have are these armbands. You are welcome to them."

  One of the men grinned, revealing yellowed and rotting teeth. "Toss them over here then and be quick about it."

  "Enough," growled one of his companions, a tall, thickset man in a voluminous cloak. "We are not here for the gold." He glanced up and down the almost-deserted street. "Finish them before someone alerts the medjay."

  Rotten Teeth and the other man moved forward, copper knives held at the ready, their faces relaxed, expecting a swift killing of an unarmed man and a girl.

  Khu did not wait, throwing himself forward to grapple with Rotten Teeth, one hand gripping the man's wrist, the other seeking for a grip. They swayed in the street, the blood pouring out of Khu's side and spattering the ground.

  Scarab moved away, her eyes watching the other man's, her sandaled feet stepping back carefully. "Who are you?" she asked. "Why do you do this?" The man came on in silence. "Do you know who I am? I can reward you if you turn and leave."

  The man grinned. "I know, but I have gold enough, lady." His knife arm thrust forward, the blow low and straight. Scarab gasped and swayed to one side, the blade cutting into linen again. Her dress fell open, revealing her sole item of underclothing, a short kilt. "Pretty young thing, aren't you?" the man said calmly, as if discussing the weather. "Too bad I have to kill you."

  "Finish it," the thickset man yelled. "I can hear the Medjay coming."

  The man in front of Scarab nodded and stabbed, grabbing at her at the same time. She eluded the blade but his grasping hand grabbed her ripped dress and hauled her close as his other hand drew back the knife again.

  Scarab gave a cry and wriggled free of her dress, feeling the fabric rip. She glanced quickly over to where Khu lay on the ground, still fighting with the other man, then back to her own opponent. As the man grinned at her nakedness she stepped forward and planted her sandaled foot squarely in the man's testicles. He fell forward with a strangled cry of pain, dropping the knife and clutching his groin. Another pace forward and Scarab's knee rose with a satisfying crack under the man's jaw. The man's head snapped back and he dropped and lay still. Scarab scooped the knife up from the ground and, sparing a glance for the suddenly indecisive leader, dropped on her knees beside Rotten Teeth as he pried Khu's grip from his knife-holding hand.

  "I think not." Scarab slipped the copper knife between Rotten Teeth's ribs and the man juddered, his surprised eyes opening wide. His own knife fell, narrowly missing a blood-covered Khu, before he collapsed sideways to the dusty street.

  The thickset man stepped forward, drawing a short sword from beneath his cloak, and then looked round toward the sound of shouting and drumming feet. He hesitated a moment before taking to his heels as a troop of Medjay, short kilts flying, raced down the street toward them. The men ran past, shouting to the thickset man to stop but he disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

  The Medjay officer stopped, his eyes widening at the sight of a disheveled young woman, her bare breasts heaving from her exertions, standing beside two still forms and a young blood-covered man.

  Scarab smiled and nodded toward Khu. "Send for a physician at once, officer. And take that man..." she pointed at her opponent. "... into custody. The other one is dead." Reaching up, she adjusted the wig on her head as it threatened to slip off.

  The Medjay officer gaped then snapped off a series of orders to his men. One ran off at high speed while others set about staunching Khu's wound and examining the other men.

  "I want that man questioned, officer. They meant to kill us and knew who we were."

  "And who are you?"

  "Princess Beketaten, officer, and that man your men are roughly attending to is Councilor Khu. If he dies because of his treatment, you will follow him over the river."

  The man flushed and bowed. "My pardon, lady, I did not recognise you...ah, dressed as you are." He turned and yelled at his men and their ministrations at once became gentler. Picking up her shredded linen dress he offered it to Scarab who held it to her, quickly seeing it was pointless trying to cover herself with it. She threw it to one side. One of the Medjay troopers slipped his kilt off and, standing unselfconsciously naked, draped it around her shoulders.

  The physician arrived, together with a litter and quickly had Khu transferred to it and hurried off to the palace. Scarab indicated the fallen assassins. "What about them? I want to know who planned this."

  "Thems both dead, miss," commented the naked trooper. "Thisun with a knife in his heart, thatun with a broken neck."

  "Have their bodies brought up to the palace," Scarab told the officer. "And the one who ran off if your men catch him. I mean to get to the bottom of this." She looked around at the gathering crowd before picking up the fallen glass, finding it still intact. Turning, she mustered as much dignity as she could and walked after the physician and his patient. The officer, after a few moments hesitation, sent a squad of his men after her, detailing others to clear the bodies from the street.

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  Chapter Three

  "I send you and two others to take out a raw youth and a girl and you cannot even manage that. Can you think of any good reason why I should not have you thrown to the crocodiles?"

  The thickset man, now without his cloak, dropped to his knees on the marble floor of the great chamber and held out his arms imploringly, revealing a whitened brand in the form of a hawk on the side of his chest. "Master, the Medjay arrived before we could do anything."

  "But not before the girl killed your two men. How is that possible?"

  "It happened so fast, master. Mende took on the youth and almost had him, but Nupher toyed with the girl. I was as surprised as he when she kicked him. It was a lucky kick." The man hesitated, his eyes flicking to the two guards standing by the walls of the chamber, then back to the old man standing in front of him. "Then she killed Mende with Nupher's dagger."

  "And what were you doing while all this happened?

  The man licked his lips before answering. "I...I was keeping watch."

  "Really? Watching for whom? The Medjay did not arrive for several minutes and the streets were deserted."

  "I was sure they could handle them," the man whined.

  "Mentopher, you have failed me. You know the penalty for failure." The old man noted the guards tensing with anticipation, and concealed a smile.

  "Please, master, I beg you, have mercy."

  The old man turned and walked over to a balcony that overlooked a small garden. He looked out at the flowering shrubs and ornamental pond and at the gardeners hard at work raking leaves, on hands and knees trimming the grass, and weeding the beds of flowers. Stretching, he raised his arms above his head and relaxed, feeling the serenity of the garden flow over him.

  "Mentopher, report to the drill sergeant. You are to have twenty lashes for your failure. Tell him blood is to flow."

  "Y...yes, master." A pause... "Thank you for your mercy, master." Mentopher arose and stumbled from the chamber, closing the door behind him.

  The old man closed his eyes and breathed deeply, the warm scented air from the gardens filling his lungs. Without turning he snapped out orders to his guards. "Bring wine, and send for my guests." He breathed deep again and leaned on the balustrade, watching the gardeners. A smile played across his lips as he noticed their sudden fear and redoubled efforts.

  Wine arrived with a muffled knock on the cedar wood doors of the chamber and a muttered apology from a servant as a pitcher of river-cooled wine, another of river water and a tray of faience goblets were set on the wide ebony table inlaid with gold and ivory. The old man did not turn from the window, ignoring the servants and their mission until he was sure they had left. Then he turned and walked over to the table. He picked up one of the cups and examined it, turning it to follow the pattern. His finger picked at a t
iny flaw in the rim and he put it back on the tray, frowning. Selecting another cup he repeated the performance and, satisfied with the beauty and perfection of this one, filled it with dark, sweet wine from the pitcher. He raised it to his nose and inhaled the strong aroma, a mixture of scents--fruit, ripe and succulent; the good, rich earth of his vineyards far to the north in the delta lands near Zarw; the sharp tang of the oaken wine-press and even a trace of the mellow wax that sealed the wine-jars. He sipped, and closed his eyes, savoring the taste, remembering days long past when he was more concerned with the management of his estates than the running of a kingdom.

  The cedar doors creaked and the old man's eyes snapped open as he swiveled to face the men who trooped into the room. Dismissing the guards, he ushered his guests toward the table and the wine, then toward several couches and chairs at one end of the balcony.

  "Be seated, gentlemen. I believe you all know each other, though this may well be the first time you have gathered together." The old man put his wine cup down on the balustrade and turned to face the five men seated facing him. "Bear with me a few moments while I enumerate your strengths and attributes so you may each take comfort from the very special skills and abilities each of you brings to the task in hand.

  "Bakt, third prophet of Amun, whose strong hand guides the priests of Amun and whose wisdom is god-given. Save for the present Hem-netjer and my brother, the most powerful man in the realm of the divine.

  "Kheper, Overseer of the guild of Corn Factors, leading businessman of Waset and a man whose counsel is listened to in every city of our Two Lands. A man whose trade empire extends into every land that borders on Kemet and into many that do not.

  "Usermontju, Chief of the Medjay of Waset. A man whose civil power and authority, while not officially recognized by the mayor, is absolute within the city boundaries.

  "Psenamy, General of the Army and ex-commander of the Amun legion here in Waset, until his untimely and unjust dismissal by Paatenemheb. Although no longer in command of an army, he commands the loyalty of many individual men and has, with the aid of much gold, raised and trained a small army of his own.

  "And lastly, Maya, treasury scribe, without whose creative manipulation of the treasury records, none of this would have been possible."

  Maya stirred in his seat. "Thank you, Ay. Let us not forget that you, Tjaty and most powerful man in Kemet, after the kings, are the one that recruited us all to your cause--now our cause. You have made promises to us all, effectively bought us. Have you now reached a time when these promises can be fulfilled?"

  A ripple of interest washed over the other men. Psenamy stopped with his cup of water halfway to his lips. "This is true? The time has come?"

  Ay nodded. "In a word, yes."

  "Can you elaborate on that?" Usermontju put his wine down and leaned forward, a hunger growing in his eyes. "Are we talking about resistance or...or rebellion?"

  "Hush," Kheper whispered. "Let there be no overt talk of that." He glanced toward the open balcony. "Who knows who could be listening?"

  "None listen," Ay said flatly. "My security in this palace is absolute."

  "Very well. I accept your assurances," Psenamy answered. "The time has come for action, but what action are you talking about?"

  Ay slowly walked over to the other men and stood with his legs braced and fists planted firmly on his hips. His posture lent him an impression of youth and strength, a look belied by his wrinkled skin, a growing paunch and dark veins scarring his bronzed legs. "Too long has Kemet suffered beneath the yoke of the heretic," he said softly. "Too long have our people done without their gods. We must strike a blow, a righteous blow, for the freedom to worship as we will and to restore the honour of Kemet in the eyes of the nations. Akhenaten must fall."

  "And be replaced by whom?" Bakt asked. "Smenkhkare will not sit idly by and watch us remove his brother. Or will he? Can you control Smenkhkare?"

  Ay shook his head, his white hair flying. "No, the king no longer takes my advice, preferring that of a gaggle of commoners and incompetents. He must be removed also."

  "So who is to reign as king, Ay? You?"

  "I have no desire to be king. I am a faithful servant of Kemet."

  "You would let anarchy rule?" Psenamy scoffed. "Come, you and I both have had command of men. We know there must always be a leader, a ruler. Who is it to be if not Smenkhkare or you?"

  "Tutankhaten."

  Kheper laughed. "But he is a boy, not yet nine summers. How can he reign?"

  "He is of that cursed blood too, bearing that cursed name," Bakt added. "At least our present ruler in Waset puts his faith in Re."

  "Names can be changed, Bakt. Have you forgotten how the heretic was once named Amenhotep? We can crown him without the 'aten' and put 'amen' back in his name."

  The priest nodded. "That would be pleasing to Amun."

  "But his age," Kheper repeated. "He is too young to reign alone. If he was co-regent at least he would have proper guidance."

  "He will have proper guidance."

  "Eh? Who from? You, Ay?"

  "Can you think of anyone better?"

  "So you will not sit on the throne of Kemet," put in Maya. "But you will control the king anyway."

  "Is there anyone better suited? I have been adviser and confidant to three kings, why not another? And this at a time when Kemet surely needs my talents."

  "Very well," Maya agreed. "Let us say you can control the boy. How will you topple the kings? I seem to remember you had some difficulty toppling one king three years ago."

  Ay stared unblinking at the treasury scribe, reminding himself how useful the man was to his enterprise. The man met his gaze for several seconds then looked away. Ay suppressed a smile. "I went into that on the behest of my daughter Nefertiti, before I was ready, and even then I nearly succeeded."

  "Paatenemheb." Psenamy spoke one word which hung in the air between them.

  Bakt nodded. "Yes, our illustrious General of the Armies. No enterprise will succeed without that man's support. Do you have him on our side?"

  "Yes," Usermontju agreed. "The man is a fanatical supporter of Akhenaten and he has the army behind him. I want no part of this if he is against us. I have no desire to end up staked out in the desert."

  Ay frowned. "No, he is not on our side." He held up a hand to stem the shudder of unease in his listeners. "But we do not need him. Listen and I will tell you why. First, he is not the fanatic you think. He has no real love for Akhenaten, only for Kemet..."

  "He changed his name to encompass the false god," Bakt commented.

  "And has since changed it back to Horemheb. He did that in the first place because he sought gold to pay his armies. I was there when he did so and I talked to him. I know the real reason. His love is for Kemet and he will do anything to strengthen our Two Lands. If we topple the heretic and present him with a stable replacement, he will not move against us."

  "And if he does?"

  "He will not. Besides, he is on our Eastern borders. By the time he hears of our coup it will be too late for him to do anything. We shall send him a gift of gold, many deben of gold."

  "You'd try to buy him?"

  "No. The man cares nothing for personal wealth. He will use it to equip his army and he will remember where the gold came from when he needs more."

  "I do not trust him," Psenamy muttered.

  "I am not surprised. He dismissed you from your command. But you need not trust him; trust me when I say that he will not move against the only surviving member of the royal house, Tutankhaten."

  "The only surviving male member."

  "We have no desire to return to the days of a female monarch. The women will serve to cement legitimate claims to the throne. I have in mind to marry Ankhesenpaaten to Tutankhaten. Nobody could dispute his claim to the throne then.

  "What of Meryetaten?"

  "The widow of both Akhenaten and Smenkhkare," Ay sneered. "Well, if her sister does not produce an heir, we can always marry h
er to a third king."

  "And Beketaten?"

  "She dies."

  "Why does she need to die?" Kheper asked. "She is beautiful, unmarried and a princess; one of Nebmaetre's daughters. I would have thought her a prime candidate for your plans."

  "I have my reasons." Ay hesitated before continuing in a flat voice. "She is too close to her brother Smenkhkare and she has connections to Paramessu, Horemheb's adjutant. No." He shook his head. "She is too dangerous to live."

  The other men digested this information in silence, drinking from their wine cups. From outside the room came the murmur of gardeners' voices and more muted, like waves on a distant shore, the ebb and flow of city life.

  "Then how are we to proceed?" Kheper asked at last. "This is something that must be planned to the last detail."

  "Indeed?" Ay commented dryly. "Then it is well you have me leading you. You will all have your parts to play, but you take your cues from me. I want no initiatives, you understand?" He waited for agreement from each man, pointedly staring at them until they nodded or grunted their assent.

  "Very well, then. It must be soon. Smenkhkare has forced me to retire, effective at the end of the month, a mere twenty days away. Once I am officially retired, any power I have is severely restricted. So, our blow falls on the eighteenth day."

  "Why then?" Maya asked.

  "Because in three days time Smenkhkare leaves the city and plans to return around the end of the month, I suspect to be sure I retire."

  "I have not heard of plans for any such trip," Maya commented, his forehead creasing. "I am sure I would if it were so."

  "That is because it is not a formal occasion, warranting a withdrawal from the treasury. The king has heard of a lion near Djeba that is terrorizing a village, killing the cattle. He plans to hunt it down. He means to take a dozen men and enjoy a quick and pleasant hunting trip." Ay smiled and walked back over to the balustrade, leaning against it and picking up his wine cup.

  "That was a fortunate turn of events."

  "Fortune had nothing to do with it. My men brought him the report."