by Overton, Max
"You are a good king, brother. Compassionate but just. Would you leave our people in the hands of people like Ay?"
"No. A king stands before the gods on behalf of the people. I feel called to do that. It is just that sometimes...sometimes I want to do something daring and dangerous." He shook his head, and then suddenly swore at the horses, pulling them up hard in a shower of stones as the chariot slid sideways in front of the gate that guarded the entrance to the Great Place. The horses stamped and blew, shaking the dust from their manes. Smenkhkare stared straight ahead at the opening gates and the hurrying guards. "I must learn to control my desire for action, little sister, else I shall precipitate my people into a war of conquest and glory."
"You will not go to war, surely? There is no reason."
"No, none." Smenkhkare took his linen headpiece off and shook the dust out of it before slipping it back on. "I will go hunting instead. A lion is terrorizing the villages near Djeba. I leave tomorrow but I mean to be back by the end of the month."
The other chariots with the scribes and priests pulled up behind them and Ahmose, as senior official, dared to call out to the king. "My lord, do we drive on?"
"Feel like a walk, sister? I think these temple priests and scribes could do with some exercise." Smenkhkare leapt down from the chariot, helping Scarab down. "I think we will walk from here," he called back.
Without waiting for the others to dismount, the king set off at a rapid walk past the guards and into the burial valley. Scarab hitched up her long dress and hurried after him, grinning at the startled looks on the faces of the soldiers.
"I meant to ask you. How is it that you beat off those men yesterday? I am told Khu was injured early on, yet two men died."
"The gods smiled on me."
Smenkhkare stuck his tongue out and blew. "That for your luck. Tell me, Scarab. Where did you learn to fight?" He pointed toward a broad track that led off toward the right hand side of the valley. "Up there, I think."
"What are we looking for?"
"We are not looking for anything; I know what is up here. Who taught you to fight?"
"Slow down, brother. What is up here?" Scarab glanced sideways at the lithe young man striding beside her. "Paramessu taught me."
"Paramessu? But he is up north and you have not seen him these last three years...or have you?"
Scarab shook her head. "He left me his Leader of Fifty, Meny, with strict instructions to look after me. The man interpreted that rather liberally and taught me to fight."
Smenkhkare stopped and stared at his sister. "You fight with men?"
"Who else is there to practice fighting with?" Scarab grinned. "I cannot see the palace women doing anything more than pulling hair and scratching."
The king snorted and started forward again. "That is true; still, I do not think it is seemly for a woman to fight with men."
"It kept me alive yesterday, and Khu."
Smenkhkare strode ahead in silence. They crested a small rise and started down a smaller trail that led toward a great slope of loose rubble where several men stood around talking or shifting rocks.
"How is he? Khu."
"He will live, the wound was not deep. It will be some time before he fully recovers, but he will be up and about in ten days or so."
"You like him, don't you?"
"Khu?" Scarab's eyes opened wide. "Of course, he is a friend."
"Not Khu." Smenkhkare's voice betrayed a tinge of impatience. "Paramessu."
"I scarcely know him," Scarab said carefully. "I last saw him three years ago, as you said. I am grateful to him for giving me Meny but..."
"Do not harbor affection for him, Scarab. He is a soldier and beneath you."
"I did not think to hear you talk of stations in life, brother. Did not you always teach me to look at the inner person, not what he is on the outside?"
"That is not what I mean." Smenkhkare stopped again and waved back the following priests out of earshot. "I have no doubt he is a good man and an able soldier, but he is just that whereas you are a royal princess, destined to raise royal sons to rule Kemet."
Scarab stared back at her brother. "You mean to marry me off? To whom?"
"When I return from Djeba, and when Ay is safely in retirement, I will marry you myself and make you my queen. You shall bear my sons and rule Kemet with me." Smenkhkare cocked his head to one side. "This does not please you, Scarab? I told you when we were children that I would marry you."
Scarab looked down at the rocky ground at her feet, feeling her heart pounding and the blood rushing through her temples. "As...as my lord commands," she whispered.
"I do not command you, sister." Smenkhkare stepped forward and lifted Scarab's chin with one hand. "Do you love some man? Do you want his arms around you instead?" His eyes narrowed. "Or is it lust? Have you been indiscreet?"
Scarab blushed and jerked her head away. "I have not forgotten who I am, brother. Have you?"
The king's eyes flashed and his lips tightened. "I am the king." His shoulders slumped and he uttered a deep sigh. "But I am also your brother, and come next month, your husband also. I care for you, little Scarab, and will not see you throw your destiny away." He turned and signaling the priests, started toward the men on the rubble slope, who knelt with heads bowed low as their king approached.
Scarab stared after him, her mind in turmoil. Ahmose and Paser nodded to her, their eyes curious as they passed. The priests looked away, but hurried on after the scribes and their king. Scarab dropped the folds of her bunched up dress and she smoothed it, dusting it down. She patted her wig, liberating more dust, then adjusted it and walked slowly up to the group of men. The rocks here showed signs of the recent rain though already the fierce sun baked the ground dry again. In the hollows between the boulders, the dust had turned to mud, now rapidly drying.
A plain-kilted man stood talking to Smenkhkare, his paunch and plump limbs revealing an occupation that did not involve manipulating rocks or any form of manual labor. Scarab edged closer to listen.
"...I have teams of men on that already, majesty. As I said, we only had a small cliff face collapse and the excavations of the buried tomb entrance are almost complete."
Smenkhkare nodded, his face serious. "And water damage? There was a large storm last night, I hear."
"Only minor flooding, majesty. We were lucky. If the dry valleys on the other side of the Great Place had flooded..." The fat man swung round and pointed a pudgy finger across the barren floor of the burial valley. "Several tombs would have been damaged."
"But none were?" Smenkhkare persisted.
"No, majesty." The man hesitated and licked his lips, his eyes flickering across the men behind his king. They lingered on the figure of the beautiful young girl for a moment, before moving on. "There...there is something else."
"I was wondering when you were going to get to that, Kenhirkhoshef."
The fat man's eyes widened. "You knew of it, majesty?"
"Knowledge comes to me from many sources. You must not imagine that the overseer of the Great Place is the only eye of the king."
Kenhirkhoshef bowed. "Then you also know whose tomb, majesty."
"No, that was not revealed to me." Smenkhkare stared at the man, seeing a mix of emotions in his face, but fear starting to get the upper hand. He did not enjoy lying to the man but needed to see if guilt lay in his face. Abruptly he turned to the captain of the valley guard who was dressed like the other soldiers but wearing a headdress with the blue stripe of office. "Hori, you have seen it?"
The captain saluted. "Yes, majesty, I have seen it."
"Very well then." Smenkhkare turned back to Kenhirkhoshef, noticing the sweat breaking out on the man's face despite the shade over this part of the valley. "Whose tomb is it?"
Kenhirkhoshef cleared his throat and swallowed. "Your grandfather and grandmother's, majesty."
"King Tuthmosis?" Smenkhkare feigned shock and anger, though he felt the real emotions grow inside him.
Scarab saw her brother's shoulders tremble slightly and stepped up beside him, placing a hand lightly on his arm. "What is it, brother? What has happened?"
"The tomb of our mother's parents has been broken into," Smenkhkare replied quietly, a faint tremor slurring his words slightly.
Scarab's hand convulsed, gripping the king's arm tightly. Ahmose and Kenhirkhoshef looked shocked but refrained from speaking. "Who did this?" she asked. "Who committed such a sacrilege? Or rather, how did this happen?" Scarab rounded on the captain of the guard. "Where were your men while my grandparents' tomb was being plundered?"
The captain glanced at the king, hesitating.
"Answer her, Hori," Smenkhkare said quietly, his voice controlled again. "This is my sister Beketaten."
Hori saluted again. "Yes majesties." He wheeled and stabbed a finger at spots on the valley rim, high above them. "I have guard posts there, there and there. They are manned at all times with watchmen who keep guard of the main trails leading down into the valley from the desert plateau. I have a post at the valley gates also." Turning back to face the king again, he went on. "I have fifty men, sir. Divided into two watches, I have ten men at each of the watch stations and twenty at the gate. If they see any unauthorized activity in the valley, they send a runner to the main gate and I investigate."
"So how is it that my grandparents' tomb was violated? Were your men asleep?"
"No, majesty. The valley is large and it is very dark at night. I believe some men took advantage of the storm last night to descend along one of the lesser trails and break into the tomb. I do not have enough men to guard every trail or goat track."
Smenkhkare turned to Ahmose the chief scribe. "Why is it that there are only fifty men guarding the royal tombs?"
Ahmose sketched a quick bow. "Your royal brother cut back the numbers some years back. He felt that the fact the tombs were buried in loose rock was a greater protection than more soldiers." The scribe ventured a small smile. "There are no records kept of the site of each tomb."
"Evidently not protection enough." Smenkhkare faced Hori again. "He has a point, captain. How can robbers find the tombs among all these piles of rubble, particularly if even the officials do not know the position of the tombs?"
"Perhaps one or more of your men is less than honest, captain." Scarab stared at the impassive face of the guard. "A word passed to a thief..."
"Begging your pardon, lady, but there is no need for that. Any burial that occurs within the Great Place is observed by many eyes. The valley rim is impossible to guard properly and all someone has to do is note landmarks and they can find the place later, even at night. I keep watch with my men after each burial, camping near the site for forty days, but after that I must attend to my other duties. Sometimes the location of a tomb is passed down from father to son until years later it is broken into."
Smenkhkare looked at Hori's rugged but open face for several minutes. Abruptly he nodded and addressed Ahmose. "See to it that the guard here is doubled immediately. The captain cannot be expected to carry out his duties with so few men. Kenhirkhoshef. Lead me to the tomb. I will see this desecration for myself."
The Overseer of the Great Place led the way as best he could, heaving his bulk over the loose rubble, scrambling down to the floor of the valley. He puffed and panted, sweat running down his body, carving runnels in the ubiquitous dust. Smenkhkare strode beside him, forcing the pace, refusing to let Kenhirkhoshef slow and catch his breath.
"You are too fat," Smenkhkare growled. "Evidently I shall have to cut your rations and have you train with the guards."
"With...with respect, majesty." Kenhirkhoshef gasped. "My f...fat has nothing to do with what I eat...my parents were both fat. I have to...to eat to sustain my body."
"Where is this tomb?" The king scanned the walls of the valley, the scree slopes and jumbled dusty piles of rubble.
"Up there, majesty." Kenhirkhoshef pointed up a side valley, his trembling arm wavering as he drew in great lungfuls of air.
Smenkhkare stopped and looked at the Overseer's flushed face and sweat-soaked body. He beckoned to Hori, the guard captain. "You know where the tomb is? Then take me there. Kenhirkhoshef, stay here until you are ready, and then follow." He turned away and trotted after the guard captain.
Scarab followed at a slower pace, feeling the heat of the sun beating back from the valley sides, the light blinding on the pale rock. She squinted and held a hand up to shade her eyes. Sweat trickled down her back and between her breasts, mingling with the dust to stain her dress. Used to a dry heat, Scarab found the increased humidity in the air made the afternoon sun harder to bear. Ahmose and Paser slowed their pace as well, as did the priests of the mortuary temples. They made a show of keeping her company, being part of her official entourage, obsequiously asking after her well-being, loudly wishing they could shield her from the sun. Scarab suspected they were hanging back just to avoid undue exertion.
They caught up with the Overseer as he turned to leave the track along the valley floor, preparatory to scrambling up the twenty or thirty paces of rock debris to where a carved lintel beam and door pillars could be seen, half buried in the rubble. Smenkhkare and Hori were nowhere to be seen.
"They have entered the tomb," Kenhirkhoshef explained.
Scarab leaned down and peered into the space cleared by the robbers. A short flight of stairs, still choked with debris, descended to a bricked up wall, the seals of the mortuary priests still visible, pressed into the clay before it dried nearly forty years before. A ragged hole in the brick wall gaped, the blackness within seeming to throw an inky shadow out into the sunlit world above.
"How can they see in there?" Scarab muttered.
As if in answer a faint light flickered in the blackness, growing stronger, until her brother pushed his head and shoulders through the gap, scrambling out and dusting himself off. Hori followed, grasping a lit torch.
The king called the mortuary priests over. "The tomb has been breached, though the burial chamber seems intact. Send someone back to the temples for seals and to the village. We will need bricklayers and plasterers. Ahmose, please make a quick inventory of the tomb goods, have anything damaged removed and organize replacements." He looked around at the assembled men, his expression somber. "There is no worse crime than desecrating the place of the dead. An attack on the living can be defended but the dead ones rely on us to ensure their happiness in the afterlife. I ask you all to work now to right this dreadful wrong."
The priests bowed and hurried off on their errands. Paser took out writing materials from the pouch at his waist and followed Ahmose into the tomb, taking with them another torch from the bundle of them at the tomb mouth.
Smenkhkare watched until everyone was out of sight except for Hori and Scarab. "Come, sister," he said. "Let us pay our respects to our grandparents." He picked up another torch and lit it from the one burning outside the entrance, then held it high for his sister to climb into the grave.
Scarab felt a tiny prickle of unease at the back of her neck as she hitched up her dress and descended the steep steps cut into the stone. She stood looking at the yawning black hole until her brother touched her on the shoulder.
"Do not be afraid," he said softly. "They are your grandparents and love you."
Scarab climbed over the lip of the wall, ducking under the rough overhang. She waited uncomfortably in the dark, feeling the eternal night of the tomb press in upon her, until Smenkhkare passed the torch to her. The air was still and the flame burned low and constant, the shadows trembling only as her hand shook. Dimly seen within the small circle of light, wall paintings told a story in pictures of the fate awaiting the dead when they came face to face with Asar. A musty smell pervaded the steeply-descendin
g corridor. At the far end came a glimmer of orange light and a murmur disturbed the air, beating up the long dark corridor from the tomb below. Scarab felt the hairs on her arms rise until she realized the voices were those of Ahmose and Paser. She fought down an urge to giggle and looked at her brother in the dim light.
"Come," he said and took the torch from her, leading the way downward through the pieces of wall rubble.
The corridor, though seeming to stretch into darkness was short, a mere ten paces. Despite the flickering red light of the torch, they shuffled along, afraid of tripping over something they could not see, their fingertips brushing the walls. A second doorway, open this time, framed another steeply-descending flight of stairs. Scarab counted out five steps before the corridor opened out, though the stairs, hewn out of the rock, continued in the central part. At the bottom of the stairwell lay another walled-up entrance, with a rough breach hacked in the lower left corner. Bending down, Scarab could see the glow of a torch and hear the voices of the scribes as a low murmur. She scrambled through, followed a few moments later by her brother. The scene that greeted her was a devastation of broken and ruined furniture, broken pots and here and there a glint of gold or semi-precious stones.
"The thieves got through to here, but thank the gods, no further," Smenkhkare said grimly. "The Medjay will make inquiries, of course, but the chances of finding who did this are not great."
"What would happen to them if they were caught?"
"They would be tried, either in a local court, or perhaps before the mayor of Waset. If the evidence was good, like recovered grave goods, a confession would be extracted and sentence passed. Probably just a simple execution." Smenkhkare scowled as he looked around the ruins of his grandparents' tomb. "If it was up to me, death would be a while coming and they would pray for it."
Scarab shivered at this talk of death in the darkness. She moved closer to where Ahmose and Paser were making notes of the contents of the room.
"... linen clothing," Ahmose was saying, as Paser made notes on a scrap of papyrus with a charcoal stick. The chief scribe unfolded the cloth and examined it. "A dress, fine linen, for formal wear." He picked up another garment and unfolded it. "A dress, plain, with a large tear. And here is a wooden box with cosmetics, still intact, a jar of unguent, sealed and a small image of Re."
