by Overton, Max
Kensthoth shook off the arm of one of the guards. "What are you talking about, Ay? We have committed no crime. We are King's Councilors." Meres and Kenamun, the latter clutching his bloodied thigh, added their voices to the protest.
Ay swiveled his head and stared at the portly scribe. "You are no longer Councilors, your king is dead. As for a crime, you attacked one of my soldiers and fostered rebellion among the others so they fled from my appointed authority."
"That is not a capital offence, Ay. I know what I'm talking about."
Ay swung round on the Captain. "I gave you an order, Menre. Must I draw my sword and do your duty for you?"
Menre saluted. "Men, hold the prisoners." At once the soldiers leapt forward and grabbed each man by the arms, forcing them to their knees on the boards. Menre drew his sword.
"You cannot do this Ay," Kensthoth rumbled. "You exceed your authority. Only the king or the duly appointed courts can take lives."
"Fool, I have all the authority I need. Until we have a king, I act for him." Ay nodded to the Captain. "Do it."
Menre plunged his short sword into the scribe's neck, the sharp blade ripping through cartilage and arteries, sending a bright scarlet jet of blood fountaining across Meres next to him, bloody froth staining his lips. The merchant screamed, his cries cut short as the blood-spattered bronze sliced across his throat in a fresh welter of crimson. The two slaughtered men collapsed as the soldiers released them. Kenamun the toymaker struggled to his feet and stared at the Captain as he stepped in front of him.
"The gods will judge you Captain...and you Ay." He gasped and shuddered as the sword plunged into his belly. He sank back down to his knees with a deep groan of pain. The soldiers released him and he toppled face down into the water.
"Clear this mess away," Ay snarled. "And quickly. The prince will be returning to the city."
The guards hastened to drag the bodies back toward the dark shadows behind the funerary temples, while others sluiced water over the boards, sponging them down with the toymaker's own robes. The condemned soldier helped, adding his tears of terror to the wet boards.
The funerary priests appeared once more, escorting the prince and princess from the temple, leading them down to the water's edge. Ay bowed as the young royals approached.
"We should be getting back, my lord. Tomorrow will be a long day."
Tutankhaten yawned loudly, covering his mouth with one hand. "Where are the others, uncle?" He looked around. "I want to ask the scribe a question."
"He is staying here, my lord. He has already gone. Now if you will accompany me?" Ay gestured and the priests picked up Tutankhaten and Ankhesenpaaten, and carried them out to the drifting barge. The barge master released his sailors, who helped the young children on board. Ay was the last on board. He turned and stared back into the darkness stretching away on either side from the little island of light around the boards, the funerary priests and the guards.
"Find them, Menre. Find them and kill them. They cannot have gone far."
"Kill who, uncle?" Tutankhaten tugged at the Tjaty's arm. "Who are the soldiers going to kill?"
Ay forced a smile onto his face as he turned to face the young boy. "Nothing to cause you concern, my lord. Just some enemies of Kemet. I will always be here to protect you."
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Chapter Seventeen
"My lord General? Do we advance?"
Paramessu ignored the question and scanned the battle lines drawn up across the valley. The early morning sun dazzled him and he squinted, one hand to his brow. The wooden platform he stood on moved slightly and his muscles tensed. His breakfast of beer, bread and stale meat bolted quickly at dawn sat like lead in his guts, the fear he dared not let his men see gripping his belly like talons. He belched and acid flooded the back of his throat, making him swallow hard. His stomach felt knotted and tight and had been getting worse in the days since he took over command of the combined legions of the Northern Army. Balancing on a hastily erected dais did not help, but at least it enabled him to see over the heads of the fighting men to gain some semblance of an overview. Fighting down a feeling of nausea he turned to look down on his legion commanders, a forced smile on his face.
"Well, gentlemen, are your legions ready? We have the Amorite army at bay and I intend to crush them."
His commanders looked from one to the other, then, almost to a man, nodded or gave audible signs of confirmation. Only one, a tall, thin, hawk-nosed man, by coincidence commander of the Heru legion, its hawk emblem not unlike its commander's profile, nodded reluctantly. "Permission to speak, General?"
"Of course Djedhor, but make it quick." Paramessu laughed. "We have Amorites to kill."
"I am suspicious. We clearly outnumber them yet they did not vanish in the night like they have before. And this morning we find them waiting for us."
"They probably did not know we were so many," observed a grizzled older man with a white scar down the left side of his body. "My Ptah legion met the vanguard of their army last night. They withdrew and no doubt reported a single legion." He spat to one side. "Five of my men died by their arrows. I have sworn to revenge myself a hundred-fold."
"Good, Amentep, well said." Paramessu nodded. "Hednakht, is Re ready for battle?"
Young commander Hednakht bowed; aware he owed his promotion to his new general. "We are, sir," he said crisply.
"And Khui? Is Set prepared?"
"Indeed we are. Just look around you." Khui waved his hands expansively at the legion that surrounded the dais. "We are just awaiting your orders, general."
"Then, gentlemen, I think we will begin."
"Just like that." Djedhor looked as if he had drunk sour wine, his face set in a disapproving grimace. "Do we not have a battle plan? Horemheb would..."
"...Would beat the excrement out of these dogs," Hednakt broke in. "Not only do we outnumber them, but a Kemetu soldier is worth three Amorites. We'll slaughter them."
Paramessu frowned. "Yes, we have a plan, Djedhor--a simple one. We will advance in battle formation until we are in arrow-shot of their front ranks. We loose a volley and send in the heavy chariots. We have nearly two hundred and they will smash their line, scattering it like geese before the fox. Then we mop up the remnants."
Djedhor grimaced. "It could work, General," he admitted. Suddenly he shrugged and smiled. "The Heru legion will be there when you need us, sir."
The General nodded. "I know you will all do your duty for Kemet. Now, back to your legions and wait for my command." He beckoned the small group of trumpeters over to him. They came at a run, clutching their instruments, and joined the group of runners just behind the General's dais.
Paramessu looked over his army carefully, waiting until all commanders were in position and the men ready. Somewhere ahead, behind the dazzle of the sun, stood the enemies of Kemet, the clean, stone-free lines of the valley rising up in a gentle swell. He muttered a quick prayer to the several gods and chopped down with his right hand. "Signal the advance," he said firmly.
The brassy wails rang out in the cool morning air and with a heavy sigh, all the legions except Set lurched forward, the ground trembling beneath the sandaled feet of twelve thousand men. The ragged lines swiftly settled into a march as they moved up the valley. Paramessu clambered down and instructed the soldiers to carry his observation platform forward.
"Nearly there," Paramessu muttered to himself. He counted out the paces and at fifty, called out to the signalers. "Sound the halt." A sharp, strident note suddenly cut off and a heartbeat later the feet crashed into silence. "Archers at the ready." A rapid series of notes. "Chariots prepared." A skirl dying in a flutter.
Paramessu climbed back up onto the platform and scanned the battle lines once more. The sun had risen slightly and while still full in his eyes, at least enabled him to make out the enemy lines, though in no detail. He lifted his arm to send the volley of arrows on its way and halted, arm upraised, head cocked to one
side, listening. A low rumble grew in intensity, along with the cries of men and horses. "Chariots, by the gods." He swung round to the trumpeters and screamed, "Loose the arrows."
A thousand bows bent and a thousand shafts flew high, silhouetted against the blue of the morning sky for an instant before plunging into the dazzle that was the Amorite army--but over the heads of the light war chariots that thundered down the valley. Paramessu froze, his mind whirling. "Release our chariots," he screamed. The blare of the trumpet was drowned as the heavy war chariots of the Kemetu army rolled left and right around the central Ptah and Set legions, picking up speed as they trundled into the narrow lanes flanked by Heru and Re. Men from these legions, acting under orders from their commanders, Djedhor and Hednakht, as they reacted in a time-honoured way to the threat of chariots, spilled out into the narrow aisles. The men, armed with long spears, knelt, their weapons leveled and pointing in bristling hedges at the oncoming Amorite chariots. Kemetu chariots, unable to stop in time, unable to swerve because of the press of their fellows around them, overran their own troops, killing and maiming, before bouncing and bucking over the screaming obstruction into the level plain beyond the army.
The Amorite chariots, few in number and far more maneuverable, turned aside from their charge at the last minute, sweeping along the front of the Kemetu, releasing arrows in a stinging cloud that, while it did little damage, plunged the front lines into confusion. The chariots then turned and fled back to the safety of their own lines, leaving only Kemetu dead on the valley floor.
Paramessu groaned, his hands covering his face as he wept for his men. Lifting a tear-streaked face he called for the 'Stand to', waiting in an agony for the troops of the three front line legions to form up into ranks again. The chariots milled around in the front of the army, as their commander, Khaenmaat, tried to decide what to do. The dead and wounded were carried back behind the army where a small cadre of physicians got to work on the survivors.
"Runner, get to Khaenmaat, Commander of Chariotry. Tell him to proceed up the valley at speed and smash their front line. When he bursts through he is to turn and hit them again from the rear. The legions will support him." Paramessu called three other runners closer. "To the legion commanders, advance rapidly behind the chariots and engage the broken elements of the Amorite army before they can reorganize."
The runners raced off and after a few minutes resolution returned as the chariots formed up in a loose squadron, the legions muttering and heaving with the excitement of imminent conflict. An order rang out and the chariots leapt forward, Khaenmaat in the lead, his gold chain of office bouncing and gleaming as he turned to wave his men forward.
The valley sloped upward gently, enough to counter the vigor of the horse teams pulling the heavy chariots, though because the valley floor was for some reason devoid of rocks, smooth and level, the armed might of Kemet moved at a full gallop by the time they reached the Amorites.
The legions of Heru, Ptah and Re ran forward in the wake of the chariots, uttering a roar of defiance at the enemy. As they ran, they started bunching together. At first, the commanders yelled at their men to maintain their ranks, to keep formation, but as the advance disrupted, they saw that the valley sides were to blame. The low rocky edges of the valley moved inexorably inward as the army moved higher. The legions to left and right, Heru and Re edged sideways as they ran, avoiding the rocky ground but pushing inward, obstructing their fellow soldiers. The advancing army became a disorganized mob of armed soldiers.
Paramessu, still atop his shaky platform in the Set legion, saw the developing chaos and swore violently. Lifting his eyes above the mob he saw his chariots impacting the Amorite line and crashing through it. "Yes!" he screamed. "We have them, men. We have broken through." The men of the Set legion raised a cheer, shaking their spears in the air. Paramessu jumped down and pushed his way to the front of the line where Khui stood impatiently.
"Well, General? What are our orders? My men deserve to share in the victory."
"And they shall. Advance Khui, advance and conquer." Paramessu ran out in front of the troops and exhorted them to follow, turning and starting up the valley toward the sounds of fighting. With a great cry of joy, Khui and the Set legion followed. Unseen by the Kemetu, a red banner rose and fluttered above a slight rise on the right flank of the enemy.
At the head of the valley, Khaenmaat roared with triumph as his heavy war chariot tore into the enemy line ahead of his squadron. His triumph turned to surprise then rage as the Amorites melted away from the thundering chariots, drawing together into thin islands of men with open channels between them. The horses swerved slightly toward these openings, pulling against the reins of the charioteers, and ran down the aisles. The Kemetu chariots streamed through the Amorite army, doing little real damage, though many had succumbed to the trampling hooves and crushing wheels.
Khaenmaat saw open ground in front of him, a bare earth expanse and grinned. "Turn," he howled above the drumming hooves and metallic din of the battle. "Turn and hit the dogs from the rear." His chariot sped out onto the bare earth, his squadron behind him. The charioteers slowed their racing horses and started them into the turns, practiced so often before. Khaenmaat had turned his head to look back at the following squadron and suddenly saw one just disappear in front of his eyes. The clouding dust rose in billows but the chariot had vanished as if it never existed, not become enveloped in dust. Another...and another...his world lurched, and Khaenmaat flew over the chariot railing as the vehicle dropped away beneath him. Horses screamed in terror and men cried out. He tumbled, catching glimpses of a sky so blue it hurt, of rich brown earth and for an instant he remembered the golden and green river valley of his birth. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him and he lay there trying to collect his wits. A deep silence descended over the earth.
What happened? Did I hit a rock ? He struggled to rise but found himself unable to move. Looking down, Khaenmaat found himself staring at a bloody stake apparently rising out of his belly, the skin torn and ragged around the point where it erupted from him, his body and the surrounding earth soaked in blood. He stared uncomprehendingly, feeling no pain, hearing nothing. I cannot be seeing that , he thought. I feel nothing. Am I dead ? Turning his head he saw the lip of the pit and the tangle of his chariot and the team of horses. The charioteer lay still, his head at an odd angle, but the horses lay thrashing, mouths open and bloodied yet strangely silent.
Comprehension dawned. "Oh, gods," he muttered. "A pitfall. I am dead--we all are." With his words, sound returned, at first as if muffled through layers of cloth but presently in full strength. He struggled to sit up again and pain swept over him, setting his body ablaze with ice and fire. Khaenmaat screamed, his voice rising in a wail of horror and agony from one of the pits that sprinkled the bare earth at the head of the little valley. Behind the shattered remnants of Kemet's chariot squadron rose the sounds of battle.
The rabble that was once the pride of Kemet's legions crashed into the firm ranks of Amorite soldiers that formed up as soon as the chariots had passed. The line was thin, but armed with long spears and the Kemetu had been expecting chaos following on the heels of the chariot squadron. The line held and pushed forward, the long spears stabbing. Kemetu found themselves hemmed in by their fellows, without the room to swing curved copper swords or wield the heavy stone maces. The noise of battle grew louder as the toll mounted, injured men falling to the ground clutching bloody wounds or crushed limbs, others pushing forward and trampling friend and foe alike. Thought fled, mind and body working in the familiar drill routines as the Kemetu were slowly pushed back.
A tremor ran through the mass of struggling men and cries of "Set! Set!" echoed from the rear. The pressure built once more as the last of Paramessu's legions joined the battle. The balance of the swaying armies changed and abruptly the Amorite line gave way, so suddenly was the pressure released that the front ranks of the Heru and Re legions fell forward, weapons flying. If the Amorites h
ad turned and attacked then great would have been the slaughter. But they did not, choosing instead to fall back. Picking themselves up, the stumbled Heru and Re soldiers joined their fellows running forward, cries of triumph and anger building their courage.
Djedhor laid about him with his whip of office, screaming at his men to listen, to form into units. "Stop, you fools. The battle is not yet won. Form into ranks." The men rushed by him, ignoring his threats and pleas as the Amorite troops jogged back up the valley, drawing the disorganized legions behind them.
The Heru commander saw Paramessu among the Set legion and fought his way across the flow of troops to his side. The General grinned fiercely, his unused sword in his hand as he pointed it up the valley. "We have them on the run, Djedhor."
Djedhor grabbed at Paramessu and swung him round. "They are not running. They are falling back in good order. It is a trap."
"Nonsense. Their spirit is broken. Khaenmaat's chariots broke their back and now we will mop up the remnants."
"Then where are the chariots now? If they succeeded they should be attacking from the rear."
A flicker of movement from the valley side caught Paramessu's eye as he opened his mouth to reply. A blue banner arose among the rocks and boulders and waved above the churning dust that filled the battlefield. "What in the name of Re is that?"
Djedhor looked then swore violently. "It is a trap. I don't know what it means but the Amorite general is still in control of his men, which is more than can be said of you...sir."
At the head of the valley, just short of the torn up earth where the pride of Khaenmaat's chariot squadron lay dead or dying, the Amorite troops, as abruptly as if they heard a command above the din of the pursuing soldiers, stopped and turned once more, shield fitting into shield, spears leveled. The intermingled legions burst on the shield wall and faltered.
Above the pall of dust a green banner rose. From the rocks and boulders that littered the sides of the valley, a mass of men emerged, armed with bows, and great quivers of arrows slung about their hips. The green banner dipped and a black cloud rose from each side, arcing high into the heavens to descend in a lethal downpouring from the cloudless sky.
