The Amarnan Kings, Book 2: Scarab - Smenkhkare

by Overton, Max

  Ay frowned. "You left your station on the northern border without permission? Was that wise, lord general? Was it...dare I say it, the action of a loyal subject of the king?"

  "You are not a fool," Horemheb growled. "Do not take me for one."

  Ay regarded the man who had almost caused his dismissal and execution for treason four years before. He had dreamed of the day when he would have Horemheb in his power and the time seemed opportune. He had deserted his station on the border, an offence that could have him hanging from the walls of the city by his feet, the vultures tearing at his privates. The man had arrived in Waset so precipitately that few in the city or palace knew of his presence, and only accompanied by a mere fifty men. Ay's hand twitched as he almost signaled to Mentopher in the shadows. One small gesture and the local palace guards would fall on the General and capture or kill him. The guards were loyal to Ay personally, not to Horemheb as General of all the Armies of Kemet.

  His hand twitched again and he heard Mentopher move, shifting his weight, anticipating the killing. Surely Horemheb could not be so trusting, so stupid as to walk virtually unarmed into the lion's lair? He must have some hidden resource, an unseen advantage.

  "Perhaps we should discuss the situation in private?" Ay said smoothly. "You must be tired after your long journey. A cup of fine dark wine, perhaps, before you pay your respects to Prince Tutankhaten?"

  "Yes, there are things that must be said, questions that must be answered." He gestured with his right hand, his eyes never leaving the once-powerful but now wizened body of the Tjaty. "Kaha, you will accompany me with three men. The rest will stay here." Horemheb's eyes flicked quickly over the men standing behind Ay. "Chamberlain, you will have beer and meat brought for my men."

  "At once, Lord General," the Chamberlain said, bowing low. He hurried off on his mission.

  "I think it would be better if we talked alone," Ay said, looking askance at the young Leader of Fifty behind Horemheb. "You would trust your man?"

  "With my life, but he will not be present. I value him too much."

  Ay raised an eyebrow questioningly.

  "People who know too much have a habit of dying."

  The Tjaty smiled sardonically and bowed his head briefly. "Then let us talk together, General Horemheb." Ay led the way to a small sparsely furnished room off the main audience chamber. He took a burning torch from a wall sconce in the corridor outside and lit several of the torches inside the room, releasing a warm flickering light into the chamber.

  Horemheb set Kaha and his men on guard outside the door, together with Mentopher and two of his cronies. Shutting the door behind him, the General stood and looked at Ay as he picked out a comfortable padded chair and sat down. "I know you are plotting something again, Ay. By rights I should have you arrested and brought before the king."

  "Perhaps." Ay nodded thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could, perhaps not." He sat and watched Horemheb by the door, a small smile creasing his lined face. After a few minutes he said softly, "Shall I tell you why you won't arrest me?"

  Horemheb grunted and walked across to another chair a few paces distant from Ay. "So tell me."

  "Because you are an honourable man. You could have had me executed four years ago when my daughter and I rebelled against the Heretic. You knew I was guilty but you stayed your hand. Why?" Ay waited a few moments but Horemheb said nothing, just sat down and looked at the Tjaty from under hooded lids. "I'll tell you--because you obey the rule of law, whether it is right or wrong. The Heretic told you to spare me, so you did. You are an honourable man."

  "Yet despite Akhenaten sparing your life and restoring you to your position once more, you turn on him at the first opportunity."

  Ay laughed. "I never said I was an honourable man."

  Horemheb frowned. "Do you not fear the gods?"

  "Which ones? We Kemetu have enough of them. You'd think some of them would be genuine."

  There came a soft rapping at the door. Horemheb rose quietly and walking across, opened it to reveal Kaha. The young Leader of Fifty held out a small jug of beer and two earthenware mugs. "We have bread and meat too, sir."

  Horemheb nodded and took one of the loaves under his arm, grabbed a small chunk of roasted beef with one hand and the jug and mugs in the other, leaving Kaha to close the door for him. He carried the food and drink over to a low table and set them down. Pouring the beer, he broke off a chunk of bread and ripped a sliver of meat from the bone, carrying his meal back over to his chair.

  Ay got up and poured himself a small drink, grimacing at the sharp yeasty smell and the thin sour taste. "The drink of the common people," he muttered. "And out of clay mugs too."

  "You are of common stock, Ay, for all you are titled 'Divine Father'." Horemheb chewed noisily and swallowed his bread and meat before draining his mug of beer with relish. "I am common, too, but I am not ashamed of it." He belched loudly.

  "Why did you come here?" Ay snapped the question out, staring at Horemheb with glittering eyes.

  The general lowered his mug to the tiled floor and stretched out his legs, only his shoulders betraying the tension that suddenly came upon him. "Kemet's General of Armies belongs with his king on his coronation day."

  "And leave your station unbidden? You do not believe that any more than I do. Why did you come?"

  Horemheb hesitated. "To take the measure of the young boy who is to be king."

  "He is only a boy. There is nothing to measure. Why did you come?"

  "To talk to you, Ay," Horemheb snapped. "To find out your intentions and if necessary, oppose you."

  "With fifty men?" Ay sneered. "Now if you had brought your army..."

  "I do not need an army, any more than I needed one four years ago."

  Ay stared, his eyes glittering with hatred. "You tricked me then. You will not do it again." He walked over to his chair and sat down, placing his mug on the floor at his feet.

  Horemheb conceded the point with a polite inclination of his head.

  "You will not trick me again," Ay reiterated. "And you do not have the strength to match me."

  "You think not?"

  "You have a mere fifty men, I have the city legion--the legion of Amun, loyal to me personally."

  "Really?" Horemheb smiled and looked around the room. "I do not see them."

  Ay frowned. "You are not a fool, Horemheb. Why do you talk like one?"

  "I do not need an army, Ay. We are alone in this room and your precious Amun legion could not lift a finger to help if I decided to kill you. You are an old man, become soft with city living." Horemheb contemplated the Tjaty for a few moments, flexing the fingers on both hands. "I could snap your neck before you could even cry out. And my men outside that door are more than a match for yours."

  Ay licked his lips but otherwise did not move. "That would not be wise."

  "Then convince me that I should let you live."

  "How? How can I convince you?"

  "Try something different, Ay. Try being honest." Horemheb paused then lashed out with his question. "How did Smenkhkare die?"

  Ay sat silently, his eyes hooded and face expressionless. "I am told he was taken by a crocodile."

  Horemheb made an impatient gesture with one hand. "Did you have him killed?"

  "Am I Sobek that I can command crocodiles?"

  "Do not evade the question, Ay. Did you have a hand in his death?"

  "Yes."

  "You do not fear the judgment of the gods?"

  "Which gods? They have had ample time to judge me, yet here I am. That is a stupid question."

  "Then let me ask another. Why?"

  "Because he got in my way." Ay sighed and got up, moving slowly over to the table with the clay mug. He poured himself another beer before turning to face the army general again. "You have never been a courtier, Horemheb. For you life is easy. You command and men obey."

  "They do the same for you. You are Tjaty, second only to the king."

  Ay nodded. "Yes, second. So w
hat must I do when the king cannot see what must be done, or when shown what must be done, will not do it? Believe it or not, Horemheb, I have the good of our Kemet at heart. I saw Smenkhkare start to pull our Lands back down the path his brother so recently took us."

  Horemheb looked up sharply. "I cannot believe he meant to take us back to the Aten. Not after what he started."

  "Then why did he take on the name of my fallen daughter? He started to style himself Neferneferuaten, as if he was the consort of the Heretic. He even took to wearing women's gowns in private."

  "Smenkhkare?" Horemheb frowned and shook his head. "I find this hard to believe."

  Ay shrugged. "Not many knew of it and I made efforts to hide his worse excesses. Then he started talking about destroying the temples again, starting with the great temple of Amun. What was I to do, Horemheb? Allow Kemet to be plunged into heresy and chaos again?"

  "No. No, that would be the worst thing that could happen."

  "I acted for the sake of Kemet, Horemheb. I took the responsibility on my own shoulders and rooted out the last of the Heretic's taint. Now the young boy will be king and rule in wisdom and in fear of the gods."

  "You are not worried that he too is tainted by Atenism? He carries an Aten name."

  "Names can be changed, his cursed brother did it. Even you did it. He is young enough to be malleable. I can curb any tendency to bring back the heresy."

  Horemheb nodded grimly. "And there we come to it, Ay. You could not control Smenkhkare but you can control Tutankhaten. Why did you not just eliminate the boy and make yourself king?"

  Ay shrugged, spreading his arms wide. "I am an old man, Horemheb. I asked Smenkhkare many times to let me retire to my farms near Zarw and live out my old age in comfort. He always refused." Ay stood and after hesitating a moment, walked over to the seated general. "I do not want to be king, but if I can serve our beloved Two Lands, I will stay on and guide the young man until he can manage alone.

  "You had Smenkhkare's Councilors killed."

  "No, never. I put them under guard, certainly, but that was for their own protection. Despite my efforts, rumors of the king's Atenism had leaked, and I feared for their safety. Some of my guards thought they were prisoners and when they left, thought they were escaping. In an excess of zeal they killed them."

  "I will want to speak to the guards."

  "I had them executed." Ay pulled a chair close to Horemheb's and sat down. He leaned forward, peering into the suspicion that clouded the General's eyes. "I realize now that was a mistake, but I was incensed at their stupidity."

  "So they are all dead?"

  Ay hesitated. "No, not all," he said slowly. "Beketaten and Councilor Khu--and the pimp--could not be found and were never in protective custody. I have no idea where they are."

  "I pray that they are safe--and you had better find a god to believe in so you can pray too." Horemheb leaned closer to the old man. "Let me be quite clear on this, Ay," he said softly. "I would take it as a personal affront if Beketaten were to die."

  "Why?" Ay's brow wrinkled. "What possible reason could you have to be so interested in her?"

  "The blood of Nebmaetre Amenhotep runs thin these days. I would not see an unwed daughter of his wasted."

  Ay sat back with a leer. "You fancy her, Horemheb. You would make a bid for the kingship yourself."

  "The boy is only nine and a lot of things can happen before he becomes a king in reality. We may need to find a young noble to become king after him. That would be so much easier if we could marry him to royal blood."

  "There are always my two grand-daughters."

  "They are tainted." Horemheb shook his head. "No, Beketaten is very important to any future king. Do yourself a favour, Ay. Find Beketaten and keep her alive."

  Ay smiled. "So I am to live, after all?"

  "A soldier would be a fool to throw away his bronze sword before a battle just because he cut himself on it. Hard times are coming for Kemet and her young king. I can think of no-one more experienced and able to guide him through these times than you."

  Ay's smile broadened and he inclined his head graciously. "Thank you, Horemheb. It is good to know you trust me once more."

  "Trust has nothing to do with it. I think you are hungry for power and for riches, but if my feeding that hunger will keep Kemet safe and stable, I am willing to do it."

  Thus, six hours later, when the young prince Tutankhaten stood at the gates of the Great Temple of Amun, the two most powerful men in the kingdom stood behind him, Ay, Divine Father, Lieutenant General of Chariots, Grand Tjaty of the Two Lands; and Horemheb, General of all the Armies of Kemet.

  Bareheaded, and naked save for a simple pleated loincloth, the future king stood in the dust outside the first pylon of the Amun temple, the one built by his father Nebmaetre, and shivered despite the hot sun. Hours of fasting and concentrating on the complex preliminary rituals had left the boy reeling with exhaustion and weak from hunger. Rituals taken in stride by men coming to the throne in the prime of life proved taxing on a boy just turned nine years and frail at the best of times. He lifted a hand to his face and fought back tears, fighting for the strength not to shame himself. Somewhere, he knew, his young wife Ankhesenpaaten was about to undergo similar rituals as she was anointed Queen and Great Wife in preparation of her life task beside him on the throne of Kemet.

  Horns sounded deep within the temple complex and Tutankhaten started forward, his bare feet kicking up small puffs of dust as he passed into the brief but cool shade of the gateway before entering the wide expanse of the courtyard with its Lake of Cleansing. Priests thronged the open space, drawn up in two masses to either side of a broad path that led from the first to the second pylon. Up this thoroughfare the boy walked, a small and lonely figure. Twenty paces behind him followed Ay and Horemheb, then every noble, high official and person of any importance who could make it to Waset for the coronation.

  Tutankhaten approached the second pylon and stopped suddenly, his heart hammering, as creatures emerged from the shadows in the gateway. A moment later he slumped in relief as he realized they were just men. These were the priests of every god in the city, masked and garbed in representation of their god--falcon-headed Heru, ram-headed Amun, Ibis-headed Djehuti. Others came too, human-faced but decked in rich robes and elaborate headdress. Asar, skin painted green with powdered malachite wearing the conical crown of Lower Kemet framed by tall feathered plumes, Geb, clothed in vegetation with a large golden goose sitting on his head, and Ptah, in closefitting garments and skullcap, bearing a staff surmounted by a great golden ankh.

  The god-priests surrounded the small boy, towering above him and cutting him off from the nobility behind him. Heru of the Horizon held out a hand, the glittering garnets of his eyes staring down. Tutankhaten took the hand and allowed himself to be guided to a screen in front of the second pylon.

  "This screen was erected by your ancestor Tuthmes, may he live forever," intoned Heru of the Horizon. "Contemplate the works that a king may do to honour the gods." The god-priest pointed to the white limestone lintel, twenty cubits high, carved with an inscription honouring Tuthmes, which framed the gate of the pylon. "That too, is his work."

  "When I am king, I will surpass these things," boasted the young boy.

  The god-priest Atum joined them in front of the screen and took Tutankhaten's other hand. The trio moved around the screen and through the gateway into the precincts of the temple known as Ipet-esut. Entering the hall of the temple, the two guides left the boy in the charge of the other priests who stripped him of his loincloth and led him naked to a shallow, low-rimmed pool. Tutankhaten walked into the middle of it, looking scared and vulnerable in the knee-deep water. The priests withdrew, chanting in low tones the first hymn of enthronement as four god-priests drew closer--Djehuti with the ibis-beak, Set with his strange curved muzzle and erect ears, falcon-beaked Heru of Behdet, and Dunawy, also falcon-beaked. They walked to the four cardinal points of the compass and ste
pped up on the low rim of the pool. Each carried a tall golden ewer and they bent in unison, dipping the vessels below the surface of the sacred pool, then straightening, stepped down into the water and approached the young prince.

  "The water of divine life transforms man to god," Djehuti said, the words muffled slightly by the beaked face. He lifted the golden ewer and poured a stream of water over Tutankhaten's head. "Enter into the presence of the gods and be welcome." One by one, the other gods poured their water and repeated the words.

  The priests approached once more and led the boy out of the sacred waters and garbed him in fresh, clean linen, never worn. His guides, Atum and Heru of the Horizon again took him by the hands escorted him to the Hall of Jubilation. The light of innumerable burning torches reflected off the dazzling surface of two electrum-plated obelisks erected by his ancestress Hatshepsut. The many-columned hall marched into shadows, two rows of papyrus-shaped columns rising to a high ceiling and colossal statues. Two great pavilions in stone faced each other across the hall, carved in the archaic fashion of past ages.

  Tutankhaten, released by Djehuti and Heru of the Horizon, walked alone into the House of the Flame, Per-neser , the Northern pavilion. The gods Nekhabet, Bout, Neith, Auset, Nebt-Het, Heru and Set greeted him, their voices raised in joyful hymns as the young king was greeted into the company of the gods. One by one the gods of the Psedjet bowed before the boy and spoke the ritual words of acceptance.

  Passing from the Northern pavilion, Tutankhaten entered the Southern Great House, Per-wer , alone. The inside of the primitive temple was dark, lit by a single torch, and in the shadows at the rear, the young boy could dimly see the figure of the ram-headed god Amun. The silence was broken by a loud hissing and the sibilant scrape of scales over the tiled floor. From the shadows emerged Wadjet, Great-in-Magic, the cobra protectress of the kings. The giant snake slithered forward, scales slipping over the smooth tiles, its tongue flickering. When it reached the boy it stopped, investigating the bare feet for several long moments, tasting the fear that flowed from the boy, detecting the trembling of his limbs. With a hiss the cobra reared up, its eyed hood expanding behind its tiny head and it stared into the boy's eyes, mouth agape.