The Amarnan Kings, Book 2: Scarab - Smenkhkare
Page 40
Jeheshua shook his head, his dark locks glistening in the sunlight, his eyes dark and suddenly chilly above his hawked nose. "Do not speak to me of gods, young lady, there is but one."
"Are you an Atenist?" Khu queried.
Jeheshua swung to face him. "I am a servant of the Lord."
"What?" Khu stared in astonishment, the man's words taking him by surprise. In the Khabiru tongue, which Jeheshua had used, his words sounded very like the name A-khen-aten. "What did you say?"
Scarab recognized the similarity of the sounds and quickly laid a hand on Khu's arm. "Say nothing," she muttered. Turning back to the jeweler, she bowed her head. "I am sorry if I have given offence, Jeheshua. The beauty of your work overcame me and I spoke from my upbringing. My father's house was Kemetu and I know not my mother's ways."
Jeheshua bowed stiffly in response. "Then, young lady, I too retract my hasty judgment, for I would not turn a child of the people from the true way." He forced a smile and threw a cloth back over the tray of jewels. His eyes caught the look of disappointment on Scarab's face and he pondered a moment, before nodding suddenly in decision. "If you appreciate beauty, I have another piece." Taking the tray back to his chair he pulled out another tray before returning the one with the necklaces to the hidden depths of the seat. He brought the new tray back to the table and, after glancing around to make sure he was not overlooked, withdrew the cloth.
The piece of jewelry drew a gasp of amazement from both Scarab and Khu. A pectoral, heavy with gold, filled the tray. Scarab stretched out her hand and roughly measured it--over three times the length from her wrist to finger tips; it would stretch from a man's throat to his waist. A magnificent scarab of yellow chalcedony formed the centerpiece, its curved wings stretching out and up. The hind legs of the scarab were not beetle legs but the fierce talons of a hawk, clutching a lily and a lotus. Below hung heavy tassels in the form of lotus blossoms and buds, glass paste in red and blue, together with slivers of lapis. Rearing cobras, the sacred uraeus, framed the scarab on either side but instead of the usual ball of the sun pushed ahead of the translucent yellow representation of the sun god, was a boat containing the wadjet-eye and a crescent moon in brilliant gold, the body of the dark moon above it.
Scarab frowned, her finger tracing the plain unadorned surface of the dark of the moon. "Where is the name?" she asked. "Who is it for? Their name should be on this."
Jeheshua nodded. "Indeed there should, but who will buy it?"
"Who did you make it for?" Khu asked. "You don't just make something like this in the hope of finding a buyer."
"It can only have been a member of royalty, or one who would curry favour with the king," Scarab added softly. "You have put in the royal uraeus. It is treason for someone who is not of the king's line to wear this."
"If you are of the tribe of Yuya, you could wear it, young lady," Jeheshua said, his dark eyes searching Scarab's face.
"You are mistaken."
"I think not. You wore a wig then as any proper lady of the court should, but you are known in Waset and Akhet-Aten." Scarab backed away slightly, flicking a glance at the soldiers standing a few paces away, though thankfully out of earshot of normal conversation. Jeheshua noticed her agitation and hurried on. "There is nothing to fear from me, lady. I too, am of the tribe of Yuya. We stand by our own."
Scarab licked her lips. "What is it you want of me?"
Jeheshua spread his hands and smiled. "Nothing--and everything. I will not tell others of your presence, Handmaiden of the Lord, though several know of your presence here in Zarw. If news should come to me of others seeking you--an uncle say--I will contrive to send you warning."
Scarab stared into the tall man's eyes, searching out the feather of his soul, finally bowing her head slightly in acknowledgement. A movement to her right caught her eye and she picked up a ring at random from the table. "How much?" she asked loudly, half turning toward the man approaching the trestle. "I think he seeks to rob me."
The man looked startled, then grinned and moved on after a cursory glance at Jeheshua's wares.
Scarab turned back to the jeweler. "No man gives protection without wanting something in return. I have no money with which to pay you."
Jeheshua laughed. "You think I need money when I have this?" He gestured toward the pectoral, now covered in its tray.
"Then what?" Khu growled, moving beside Scarab and glaring at the man.
"Be at peace, lad, I mean your lady no harm." Jeheshua turned his attention back to the girl again. "The Khabiru have been a favoured people in Lower Kemet for many years, but this is coming to an end. The king in Akhet-Aten identified his god with ours too strongly. Now the Tjaty and others are bringing Kemet back to their old pagan gods. The one god, and those who worship him, will suffer for it. I seek help for my people wherever I may."
"I am Kemetu too," Scarab said quietly. "I worship the Nine of Iunu."
"You are young. The Lord will call you when He is ready for you. When the Tjaty's desires rule Kemet, you will help your mother's people."
Scarab inclined her head. "If I can do so without offending the Nine...or the One, I will do so." She turned to go but was drawn back to the pectoral again. "You never told us who you made it for."
"Your brother Smenkhkare, but he died. I will probably have to break it up and reuse the gold, though it took me three years to make."
"Then take it to the court of Tutankhaten at Waset."
"The boy?" Jeheshua grinned. "It would stretch from throat to knee and he could not bear the weight of it."
"But he will grow to be a man, if Ay lets him, and he loves beautiful things. Show it to Tutankhaten--put his name on the moon above the wadjet-eye. He will pay you well."
Jeheshua considered, his fingers stroking his short beard. "I have always wanted to see Waset. I will think on this."
Scarab and Khu took their leave of the jeweler and started back toward the barracks. Khu looked about distractedly as they walked, jumping nervously if any man walked too close.
"We will have to leave Zarw," he said. "It is too dangerous now that we are known."
"No. I am staying here until the birth of my son at least and maybe more. You heard him, Khu. Jeheshua said he would get me warning of danger."
"And you trust him? He is as much a fanatic for his god as your brother Akhenaten is for the Aten. You should not have said you worshiped the Iunu Nine."
"Possibly," Scarab agreed. "But I will not compromise my beliefs for any man. Besides, I trust him. We have things in common."
Khu looked incredulous. "What? Apart from the fact you are partly descended from that stiff-necked people."
Scarab smiled, but said nothing further, being distracted by the movement of the child in her belly.
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Chapter Twenty-Nine
The expedition against the Son of Sobek had failed. Despite the security and rapid deployment of Horemheb's Amun legion south past the second cataract, word had somehow been passed to the rebels. Disembarking at the entrance to the Tanjur Valley, the legion struck up the Amaran Road, moving swiftly, weapons at the ready, but they saw no-one, not even the inhabitants of three tiny villages they ran through. They arrived at the Well of Amara barely hours ahead of Penno's force which had taken the longer, more arduous route over the Abu Hoda track. The rebels had been at the Well of Amara, that much was clear. Fires still smoked, and scattered baggage told a story of sudden departure, but of the rebels themselves, there were only tracks.
Horemheb and Penno rested the men, allowing them the opportunity to eat and catch up on a bit of sleep before the next task. They withdrew to the shade of a date palm near the Well to discuss just what that next task was going to be.
"There was an informer, there had to have been," Horemheb fumed.
"Of course," Penno agreed. "I tell you, this Son of Sobek has infiltrated every town and city, every fort and garrison. It was a gamble at best."
&n
bsp; "Then what was the point of us hurrying like that?"
"I hoped we might provoke him into facing us."
"Well, we didn't, so where has he gone now? North to the other wells and the gold mines?"
"Possibly, but I'd wager he has gone south instead, deeper into Kush."
"Why? Your argument before was that he would not want to be too far from the cities."
Penno nodded. "But now he has a trained army to deal with. I believe he will lure us deeper into Kush until a time of his choosing, and cut us to pieces."
Horemheb scowled and, picking up a small rock, pitched it at a nearby goat. It missed but fell close enough to startle the animal into headlong flight. "Where will he head for?"
"Kergus and the boundary stelae of Tuthmosis between the fourth and fifth cataracts."
"That is being extraordinarily precise. Do you know something you aren't telling me?" He glared suspiciously at the Lieutenant.
Penno laughed. "Not really, general. He has fewer options than you might think. We came up two of the exits. I know he did not pass me. There is south or east across the dry lands--I would not want to try that by myself, let alone with an army. No, southeast down the Kurgus Valley is the way he went...I'd bet my life on it," he added, catching sight of Horemheb's skeptical look.
"I may hold you to that," Horemheb muttered.
An hour later the combined force of the Amun legion and the Sehotep-Neteru garrison were on the march again. Horemheb had them discard every unnecessary piece of equipment, retaining only their weapons, a bedroll, dried rations and as many pots of water as they could carry. They headed southeast into the dry and windswept mountains, following the traces left behind by the rebel force.
The passage to the crest of the ridge proved difficult, access being limited to a few narrow tracks more in use by wild animals than by human travelers. The legion struggled to the top and looked to the southeast, down the long rugged sweep of the Kurgus valley. The same tracks led down from the ridge on the other side, but in the distance, at about the point that the wind and the drought relented sufficiently in the depths of the valley for stunted trees to grow, they converged and expanded into a road. There was little cover on the higher slopes and the Kemetu force made good time, slipping and sliding down the loose hillsides, a mass of men moving downward in no good order, without the need to guard against surprise attack. Their feet kicked up a choking cloud of acrid dust that caked in their throats, causing them to cough and spit, wasting precious water.
Just short of the tree line, Horemheb called a halt and had his officers shepherd the troops into battle formation before moving down to the road. Once there, he threw out scouting groups and parties of skirmishers that flanked the main body, ranging widely through the scrub thickets, looking for any sign of the enemy. None was found, just the signs in the dust of the passage of many men on foot.
They made camp that night by a small depression in the valley floor that still displayed the recent presence of water. Penno had the men dig out a shallow pit which soon filled with muddy water. Strained through kilts, it was sufficient to restore the water used that day and provide a small ration for each man in which to soften their grain. Penno wanted to ban the use of cooking and watch fires at night, but Horemheb over-ruled him.
"They already know we are here. The men may as well be comfortable." He was careful to set a double ring of guards though. The night passed without incident or note, save for the distant roaring of lions.
The next day, and the ones following, was much like the first, hot and dusty and filled with the exhaustion of being continually on guard in unfamiliar territory where death might spring from behind any boulder, thicket or tree. Sometimes they found a seep or a tiny well to provide water at nightfall, sometimes not; but slowly the rations were used up and Horemheb was forced to send heavily armed hunting parties out into the hills surrounding the Kurgus to look for food. Despite the barren nature of the surroundings, they usually returned with enough game to enable the legion to travel further. They continued their progress southward, following the distinct track of hundreds of bare and sandaled feet.
Half a month later, the Amun legion arrived at a point where the Kurgus was joined by two other valleys, the ridged sides opening out into a lightly forested plain. Here, the prints of the rebel army, so distinct in the dust and earth, faded and disappeared. Horemheb and Penno joined the scouting group at the forefront of the column, squatting to examine the pristine road ahead of them.
"Did they leave the road somewhere and we missed them?"
Penno shook his head, pointing his finger in a broad sweep over the dusty surface. "Others use this road, even animals, yet there are no prints beyond this point. It has been swept clean, and recently."
Horemheb stood and scanned the scrub land, one hand shading his eyes. There were many places for men to hide and he felt his skin crawl at the thought of an arrow suddenly appearing out of the wilderness and striking him down. "We must find them. The legion stays here in a defensive position with outlying guards. I want five, no six, patrols, each of twenty men and a trumpeter, each under the command of a good officer. I will take one of these patrols and I want to see the other officers here before the sun has moved a finger span."
The patrols fanned out to cover the Kurgus valley in their line of advance, as well as behind, in case the rebels tried doubling back, and the two side valleys. They were under orders not to engage the enemy unless they had to, slipping back to the legion if they found anything significant. If they were discovered, an alarm was to be sounded by the trumpeter. Horemheb led his patrol out into the side valley that ran in a westward direction. Another patrol paralleled his but over a thousand paces distant.
The general organized his men simply. Their mission was to find the tracks of the rebel army so he spread his men out in line abreast, in pairs ten paces apart. One man scanned the ground continually while another scanned the surroundings, bow in hand and arrow at the ready. Horemheb followed with the trumpeter in the middle of the line. The vegetation was sufficiently thin that he could see the entire line most of the time, and felt confident that nothing would slip by them easily.
The day was hot, calm and silent except for the shuffle and slide of loose rock underfoot, the occasional curse as a thorn or rock penetrated careless skin, and the muted buzz of insects. When they first set out there had been a flurry of animal calls as the fauna of the area, though unseen, responded to the disturbance of their territory by men. That had died away, though a solitary creature, a bird, Horemheb guessed, still called from a point upslope from their flank. Horemheb counted off the paces to himself and after each hundred, halted his men and listened carefully for any hint of action from the other patrols.
The afternoon wore on and the sun sank behind the ridges to the west, throwing a cooler shadow over the valley. The ground became steeper and Horemheb called a halt, turning his men and calling them across to line up a hundred paces to the side.
"All right, back the way we came...stay alert, man," he rapped out as he saw a man fall over. The man lay sprawled and Horemheb cursed, turning toward him. Something whispered in the air, and again, the trumpeter stumbling against his general from behind, almost throwing him off balance. Somebody yelled and the bushes moved, suddenly filled with running men. Horemheb snatched for his sword, yelling at the trumpeter to sound the alarm. Cries filled the air but not the brazen cry of the trumpet and he turned, cursing once more as he saw the signaler dead on the ground behind him, an arrow in his back. Then he was fighting for his life, his sword swinging up to catch the downward curve of gleaming bronze. The man stumbled past, a Nubian farmer by the looks of him; his inexperience shouting out as Horemheb casually swept his blade across the man's belly. Without stopping to see the man fall he pushed forward at another man, ducking under a head-high sweep and stabbing for the throat. The man fell back and Horemheb followed, his pulse loud in his ears, knowing he was dead but determined to go down fighting.
"Throw down your sword, General Horemheb."
"Nobody orders me," Horemheb growled, taking a firmer grip on his sword. He crouched lower, ignoring the stinging sweat pouring into his eyes. "Come and take it if you can, for I obey none but my king."
"It is your king who commands you."
Something in the voice caught at his mind and he straightened, his sword point wavering. "Show yourself."
"I am here, Horemheb."
The circle of men drew back and faded into the scrub, leaving two men to face the general. He stared at them, looking for any sign of familiarity. They were both young men and not native to the country, but they were like few Kemetu Horemheb had ever seen. Their hair, obviously their own, hung long and lank, blending in to thick beards. Their bodies were hairless for the most part but horribly disfigured. Something had ripped away flesh from the torso of the taller one, leaving twisted and puckered skin, shining pink and raw against the bronzed limbs. The other man, smaller but stockier, favoured one leg, the left being criss-crossed with savage scars. He held a bow, the arrow pointing steadily at the general's chest.
Horemheb found himself staring at the terrible scars, trying to imagine how such destruction had come about--and how the men had survived. The wound on the taller man's torso narrowed toward his right side and pale circular scars formed two roughly converging lines, not unlike the snout of...
"So that is why they call you Son of Sobek."
"Only the crocodile god could have made them release me," the man said softly. "Am I not therefore his son?"
"Smenkhkare." The statement was flat and without a hint of question.
"You hold a weapon in the presence of the king," growled the limping man, raising the bow to bring the arrow in line with Horemheb's eye.