by Overton, Max
Scarab nodded. "They called me a whore."
"I'm sorry, Scarab. They didn't know you. Among my people a woman who exposes her breasts and paints her face is announcing to everyone what she is selling. Some people call all Kemetu, whores. Not me, Scarab," Meryam added quickly, putting out a hand reassuringly.
"I suppose they think I'm one anyway, with this." Scarab indicated her rounded belly. "Having a child, but no husband."
"Children are a blessing from the Lord. That is what we believe."
"So do we. Children are loved and cherished by all."
"Of course, it is better if a woman has a husband. If not, she has to work to put bread on her table as well as do all her womanly duties." Meryam stroked Scarab's arm and leaned closer. "Your strong soldier, the father, will he marry you?"
"I don't know. I...I wanted him to but..." Scarab stopped in confusion. She thought for a few minutes. "One part of me wants to; the other part wants to stay free. I want to be with Paramessu and my Se...my son, being a wife and a mother, having other sons and daughters and living a good and peaceful life, but I also...I don't know what I want."
"Do you miss being a princess?"
Scarab looked around quickly before answering. "I miss my brother Smenkhkare. If he hadn't died, he would have married me and my life would be very different." The look of horror was back on the young girl's face. "What's wrong?"
"Your brother? You would have married your brother?"
"Only my half-brother," Scarab said hurriedly. "The king fathered us both but my mother was Queen Tiye, whereas his was the king's daughter Sitamen. We were always close, even as childr...what?"
Meryam looked as if she had eaten something rotten. "The king bedded his own daughter? I never knew such things happened...and to think I called Kemetu civilized."
"I'm not saying it is a good thing, Meryam, but the ruling family has to guard itself."
"By incest? How can you possibly justify such a sin?"
Scarab struggled to sit up, panting with the effort. She fixed the young girl with a hard look. "Your own ancestor committed incest, if the stories I hear are right."
"What? Never. How can you say such a thing?"
"Did not your ancestor Ibrahim marry his own sister Sarai? And Ibrahim's brother Loht father children with his own daughters?"
"That is different; our god told them to do it."
"Maybe one of our gods told us to do it. That would make it all right then, wouldn't it?"
"Did they? Did one of your gods tell your family to do it?"
"I don't know. If they did it was a long time ago. But there is a reason for it, Meryam. Imagine if I was still a princess and Paramessu wanted to marry me. Marrying into the royal family might give him a claim to the throne. If he was strong, with the army behind him and the king was weak, he might try and take over. The king might rather marry me himself, even if he is my brother, rather than risk bloodshed and chaos."
Meryam was silent for a while. At last she sighed deeply and smiled tentatively at Scarab. "I don't really understand it, but as long as I don't have to do it, I think I can live with it." Her smile became a grin as another thought occurred to her. "And it'll never happen to you now either. You'll marry your soldier and then you can't marry your brother...what's wrong?" Her smile slipped as she saw the expression on Scarab's face. "Oh, Scarab, I'm sorry, I forgot he was dead."
"No. No, that's not it. I...I think..." Scarab pressed a hand against her belly, grimacing as a spasm of pain twisted her face. "I think he's coming."
Meryam leapt to her feet and started tugging at Scarab's arm. "We've got to get you back quickly." Scarab was more concerned with the sudden cramping pains in her belly than in getting to her feet, so Meryam looked across to the nearest group of women washing clothes, recognizing one of them. "Tabita," she called. "Help me please, my guest is having a baby and I think her time has come. I have to get her to the birthing tent."
An older woman, portly and with a limp, hobbled across and, with a grunt, lent her weight to the endeavor. They pulled Scarab up between them and Meryam slipped her shoulder under Scarab's arm, partly supporting her weight.
"I've got her now, Tabita, thank you." She started moving back to the tents before remembering her washing. "Tabita, could you bring our clothes? I cannot carry them and support my guest."
Tabita waved them on, saying she would bring them later and not to worry. Meryam and Scarab hurried on as fast as they were able, though Scarab insisted on stopping every few paces and holding herself tightly, whimpering as another pain racked her.
"Can't I just sit down for a few moments, I...unh...oh Meryam, this is unbearable."
"Keep going. We need to get you to the birthing tent where the midwives can look at you and decide if the baby really is coming."
"What do you mean 'if'? Aaah...it is killing me."
"Don't be a baby yourself, Scarab. I've helped with many births and I know what is happening now is nothing to what's coming."
Scarab said nothing but shot her helper a look of pure hatred, to which Meryam replied with a sweet smile. They staggered on, Scarab eager to get to the tent where perhaps they would do something to stop the pain. Within sight of their destination, Scarab suddenly stopped again, embarrassment colouring her face.
"I've wet myself," she whispered, holding her robes close about her in an effort to conceal the growing puddle at her feet. The dry, dusty ground soaked up the moisture avidly but it was obvious she was in distress.
"Your waters have broken," Meryam said matter-of-factly. "The baby really is coming."
"I told you." Scarab lurched forward in a tottering run for the presumed haven of the birthing tent.
The midwives arrived within minutes, having been alerted by children sent scurrying by Meryam. They took charge quickly, opening up the sides of the tent in such a way as to allow cooling breezes to blow through, without allowing any outsiders to intrude. Stripping off Scarab's heavy woolen robe, now soaked and clinging, they rubbed her down quickly and slipped a short linen gown over her. For a people obsessed with modesty, the gown hid little, but it was designed more to comfort a woman becoming distressed by what was happening to her than to hide her private parts. Besides, a longer garment would just get in the way.
Lying down on a couch, Scarab was examined by an old woman called Debrah; though Scarab was not sure whether this was a name or a title. The other women were very respectful of the Debrah, and hurried to anticipate her wishes. The woman spread Scarab's legs and carefully examined her vulva, nodding to herself and muttering.
"No hair...shameless...well, it makes it easier to see." Debrah lowered her patient's legs and turned her attention to Scarab's belly and hips. "Tight muscles," she murmured. "But the baby is in place." She looked up at Scarab's pale face, lined with sweat-soaked hair. "Be strong girl, and push only when I tell you, not before."
Scarab gasped as another contraction rippled through her abdomen. It went on and on, before fading, leaving her with a general background ache. "Is the baby coming now?" she demanded, her facial expression a mix of hope and fear.
"Not yet," Debrah said. "You are young and this is your first. It could be many hours yet." The old woman withdrew, leaving the others to wipe Scarab down with cool, damp cloths and massage her hands and feet, slaking her thirst with tiny sips of water. Meryam sat by the head of the couch and whispered encouragement, telling her of births she had witnessed and the beautiful babies that had come from them.
The day dragged slowly past and Scarab dozed between the bouts of pain. Whenever her body went into spasm, she cried out or screamed, cursing the day Paramessu had forced himself on her, cursing what he had put in her.
"If he thinks he's coming near me again with that big...aah!"
As the contractions came closer together she found herself unable to relax, and she swore at Meryam and the women assisting in the birthing tent. Scarab fought against the muscles that pushed savagely at her womb, the sweat pouri
ng off her body. Her hands gripped the bedding tightly and she tossed her damp hair from side to side as the pain gripped her.
"I've changed my mind," she panted. "I don't want it." Another scream was ripped from her, but weaker now as her strength faded.
Debrah came again, tutting over the state of her patient and examined her again. "Not yet," she muttered.
The light outside faded as the sun set and Meryam brought in and lit oil lamps, which cast a warm and gentle light over the scene. Two women erected a delivery seat in the middle of the tent, its polished wood glowing in the lamp light.
"What about the prayers?" Scarab muttered weakly. "There should be prayers to Bes and Taueret, Khnum and Het-Her."
"What place have those false gods here?" snapped one of the women setting up the delivery seat.
"Peace, Asherah," Meryam chided. "She has been raised a Kemetu. She does not know any better." She got up soon after and hurried out of the tent, returning a few minutes later. Resuming her seat, she leaned across and whispered in Scarab's ear. "I saw Khu outside. He will have the prayers said. Your gods will be with you."
Scarab looked at her with grateful eyes, squeezing her hand hard as another contraction gripped her.
When it was fully dark outside, Debrah returned. She examined Scarab once more and this time she nodded, her lined face cracking into a toothless grin. "He comes, child. Your baby is coming."
"I don't want him," Scarab muttered. "Send him back, he's too...ow!"
Debrah laughed and directed the other women to lift Scarab up and place her on the delivery seat. A rim of wood barely supported the back of her buttocks and the angle of the support held her upright. Knees bent, her feet fitted into slots that opened her up in a squatting position, very similar to one used in the privies. Long past the stage of being embarrassed, she allowed her short linen gown to be removed, sitting there naked in full sight of the midwives, and the weight of the baby pressing downward. She felt as if she was a thin skin stretched over something large and irresistible.
Another contraction rolled down and Scarab suddenly felt as if she were about to have a bowel movement, a large and painful one. She screamed weakly, now exhausted, and Debrah dropped to her knees in front of the seat, her attention fixed.
"He is coming. I can see his head. Wait until the contractions and push, child."
Scarab screamed for the last time and pushed as her muscles spasmed, another following moments later, then another. A huge boulder moved through her, ripping and tearing its way down her body, until she knew she could take no more. She was about to die...and suddenly she felt fluids rush from her and the agony vanished. No , she thought vaguely, not gone but bearable . She felt sore and battered and not quite sure where she was. Another spasm built and she cried out despairingly. I thought it was over ...
Meryam squeezed Scarab's hand tightly, putting her mouth close to Scarab's ear. "It's the afterbirth. Nearly over."
Another slippery rush and a feeling of emptiness. Around her, the women bustled. She felt herself being washed and a cloth tied between her legs, a fresh linen gown slipped over her head--it felt gloriously clean on her skin--then they were helping her out of the delivery seat and back to the couch. Something was put in her arms and held there until she could collect her thoughts enough to grasp it.
Scarab looked down and saw a wizened, red face screaming back up at her. He even looks like the god Set , she thought. Under the gentle guidance of Meryam, she brought the baby's face to one of her breasts and as the tiny mouth grasped her nipple, as she felt the deep tug inside as her son suckled, her dammed up emotions broke and she burst into tears.
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Chapter Thirty-One
"I think I've been duped," Horemheb snarled, staring across the open space of the clearing near the river. The journey south down the Kurgus Valley from the site of the ambush had taken five days. For another seven they waited for Smenkhkare and his army to arrive, during which time the general threw out guard posts in all directions with signal fires ready to be lit at the first sign of the enemy. A rocky escarpment at their backs protected them from a surprise assault and the men had been kept busy fortifying their position still further. Horemheb had doubted the defensive works would be necessary--he intended to attack Smenkhkare's army when it arrived--but it was infinitely preferable that the men keep busy rather than lying around getting stale. Slowly, awareness of his mistake had grown into certainty. "He's not coming. I've been fooled, but why? What does he gain?"
Penno scratched himself absently as he watched a lone hawk wheeling in the faded blue sky far above them. "He means to attack Sehotep-Neteru while we are gone. The garrison we left there cannot defend the city against his army. The viceroy is in danger."
"Possibly, but you did not see him, Penno. You did not talk to him. He is obsessed with retaking his kingdom. I think that is exactly what he is trying to do."
"Is he mad? He cannot take on the armed might of Kemet with a thousand men."
"No, but who knows he is about to strike? Only us. He could be at the gates of Waset in two months if he pushes his men hard. The local garrison numbers no more than a couple of hundred now that I have the Amun legion down here." Horemheb shook his head. "I could get back there to find Ay and Tutankhaten dead and Kemet in turmoil."
"If that is what he is doing."
"He could have a smaller ambition, but we'll know it by the time we return to Sehotep-Neteru. If there is no word of him we will know he has gone north."
"Can we catch him, sir?"
"He is twelve days north of where we saw him, we are five days south. He has a smaller army more used to the country. We cannot hope to match his pace until we reach the barges at Tanjur. That is perhaps twenty days overland. By then he will be in Abu below the first cataract. There are barges in Abu if he can capture them." Horemheb broke off and smacked his fist into his palm. "May the gods curse him, Penno. He may have been a king but he lies and he has betrayed a trust. Now he brings civil war to Kemet."
"There might be another way," Penno said slowly. "The river."
"What about it? We don't have barges or even boats. That is why we have to get to Tanjur."
"Rafts, sir. The trees aren't large here but big enough to lash together. There are two cataracts between here and Tanjur and many smaller rapids but the river flows fast."
Horemheb swung round and stared at his Lieutenant. "Forget the rafts. How far is it by the river route? Could we march along the banks?"
Penno shook his head. "We are twenty days from Tanjur overland, three times that if we marched along the river, which we can't anyway. There are gorges. By water, maybe only ten days."
"Hapi save us." Horemheb smiled for the first time since he had returned from Smenkhkare. "Wait, how safe is this rafting? I do not want to lose my army by drowning before we ever meet the enemy."
"Safe enough, sir, if the rafts are properly built."
The Amun legion set to work within the hour, uprooting the camp and traveling the half day further south to the banks of the river, where they started to cut the largest trees, gangs trimming the branches and lashing the gnarled trunks together with ropes and, when they ran out, fixing them in place with wooden pegs cut from the trees and copper bands forged from melted down weapons. The first losses occurred during this time. Three men died when trees fell on them, seven to poisonous snakes that infested the area and one to the stings of savage hornets when the tree that housed their nest was felled.
The hundred rafts embarked on the third day and for several hours enjoyed a fast-paced but uneventful journey downriver. Then the banks rose about them and the pace of the water quickened, leaping into white-capped hummocks and beneath the rush of the water they could hear the grind of rocks in the riverbed.
"The cataract," someone screamed, and from his raft in the middle of the tossing flotilla, Penno yelled back, "Not yet. It's just rapids. Hold on."
The rafts weathe
red the first stretch of fast water, and the second, but the constant movement stretched the ropes, working the wooden pins loose and toward sunset on the second day, as they plunged into another swirling and tossing stretch, the first rafts came apart, throwing men and equipment into the water. Many could swim but most had little chance in the raging waters. A few made it to other rafts and clung on grimly until they could be pulled aboard, and others made it to shore, to watch in horror as their friends swept by and out of sight. There could be no going back for survivors, but watchfires were lit that night to guide any that lived to their camp just above the fourth cataract at a place called Napata.
There was a large temple to Amun at Napata and the fuddled priests scrambled to mobilize their stores of grain and wine when Horemheb marched into the temple precincts. The Meheila Road crossed a ridge of mountains to another temple at Kawa, but Horemheb knew he dare not take this route, despite the temptations. They could not carry the rafts over the steep and sometimes precipitous road and if there were no boats at Kawa, his army would be stranded. At least the Napata temple and the small city founded by Tuthmosis a hundred years before had rope and he set the army to repairing and strengthening the rafts before ferrying them overland past the cataract.
The voyage to the third cataract took another three days, without major loss of life. The banks of the river opened out into flat plains of brown and yellow grass, scattered with flat-topped thorn trees. Herds of game moved in the open spaces, stampeding away from the water as the strange flotilla of rafts came into view. Horemheb considered stopping for a day to hunt, as despite the priests' stores, his army was still short of food. Only the thought of Smenkhkare's horde descending on Sehotep-Neteru or Waset prevented him and grim-faced, he kept the rafts out in mid-river. The water ran as fast as ever, but there were fewer rapids and they were easily negotiated. The only incident came on the evening of the final day before reaching the cataract. They set up camp on the western shore and as the men foraged for food among the fields and huts of a seemingly deserted village, a hail of arrows preceded an attack by howling tribesmen bent on revenge for the pillaging of their livelihood. The attack was beaten off and the dead of both sides buried a little way into the desert. Priests of Amun recited prayers for the dead before the rest of the legion retreated behind hastily erected fortifications for the night.
