The Amarnan Kings, Book 2: Scarab - Smenkhkare

by Overton, Max

  "She's not gone far. She may be angry but she's no fool." Nebhotep stood with his back to the fire and looked out into the darkness. "There," he said, nodding in the direction of the river, "She's sitting by that tree."

  Khu watched anxiously for a while, then sighed and joined the others on the blankets by the fire. The boatman, true to his nature, had watched the entire drama without saying a word or indicating by action that anything untoward was happening. Nebhotep was curled up snoring, and Khu settled down, determined to remain awake until Scarab returned to the fire.

  Khu woke at dawn to find Scarab's blanket still unslept on. He leapt up in alarm before he saw her sitting against the tree, head bowed and resting on her arms, asleep. She woke as he crunched across the gravel toward her.

  Scarab smiled tentatively as Khu approached. "I'm sorry. I behaved stupidly last night."

  "That's all right," Khu replied. "You actually fought very well for a girl."

  Scarab's lips tightened. "I'll try you again one day, Khu, but not just yet." She looked over at the embers of the fire where the boatman was attempting to coax a flame out of the ashes with some dried bark. "Is there any food? I'm starving."

  The northerly breeze backed to the west after Ineb Hedj, then a few days later to the southwest, forcing them to run against the current and the winds. They passed Akhet-Aten under cover of night, not wanting to risk being seen by the guards.

  "Akhenaten could help us," Nebhotep suggested.

  Scarab shook her head. "More likely the guards Ay put on him would arrest us...or kill us."

  The southwesterly wind freshened, deflecting off the river cliffs and swirling in random gusts over their boat, making the small sail flap and shake. Their progress slowed considerably and more ominously, as they crept southward they started to find scattered wreckage and one or two bloated bodies lodged in the reeds.

  Nebhotep would not allow Scarab to see the bodies close up, but he examined them with a surgeon's eye and reported his findings. "They drowned, I'd say, and weeks ago."

  "So they were fishermen?" Khu asked.

  "No, they wore soldiers' kilts, but there were no wounds on them save for the fish and crocodiles." He patted Scarab's knee reassuringly. "There has been no great battle yet."

  "But something is happening. And the battle may be on land anyway." Scarab turned to the impassive boatman. "How long to Waset?"

  The man shrugged. "Four days...five maybe."

  The river turned northeast just after that, as it flowed in the great loop named for the principal city on that part of the river, Iunet. Sacred to the goddess Het-Heru, the community was small and they felt no need to hide as they passed. The wind, which for the last day had been behind them as the river turned, now swung round to oppose them as they sailed past Iunet, and they found themselves drifting shorewards.

  An oared warship put out from the Iunet docks, rapidly overhauling them. A grappling hook hauled them closer and soldiers poured over the sides into the small boat, hauling them up onto the deck of the warship and in front of the officer.

  "Who are you and what is your business?" the officer snapped. "Quickly now, I am a busy man."

  "Not good," Nebhotep muttered. "What side is he on?"

  Scarab shook herself free of the soldier holding her and drew herself up, staring the officer down. "How dare you treat me in this way? I am returning to Waset from my estates and I do not appreciate your men man-handling me. What is your name and rank? I am going to report your behavior to your superior."

  The officer flushed but stood his ground. "I am sorry for any hurt, lady. Perhaps if you would tell me who you are..."

  "You are impertinent. I shall report you to the king."

  "Ah!" The officer smiled. "Which king then?"

  "What do you mean? The king in Waset, of course."

  "Have you not heard, lady? There are two. King Smenkhkare has returned to claim his Kingdoms."

  Scarab almost collapsed with relief and she heard Khu and Nebhotep exhale noisily. The boatman just looked on impassively. "You call Smenkhkare king still?" she asked. "Was he not killed by a crocodile?"

  "No, lady, he was not. Now, what is your name?"

  "I am Beketaten, sister to the king. You will take me to him immediately."

  The officer heard the tone of command in the young woman's voice and his confidence wavered and fell apart. "Er, yes, lady Beketaten."

  Scarab quickly scanned the open deck of the warship. "You will also rig a sail as a sunshade over there," she said, pointing aft. "I will require something to sit on, some decent food and wine. Please see to it, Captain..." She put a suitable amount of interrogation into her last comment, and the officer stumbled to reply, his voice losing its overlay of superiority.

  "A...Amentes, my lady, and I...I is not a captain. I is a Leader of a Hundred."

  "Then, Amentes, Leader of a Hundred, you have your orders." Scarab strolled toward the rear of the vessel, acting as if she owned it. Sailors and soldiers stared after her, grinning at their Leader's discomfiture. "Oh, one other thing, Amentes. Pay off our boatman, would you? Five pieces of silver should be sufficient. One of your men has my silver. Bring the rest to me when you have done so." Without waiting for an acknowledgment, Scarab carried on to the aft of the warship and sat on the deck, staring out over the water.

  Khu and Nebhotep knelt beside her. "Most accomplished, my lady," Nebhotep murmured. "Your breeding shows in times like these."

  "Thank you, Nebhotep," Scarab replied, her voice shaking. "It's been a long time and I wasn't sure I could carry it off."

  The voyage to Waset took the rest of the day and a further day and night, the familiar landscape appearing out of the darkness with the dawn. The armed warship with its many oarsmen meant they did not have to pull into the shore at night, but could keep forging upriver. Amentes was most attentive, making sure that every small comfort that the fighting ship could provide was available for his guest. Scarab learned that Smenkhkare's army had arrived outside Waset only five days before, several ships sailing on past to secure any forces of the Tjaty that could later threaten them. They had found few men, Amentes said, and fewer supplies and had been about to return when they spotted her ladyship's boat.

  "How is the king? Is he in good health?"

  Amentes puzzled over that one. "Well, I don'ts gets to see him too much, if you knows what I mean, your ladyship. I mean, he's the king and all and I'm just a low officer. He was hurt bad by the crocodile though, that's I know, him and his friend Menkure."

  "They are scarred?" Nebhotep asked.

  Amentes nodded. "Right across the body." He drew his hands across his torso, demonstrating the extent of the wounds. "Some on his face too, and Menkure has a awful limp."

  Scarab shuddered and tried to prepare herself for the sight of her brother as the ship drew up to the eastern bank of the river just south of the city. Amentes immediately hailed another officer and sent him to warn the king while he and a squad of his men escorted Scarab through the sprawling camp.

  The king's tent sat on a low knoll about a thousand paces from the river, overlooking the southern gate and the great pylons of the temple of Amun. The tent sides were folded back and the figure of a man sat on a high-backed chair staring out toward the city. Beside him stood another man leaning on a long staff and Scarab knew as they approached that this was her long-lost brother and his close friend Menkure. Her initial idea of running forward to throw her arms about him died as she saw his unmoving regard of the small procession winding its way through the camp.

  "He has changed," Khu muttered.

  "Wouldn't you?" Nebhotep asked. "He has literally been in the mouth of a god and returned to tell of it. That would change any man."

  "He is my brother," Scarab murmured. "But he is also the king."

  The procession came to a halt at the bottom of the low knoll and Amentes saluted before dropping to his knees in the sandy soil, followed by the men in his squad. "Great king, I bring the on
e who calls herself Lady Beketaten."

  The man on the throne stared down at the woman standing among the kneeling men of the guard. He nodded and said something to the man standing behind him, who limped forward.

  "Let the lady and her companions approach and make obeisance to Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare, King of Upper and Lower Kemet, Lord of the Two Lands, Ankhkheperure, Son of Re, Lord of Crowns, Holy of Manifestations, Given life forever continually."

  Scarab, with Khu and Nebhotep trailing behind, approached the throne. She fell to her knees and bowed her head to the ground three times before sitting back on her heels with her head bowed. Behind her, her companions followed her lead.

  "My lord Smenkhkare," Scarab said quietly. "My heart rejoices to see you. I thank the gods of our Kemet that you have been restored to us."

  "Lady Beketaten, sister, you are welcome."

  "May I present my companions, and your loyal Councillors, Lord Khu and Lord Nebhotep?"

  The king nodded, the scarred tissue of his face twisting as he spoke. "They too are welcome."

  "What is your pleasure, my lord king? We exist to serve you."

  Smenkhkare sat silent for a long time, staring down at the three kneeling figures in front of his throne. "My wish," he said at last, "Is that you rise and greet your brother as you used to."

  Scarab looked up and saw Smenkhkare stand. She gasped as the gown draped over his shoulders fell away, revealing the scarred and puckered body that was the legacy of the crocodile god Sobek. She wept as she rose to her feet and embraced her brother, feeling the ridges of scar tissue criss-crossing his back.

  "Do you still call yourself Scarab, or has that gone the way of childhood's things? You have grown to be a woman, a beautiful one that rivals my brother's wife Nefertiti."

  "I am still known by that name, my lord."

  Smenkhkare released his sister and bade the men stand. "Nebhotep, there will be work for a physician soon."

  "My skills are at your disposal, great king."

  "And Khu, the faithful one. I shall have to give you lands as befits a noble lord. Come to me when I retake my throne and we will choose your estate together." The king grinned, a hungry grin without humor. "One of Ay's estates, I think. He will not need them."

  "Thank you, great king."

  "Stay close to my Scarab for now, Lord Khu. She is precious to me." He nodded, dismissing them and turned to his sister once more. "You have come just in time, Scarab. Ay rejects my demands." He pointed out over the plain to a single stake with a small rounded object atop it. Crows wheeled above it, landing briefly and taking off again. "See his messenger," he laughed. "Now he can see my response."

  "Brother," Scarab gasped. "Why did you kill him? He was surely just a messenger?"

  "He brought unwelcome news." Smenkhkare shook his head. "No matter, he was just a man. Many more will die before I am on my throne again."

  "What will you do?"

  "I have waited outside the gates of my Waset long enough. It is time to take the city. Menkure, have the trumpets sound. Muster my army."

  As Menkure turned to go, a distant ram's horn sounded urgently from upriver, then another, closer. Smenkhkare wheeled and stared toward the river, where a great roar of voices arose into the rippling morning air. A man, a Nubian officer bearing the badges of his rank on his linen headdress, ran up and prostrated himself briefly before rising and saluting his king.

  "My lord king, ships on the river, many of them. Horemheb has come."

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  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  "Horemheb has the gift of timing," Smenkhkare said with a wry grimace. "However, I am glad the waiting is at an end." He strode down the hillock toward the river with the camp in an uproar as the officers strove to get their men into ranks. "Menkure, send Kashta and Shabaqo with their archers to the river. They are to harass the landing. Psuro is to take his shielded spearmen and oppose the landing physically. He is to throw them back if he is able, the archers to support him in that if they establish a landing."

  Menkure saluted and limped off, bellowing orders to his officers. For all that the camp resembled a kicked ant's nest; the trained discipline of the soldiers quickly became apparent. Smenkhkare turned to Scarab.

  "What am I to do with you, sister? And your friends?"

  "Give me a sword and I can fight. So can Khu, he is almost as good as me."

  "I think not." He beckoned to Amentes, who had not gone far after delivering his charges to the king. "Amentes, you will guard my sister with your life, as will you Khu. Physician, there will be many men seeking your help shortly, both to stay in this life and to leave it. Make yourself useful where you can." He gathered the rest of his guards around him and set off for the river at a fast jog.

  Smenkhkare caught up with Menkure and Psuro's spearmen as they started to set their formations, phalanxes of men with hippopotamus-hide shields and helmets and armed with bronze-tipped spears twice the height of a man. The ships on the river slowed and turned toward the eastern shore, coming under a cloud of arrows as they drew within range.

  "There are not as many as I thought there would be," the king said.

  "He must have lost more coming through the cataracts."

  The Nubian infantry under Kasaya and Aspalta signaled their readiness and Smenkhkare gave the order to advance down through the rough ground near the river's edge. Kashta's archer company hurried round to cover the attempted landing while Shabaqo's continued to torment the ships. As they got closer, a hail of arrows returned and men started falling. The boats shuddered as they grounded, sliding up onto the muddy banks, men leaping from them and dying. Others jumped over the bodies pushed forward, their curved bronze swords at the ready. Officers yelled orders, their calls mixing with the screams of the wounded.

  "Forward!" Psuro called and the spearmen responded, moving down through the hillocked scrub. The rough ground interfered with their steady movement and gaps appeared in the line, which Horemheb's soldiers exploited. The spears were too long for the soldiers to get to grips with their enemies though and gradually the hundreds of men landed from the boats were pushed back toward the water.

  "We have them," Menkure exulted. "Come on, men, another push and the dogs will run." The ram's horn blew again and the lighter infantry started around the edges of the spearmen, cutting into Horemheb's men as they tried to squeeze out from between the spears and the water.

  "Where's Horemheb?" Smenkhkare asked, scanning the line of battle. "It is not like him to miss a fight." The king suddenly frowned. "How could he miss the fight unless..." He turned and looked inland and upriver where a cloud, alone in the blazing hot blue of the sky, drifted slowly down toward him. He called a runner to him and sent him off, out of the battle to investigate the cloud. He was back within minutes.

  "Soldiers, lord king, an army. They will be here within minutes."

  Smenkhkare swore. "It is Horemheb," he yelled at Menkure over the cacophony of the battle. "The cunning bastard landed his main force south of here. This is just a decoy to keep us busy."

  "We must withdraw then, my lord. This ground is too rough to stand against a proper army."

  The horns sounded again, urgently, and the combatants separated, Smenkhkare's troops streaming back, away from the river to the plains near their camp. As they ran they could see another army racing toward them from the south and fear gave them strength. They reached their positions mere hundreds of paces ahead of Horemheb's troops and they turned on the shouted orders of the officers, readying themselves for the onslaught.

  Horemheb's men came on as a roaring tide of men, all semblance of order lost in the wild race across the plain. Then trumpets blared stridently, cutting through the din, and the mass of men slowed and stopped. Panting, exhausted men staggered back and formed into their units while keeping a wary eye on the army ranged in front of them.

  "I was hoping they'd just keep coming," Menkure said. "They'd lost all cohesion and we coul
d have smashed them."

  "I keep telling you, Horemheb's no fool. He's one of Kemet's best generals and he knows the art of warfare." Smenkhkare grinned. "What he doesn't know is that I'm better."

  The two armies stood and faced each other across two hundred paces of sand and rocky earth. Smenkhkare's men stood in five companies--spearmen in the middle, their long bronzed spears glittering in the bright sunlight; on either side a company of light infantry; and on the flanks, the mobile archers. Horemheb chose a more conventional array, concentrating the bulk of his men in the centre and two long curving arms of men out to either side like the horns of a bull.

  "He thinks to charge us like the strong bull of Heru and envelop us with his horns," Smenkhkare grinned. "Well, I have the answer to his tactic."

  Fifty paces behind the king, with Amentes guarding her, stood Scarab. She scanned the field of what would soon become a raging battle, noting but not fully understanding the arrangements that General and King were making. The thought of another king touched her mind and she turned and stared up at the walls of the city. She thought she could recognise two of the many lining the top--an old man and a boy-king.

  On the south wall of Waset, high above the great carved wooden South Gate, and shaded by the massive pylons of the temple of Amun, Ay looked out on the plains with Tutankhaten and Queen Ankhesenpaaten at his side. Their spirits had risen, fallen and risen again over the last hour as the initial stages of the battle played out beneath them. Cheering had broken out from the multitudes of courtiers lining the walls as the fleet hove into view, a hush descending as the rebel army threw the rescuers back. Then came the unexpected appearance of Horemheb's main army, flying the banner of the Amun legion, and joy won out again. Now they stared down at two evenly matched armies.

  "What will you do, Tjaty?" Usermontju asked. "My Medjay are ready for any task."

  "Do? The Tjaty will do nothing. I am king; I will lead my troops into battle."

  Everyone turned, startled, to where the young king Tutankhaten stood with the queen, his cousin Ankhesenpaaten. Looking out over the dusty plain to where the armies stood facing each other, the king no longer looked like a little boy, but rather a young man showing a rare spark of courage, a determination to have his own way.