Fall of the House of Ramesses, Book 2: Seti

by Max Overton

  One of Seti's horses was wounded and fell, dragging its partner down. The charioteer leapt to cut the traces and fell dead, struck in the throat. Seti scrambled clear, his own bow in his hand but lacking a target, could only stand impotently in the wreckage of his small chariot squadron. The survivors took shelter behind fallen chariots and dead horses and it was only nightfall that saved them from being annihilated by the rain of arrows from the Kushites in cover. The sound of running feet on the roadway brought fear to their hearts but moments later familiar figures loomed in the darkness from behind them and the men of Set legion rushed over and around. Ahmes barked commands and his men formed a protective cordon around the king.

  The Set legion pulled back, leaving the bodies of men and horses, the debris of the chariot squadron, where they lay on the road, and under cover of darkness withdrew to the crest of the slight rise. Here they made camp, though it was a rough and ready affair as they lacked everything except their weapons and the flasks of water they carried. Shortly after moonrise, the Ptah legion found them, and although the men were as lacking in food and water as the men of Set, Besenmut had disobeyed the king and brought with him some food and wine for the king. Seti accepted it without comment and stood in the darkness, sipping on his wine and staring into the mooncast shadows of the southern night that hid his brother Messuwy's rebel forces.

  Chapter 24

  Menmire Amenmesse speaks:

  My brother-in-law Bay spoke truth, but not the complete truth. Yes, Seti was preoccupied with the northern borders, but I was not yet ready to become king. I have an over-strength legion, that of Kush, but it is as yet untried in war and undisciplined. What can one expect of tribesmen? I needed perhaps another year before I was ready, but Bay had whispered of Seti's suspicions of what was happening in Kush, and I knew the opportunity of Seti's attention being elsewhere was too good to miss.

  Seti took his army north to counter the foreigners and I struck, forging north out of Kush with two thousand men at my back. More joined me as I marched north, the people of Ta Shemau swarming to my banner, vying with each other to share in my glorious victory. Waset threw open its gates, and the populace thronged the streets as my Kushites marched in and took possession of Amun's City. The traitors were arrested and thrown into prison, and the Amun legion fell under my control. Seti's Prophet of Amun was deposed and Hem-netjer Roma-Rui resumed his rightful place as Voice of the God. Among his first acts was to crown me King Menmire Amenmesse, rightful Lord of the Two Lands, giving legitimacy to all my actions and taking it from those of my misguided younger brother Seti.

  Now I am King of Kemet and it will be but a matter of time before my brother Seti is deposed. His actions while pretending to be king are, of course, unlawful, and I have been at pains to correct them. Bakenkhons is gone, though Roma-Rui has, in his mercy, allowed him to stay on as a priest within the temple. Merenkhons has gone, fled with other traitors, and I have appointed a faithful man, Menkauhor, in his place. Neferronpet is gone, and will soon be dead, and Khaemter appointed as Tjaty in his place. The power of Amun dominates the city, and I use the priests of Amun for my own purposes.

  I was surprised to find my sister Takhat in the palace. For some reason nobody had thought to tell me that Seti had taken her as wife and got her with child. When Seti came down to Waset he brought his queen, Tausret, and his secondary wife Takhat, but when he went north again he left my sister behind. I did not know whether this is due to some calculation on his part, or at the whim of the gods but my adviser Sethi helped me in this. He said that Seti could scarcely know that I would soon make my move and claim the throne, so how could leaving her behind benefit him. Therefore it must be the gods who have brought this about, and I think I know now what their will is.

  A king often marries his sister. This is solely so no other man can marry into the royal family and give him a claim on the throne. No doubt Seti was acting thus when he took my sister as wife, and now the gods have presented her to me just at the time when I am made king and he is deposed. Could their actions be any clearer? I will marry my sister Takhat. Of course, she is already with child, so I shall have to wait a few months. If she has a son, he will have to die, but if she has a daughter I will let the child live. She will marry my son Siptah in time, or failing that, daughters are always useful in cementing alliances.

  I knew Seti would contest my seizing control of Waset, but I did not think he would act so swiftly. Scarcely had I made my mark on the southern city than spies arrived bearing news of his advance. My advisers counselled this and that, but I knew I would have to defeat his legions outside Waset. The problem was how. The Set and Ptah legions are well trained and battle hardened, more than a match for the city-soft Amun and my fierce, loyal but undisciplined fighters of Kush. My only hope was to surprise them.

  As Seti approached the city, I took the Kushite south, into the low hills close by the river and hid them there. The remnants of the Amun legion waited inside the city with the city gate open, knowing this would attract the attention of Seti. It did, and his army arrayed itself outside the city, facing the gate. Then Menkauhor led the Amun legion out and fixed their attention solely on them. I had hoped that both legions would have engaged the Amun, but only the Set did, leaving the Ptah standing and waiting. I could not wait any longer, so I launched my Kushites at the rear of Seti's formation, taking them completely by surprise. I almost won, but my men were just too undisciplined to fight together, preferring their normal method of fighting, one on one, with much posturing and yelling of insults. Seti's chariots tipped the scales. The terrain of Kush is not suited to chariot warfare, so I had few. I shall have to remedy this.

  I withdrew my army, not wanting to lose them all to Seti's rampaging soldiers. As long as I retained a fighting force, I could return to claim what was mine, so I led them south into the low hills, and as I went I devised a means of stopping Seti. The opportunity came as dusk fell, and the forward units of my pursuers made contact with my rearguard. I positioned archers under cover and had a straggling group of Kushite warriors entice Seti's chariots to charge them on the narrow road. They were not expecting the ambush and were slaughtered. Too late I saw that Seti himself was amongst the charioteers tossed onto the hard ground and he managed to withdraw to the safety of his legions.

  I hurried my men on, keeping to the road south in the darkness and, as dawn approached, made a stand at a well in the flat land beyond the hills. The road at this point bends eastward away from the river, and finding a well is essential unless you are carrying a good water supply. We had a water supply and a defensible position amidst strewn boulders, so I rested my men while waiting for Seti's army to arrive.

  Seti's legions appeared at noon, hot and thirsty, and chagrined to find us in possession of the only water available unless they fancied a long trek to the river. Chariots were useless amidst the boulders, so he mustered his legions and threw them at our position, doubtless anticipating another victory. My warriors were much more organised now though, having their flanks secured by rock and the massive boulders offered protection from his archers. Once, twice, three times, he hurled his men at our position but could not dislodge us. Instead, he withdrew, leaving his men lying on the stony ground like the debris left after the river's yearly inundation.

  Seti could not afford such attrition of his forces, and as the day drew on he could see whatever advantage he had held under the walls of Waset disappearing like the water in his men's rapidly emptying flasks. Thirst finally brought an end to his attack and first one, and then the other, of his decimated legions turned and made their way west toward the river.

  I sent my scouts out in their wake, and they reported back to me that Seti was heading north, back toward Waset in defeat. I followed, and saw him bypass Amun's city, marching his men back the way they had come. Waset opened its gates to me and I entered the great city, a king returning to the seat of his power, and started making plans for the future. I was determined that I would extend my so
vereignty over both Ta Shemau and Ta Mehu, becoming truly Lord of the Two Lands. My brother Seti, who tried to steal the throne from me, will bend his knee to me or die.

  I, Menmire Amenmesse, have spoken.

  Chapter 25

  Year 2 of Userkheperure Seti

  Year 1 of Menmire Amenmesse

  The comings and goings of kings meant little to the men of Set-ma'at, the Place of Truth which was the tomb makers' village on the border of Ta-sekhet-ma'at, the Great Field wherein lay the tombs of kings and nobles. They had their work and if it meant that work stopped on one tomb and started on another, it was all one to them. That was their work life and if they worked from dawn to dusk for nine days out of ten, it was still only part of their overall existence.

  Kemetu are very family oriented and every aspect of family life is close to their hearts, children especially. Life was hard for the common man, a daily scrabble for food and shelter with little left over for luxuries. What was not spent on daily needs was put aside for the most important event in any Kemetu life, death. They believed in an afterlife, but this posthumous residence in the 'Field of Reeds' was dependent on the continued existence of the physical body and everything that the physical body needed in life.

  The well-off could afford to have experts preserve their bodies after death, to suck the moisture from their corpses and pack it with preservatives and spices so that they could lie in their tombs for eternity. They had tombs built that were furnished with beds and tables and chairs, pots and pans and plates, weapons and toys and the paraphernalia of their work. Servants were provided in the form of little ushabtiu, funerary figurines made of clay or stone or wood, that would, stimulated by magical inscriptions carved upon them, assume the burden of any labour the deceased might be called upon to perform. Food and drink was present too, sometimes real, sometimes represented by detailed wall paintings. The dead person, returning to the tomb, could feast upon these viands and enjoy once more the pleasant occupations they had enjoyed in life.

  Not so the poor though. The destitute could hope for little more than a hole dug in the desert sand, a body wrapped in little more than clothing, a few personal items and a loaf of bread and small stoppered bottle of weak beer to sustain them. There was no hope offered of a better existence in the afterlife than they had suffered in life.

  The men and women of the Place of Truth were poised somewhere between the two extremes. They worked at labouring jobs for the most part, though Foreman Hay's team was proficient in producing the everyday carvings and paintings on the tomb walls. Specialist sculptors and painters were called in for the really fine work though. Being expert at tunnelling into solid rock, the builders spent some of their spare time constructing their own tombs and those of their families. Whether simple excavations or elaborate chambered tombs awaited them at death, the servants in the Place of Truth could look forward to a reasonably comfortable afterlife.

  The scribes of the Great Field carefully recorded everything that entered the village, whether for the use of its inhabitants or for use in the tombs themselves. Oil lamps gave the only light at night and deep inside the rock tunnels and chambers where daylight could not seep. Kenhirkhopeshef and his junior scribes noted the measures of oil drawn each day from the temple stores, and even down to the number of wicks used by each team in every four hour work shift. Every man that worked had his name checked off against the roll and his absence had to be explained by the Foreman, Workman Ahi absent with toothache, Workman Huni absent because of the flux, Sculptor Neferhor absent with a cut hand. Not every absence was down to some illness or accident though. A man might celebrate some festival or other that had a special meaning for him or his family, and might even be absent for a day beforehand to brew beer for the festivities.

  The cycle of life passed slowly, season by season. Children were born and many died in the first few years of life. Survivors grew into men who followed their fathers into their profession, or into women who married, usually at an early age, to men their fathers picked for them. After a life of hardship, a man might have amassed sufficient wealth to be able to retire and take his ease in the few years left to him before death brought its release. Scribe Kenhirkhopeshef was one such fortunate man. Already in his seventies in the reign of Baenre Merenptah, he had married a young girl of twelve from the village, an occasion for much celebration. Naunakht came to the marriage if not willingly, at least thankful that the old man would make few demands upon her. She could not refuse, for her father had arranged the match, knowing that Kenhirkhopeshef was a man of great prestige and considerable wealth. More importantly for a young girl barely into puberty, the scribe was noted for his kindness and gentleness. Ten years on, she had voiced no complaints, and managed the scribe's affairs well. She had had no children by the old man but she was content with his company.

  Kenhirkhopeshef had a tomb waiting for him, a modest affair cut into the rock face with a small but beautiful chapel and wide carved stairs leading to his burial chamber. Having almost completed his long life, and with his future home assured, Kenhirkhopeshef could afford to relax. On days when he felt some of his old energy pervading his stooped and withered frame, he would accompany the teams to the Great Field and sit in the shade of the cliffs with a flask of water beside him and watch the activity in and around the tombs. His scribes Anupemheb and Paser fussed around and saw to the necessities of his office.

  Once when he wandered back at the end of a working day, aching in all his joints and deathly tired, he passed by the village shrines cut into the rock and stopped to examine graffiti scratched into the stone. His fingers traced the common script that semi-literate people who were not trained as scribes used, nothing like the formal hieroglyphs used in temple and tomb, and smiled. Young men had striven for some small measure of immortality by scratching their names near the shrines. Giving in to a whim, he stooped to pick up a rock and, finding a sheltered rock surface free of blemish, scratched his own message to future generations, 'Scribe in the Place of Truth, Kenhirkhopeshef, of his father Panakhte'.

  When he felt less energetic, increasingly as the days passed, he sat in the shade with the other old men of the village in the open area near the gate, and talked together. Often, as old men will, they talked of former days and the glorious accomplishments that their younger selves had achieved.

  "I remember the old king, Usermaatre, coming to inspect his tomb," Anek mused. He wiped away a thin thread of spittle from his chin. "He spoke to me, you know."

  Pait cackled, and slapped his bony hand on a skeletal thigh. "Told you to get out of the way, most like."

  "Or chastised you on the botch up you'd made of a carving," added Ramose. "Remember the time you chiselled the nose right off the king's image? I thought the foreman, what was his name? Anhirkawi? I thought he was going to have a fit."

  Anek's blood rushed to his face. "You take that back, Ramose. It was not my fault. The rock was rotten."

  "And it was Anhirkawi," Nekhen said. "Father of our present Foreman Hay. A good man in his day."

  "His son's good too."

  "No argument, but Anhirkawi was better."

  "I've carved tombs for four kings then," Anek said. "Not many men can say that."

  "Everyone here can," Nekhen objected. "Usermaatre, Baenre, Userkheperure, and now Menmire." He laughed. "And with Menmire so new, you haven't actually worked under him."

  "Nor Userkheperure," Ramose said. "He's only been on the throne a year or so and you haven't worked for at least that long."

  "One of us definitely has," Nekhen said. "Our scribe Kenhirkhopeshef here started back in Usermaatre's day and is still technically working, though he likes to sit on his backside now."

  "A scribe's life involves a lot of sitting," Kenhirkhopeshef observed. "And while I'm here with you, my associates are running around making sure everything runs smoothly. They report to me regularly, as you well know, so yes, I have worked through the reigns of four kings."

  "Seen some sights too, I
'll warrant?"

  The old scribe nodded and frowned. Then he slowly eased himself to one side and released a squeak of gas. "I've spoken to three kings, and I daresay if Menmire comes to inspect his tomb I'll talk to him too."

  Nekhen stifled a laugh. "I hope you didn't say that to them."

  "There's not much to inspect at the moment," Anek said. "They've barely started."

  "Well, he's only been king for a month," Ramose said.

  "I haven't been up there," Nekhen said. "Where is it? Near Userkheperure's?"

  Anek shook his head. "As far from him in death as in life, I says. It's in the eastern valley, not far from where Menpehtyre Ramesses is buried."

  "What will happen to Userkheperure Seti's tomb then?" Ramose asked. "We were doing so well."

  Kenhirkhopeshef shrugged. "Work stops on it. After all, the king pays for everything and the king is Menmire Amenmesse. He's not going to pay for his brother's tomb, seeing as how they don't get on."

  "He's still king though, isn't he?" Nekhen asked. "Userkheperure Seti. I mean, he's still alive even if he is in Men-nefer."

  "I wouldn't involve yourself in the affairs of kings," Kenhirkhopeshef warned. "A statement like that could prove very dangerous in the wrong ears."

  "What did I say?"

  "That a certain someone was still king. If the present king in Waset got to hear of it, you could find yourself up on a charge of treason. It could be construed as speaking ill of the king, hinting that he's not really the king."