The Amarnan Kings, Book 4: Scarab - Ay

by Overton, Max

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  Jeheshua closed his stall early and asked Scarab to accompany him. They walked away from the Khabiru encampment until they emerged onto the flat grassy fields that bordered the canal connecting Zarw with the easternmost branch of Iteru, the Great River. The old man found them a spot on the grass that was shaded by a twisted fig tree.

  "Meryam tells me you met your gods face to face in the desert," he said quietly when they had made themselves comfortable.

  "What has she been saying? That I have gone mad or that I am evil?"

  "She loves you, Scarab, as do we all. She is concerned."

  Scarab grunted. "Is that why you have brought me out here?"

  "I want to talk to you where we cannot be disturbed. May I ask you some questions?"

  "Ask away. I won't lie though you may not believe me."

  Jeheshua composed himself and ran over his concerns in his mind. "You told Meryam you saw your gods in the desert. Is this true?"

  "Yes."

  "I would know the nature of your sighting. Sometimes our holy men see the Lord as a flame that envelops a bush but does not burn it up, or as a flame that burns in the sand. Others see him as a whirlwind that lifts dust to the sky, as a light moving in the heavens, or hear him as a small voice in the silence of the desert. Is this how your gods appeared to you?"

  "No. Some appeared as lions, others as men or women. I felt the hot breath of the lion upon my face and when he spoke, it was loud and definite. The ones who appeared as people also left me in no doubt they were really there."

  "Which gods did you see, my child? Did they identify themselves or did you guess who they were?"

  "The Nine of Iunu appeared to me, one after the other. Atum, the creator god; Shu of the air, Tefnut of moisture; Geb, the god of the earth and growing things; Nut of the sky; Asar, god of the dead; Set of the storm and the desert, Nebt-Het, goddess of death and mourning; and Auset, the Queen of Heaven. As each appeared they named themselves. I have no doubts as to their identities."

  Jeheshua had paled as she spoke and his hands trembled. Scarab put her hand out and touched the old man's arm. "Are you ill, Jeheshua? Shall I find some help for you?"

  "No...no, I shall be alright. The Lord is all the help I need." He looked away over the green fields and took a series of deep breaths. "It is the shock of hearing your experience, nothing more. My child, you must not tell anyone else of this. Meryam and Eli can be trusted to keep silent, but there are many among the Khabiru who would stone you to death if they knew of it. Many of us see the gods of Kemet as little more than demons, black and ravening from the pit or the lonely places of the world. You, who talk to them, would be seen as a witch or a sorcerer, deserving of death."

  Scarab thought about this for a long time. "What about you, Jeheshua? Do you think I talk with demons?"

  "Child, I have been raised to believe that. For sixty years, the priests and elders have assured us the Lord our God is a faceless, unseen God who cannot be represented in any form. In fact, to attempt to portray Him as any part of his creation would be the foulest blasphemy. In my long years, I know of several men who were stoned for believing a fraction of what you do. That being said, while you may have some Khabiru blood you are mostly Kemetu and we all know Kemetu are non-believers and followers of demons. It should be no surprise that you see them. Where Kemetu and Khabiru differ is in the interpretation of these beings. You see gods, I see demons."

  "I can see how you might believe Set is evil, but Atum is the creator and sometimes the sun, Geb the growing things that we eat, Shu is the air and Tefnut the water that sustains us. How can these things be anything but good?"

  "It would be simple if demons were all foul, loathsome beings that reeked of evil. It would be easy to avoid them then. Instead, the adversary can appear in a fair form to tempt the sons of men into wrongdoing. Women, we are told, are particularly susceptible to his blandishments."

  Scarab thought about this some more. "We have demons also but they are limited in their capabilities though they try to mimic the gods. They may try to create but their efforts are twisted and maimed; they try to heal but they harm instead. Are your demons like this?"

  "Yes, that would describe them."

  "Then how do you explain the gift of Geb?" Scarab opened her right eye and let the old man look at her gleaming stone orb. "I was dying of my wounds and he healed them all with a touch, giving me this instead of my shattered eye."

  "I cannot explain it, child."

  "And the other gods and goddesses gave me gifts too. I was able to call up water from the rock through Tefnut's gift and to find my way to safety by asking Nut for directions."

  "Could...could you call up water again? To show me?"

  "I believe so, but I will not. We have no need of water and it would be an abuse of the gift to use it needlessly."

  "Commendable...and convenient, though even our priests refrain from testing our god."

  "So where does that leave us...me?" Scarab asked.

  "Meryam talked of another gift. One you showed her--a golden scarab beetle."

  Scarab smiled gently. "Is that how she described it to you? As a golden beetle?"

  "Well, no, she said it was made of stone."

  Scarab dug into the folds of her clothing and drew the carving out, placing it on the grass between them. "What do you say?"

  Jeheshua leaned closer, his eyebrows knitting together as he scrutinised the object. "This is what you showed Meryam? I can see why she called it a rock." He reached out and then stopped. "May I touch it?" Scarab nodded and he picked it up. "Strange. It is heavier than it looks and although the details of legs and wings are only sketched on, when I rub my finger over it, it feels like they are carved." Jeheshua put it back on the ground and rubbed his hand against his robes. "Did one of your gods give you this or did you find it?"

  "It is the gift of Atum the creator."

  "And you insist it is made of gold?"

  Scarab put her hand over the carving and closed her eyes. Atum, let him see as I see, if only for a moment . She opened her eyes and took her hand away.

  "Wh...what did you do, child?" Jeheshua asked in a strangled voice. "Is this some magic trick like that of a conjuror in the marketplace?" He stared at the scarab carving, the deep yellow tones gleaming lustrously in the sunshine.

  "No trick," Scarab said. "I prayed to Atum to open your eyes."

  Jeheshua could not take his eyes off the carved gold insect. "Why? Why hide it like that?"

  "I don't know for certain," Scarab admitted, "But it could be that a gold object would excite avarice in some people."

  "Yes, I can see that it might. Are you sure it was not a trick--that you had this and a stone and switched them? That would be easier to believe than a demon having such power. The carving is beautiful."

  "No demon, Jeheshua, but a god."

  "I...I cannot accept that. It would be blasphemy for me to do so."

  An idea tickled Scarab's mind and she sat back, letting Jeheshua stroke the carving while she thought it through. "Tell me," she said after a few minutes, "Your one god does everything that our many gods do, doesn't he?"

  Jeheshua looked up, his brows coming together questioningly. "Yes, you could put it that way."

  "He must be very busy. I cannot see how any one god could possibly do everything. It would be like a man trying to be a scribe and a farmer and a soldier and a priest all at the same time." She waved a hand dismissively. "But never mind that, what I am wondering is whether the god I call Atum is not actually your god 'Lord' doing just one thing. Atum is the creator but the Lord is also a creator. Perhaps the Lord is Atum when he is creating, but is Geb whenever he is making the crops grow or Shu when he makes the breezes blow, or is the disc of the sun, Aten, during the day."

  Jeheshua looked very uncomfortable. "Some men have argued that way before, particularly during the reign of your father. The Council voted on it and ruled that such thoughts were blasphemous. Only the Lor
d is God and any who claim his godhead are pretenders and adversaries. I am sorry, Scarab."

  "And what do you think, Jeheshua?"

  "I am a member of the Council." The old man sighed deeply and looked around carefully before continuing. "But I was not in your father's day. If I had been I would perhaps have voted to accept your gods as aspects of the True God."

  "If that is so, then my worship of the Nine of Iunu is the same as worshipping the Lord, though in different ways. When Atum gave me this carving and Geb gave me my eye, both gifts came from your God."

  "It may be," Jeheshua said cautiously, "Though I would ask you not to repeat that sentiment to others."

  "I won't, but something else occurs to me. Would the Lord allow a demon to masquerade as God? It is one thing for a person to allow it, but would the Lord let you fall into error?"

  Jeheshua considered this thought. "No, for the Lord is a jealous God. He will allow no created being to be called god."

  "Then if I ask Atum to hide this gold scarab again and you ask the Lord to let his will be done, what do you think will happen?"

  "I see what you are saying. If your Atum is not an aspect of the Lord, then it will not change."

  "And if he is?"

  Jeheshua smiled wanly. "Let us see. Pray to your Atum and I will pray to the Lord." He bent his head.

  "Cover the carving with your hand," Scarab instructed. She waited while he did so and then told him to lift his hand.

  He hesitated, his eyes screwed shut and his lips moving in silent prayer.

  "Lift your hand, Jeheshua."

  The carving had disappeared and in its place sat a plain rock once more.

  Jeheshua sat back, his eyes turned heavenward. He trembled as if from a fever and sweat dampened his hair. "I...I have seen the workings of the Lord," he muttered. "Either Atum is more powerful than my God, or Atum is my God. There can be none more powerful, so Atum must surely be the Lord." He went very pale as the words passed his lips. "I have uttered blasphemy. I will be struck down."

  The afternoon continued peaceful. The sun shone from a cloudless sky and a gentle breeze softened the heat. Around them, insects flitted and crawled and a lark sang from somewhere in the blue vault of heaven.

  "I think the Lord spares your life," Scarab said softly, "because you speak the truth." She helped the old man to his feet and they started back toward the city. Jeheshua leaned on her for a time but as the Lord continued to spare his life, he gradually cheered up and even ventured a smile before they reached the first of the tents.

  "Should I tell people of this revelation?" he asked.

  "Follow your heart in this, but from what you have told me of Khabiru beliefs, I would not."

  Jeheshua nodded. "I will pray for guidance. What will you do?"

  "I am going to leave Zarw for a time."

  "Why? Because of this business of Atum and the Lord?"

  "No, my first consideration is Set."

  "The god?"

  "No, the boy. I am going to find Paramessu in the northern army. Judge Seti may turn me away and prevent me seeing my son, but Paramessu is the father. He can overrule him. I am determined to come to some arrangement."

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  Chapter Sixteen

  Jezrah climbed to a bluff that overlooked the city of Taanach and settled down for a long watch. The sight of the capital city of the Amorites and particularly of king Aziru filled him with mixed feelings. In a past life, he had been a general in the Amorite army, a man with power, a measure of wealth and the promise of more. Now he was a fugitive and a general only of outlaws, murderers and thieves. The man who had betrayed him lay in Taanach and the fact that his betrayer was a king would not save him. Jezrah had determined to enter the city with his men and lay it waste.

  The trouble is, there is no easy way into the city. If I had a proper army, I could force the gates but my band of cutthroats will run at the first sign of trouble .

  He thought of other possible routes. Enter through the main gates disguised as merchants ? That was possible for a few men but not enough to overcome the guards. One man into the city and a rope over the battlements after dark ? Slow and the constant risk of discovery by the guards. What else is there ?

  Jezrah took a drink from the goatskin water bottle at his belt and thought about the inside of the fortress. He knew the layout well, he could close his eyes and imagine himself there, walking along hallways, opening doors, passing the guards unseen and at last, in the throne room, taking his sword out and plunging it into the heart of Aziru. In his imaginings, he still had his right hand and his honour, neither having been cut from him by the treachery of his king.

  I can think of no sure way of entering Taanach with my men, no way which will allow me within striking range. Is there another way? Could I get in alone ? Jezrah scowled. Every man was searched and questioned. He had changed in appearance over the last year or so but it was still possible someone would recognise him. Even if they did not, what reason would he have to gain admittance to his target?

  "There is one way," he whispered.

  "No," he groaned. "I will not..." He had started arguing with himself once before, when the loneliness and agony had grown too much for him. He feared that if his men found him doing so again, they would desert--or worse. I am not mad. It is...it is a way of examining both sides of an issue .

  "There is one way," he repeated.

  He gave in. "You would be a fool to take it."

  "It is the only way."

  "He betrayed you before; he will do so again, Jebu."

  "I am Jezrah now."

  "That was only ever a temporary guise. You are Jebu; why not own up to it?"

  "Not now. Later perhaps."

  "Jebu or Jezrah; he will betray you."

  "He is...was a friend. Maybe I can find a way to bind him in a semblance of loyalty."

  "You are a fool to think you can."

  "We shall see."

  Jezrah rose and shuffled his way off the crest of the mountain, scrambling down over loose rock and granite to where a group of his men waited. "Ruchal," he said, clapping a thin man on the shoulder. "I want you to go into the city and have a few drinks."

  Ruchal looked at Jezrah uncertainly, waiting for the blow to fall. "Drink?"

  "Yes, and ask for a man. I will give you a letter for him."

  At nightfall, and as the gates were closing, Ruchal sought admittance from the guards. He asked for the man by name, intimating, as Jezrah had told him to, that he had news for him.

  "Why would they send word for this man to come to me if he is as important as you say he is?" he had asked Jezrah. "I'll be dragged to him in chains."

  "No you won't," Jezrah had replied. "I know him. He will want to keep this secret. You will probably be told to go to an eating house or a tavern."

  "Very well," the guard said. He scribbled a notation on a clay tablet and called over a common soldier. "Take this to the Captain of Security." The soldier saluted and ran off. The guard turned back to Ruchal. "He won't meet you here. Go to the Tavern of the Red Stallion and wait for him." He gave him directions.

  Ruchal nodded and hurried away, glad to be away from the scrutiny of Aziru's guards. He found the tavern easily enough and ordered a beer, finding a table where he could see everyone who entered. He waited, sipping on his beer and growing more agitated by the minute. When his beer was gone, he ordered another. Men came and went but none paid him any attention. He decided he would have another drink with the last of his copper and then leave. The planned meeting was starting to feel like a trap. He raised his arm to call over one of the serving boys and felt something sharp at his neck.

  "Put down your hand and sit quietly," a voice said, conversationally. Ruchal hurried to obey. "Good. Now who sent you?"

  "J...Jezrah."

  "Never heard of him. Describe him."

  "He's tall, sinewy, beard and hair are greying, very dark eyes, very strong and a good fighter."


  "Anything else?"

  "He's missing his right hand."

  "Aah!"

  The knife withdrew from Ruchal's neck and the man slipped onto a stool in front of the seated man. He was small and thin with dark hair but nothing to distinguish him from a hundred other men on the streets. Unsmiling, the man slid his knife into his sleeve and adjusted the fabric.

  "You have a message for me?"

  Ruchal reached for the inside of his tunic and hesitated as the thin man grabbed for his knife again. "It's written. I have it in my pocket." At a nod, he took out the slip of paper and passed it across.

  The thin man left the paper lying on the table and stared into Ruchal's face. "You know the contents of this message?"

  "I cannot read."

  "That's not what I asked."

  "I was told only to ask for you and give you this message."

  "Where is this...Jezrah?"

  "In the hills. I'm to take you to him after you have read the message."

  The thin man picked up the folded paper and spread it out. He read it carefully, and then again. "I will have to think on this. I will let you know tomorrow."

  Ruchal showed signs of agitation. "No, it must be tonight. I...I have not got...where will you let me know?"

  "Show me your purse."

  "What?"

  "Show me your purse."

  "You are going to rob me." He shifted back on his stool, eyes widening.

  "If I wanted your purse, you'd be dead by now. Show me it."

  Ruchal took it out and placed it on the table. The thin man shook out two pieces of copper. He left them on the table and stood up. "That will get you another drink or two." He snapped his fingers and a serving boy trotted up. "You know me?" the thin man asked.

  "Yes sir."

  "Give this man food and a bed for the night. I will settle up tomorrow."

  "Very good sir."

  Early the next morning, the thin man collected Ruchal from the tavern. They passed through the gates where the thin man nodded to the guards. A pair of horses was waiting for them and the thin man gestured toward them.

  "For us?" Ruchal queried. "I can't ride a horse."