The Amarnan Kings, Book 4: Scarab - Ay

by Overton, Max

"Who's the boy?"

  Before Paramessu could answer, Seti pushed past him and knelt with his arms outstretched in supplication. "I am Seti, son of Paramessu, son of Seti, Lord Horemheb."

  "Set's breath," Horemheb muttered. He hauled himself to his feet and came around the table, where he stood looking down at the kneeling boy. "Get up, lad, and let me look at you." The boy rose obediently and waited with head high as the General studied him. "This is the son of...? Does he know?"

  "No sir."

  Horemheb fingered the boy's sidelock, turning it to catch the light. "By the scrotum of the Apis bull, he has the look of the old king but his hair is pure Khabiru. Are you going to tell him?"

  "Tell me what, father?"

  "Be silent, son. No sir."

  "Why not?"

  "With respect, sir, what is there to gain? Such knowledge could only be dangerous."

  "Hmm, perhaps you are right. Well, lad--Seti was it? What do you think of your father's army?"

  "I like it very much, Lord Horemheb. When I am a man I mean to enter the army."

  "Good lad. Come and see me then and we'll find you a good position."

  "Thank you Lord Horemheb, but I thought to join my father's Northern Army."

  "No." Horemheb saw the look of intense disappointment on Seti's face and smiled. "You have been well brought up, I can see. And if I know your father, he has trained you as well. You tell me why you should not be in your father's army."

  Seti frowned and looked to his father for support.

  "Think it through," Paramessu murmured.

  "If I served with my father," Seti said slowly, "I would be with him a lot, learning from him directly, doing whatever he asked."

  "Go on," Horemheb encouraged. "What about practical knowledge? Fighting?"

  "He...he would give me the best instructors. I would learn to be his best warrior."

  "And when you became the best? Would you be content to remain in your tent while the army fought?"

  "Of course not, my Lord. I would gain the king's Gold of Valour for my deeds of bravery."

  "How would your father feel about that?"

  Seti looked at Paramessu again. "He would be proud of me."

  "Indeed he would. How do you think the men would feel?"

  "They...they'd be proud too..."

  "Some would, but others would think too much honour was being given to you. Some would see your Gold of Valour as being due to whom you are, the son of the general, rather than due to bravery."

  "But it wouldn't be! I'd be brave, truly I would." The boy's bottom lip trembled as he contemplated the unfairness of it.

  "Some men would always think it, lad, and never mind the truth. That is why you will serve under another commander until you have proved yourself. That way, no man can slander either you or your father."

  Seti chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Yes, my Lord. I can see that, but I wish I could serve with my father. He is Kemet's best general. All the men say so." He stared up at Horemheb defiantly.

  Horemheb laughed and patted Seti's shoulder. "Indeed he is. He's certainly my best general and I command all the armies of Kemet." He looked across at the younger man for a moment before returning his attention to the boy. "Here is an order from your commander, boy. Do you think you can carry it out like a good soldier?"

  Seti's eyes lit up. "Yes sir. Anything sir."

  "I seem to have come out without my sword. Bring it to me."

  "Yes sir. Er...where is it, sir?"

  "Ask the guard outside to direct you to Henenu, my Captain of the Guard. He will have it."

  Seti saluted and ran from the tent.

  "The lad has promise. How old is he?"

  "Nine years, nearly ten."

  Horemheb nodded. "Nearly as old as Tutankhamen when he came to the throne, but a lot more mature. That comes from your blood, Paramessu. The mother's bloodline is rotten through and through."

  Paramessu shifted uncomfortably. "I'd rather not discuss it."

  "And I would. You know as well as I that old Nebmaetre was the last decent king this royal family produced. Since then our Kemet has suffered under incompetents. Over thirty years. How much longer must we suffer?"

  "The last years under Tutankhamen were reasonable--in Ta Mehu at least."

  "That is because I was Tjaty of the Lower Kingdom. I was able to moderate most of the boy-king's excesses. Come, my friend, you know my thoughts on the matter. Does Kemet not deserve better leadership?"

  Paramessu looked around carefully and lowered his voice, though he knew they were alone in the tent with one of Horemheb's men on guard outside. "Such talk is dangerous. Ay, for all his faults, is king. Rebellion leads only to death."

  "Who said anything about rebellion?" Horemheb smiled coldly. "I am content to wait for the old fool to die. He is over seventy already. How much longer can he last?"

  "Nakhtmin is his heir. Will you wait for him to die too? And if he has a son?"

  "Nakhtmin may never become king."

  "You would...?"

  "He stands in the way."

  "How? When?"

  "I leave those details up to you, my friend. I need to know you are with me."

  Paramessu blanched. "You want me to...to kill him?"

  "I want you to clear the way for me to take the throne after Ay dies. How you do that is up to you, but it will need to be done quickly." Horemheb stared at his Northern Army commander, his hand close to the hilt of his dagger. "Will you do it?"

  Paramessu sighed, knowing he had no choice. "Of course I will. I have told you often enough, I am your man."

  "Good man." Horemheb relaxed, though his expression remained watchful. "Now, what information do you have for me?"

  "Information?" Paramessu looked blankly at his commander. "On Nakhtmin?"

  "How would you have information on him? On the border, of course. On the enemy. What is happening up here?"

  Paramessu dragged his thoughts away from murder and rebellion. He gestured toward the wine cup on the table. "Do you mind?"

  "Pour me one too."

  Paramessu used the few moments of finding another wine cup in his cedar wood chest and filling both cups from the jar of warm wine on the floor to collect his thoughts. "The Amorites are fairly quiet, as is their Hittite ally. You remember the old general they had? Jebu? Well, it appears that he is back in command of their army. Missing his right hand." He handed one cup to the old general and sipped from the other.

  "Not good," Horemheb commented. "The news, I mean, though the wine is rough too."

  "No. Jebu is a skilled general and we can be sure he will be up to mischief now he is back. For a start, he has withdrawn the main army from the borderlands. It seems he's putting them through exercises."

  "Do you know the nature of them?"

  "I cannot get my spies very close but they involve spears and shields and a lot of marching around."

  "Sounds like he is getting defensive. Well, there is nothing particularly new there. We can break a shield wall with chariots."

  "That was my thought. I have had the legions practicing suitable manoeuvres."

  "Good. What else?"

  "The tribes between the Sin Peninsula and Kenaan are a bit restive. There is talk of a new tribal leader, but I cannot find out anything about him."

  Horemheb grunted and drank from his cup, grimacing at the taste. "My sources have not been much more productive either. The man in question calls himself 'Eye of Geb' and is credited with several miracles; but for all that, he does not seem to have accomplished much. I can't even find out what his goals are."

  "Where is this miracle worker?"

  "Possibly with the Shechites in Sin, but I get reports from all over."

  "Is he important?"

  Horemheb laughed. "I can't imagine why. These tribal holy men are ten for a shaving of copper. I just like to know what's going on, even with remote and unimportant tribes."

  Paramessu drained his cup and belched. "Why did you arrive early, my l
ord? You said in two days time and you seldom vary from your schedule."

  "Perhaps for that very reason. I'd hate my enemies to think me predictable." The old general regarded his younger commander for a minute before shrugging. "I wanted to know why you moved the Northern Army."

  "Horse shit...sir. There are half a hundred legitimate reasons to move the army and most of them entirely harmless. The chances of your general harbouring treasonous thoughts are vanishingly small. Why did you really come?"

  Horemheb bared his teeth mirthlessly. "You are not easy to deceive."

  "Perhaps because you trained me well."

  "Perhaps. Anyway, I wanted to sound you out on the previous matter--of Ay and Nakhtmin."

  "And you knew what my answer would be--what it must be--before you even set out. You didn't have to come and see me for that."

  Horemheb moved to the tent flap and spoke in a low voice to the guard. The man saluted and stepped back a dozen paces, out of earshot. The general returned to the middle of the tent and sat down, waving Paramessu to a nearby stool. "What I have to say, I have told no one. There is no one I can trust."

  Paramessu said nothing but his eyebrows rose enquiringly.

  "I want you to remove Nakhtmin so that Ay has no heir to succeed him. Ay cannot live longer than another five years and I mean to be king after him." Horemheb rose to his feet and started pacing. "I will restore Ma'at and do away with Akhenaten's heresy. I will bring back the old worship and strengthen Kemet's borders."

  Paramessu opened his mouth to say that Ay had already done these things but then thought better of it. Instead, he said, "Nothing you say, save the heir's removal, is particularly treasonous. I am sure Ay knows of your ambitions."

  "I am certain of it, but until Nakhtmin is dead, I have no claim on the throne. You will remember that Ay claimed legitimacy by marrying the daughter of Akhenaten--the boy-king's widow Ankhesenamen. Nakhtmin has no need of that ploy, as he is the son of the king. But I need legitimacy, even with Nakhtmin gone."

  "You mean to marry Ankhesenamen as well?"

  "No. She's dead."

  "Really? I hadn't heard."

  "Few people know and few care except commoners. She fell ill after the stillbirth of her third daughter and died about a year ago. Ay kept up the pretence of her continued illness to quell any hints of unrest. The common people always liked her. Perhaps he thinks they might rise against him." Horemheb laughed.

  "Might they rise? That could be useful."

  "Not a chance. The army would crush them and I cannot risk leading the army against the legitimate king. No, I must wait for him to die and assume the throne after the seventy days."

  "But without a queen to marry. No, wait; you married Mutnodjme, Ay's daughter, didn't you? Years ago."

  "Many years ago, before he was king or even Tjaty. Moreover, she died, without issue. That route is a dead fish, but there is another."

  "Another royal? Who?" Paramessu paled and shot to his feet. "Oh, Min's aching phallus, you mean..."

  "Beketaten, known as Scarab."

  Paramessu sat down again and put his head in his hands. "Sir, you cannot. She...I...she would be queen and I..."

  "There is no other. It must be done. You see that, don't you?"

  "Yes sir, I suppose, but by Heru, sir, you know she was almost my wife. And now you...you mean to beget an heir on her?"

  Horemheb grunted. "I'm glad you think me that virile. I shall lie with her of course. The act must be done to legitimate me, but I could not trust her. Even you can see that. She will die the day after our wedding night, but for your sake I will make it mercifully quick."

  Paramessu groaned. "Why do you tell me this? Could you not have left me happily ignorant?"

  "I want you to find her and bring her to me. She will listen to the father of her child. Promise her anything, access to the boy, marriage if you have to, but entice her and capture her. You will find your new king most generous."

  "She's the mother of my boy, sir. Please don't make me do it."

  "I thought you had moved on. My agents tell me you threatened her with death when you tossed her out of your camp."

  "That's true, but..."

  "And you're married once more, to a woman who loves Seti as if he was her own child. Why would you need this woman who abandoned both you and your infant son?"

  Paramessu groaned again. "I...I still have...feelings for her. How can I betray her to her death?"

  Horemheb walked over to where Paramessu sat with head bowed and reaching out, took the younger man's face in one hand and gently lifted it until he was staring into his eyes. "You will have to make a decision right here and now, my friend. You can be loyal to a woman who has already betrayed you and Seti, or you can be loyal to me, the future king of Kemet. Which is it to be?"

  Tears leaked from the corners of Paramessu's eyes. "You, my lord Horemheb, of course."

  Horemheb released his grip and smiled. "Good. Then let us drink to the future." He moved back to the table and poured two more cups of wine, passing one to Paramessu. "To the future of Kemet."

  Paramessu rose to his feet and held his cup aloft. "To King Horemheb," he whispered. "Life, Health, Prosperity."

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  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Shechite camp displayed every aspect of chaos in the first light of day. Forty or more sprawling tents were scattered haphazardly across the hard-packed clay pan, the goat hide sides flapping in the stiff breeze that blew across the site, lifting sand grains and dust in a stinging tide that swept around the legs of the inhabitants. Hundreds of goats wandered through the camp, browsing on every scrap of green that struggled for existence in the dry environment, and groups of boys wandered among them, guiding and sorting them with shouts and sticks into herds in preparation for the day's foraging. The middle of the open pan was the busiest, where a low circular stone wall marked the only regular source of water for three days in any direction--the Well of Sharn.

  Women gathered around the well in the morning light, drawing up leather buckets of water and pouring the precious fluid into pottery jars. They gossiped too, discussing everything, but this morning mainly the arrival of the woman marked by the gods and her two companions. Nobody would say anything to her face, but most of the womenfolk hoped that she would move on soon. Her god-marked eye made them shudder and the fascination the men had with her was disquieting. She had behaved with propriety so far, but that could change. The sooner she was gone, the happier would be the Shechite women.

  The men of the tribe spent the early mornings in contemplation of the coming day and their anticipated part in it. They huddled around the fires in front of their tents and sipped a hot, honey-sweetened brew of Kath made from leaves gathered in the less arid parts of the desert. On this particular morning, their attention centred on the chief's tent where he and the elders of the tribe talked with the Kemetu woman and her companions.

  Scarab sat cross-legged in front of the fire, her robes tucked in tightly to ward off the stinging wind. Her hands held a pottery bowl that steamed slightly as she sipped, listening to the words of the chief. Khu and Nebhotep sat off to one side, nursing cups of hot water. Khu had nearly caused weapons to be drawn the day before when he was offered a drink of Kath and had spat it out. The physician had drunk it but was more concerned now with its possible medicinal qualities. It was euphoric and sharpened the mind wonderfully, which made him wonder about other possible uses. He drank plain water to keep Khu company while he listened to the chief and his elders discuss their futures.

  "We are goat herders, not warriors, Scarab," the chief said. "We survive by staying out in the deep desert rather than contesting for the richer lands." He held up a hand as Scarab opened her mouth to speak. "We are poor and try not to attract the attention of the powerful, yet since you arrived, the eyes of the Two Kingdoms lie upon us."

  Scarab bowed from the waist and set her cup of bitter herbs on the sand beside her. "Chie
f Anuwan, elders of the Shechite people, you gave me shelter when I was in need and you have my gratitude eternally for that. I have no wish to bring retribution down on your heads, so I will move on."

  "It is not so simple," Elder Baldak grumbled. "The king in Waset knows you reside with the Shechites. How long will it be before his soldiers descend on us and put us all to the sword? He will do this whether or not you have moved on." Two of the other elders muttered their agreement.

  "Then I must be seen to have moved on."

  "And how will you do that?" Elder Hakkan asked scornfully. "Will you send a letter to the king telling him of your new home? I think not."

  "He must gain this knowledge the same way he always gets it--by his spies."

  "Easier said than done," Anuwan said. "How do we know the soldiers are not already on their way?"

  "I would know," Scarab said calmly. "The gods would tell me."

  Nebhotep caught Khu's gaze and grimaced slightly.

  "You reside in the gods' favour," Anuwan conceded, "And I have no doubt they would come to your aid if danger threatened, but what of the tribe? Does their favour extend to all of us?"

  Scarab shrugged. "Then Ay must be made to believe I have gone from here."

  "How?"

  "One of his spies will tell him."

  "You said that already but the only strangers here are these two men you brought with you." Baldak pointed at Khu and Nebhotep. "Are these men spies of the king?"

  "They are my friends," Scarab said softly, opening her right eye and looking at the Elder. "They are under my protection." Sitting behind her, in a crescent several paces from the fire, several young men stirred, fingering their daggers.

  Baldak refused to look into the golden eye of Geb. "You disrupt the tribe, woman," he grated. "The young men already show disrespect to the Elders."

  "They show respect for the gods," Scarab countered.

  "You play with words," Hakkan snapped. "Do you deny the young men no longer respect us?"

  "Perhaps the fault lies with you then," Nebhotep murmured. The elders heard him speak but could not decipher his words as he spoke in the patois of the common people of Kemet.

  A smile pulled at Scarab's lips. "Young men are young men in every land. I am sure even you elders were once young. It is no bad thing for a man, young or old, to respect the gods. That is all the young men of the tribe do. Ask them if you are still in doubt."