The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  And so we came to Abu again, where we found the Governor Ka-Nakht prepared to defend the island and the city..."

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  Chapter One

  The two barges that contained the remnants of Smenkhkare's army pulled in to the eastern shore of the river half a day's drift downriver from the elephant-backed boulders of Abu. The previous day, they had sailed confidently up to the city, secure in the knowledge that they had so depleted the city of arms and men in their previous passage a few weeks before, that no significant resistance could be organised. Two things had changed since Smenkhkare's successful capture of the city though. First, Governor Ka-Nakht had received warning of the approach of hostile forces from messengers from Waset, and second, this was not the army that fought so well before.

  Of the fifteen hundred men that had invaded and captured Abu previously, a scant two hundred remained and many of those were weary and wounded. Facing them was a garrison of about the same number, if the able-bodied men of the city were called up, but they had the superlative advantages of being rested and well-fed, well-armed and secure in fortifications that could certainly withstand a small force from the river. A shower of arrows met the barges as they neared the harbour and Smenkhkare's shoulders slumped at the sight of his battered force taking further casualties. He ordered the barges to slip past the island and try simply to bypass the city, but archers stationed on the east and west banks of the river prevented them.

  "Turn back," the king ordered. "We will go around them."

  The tiny army landed on the eastern bank and sorted itself out, taking inventory of its men and assets. Litters were constructed for the badly wounded and such animals as could be gleaned from surrounding villages pressed into service as beasts of burden. While his Nubian commanders organised the men, readying them for the trek south, the king took his deputy Menkure and his sister Scarab aside.

  "I had hoped to replenish food and arms at Abu, but the city is closed to us." Smenkhkare limped as he walked, the wound to his leg taken outside Waset troubling him still.

  Scarab looked at her brother with troubled eyes. Another scar , she thought, but a small one compared to the others . The hideous twisted skin and flesh of Smenkhkare's torso and head still made her shudder in unguarded moments. And his deputy, his Tjaty of the wilderness, was little better. Menkure would always walk with a limp, the muscles of his left leg having been ripped and torn by the crocodile's teeth.

  "Does it matter?" Scarab asked softly. "It is not as if you could find an army there to take back your kingdom."

  Smenkhkare swung round to face his sister, his scarred face twisting with rage. "I have not given up. I will never give up as long as Ay rules in Waset."

  "And neither will we, my lord," Menkure said forcefully.

  Smenkhkare controlled his anger and regarded the tall, beautiful woman with the strange red hair shrewdly. "What of you, sister? Do you have the stomach for what lies ahead or will you run off to your soldier?"

  Scarab closed her eyes briefly, holding on to the image of her man and her new-born son, far away across the length of Kemet. Opening her eyes, she stared calmly into those of the king. "I will stay for as long as I am needed."

  "Good," Smenkhkare grunted, turning away to look back at the soldiers forming up into a column on the bank of the river. "There is a lot to do before we can set foot in Kemet again. I will need your strength--both of you."

  "What would you have us do, my lord?" Menkure asked simply.

  "Be with me, advise me. I will form the King's Councilors again, and I will rebuild my army so that when I am ready, be it next year or in five years or ten, I will reclaim Kemet and put my enemies to death."

  The column moved out, heading south along the east bank of the river, with Smenkhkare and Menkure at its head. Ranging out to each side and a few thousand paces ahead were small groups of men, archers mostly, who acted as scouts and sentries. The land they passed through was farmland and field for the most part, this still being Kemet, but the farmers and the inhabitants of the towns and villages fled as they approached. Smenkhkare ordered as much food as could be found to be taken from storehouses, harvested from fields, or stolen from houses. The villages and fields were put to the torch, billows of smoke drifting like a blanket behind them.

  Scarab sought to remonstrate with her brother the first time. "These are the homes and fields of your people. You are supposed to be their king. How can you do this to them?"

  "You are right, sister," Smenkhkare replied. "I am their rightful king, and as such I own everything in Kemet. What I want, I take, and none shall dispute my right. No-one, sister."

  The theft, pillage and destruction continued, and by the time the small column of soldiers arrived opposite the island of Abu, with its great rounded gray boulders, the baggage train stretched out behind them, animals and carts laden with the meager wealth of the population.

  The soldiers of Abu, Governor Ka-Nakht recognizable only by the gold that gleamed on his chest, stood on the docks of the city and stared across the narrow width of the river at the passing troops. They made no attempt to hinder their passage, but marched the length of the island, keeping pace with the army of the fallen king, until at last they stood and watched them pass out of sight.

  Just south of the city and island, Smenkhkare led his men away from the river and cut inland, bypassing the first great cataract that interrupted the smooth flow of water. Though they had no boats to haul up its narrow canyons, the army followed the passage always taken by travelers to the Nubian provinces of Wawat and Kush. The track, worn smooth over the centuries, was easy to follow, curving eastward in a wide arc and over the great ridges of rock separating Kemet from the southern wastelands. From an open ridge marked by a boundary stele, it wound down from the mountain heights to the river again, through a landscape very different from that of Kemet. Where before, they traveled through field and farmland, over regular straight roads and into town and village, a tamed land; they now traversed a wild country, full of rocks and arid soil, covered with dry grass slopes and stunted thorn trees, where the hand of man lay lightly or not at all.

  Here, in the open wasteland, it became apparent to all that their little army was almost insignificant. Just over two hundred soldiers left the borders of Kemet but within three days the number shrank to three-quarters that as men looked back longingly at the rich lands they had left behind. On the morning of the third day, when it was discovered another twenty men had deserted overnight, Smenkhkare withdrew to his tent, refusing admittance even to his sister and his deputy. An hour later he came out, his face pale and set and ordered everyone to assemble.

  Smenkhkare stood in the open ground in front of his hundred and fifty soldiers dressed in as much kingly regalia as had survived the retreat from Waset. The blue leather war-bonnet or khepresh glistened from fresh beeswax rubbed into it, a clean white linen kilt hung from his hips and a gold pectoral threw back flashes of sunlight as he moved. His hands held the crook and flail of kingly authority, but nothing could disguise the hideous wounds that marred the perfection that properly belonged to the body of a god, nor the limp that spoke of human affliction.

  "I was anointed Ankhkheperure Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare, lord of the Two Kingdoms and your rightful King, recognised and loved by the gods. That Kingship is mine until death." Smenkhkare paused and scanned the line of armed soldiers in front of him. "I am rightful king of Kemet and Nubia, but my kingdoms are in the hands of the traitor Ay and the puppet king he has set up, my younger brother Tutankhaten, while my other brother, Akhenaten, rules in his City of the Aten alone, as he has done since I was crowned and anointed. Kemet cannot stand divided; either you follow me as I oust the traitors or you foreswear your oaths and turn against me. Think on this choice, men of Kemet and Nubia. What will you do?"

  For several measured heartbeats there was no sound beyond the faint sigh of the hot breeze from the eastern desert and the shuffle of bare or san
daled feet. No voice was raised, either in support of Smenkhkare or against him.

  "They're not going to follow him," whispered Scarab, leaning close to the tall figure of Khu. "The jackals will desert him here."

  "Wait," Khu breathed. "See, he speaks again."

  Smenkhkare started talking again, his voice pitched low as if in conversation rather than declamatory as before. "Soldiers of Kemet, think back to why you swore an oath to me, whether in Nubia over the past year, or more recently in Kemet as I marched and sailed north to Waset. You were given a choice, and you exercised it--and shall I tell you why you chose me?" He paused, letting the moment drag out. "You chose to follow me because you know, in your hearts and your stomachs, that the gods chose me, Ankhkheperure Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare to be King of the Two Kingdoms, Lord of the Land of the Nine Bows. Even Sobek, the crocodile god watched over me." He held aside his gold pectoral and flipped the white kilt to one side, revealing the full extent of the damage the crocodile teeth had wrought. "You know the power and savagery of the crocodile. What man could survive such an attack unless the gods were with him? I was chosen to lead our Kemet and that choice has been reaffirmed by my survival. For what was I chosen? To be king over Kemet, to be a Father to my people, and to govern all with justice and mercy. Only a truly anointed king can do that." Smenkhkare started walking, strolling through the lines of armed soldiers as he spoke. Menkure growled and his hands tightened on his recurved bow, but he made no overt move.

  "You will say that Tutankhaten is also an anointed king, so why should we not follow him? Well, I will tell you. Tutankhaten gave up those rights and duties when he allowed his Tjaty, the commoner Ay, a man who has never been anointed, nor will ever be, to rule Kemet for him. You owe no allegiance to Ay, or to his puppet king. Put them from your mind. I am the only legitimate king in Kemet save for my brother Akhenaten, who rules, by his own choice, in but one city.

  "I will not tell you camp-fire tales of riches, cattle and women, of how you are all going to be lords in the land when I have conquered. Such tales are for children. No, I offer you blood, sweat, hardship and poverty. When we take back the Kingdoms, it will not be as conquerors deserving of plunder, but as men returning to their homes after a long journey, finding thieves in his house. With righteous anger we shall oust them and render justice. We will set things to rights that the gods may smile on our Kemet again.

  "You ask why we should work so hard and gain no riches? Well, though Kemet and Nubia are home to us and we do not rob our own homes..."

  "Forgetting for the moment the men who have already died and been robbed," Khu murmured.

  "...but we are going beyond the boundary steles, to where gold and ivory and incense and slaves are ripe for the taking. Here we will build an army, large enough and strong enough to beat even the redoubtable Horemheb. My scribes..." Smenkhkare gestured toward his staff, "...will take down the names of every loyal officer, soldier, servant or camp follower. When I am restored to my Kingdoms, I will pay, from the royal treasury, gold of one hundred deben weight to every name on that list. This I vow before all gods."

  The quiet crumbled under the swelling murmurs of the soldiers, gradually increasing to shouts of loyalty and greed. Smenkhkare walked briskly back to his staff officers as the scribes hurried forward with papyrus rolls, pens and pots of ink to take the names of the assembled men.

  "It will suffice."

  "My lord," Menkure said. "That is a lot of gold to give away. It will cut a sizeable hole even in your treasury."

  "No doubt," Smenkhkare said with a smile. "But only if they live to collect it. They have first to survive our years in exile, then a hard-fought war." He shrugged and beckoned a servant, telling him to fetch wine. "Even if I have to pay out on half of them, I will be in possession of the treasury of all Kemet."

  "My brother, I had not thought you so hard and unfeeling."

  Smenkhkare turned swiftly and stared at Scarab, taking in her flush of colour and her thin lips below narrowed eyes. "Anger? From you? Why? I thought you of all people would see the need."

  "You are using these men, brother. The Smenkhkare I know would..."

  "Would be soft and gentle and die here in the desert. That man died with the crocodile, sister. I will do what I have to, to gain my Kingdom back."

  "Even to spilling Kemetu blood? Your people."

  "Yes, my people, and none who obey me need die."

  "But do you not even care..."

  "Enough! I am the king. You will do as I say." Smenkhkare turned and strode off toward his tent, pushing the servant aside who was returning with a cup of wine. The purple liquid splashed the desert rocks with an ominous stain.

  Scarab stared after him, and at Menkure limping after as fast as he could. "That is not the king my brother, Khu," she whispered.

  "He has been through a lot," Khu replied. "Make allowances. When he is secure in his kingdom again and rested from his trials, he will be the brother you know and love."

  "Perhaps." Scarab turned away and picked her way over the stony ground toward the campfires and her own quarters. "What did he mean by 'years of exile', Khu? I thought three months far too long to be separated from my infant son. I cannot be gone for years."

  Wisely, Khu said nothing, for really, there was nothing to say.

  The taking down of names did not take long and by mid-morning, as the heat started to ripple the dry air, the small column moved on into Nubia. The road south kept to the river's edge, meandering in and out of the narrow belt of riparian scrub and forest along the waterway. Villages were few and far between and almost always deserted when Smenkhkare's small army arrived. They foraged, picking clean the land as they traveled, and moved on with few among them concerned with how the villagers would survive. Each evening, they withdrew into one of the dry stream valleys to camp, away from the river and any that might travel it.

  "Horemheb will send out troops to find us," Menkure explained. "We could not survive another assault in our weakened state."

  They traveled on the eastern bank of necessity as they had no ready means of crossing the narrow and rushing river. The advantage was that there was a road of sorts and that there were fewer forts. The threats to the security of the province of Wawat were warlike tribes out of the west, pushing through the surrounding desert and falling upon the river settlements. Scattered forts, manned with small detachments of troops guarded the west bank villages and the temples, but rarely bothered to cross the river in pursuit of the enemy.

  "The fort at Kubban is our only real worry," Menkure confided to Scarab. "It sits astride the road south where the road to the royal gold mines branches off. There may be a hundred or so soldiers there, more than enough to wipe us out."

  Menkure had taken to seeking out the company of Scarab in the evenings, while the king sat alone in his tent and drank. Khu and Nebhotep stayed close, suspicious of Menkure's motives. Scarab was sister to the king, and it would not be the first time a minor lord had risen to the throne through the marriage bed.

  "What will you do?" Scarab asked. She moved closer to the scarred Tjaty of her brother's tiny empire and leaned closer, lowering her voice. Khu's jealousy and the physician's concern were written on their faces, but Scarab knew herself capable of looking after herself. They do not have the right , she thought fiercely. I will do as I see fit .

  "We have it all planned," Menkure said reassuringly. "There is no need to worry."

  "I am not worried; after all, I have my brother to look after me."

  "And I, Lady Beketaten."

  "Indeed, Lord Menkure." Scarab smiled and touched the man's arm briefly. "What is the plan?"

  Menkure hesitated for a few moments and even glanced toward the royal tent as if fearful he would be overheard. "The garrison at Kubban will have heard of our coming. Horemheb is sure to have sent messengers south to warn the forts and the governor in the city of Sehotep-Neteru. They will expect a small squad of men fleeing south, scared and ill-disciplined." He smiled,
the scars from the crocodile teeth warping his face. "That is what we shall give them."

  Scarab pondered his words, noting the amusement in his eyes. "How will that help?"

  "Fifty men, under the banner of the king, hurry past the fort and up the gold road. The guards in the fort will not resist the temptation to capture Smenkhkare. But others of us, mostly archers, will already be waiting in ambush. The soldiers will come running to their deaths."

  "It could work; Menkure, but the guards know the land. They will surely not run blindly into any area that affords cover."

  "You forget we know this land too. I have a place picked out that is beyond suspicion. There is no cover."

  "Then how...?"

  "Sunset, as the shadows gather. Small hillocks and long shadows will hide us sufficiently."

  "Are you sure enough to risk my brother's life? If you can sneak past to set the trap, why not do this with all of our men and leave the enemy guessing?"

  "Because the men need a victory. We must show ourselves and the enemy that we are still a force to be reckoned with."

  Three days later, a small body of men, keeping a semblance of military order, ran by the fort of Kubban just on sunset and turned up the rocky trail leading up the dry riverbed toward the gold mines. Smenkhkare's personal standard flew mockingly from a spearhead at the front of the runners. The fort gates swung open before the men were out of sight and a hundred fully armed troops rushed out, led by the fort commander himself.

  A mile further on, the commander found his quarry lined up across the road in battle array, the shadows from the hills dark across the land. He halted his own troops, swiftly formed them up into a suitable assault column for the terrain, and waved them forward. As the soldiers broke into a trot, a cloud of arrows swept across the column from left and right, and threw the force into disarray. Screams and yells from dying and wounded men added to the confusion and as another volley slashed out of the featureless darkness, the waiting soldiers of Smenkhkare leaped forward and crashed into the column, hacking and slashing. Within minutes, the commander lay dead, along with most of his troops.