by Overton, Max
Smenkhkare smiled and gestured toward his Tjaty. "Menkure will speak for me."
Menkure bowed to his king and approached the sons. "You will have the honour of fighting for your lawful king."
Psaro laughed. "Honour will not console and support the widows and orphaned children. You must do better than this."
"Then you shall have cattle and land in the south, taken from the Suri Kan."
"Better." Bilis nodded. "Twenty head of cattle for every man we put into the field, whether they survive or not."
"And to every man, five Suri Kan women and land a thousand paces around," Psaro added.
Menkure smiled grimly. "At least you put much worth on your honour, though honour is not a commodity to be bought and sold. Ten head of cattle, two women and four hundred paces."
"Agreed," Psaro said. "But also the pick of the Suri Kan weapons."
"After my men have taken what they want," Menkure countered.
Bilis nodded. "The possessions of the Suri Kan, their sleeping mats, pots, stores of food, clothing, tools."
"Split three ways," Menkure said. "Do we have an agreement?"
Psaro and Bilis looked at each other. Bilis nodded. Psaro said, "We do."
"Then let us eat together as a token of our agreement, for allies feast together." Menkure turned and bellowed out commands to the Kemetu soldiers and they rushed for the fire pits, hauling the roasted beasts out and carving succulent joints from the flame-seared carcasses.
The Tu'qa and Q'ema tribesmen, on hearing the news of the alliance, broke ranks and mingled with the Kemetu, eating and drinking, singing and dancing away the night.
Smenkhkare drew his Tjaty aside from the revelry. "Well done, Menkure."
"That was the easy part, Djeser. Men's minds can always be manipulated with greed. Now I have to win you a victory over the Suri Kan."
"I have every confidence in you."
Menkure nodded. "May the gods smile upon us, for a victory will grant us a speedy return to Waset and secure your throne once more."
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Chapter Fifteen
Tutankhamen marched out at dawn at the head of his Sept and Heq-at legions, three thousand strong. General Nakhtmin accompanied his king in the great three-man war chariot, standing to the left of the charioteer, while the king stood to the right. The men marched behind, their weapons gleaming and their heads raised high, eager to get to grips with the enemy, their hearts bursting with the pride of being chosen by their king to fight alongside him as he smashed the enemy. Pennants flew bravely and a small detachment of musicians played a jaunty tune to lift the men's spirits further. Unfortunately, the breeze blew from the rear and the acrid pall of dust raised by marching feet hung over the army, coating every surface and dulling their ardor. By the time the new legions approached the site of Paramessu's northern army, they looked less like a conquering army and more like a conquered one. When they saw the waiting legions of Set, Ptah and Heru however, the dusty men cheered, buoyed by the prospect of professional soldiers fighting alongside them.
The king was less pleased. "What is Paramessu doing?" he growled. "I told him last night I would defeat the enemy with my own troops, not his."
"Dismiss him, Great King," Nakhtmin said. "Replace him with someone who will do your will without question."
Tutankhamen said nothing but tapped the charioteer on the arm, pointing toward where Paramessu stood with his legion commanders. The chariot veered away and increased its speed, bouncing over the uneven ground, several minutes later drawing up close the general of the northern army.
"What are you doing here, Paramessu?" asked the king, his voice high with indignation. "I told you I would use my own soldiers."
Paramessu dropped to his knees, his commanders following suit. "Indeed you did, my lord, and I obey. My officers and men are here to honour you as you go to battle, nothing more."
The king signaled them to rise impatiently. As they got to their feet he scanned their faces, then looked at the fluttering pennants. "Where are Hednakht and the Re legion? Why are they not here to honour me then?"
"I would be derelict in my duty if I pulled every soldier away, my lord. The Re legion is on patrol."
Tutankhamen chewed his lip. "And Jebu's thousand men? Are they still there?"
"They are, my lord, as of dawn. My scouts are keeping an eye on them and reporting back regularly."
"We should make haste, Great King," Nakhtmin murmured. "It would be a pity to let a great victory slip away because you were held up here."
Paramessu's eyes narrowed. "Where have you made war, General Nakhtmin? Good information is the cornerstone of victory."
"Dear me, and here I was thinking the bravery of our king counted for something, Paramessu. Well, I have my scouts too, and they tell me the enemy is waiting to be attacked."
"And that does not seem suspicious to you?"
"I think, Great King," Nakhtmin said, turning his back on Paramessu. "We can see why Paramessu has not managed to bring the Amorite and Hittite armies to battle. He is too...well, let us say...'cautious', too mindful of safety."
"Mindful of the king's safety," Djedhor growled. "This situation stinks, my lord king, begging your pardon."
Nakhtmin turned to look at the Heru commander. "Djedhor? Still here? I thought you had retired." He leaned close to Tutankhamen and said in a low but clear voice, "This is a situation that calls for youth and bravery, Great King, not the cautious worrying of old men. Strike now at Jebu's army and win a signal victory."
"Yes." Tutankhamen nodded. "Paramessu, I see no need for undue caution. The scouts report nothing untoward. Jebu has a thousand men just sitting around in a poorly supplied camp with no other men near him. I would be foolish to pass up this opportunity. Without Jebu, the Amorite army is nothing. I intend to strike before noon. Now, I am mindful of your past achievements so I am inclined to be merciful. You may accompany me and share in the glory."
Paramessu bowed. "As you please, my lord. And what of my men?"
"I have told you I do not need them. Send them back to camp."
"Great King," Nakhtmin murmured. "Paramessu is a renowned general. We should honour him by letting him bring a small guard for his person...say, a hundred men. A hundred men would not detract from your glory."
Tutankhamen thought for a few moments. "A king should be magnanimous. You may bring a hundred men with you, Paramessu. Join my army at your convenience." As the General and his commanders bowed, the king nodded to the charioteer, who started the horses into motion once more. They galloped back to the front of the dusty army.
The sun was reaching its zenith by the time Paramessu joined the king, driving a small lightweight war chariot himself. He pulled alongside to let the king know of his presence, before dropping back a horse length. A little after noon, they reached the foothills and altered direction, moving into a broad valley that rose slowly toward the high hills.
"The valley of Neh-geret is the next one over, Great King."
Tutankhamen nodded, his hands gripping the rail of the chariot tightly. He looked back over his shoulder at Paramessu and further back still to his weary army. "Perhaps we should stop and rest the men, Nakhtmin."
"I recommend we move on, Great King. The longer we take to get to grips with them, the more likely they are to get warning of our presence and flee."
Tutankhamen's chariot slowed to a walk as the ground became steeper and more boulder-strewn. A little later, he halted and continued on foot, with the charioteer taking his horses and vehicle around by a longer route. Paramessu's light chariot went a little further before he left it with one of his soldiers who came running up to grasp the reins. The general ran to catch up and the three men reached the crest of the ridge between the two valleys almost together.
Below them, a thousand paces or so away, at a point where huge boulders and outcrops of weathered rock stood clear of the surrounding terrain, a small army lay encamped. Just bey
ond the camp and the outcrops, a small valley debouched, everything beyond the narrow entrance hidden by scrub and the flanks of the valley itself.
"There they are," Tutankhamen said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Let's get them."
"I would strongly advise we scout the land out first. We do not want any surprises." Paramessu pointed down toward the small valley. "None of my scouts mentioned that valley, for instance. Anything could be in there. An army even."
Nakhtmin laughed. "Then my scouts are better than yours for they reported the valley clean last night."
Paramessu stepped back down from the ridge crest and scanned the upper reaches of the valley they were in. "Let me take my hundred men up further and then down the far side. I would be happier if I knew for sure there is no enemy anywhere else."
"And how long is that going to take?" Nakhtmin sneered. "By the time you feel safe, the enemy will have gone. I say we strike as soon as our legions arrive. It is a clear run down the valley and we can be upon them in no time. Three thousand men will overwhelm a mere thousand, and my scouts report they carry no more than swords and bed rolls."
"I agree," Tutankhamen said. "If we wait, they might escape. Even trained swordsmen cannot withstand my army."
"My lord, I must protest. It is your safety I am thinking about. All I ask is time to scout out the enemy."
"All you want is time to let the enemy escape," Nakhtmin sneered. "I think our good general has lost his nerve, Great King."
Paramessu's fists clenched and he stepped forward, nostrils flaring, his eyes fixed on Nakhtmin. "Repeat that and I will cut you down where you stand."
"Paramessu! Nakhtmin! Stop this at once. I will not have my generals fighting amongst themselves. I am your king and I have made my decision. We attack as soon as the men arrive. General Paramessu, I am not convinced your heart is in this battle, so you and your men will act as observers. Keep a close watch on my army and I will welcome any constructive comments you may have after the battle."
Paramessu shot a poisonous look at Nakhtmin, but bowed to the king. "As you command, my lord." He waited in an uncomfortable silence until the front ranks of the army panted up the slope behind them. Paramessu saluted and strode back down, calling his hundred men after him. They clambered along the side of the valley, staying just below the ridge crest.
"It is a sad day when one of Kemet's best generals loses heart, Great King," Nakhtmin said quietly. "Perhaps he should be retired as governor in some quiet province."
"We can discuss that later, but for now there are Amorites to kill. Get the men organised, Nakhtmin. I want to attack as soon as we can."
Nakhtmin saluted and immediately sent his officers scurrying to harangue the men and whip them into line. The enemy was probably far enough away that shouted commands would not be heard, but they were taking no chances. Sept legion lined up in the front ranks, twenty deep and a hundred men across, with Heq-at legion in a thinner band behind. At the signal, the men would pour silently over the lip of the valley and down to the valley floor before wheeling and charging down toward the enemy. The two chariots were brought up to the ridge line, Paramessu's light war chariot being given to Lord Djedefre and his driver.
Tutankhamen went to mount his chariot and hesitated, looking across to the lighter vehicle. "I have changed my mind. Lord Djedefre," he called. "Take my place here with General Nakhtmin. I will take your chariot."
"Great King, you cannot do this..." Nakhtmin saw the young king's sudden rage and stumbled, trying another approach. "...er, what I mean is the men will be looking for your standard in the battle. You should ride here with me so...so I can protect you."
"I do not need your protection, Nakhtmin. I shall fight from my own chariot and the men will recognise my presence by my deeds. Now mount up." Tutankhamen ran across to the light chariot and leaped up onto the leather strips strung across the base, wedging his feet into the straps. He gave the signal and his army started forward, climbing the last few paces to the ridge crest.
They swept over the edge and down, feet slipping in the loose soil and rock in their haste. The chariots angled across the moving tide of men, taking a longer but less steep slope to the valley floor. Sept legion started wheeling left, the already ragged line disintegrating further. Tutankhamen raced across the front of his troops and forced them back into a semblance of order as Heq-at legion joined them. They started forward once more, the downward slope lending impetus to their charge. The king looked ahead and saw the enemy camp start to stir. Fools , he thought. They did not even set sentries or they would have seen us before now .
The men started a battle cry, a roar of bravado echoing from three thousand throats as King Nebkheperure Tutankhamen's army swept down on their prey. Tutankhamen exulted, his mind full of images of the glorious victory that would be inscribed on temple walls. He would be the greatest Kemetu warrior king since his ancestor Menkheperre Thutmose, maybe even greater...and then the enemy did a curious thing. The king shaded his eyes and stared ahead at the rapidly growing images of the Amorite soldiers. The first rank was kneeling and the soldiers behind held not short swords but bows. Bows ! He opened his mouth to scream a warning that was lost beneath the musical thrum of several hundred bowstrings and the hiss of a storm of arrows.
The Sept legion broke like a wave on a rocky shore, and for several dreadful moments the king thought his whole army had perished. It could not be, of course, as they outnumbered the enemy three to one, but those who fell to the arrows collapsed and tripped the ones behind and the perimeter of the enemy camp became a struggling, screaming mass of men.
The Amorites dropped their bows and drew their short swords, stepping over the dead to reach the panicked living, stabbing and hacking their way toward the chariots that obviously held the leaders of the army. Tutankhamen clutched the rail of the light war chariot and stared out at the dark, bearded Amorite soldiers, watching as his men were cut down, seeing the enemy draw closer. He trembled, trying to think what to do. It's just like the hunt, he told himself...the bulls. I vanquished them, I can do the same here ...But those had been beasts, brave but without intelligence; whereas these were men who deliberately sought to take his life. His men wavered, striving to protect themselves but without any semblance of order. Their training forgotten, they fought for survival, no longer for their king or for each other, and the disciplined Amorite troops steadily pushed them back. Over the heads of the approaching enemy, Tutankhamen saw a tall bearded man guiding the attack, ordering the men around him, and he knew this man was General Jebu. Panic took him in a paralyzing grip and his bowels cramped. His eyes met Jebu's and the bearded man smiled--a cruel smile without humour. The king's bladder released and he felt hot urine scald his legs and he gathered himself to leap from the chariot and run...and then the enemy did another curious thing.
General Jebu lifted a ram's horn to his lips and blew a single long blast. The Amorite soldiers hesitated and fell back, leaving the dead and wounded in drifts across the valley floor. Discipline showed, even in seeming retreat, and each man guarded his fellow as they stepped back within the confines of their camp, then beyond it.
Tutankhamen stared in disbelief and with growing excitement as the enemy withdrew. He flushed with embarrassment as he remembered his terror of moments before and prayed silently to Amun that none had noticed his shame. Raising a hand high, he called out to his troops. "Men..." he squeaked in a thin voice. He coughed and took a deep breath before trying again. "Men of Kemet, the enemy is on the run. Avenge the fallen. Destroy the enemy."
A heartbeat's pause and the tattered remnants of the Sept legion and the largely untouched Heq-at legion behind, roared their approval. "For King Nebkheperure! Kill the enemy! Kill! Kill!" The soldiers surged forward, scrambling over the bloodied corpses and still-living bodies of their comrades. In the course of twenty paces, a half-ordered army became a howling mob of blood-thirsty men, intent on avenging the horror that had been visited upon them minutes before.
/> The heavy chariot with Nakhtmin and Djedefre started forward in the wake of the mob, the general screaming unheard commands. The windrows of bodies prevented a direct route and the charioteer guided his horses around the battle site. Tutankhamen's charioteer followed suit, skirting the carnage on the other side. The king's excitement grew again as the Amorite army picked up the pace, jogging down the valley, though incredibly they withdrew in an orderly fashion, without any sign of panic. Whenever the howling mob of Kemetu men came too close, the Amorites stopped and charged their pursuers, hurling them back for a few moments before resuming their ordered withdrawal.
"We must get closer," Tutankhamen ordered. "Go faster." The light vehicle bounced and rocked over the uneven surface, its timber and leather frame creaking and protesting. Bracing himself, he strung his bow and fitted an arrow, ignoring the itch and burn of drying urine on his legs, determined to prove his bravery against a human foe. The chariot lurched abruptly and the spokes of the left wheel snapped and collapsed, spilling the young king to the ground. He scrambled up with a cry of frustration and looked for the other chariot but it was far ahead, on the other side of the valley. His own charioteer staggered to his feet and ran to catch the horses, calming them.
Tutankhamen saw the battle receding from him and could not bear the thought that victory would be achieved in his absence. "Leave the horses and come with me." The king grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows and set off at a run, after his army and the retreating Amorites, though keeping to the side of the valley to avoid the many corpses and dying men. The charioteer ran with him, clutching a copper sword swept up as they passed one of the fallen.
General Jebu guided his men further down, past the scrub-covered entrance to the side valley and blew on the ram's horn again. His men immediately whirled into a defensive position and he strode along the inside edge of the thin line, exhorting his troops. "Steady, lads. Not long now." His words carried to the oncoming Kemetu.
