The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  The Kemetu soldiers hurled themselves forward, screaming their rage and defiance, the stink of blood and fear strong in their nostrils. Behind them, the heavy war chariot rolled back and forth across the valley, the occupants yelling out instructions that few heard and none heeded. Further back still, two men raced forward toward the milling mass of men, angling across the lower slopes of the valley side.

  Jebu shaded his eyes, searching the battlefield for Paramessu but could not see him. He looked about and raised his eyes to scan the ridge tops and caught sight of a troop of men watching and waiting on the heights. With a laugh he called out over the din of clashing metal and screaming men. "Come Ephras, time to spring the trap." He looked toward the side valley and saw the scrub move as two thousand men poured out and into the valley, charging down with sword and spear held high, to catch the Kemetu army between the grinder and the millstone. High on the ridge, Jebu saw bright copper plates flashing in the sunlight and grinned, knowing Paramessu could not stand by and see his king and his army destroyed. He would have to intervene, and he would die, exactly according to plan.

  The second Amorite army poured out of the side valley and the wave of heavily armed soldiers crashed into the rear of the Heq-at legion. Screams broke out anew as the half-trained Kemetu men strove to turn and meet this new threat.

  Across the valley, Tutankhamen stood aghast as his dreams of conquest crumbled. All at once he saw that enthusiasm and pride counted for nothing against training and discipline--his ragged army of peasants would be slaughtered by the battle hardened Amorites--and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew then he should have listened to Paramessu. For a moment he glanced up the steep slopes of the valley sides, wondering if he could scramble up there and escape. Then pride overcame him. I will not run , he thought. I will not. I'd rather die .

  With the thought came peace and he knew what he must do. A king is the intermediary between men and the gods. Many of his loyal subjects were going to meet the gods this afternoon, and without the rites said over them, possibly without proper burial and the hope of an afterlife if the accounts of Amorite atrocities were true. It was therefore his duty to stand before Amun and Re, Asar and Djehuti, Heru, Set, Ptah, and all the other gods and intercede for the men who had died for him. Calmly, and without hurrying, he set his quiver of arrows upright against a boulder. He selected an arrow and fitted it to his bow.

  The charioteer licked his lips, tearing his eyes away from the struggling mass of men below to stare at his young king. "Wh...what d...do we d...do, my lord?"

  Tutankhamen smiled at the trembling men, the last of his fear draining away as he saw the terror in the man's eyes. "You may flee the field if you wish," he said kindly. "but I'd like it if you kept me company."

  The charioteer nodded and drew his short sword from his belt. "I...I will stay, my lord."

  "Good man." Tutankhamen drew back on the bow and selected his target, his mind factoring in his own height above the valley floor, the distance and the wind as evidenced by the slowly drifting pall of dust. He released, and the arrow arced up and across, then down, plunging into the side of an Amorite warrior. Another arrow followed, and another, then a bearded officer noticed the arrows winging in from the side and, gathering a score of men, broke off from the main battle and started running toward the lone archer and his guard.

  The king saw them coming and smiled again, a little sadly this time because he knew he would not even have time to use all his arrows. He fitted and shot, again and again as the Amorites closed on him. The charioteer cried out in an agony of terror, then raised his sword and leaped forward with a cry of "Nebkheperure and Kem..." and died on the officer's blade. Tutankhamen stood with head held high and waited for death. A noise came from behind him, rocks slipping beneath feet and he almost cried aloud in frustration. Death should be faced, not arrive suddenly from behind. Ahead of him the Amorites were scrambling back, fear and consternation on their faces as armed men, Kemetu soldiers, swept by the king and overwhelmed the running Amorites, cutting down even the ones who threw away their weapons and cried for mercy.

  Tutankhamen stared unbelievingly at Paramessu as he quickly ordered his men back to form a defensive circle around their king. "You disobeyed me, Paramessu. You brought your army after all."

  "Not entirely, my lord. I have my hundred men, no more. We must hold out until Hednakht arrives with the Re legion."

  "You knew it was a trap?"

  Paramessu shook his head. "No, but it could have been, so I urged caution. As events turned out..." He shrugged. "It matters little now. A plate once broken cannot be mended."

  Below them, the battle still raged, though for some reason, the Amorite army, although surrounding the Kemetu legions, was not pressing the advantage. The men hung back, content to contain the legions, rather than risk death by full on attack. The only time they showed any great vigor was when the heavy war chariot carrying Nakhtmin and Djedefre tried to break out.

  "What's Jebu waiting for?" Paramessu growled. "He could finish this if he committed his troops fully."

  "We should attack them from the rear," Tutankhamen said. "Even a hundred men could break through and kill Jebu."

  Paramessu shook his head. "You have the stomach to be a soldier, lad, but here I will disobey you. It would not serve Kemet well to lose its king in battle."

  "Yes, but I am the king," Tutankhamen objected. "I command it."

  "Command all you like, lad, but I'm not going to do it. My first and only duty is to keep you alive."

  A ram's horn wailed again from the Amorite positions, a long note that rose and fell before dying away in a quavering gasp. Even as it sounded, men ran around the ridge bluffs, carrying bows. They drew up a hundred paces from the rear of Jebu and officers quickly organised them into groups. Others scanned the battlefield, drawing the archers' attentions to the heavy chariot. One of them pointed toward the lower hillside where Paramessu's men surrounded the king.

  "Set's breath," Paramessu muttered. "Where's Hednakht got to? We won't last long under that barrage of arrows. Get down, my lord. Behind the boulder as much as you can." He snapped out orders and his men formed up into a thick human shield between the king and the archers.

  The arrows rose and fell like swarms of biting flies and where they touched, men died. The war chariot turned over as the stricken horses stampeded and fell, the three men within it disappearing beneath the wreckage. Paramessu shaded his eyes to follow the longer flight of the arrows toward the king and had scant moments to alter the cover of men around the royal person before sharp-pointed missiles plunged through clothing and flesh, wounding and killing. Already, another flight of arrows rose above the horror of the battlefield and Paramessu knew if they stayed where they were, all of them would die.

  "We must flee, my lord. To stay here is to die."

  Tutankhamen looked up from where he crouched on the ground. "I will not run, Paramessu. If we must leave this position then let us charge the enemy. We may save a few lives..."

  "Down!" Paramessu shouted, throwing himself over his young king. The arrows plunged again and one struck the fleshy part of Paramessu's left arm, punching its way through. He cursed and snapped the shaft, pulling out the pieces and binding the wound with a kilt taken from a dead soldier.

  "You took a wound for me, Paramessu." Tutankhamen scrambled to his feet, wiping the spray of blood from his chest. "You shall be honoured..."

  "Let's survive first, lad," Paramessu interrupted. He quickly scanned the battle and pointed towards Jebu's position. "The enemy general, men. They won't be shooting at their own. Who's with me?"

  His men roared their approval and broke downhill, Paramessu near the head of the column, one hand gripping the king tightly. "Stay by me, my lord, and we will meet this together."

  The remnants of Paramessu's men carved through the shattered Sept and Heq-at legions and into the Amorites beyond, hacking and slashing. Ahead of them, maybe twenty paces away, they could see Je
bu directing his men and knew that within minutes, an overwhelming force would be sent against them. Their only hope was to break through swiftly. Twenty paces became ten.

  As the fighting intensified, Paramessu lost his grip on the king and the youth snatched up a blade and with a yell, attacked the enemy. The General nodded his approval and altered his position to cover the king's left flank. A flicker of movement caught his attention, then men started falling around him again, feathered shafts sprouting from bodies and limbs.

  "They're killing their own men," Paramessu yelled in disbelief. Almost within a spear's length of Jebu, he saw the enemy general turn and stare at the archers, then he raised his fist, shouting his fury at gods and men. The next moment an arrow thumped into the man's chest and Jebu disappeared beneath a scything of harvested men.

  "Hednakht!" Paramessu roared, as the arrows descended again. And as if in answer, the ram's horns sounded out on the plain and a great shout of anger rose from thousands of throats as the Re legion charged. The Amorite army turned and ran, some escaping back into the side valley through the scrub and loose rock slopes, but any who attempted the plain were caught quickly. The legion took no prisoners; unarmed Amorites knelt and lifted their arms in silent supplication before dying on sword or spear.

  Hednakht found his general and his king standing among the dead. "The gods be praised," he cried, saluting Paramessu and bowing to Tutankhamen. "For a moment there I feared you were lost."

  "You took your bloody time," Paramessu growled. "Did you walk all the way from camp?"

  Hednakht looked pained. "If you'd signaled a little bit earlier, or allowed us to wait a bit closer, sir, we would have been here sooner." A grin crept over his face. "Looks like we've pulled your fat out of the fire, sir."

  "A commander, if he hopes to advance further, would be advised to be more circumspect in his remarks." Paramessu could not maintain a straight face and clapped his subordinate on the shoulder, laughing with him.

  Tutankhamen nodded seriously. "You have saved my life, commander, as did your general earlier. He even took an arrow that might have killed me."

  Hednakht noticed the wound on his general's arm and insisted on calling over one of the legion's physicians to look at it. The man fussed for a few moments before binding it up tightly. "If I had some jackal dung," he muttered, "and a priest to say the proper prayers. Maybe when we get back to camp."

  Paramessu dismissed the physician and the three men picked their way over the bodies carefully. Many of the Amorites still lived, though their wounds were serious. Paramessu and Hednakht were merciful, pausing long enough to slip a bronze dagger between the ribs or up under the jaw, sending each wounded man into oblivion.

  "Jebu's around here somewhere," Paramessu said. "I saw him fall."

  "Oh, well done, sir," Hednakht enthused. "It is not often you get to kill the enemy general in battle."

  "I didn't. Those fools of archers tried to take us out and hit their own general instead." He rolled a few more bodies aside. "I'd like to find him. He was a brave man and deserves a proper burial."

  Tutankhamen looked about him at the devastation of the battlefield. The screams and moans of wounded and dying men made the aftermath scarcely quieter than the battle itself. Blood lay spattered everywhere, some of the bodies drenched in it, the metallic stink of it, overlain by feces from bursting guts, pervading the whole valley. He gestured at the field, his face showing his growing horror.

  "What happens to all this? How can we possibly bury everyone?"

  "We can't," Paramessu replied gently. "We can remove most of our own men and bury them in shallow pits in the desert, but the enemy will be left to the vulture and the jackal. It's war, my lord."

  "I don't like it," Tutankhamen said firmly.

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  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Great River flowed slowly between the second and third main cataracts, the water low in the weeks before the start of the inundation. White rocks jutted from the green waters and in the lee of the banks, where the water eddied and stilled, huge mats of weed collected, the water becoming murky with the burden of algae and slime. Small birds ran on the weed, the rapidity of their passage, their small size and large spreading toes preventing them from sinking. The muddy banks dried out and cracked, and the crocodiles abandoned the hot glare of the sun to lie in the shallows with just their eyes and nostrils betraying their presence. The low water and accumulating weed stank and men who drank from the river succumbed to fluxes that purged their bodies and left them weak. Because of this, Horemheb sent men ashore at every stream or green spot on the banks of Iteru, searching for water untainted by the filth that was contaminating the river.

  Penno, Lieutenant of the Sehotep-Neteru garrison and Horemheb's second in command, came back from one of these expeditions with some unwelcome news. "I fear the rebel has been warned of our approach, sir."

  Horemheb had been dozing on the deck of his barge, under a gaily-coloured awning that kept the direct sun off him but did nothing to cool the air. He opened one eye and regarded his lieutenant sleepily. "A general warning or a specific one? Half the countryside must know we seek the rebel."

  Penno shrugged. "I cannot be sure, but I would say specific."

  Horemheb groaned and closed his eye again. A few moments later he sat up and opened both of them. Scratching the stubble on his chin, he sent a man off to find the barber and gestured to the deck beside him. "Tell me about it."

  Penno sat cross-legged on the deck in the shade of the awning and faced his general. "We found some water in the pools left in a streambed. Not much better than river water but we filled the skins...anyway, there was this goat herder and he..."

  "Goats had been in the water?" Horemheb shook his head. "Never mind. Go on."

  "Yes sir. The herder had been there three days--there's a little grazing still, inland. Evening before last he saw two men running. He hid because he didn't like the look of them."

  "Smart man. Is this story going anywhere, Penno?"

  The army barber hurried across the deck and bowed to Horemheb. "What is your pleasure sir?"

  "Just a shave."

  The man set down his copper bowl already half full of sun-warmed greenish water and a linen cloth with the tools of his trade. He set about working up a good lather in the warm water with shavings of coarse army soap.

  "Sir," Penno went on. "The two men were soldiers. Both wore swords though one carried a bow also."

  Horemheb thought for a moment, while the barber applied lathered soap to his face, working it into the stubble. "They could as easily have been bandits. Many of them carry swords. Set's teeth, they could easily have been soldiers at one time, now turned to robbery."

  Penno shook his head. "One wore a kilt with a stylised crocodile on it."

  Horemheb grunted. "The Son of Sobek?"

  "That was my thought, sir."

  The barber murmured an apology and took his general's head firmly in one hand and positioned the sharp bronze knife.

  "I don't suppose your herder heard them say anything interesting."

  The knife scraped across the soapy surface, leaving a trail of bare skin behind.

  "Only one word sir--Khepre."

  "Khepre? The reborn light? You did say this was in the evening, didn't you?" Penno nodded. "So they were unlikely to be praying...were they talking about meeting somewhere in the morning?"

  "No way of knowing, sir...are you alright, sir?"

  Horemheb's mouth fell open and he pushed the barber away without thinking. "Khepre? He definitely said Khepre, the god represented by the scarab beetle?" He scrambled to his feet and ignored the stares of sailors and soldiers alike as he paced the deck with one half of his face shaved and the other half lathered. "It was her, Penno. I knew it and I let her go."

  "Knew who sir?"

  "She goes by the name of Scarab but you might know her as Princess Beketaten, daughter of Nebmaetre Amenhotep and sister of Ak
henaten, Smenkhkare and Tutankhamen."

  "You think she's here, sir. And...and that you had her and let her go?"

  "You were there, Penno, in the garden. That Nubian girl."

  "A Nubian? But I thought...wasn't her name Nefer or something? I remember thinking it suited her. She was beautiful."

  "And you think because she is related to the heretic she should be ugly? Have his long face and belly? There are good looks in that family too. Look at the old king, her father. Anyway, that was her--I'm sure of it."

  "Well, if you say so, sir, but er, does it matter now? She'll be long gone from the city even if we did turn back."

  "There's no need to go back--she's come with us."

  Now it was Penno's turn to gape. "Dis...disguised as a man?"

  "Don't be a fool, Penno. You couldn't hide that body. No, she'll be looking for her brother the rebel and she's figured the best way of finding him is to follow his hunters. Somewhere out there, maybe even looking at us right now, is this Scarab. I want you to find her and bring her here."

  "Yes sir...er, how?"

  "Work it out, Penno. You hope to rise in rank, do you not? Then show some initiative." Horemheb stood with an exasperated look on his face as the lieutenant scratched his head and grimaced. "You have native trackers? Use them." The general turned back to the shade of the awning and called the army barber back, letting his eyes close as the man applied his sharp bronze blade again.

  Toward sunset, Penno returned, his face apprehensive. "We couldn't catch them, sir."

  "I don't like failure," Horemheb said coldly. "What are you going to do about it?"

  "Try again, sir."

  "Do more than try, lieutenant. Officers who fail do not remain officers."

  The barges re-embarked the next morning, immediately after the dawn service to Re and Amun. Ten barges, each loaded with a hundred sailors to man the oars and sweeps, and a hundred and fifty soldiers, made their slow way through the shallow waters. Few things moved on the shores of the Great River, though plenty of eyes scanned the barren hillsides and thickets of tangled scrub near the water. Flocks of birds and occasional troops of monkeys broke the almost-silence of the river with shrieks of alarm as the barges appeared, and small herds of antelope stampeded from the strange shapes on the water. Crocodiles slipped below the water with scarcely a ripple, nudging the surface film aside when the sweep of the oars faded into the distance.