The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  Scarab was silent for many minutes. "Ay tried to kill him, though he was an anointed king. All he tried to do was reclaim the throne that was stolen from him. You were Ay's pawn--maybe you still are--so how could he trust you?"

  "I am no man's pawn."

  "Then why are you here, Lord Horemheb, if not to do Ay's will?"

  "Tjaty Ay is the legal authority in the Two Kingdoms after the king. He has held this position under three kings now. Of course I must obey him, as if the king himself ordered me."

  "Did you know that Smenkhkare ordered Ay's retirement, and within the month the king disappeared? Is this not a suspicious act? And what of his plot against Akhenaten? You were the one who foiled that. Now he has chosen as king a boy that he can easily control. Do you really not see how Ay manipulates people for his own ends? Do you really believe he is not using you too?"

  "What choice do I have? Kemet must have stability, must have balance, must have Ma'at. As long as Smenkhkare fights against his anointed brother Tutankhamen, striving to wrest the throne from him, we have civil war. If the only way to stop that is to kill Smenkhkare, I will do it. Not because Ay tells me to do it, but because it is in the interest of all Kemet."

  "And never mind the deaths that result from the war," Scarab said softly. She held out her cup for a refill and slowly sipped on it, huddling close to the fire for warmth. The waning moon rose higher in the sky, its light washing out all but the brightest stars, while the river below darkened, the barges resting near the western shore like ten great sarcophagi waiting to be filled with the mummified remains of giants. Scarab lifted her arms and prayed aloud to one of the Nine Gods of Iunu. "Nut, goddess of the night sky," she prayed, "show me the way."

  A star streaked across the sky from the east and in a soundless explosion split into two, one falling away to the north, the other to the south. All around them came the awed exclamations of soldiers, sure that the gods were speaking had any the wisdom to understand.

  "Perhaps the gods show us the way," Scarab murmured. "Kemet has had two kings before, Lord Horemheb, even as recently as Akhenaten and Tutankhamen reigning together. Could not Smenkhkare and Tutankhamen rule together just as well? They are brothers after all."

  "Two brothers ruling in Waset? Turn about or together? Either way I can't see it happening."

  "You want Kemet to achieve Ma'at and internal peace. Can you think of a better way to achieve it? At one stroke you remove the whole reason for this war and thousands who would have died will live."

  "Neither Ay nor Smenkhkare would agree. They hate each other."

  "Ay would not enter into the agreement," Scarab said with mounting excitement. "You would broker an agreement between kings. They could reign in Waset together, or one from Waset over Ta Shemau and the other from Men-nefer over Ta Mehu. The war would stop and Kemet could become strong again."

  "And what would Ay be doing as all this happened?"

  "Ay would be forced into retirement," Scarab said triumphantly. "He is an old man and should be living comfortably on his estates. You are General of All the Armies of Kemet, Lord Horemheb. Only you have the strength to accomplish this."

  "This is women's madness," Horemheb said. "What do you know of statecraft?"

  "You forget who I am, Lord Horemheb. I may not be an anointed king or a high official in the court, but I have been raised as a royal princess. I know the obligations and duties of royalty as well as I know the rights and privileges. A king has a duty to his people and if he forgets that a loyal man will remind him of it."

  "And woe betide that man."

  "You are not one to shirk a task."

  "I do not shirk my duty."

  "Is your duty not to Kemet? To the peace of Kemet? Continued warfare will bring yet more death. Secure peace between the two kings and the gods themselves will praise you."

  Horemheb stared at Scarab for a minute before nodding. "It is late and we leave at dawn. Lady Beketaten, you will sleep in my tent tonight, under guard so none may disturb you. I will sleep out here." He bowed politely. "I will think on what you said." Scarab bowed in her turn and with a murmur of thanks, went into the general's tent and drew the cords to secure the flaps. Horemheb did not sleep though. Instead, he went down to the riverside, alone, and imagined two futures--one in which Smenkhkare died, and one in which he lived. He still wrestled with the implications as the moon paled in the western sky and the sun rose in golden glory.

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  Chapter Seventeen

  The combined army of Smenkhkare and the Tu'qa and Q'ema tribes of 'Between the River' moved slowly but steadily southward off the highlands toward the plains occupied by the Suri Kan tribe. Despite the assurances of Menkure that Chief Kasako of the Suri Kan meant to take the land of the northern tribes as his own, and was even now moving north with his warriors, the chief remained unaware of the approach of an enemy.

  "It is vitally important that we surprise Kasako," Menkure stressed. "Given the uncertain fighting abilities of our new allies, we must make certain that we take every advantage we can."

  "He'll know of our presence soon enough."

  "Of course." One did not contradict the king without good reason. "But I'd rather it was in a manner and time of our own choosing."

  Menkure had sent spies forward, each Kemetu accompanied by a Tu'qa man who was familiar with the countryside. They were under strict orders to scout the land and not to be seen. The pairs of scouts now made swift forays into enemy territory, withdrawing again as soon as the slightest contact was made. So far, the Suri Kan had not been alerted and Menkure was starting to build up a picture of the country that lay ahead.

  Menkure held meetings with the chiefs of the Tu'qa and Q'ema as well as his troop commanders. Smenkhkare sat in, keeping in the background as his Tjaty shared the information that was coming in, but not how he was planning to act on it. He pointed to the large area of cleared earth under the awnings that kept the fierce sun at bay.

  "Here is the Great River," he said, tracing the contours out with a spear. "It flows round in a large curve almost describing a circle. This is where we are..." Menkure stepped over the river and dropped a round stone. "The edge of the forest just before it drops down to the southern plain."

  "Where the Suri Kan lives," Q'eren said morosely. The nearer they got to the enemy lands, the less enthusiasm the portly chief had shown for the enterprise.

  "Where the Suri Kan lives," Menkure agreed. "There is a village here...and here..." The spear gouged the earth in two spots straddling the planned march southward. "Five hundred men in all, plus women and children. Over two thousand head of cattle." Both Q'eren and Psalta brightened at the thought of so much plunder. "There are other villages further away."

  "If we attacked the villages one at a time, we would outnumber them," Psalta said. "One, two, we hit them fast and drive their cattle northward. Eee, so many cattle. We shall be rich men."

  Menkure nodded, his face expressionless. "And while we are fighting, a Suri Kan army of a thousand creeps up on us and destroys us."

  "What army? Where?" Q'eren asked suspiciously. "You never said anything about another army. Where is it?"

  "I don't know--yet. We do know the Suri Kan have at least a thousand men in total, but we don't know where the others are. That is why I am sending out scouts," Menkure explained. "To find them."

  "Then why are we not making plans to defeat them?" Psalta asked.

  "It is not yet time to make plans. First I must gather information."

  Psalta got up from his stool. "Then I will leave you to get on with it. I have better things to do." He strutted away, resplendent in his skins and furs. Q'eren joined his fellow chief, though his exit was more a waddle than a strut.

  The troop commanders looked questioningly at Menkure, but he shook his head. "Stay. It is time to make plans."

  "I thought you said you needed more information first," Smenkhkare said quietly.

  "I lied," Menku
re admitted. "I do not want our allies aware of what we plan until just before the battle."

  "Then please enlighten us."

  Menkure bowed. "First I must ask Kashta and Shabaqo how the Tu'qa archers are shaping up."

  Kashta looked at his fellow commander and nodded, so Shabaqo spoke for them both. "They are excellent marksmen and can hit a target well enough, but they still lack discipline."

  Kashta nodded vigorously. "They hit the target and break off to sing and dance, celebrating their skill."

  "Kasaya? Aspalta? What of your Q'ema spearmen?"

  "A similar problem, sir," Aspalta said. "They do love to dance."

  "Can they be trained to act together?"

  Kasaya nodded slowly. "I think so, sir, given time."

  "Which we don't have," Menkure muttered. "Well, we'll have to do our best with what we have. Luckily, the main Suri Kan forces are in a string of small villages down here..." he jabbed the spear into the soil. "We will have time to take care of these villages first."

  "Then there is merit in Psalta's suggestion of attacking the villages one at a time?" Smenkhkare asked.

  "Certainly, if all we planned to do was steal cattle. We have to do something much harder. We have to make the whole Suri Kan tribe fear us."

  "If only we had a legion of good Kemetu soldiers," Kasaya murmured.

  "No use wishing for what we do not have. We have a solid core of good troops. It will have to do for now."

  "So what is your plan, General of the South?" Smenkhkare asked softly.

  Menkure hesitated before speaking. "If I may ask your patience a few moments longer my lord..." he turned away from his king and faced the five troop commanders. "Aspalta, you are Nubian. Tell me how Nubian tribesmen fight a battle."

  "They do not, if they can help it, sir. Even the warlike ones prefer to bluff and posture."

  "How so?"

  "They face each other, shout insults, shoot a few arrows or throw a few spears. A young man will challenge someone from the opposing army and they will fight with spear and shield."

  "To the death?"

  "Seldom, sir, though injuries are common. One retires hurt, the winner's friends make a big fuss and another pair of warriors faces each other."

  "So how are battles won?"

  "At the end of the day a tally is made of how many fights each side has made. They bargain and the loser pays in cattle or women or sometimes land."

  "Are they cowards?" Menkure asked, leading Aspalta onward.

  "No sir, they are brave which is why Nubian soldiers make the best troops. They just can't see the point of unnecessary bloodshed."

  "Until they join the Kemetu army," Smenkhkare commented.

  "Yes my lord."

  "Thank you Aspalta. Now, Djutep, you are a native Kemetu. Tell us how the Kemetu army fights."

  Djutep licked his lips and looked around at his fellow troop commanders. "S...sir," he stuttered. "We all know how we fight."

  "Even so, please tell us. A Kemetu army faces say, an Amorite one. How do we attack?"

  "We just march...we listen for the commands of our officers, then march forward until we are close enough, and charge the enemy."

  "Do we stay in ranks as we charge the enemy?"

  Djutep laughed, one or two of the other commanders joining in. "No sir, how could we? We are all running."

  "And what would be the point?" Shabaqo asked. "It is not as if we will frighten them by drilling."

  Menkure nodded. "You describe it exactly. Now, what happens when our soldiers charge the enemy? What does each soldier do?"

  Djutep looked puzzled. "Do? He finds an enemy soldier and fights him. If he is lucky enough to win, he finds another."

  Menkure nodded again. "Very true. So if I was to describe a battle between a thousand of our troops and a thousand Amorites, I'd say it was a thousand separate fights between pairs of soldiers?"

  "More or less, sir, yes."

  "What is your point, Menkure?" Smenkhkare asked.

  "Because our men fight one on one, it is the strength and luck of one soldier against another. What is the point of all our training and discipline if it is wasted within moments of contacting the enemy? How many of you have seen a strong man fall while fighting because an enemy strikes him from behind?"

  All the troop commanders nodded. "I lost my second at Waset that way," Kasaya said.

  "What if the man alongside him was helping him by preventing the enemy from getting round behind him?" Menkure looked excitedly at his commanders but found only blank looks. "Alright. Imagine I am fighting Kashta. Come out in front of me, Kashta. Now, Kasaya, you are an enemy too. If you want to help Kashta, how do you come at me? There is only one way--to my left because my sword is in my right. Agreed? Now, what if Aspalta is standing on my left with his sword? You cannot attack me."

  "What about me?" Aspalta asked. "If I am guarding you, what's to stop Kasaya attacking my left?"

  "Shabaqo, who is on your left. And on his left is Djutep. We all fight the man in front of us, as usual, but we do not break ranks. Instead we make sure no enemy gets behind us by guarding our friend to the right."

  They all thought about this for several minutes, miming sword fights and trying to keep alongside their fellow commanders, guarding them.

  "What about the last man on the left?" Shabaqo asked. "You cannot extend a line indefinitely."

  "He carries a large shield. Besides, he is partly guarded by the next rank of men."

  "You have given this much thought," the king said. "Will it work?"

  "I don't know, my lord, but I believe it could."

  "I can see the flaw in your plan, sir," Djutep said. "This defence of the next man calls for the men to fight in ranks rather than as individuals. How are you going to keep the men in lines when you are charging the enemy?"

  Menkure frowned. "They could call out the steps as they ran, so they all took an equal number."

  "A large man will go further than a small man in the same number of steps."

  "Then they would have to look to each side so they didn't outrun their fellows."

  "They'd be so busy doing that; they wouldn't see where they were going. It might work on level ground but in uneven terrain..."

  "Then I don't know," Menkure said sourly. "You come up with a method instead of finding fault with mine."

  "Leaving that aside for the moment," Smenkhkare said. "What would be the point of fighting in ranks? The Kemetu army has never fought like that and has never needed to."

  "Perhaps that is the point, my lord. We have never before needed to. We have a hundred men to conquer the Two Kingdoms. If we are to succeed, we must find other men--men from Nubia. And we are not going to persuade them to fight for us unless we show we are stronger..."

  "And so we come back to our hundred men."

  "Exactly, my lord. We need an edge--something no-one has tried before."

  "Then think," Smenkhkare demanded. "All of you. The answer must be here. How are the men going to keep ranks?"

  "If they walked..." Aspalta started.

  "It's supposed to be a charge," Kasaya snorted derisively. "It's not much of a charge if the men are strolling."

  "I know that, if you'd let me finish. What I'm saying is if they walked they would have no trouble keeping in line. Our discipline allows that."

  "So what?" Menkure asked. "Kasaya's right, we can't just walk."

  "So we run."

  "And break ranks. We're just going round in circles."

  "What if each man reached out with his left hand and touched the man beside him?" Kashta asked. "They could probably run and keep hold, and at least they'd know instantly if the rank broke."

  "Possibly." Menkure nodded, one hand tugging at his beard. "But arm's length is too close to fight. If they bunched up like that, a sweep of a sword could kill the man next to you."

  "Rope then," Aspalta said. "Tie a loop of rope around each man's waist and have the end held by the man to his right. That woul
d keep them at a safe distance."

  "No good," Kasaya said. "When they drop the rope to fight, they would trip and tangle themselves."

  "What if they walked until the last moment and then charged?"

  "They'd be cut to pieces by archers. The whole point of a charge is to cover the ground quickly."

  "Spears," Shabaqo said firmly.

  Menkure frowned. "Spears have one use in a close battle. You throw them, and then you charge with sword and dagger and mace. How can spears help?"

  "Most spears miss, it's a fact of life. They are not accurate and you can't throw them far. But what if we used spears as stabbing weapons? Say we hung onto them as we charged, stabbed at the first rank of the enemy and then drew our swords. We could kill the enemy before they got close enough to reach us."

  "An interesting technique," Menkure admitted. "But how does it help us charge in line."

  Shabaqo smiled broadly. "We hold them sideways until just before we clash, then swing them forward, thrust, drop them and attack with sword and club."

  "Show us," Smenkhkare ordered.

  Shabaqo ushered everyone outside the shaded are into the open. He stood his fellow troop commanders in a line and armed them all with long spears. "Hold your spears in the middle or lower, across your body so the tip is near the body of the man to your left and the butt toward the man to your right. Now move forward." The commanders stepped out, slowly and tentatively at first, then as their confidence grew, with greater speed until they were trotting. Initially, the line wavered, but as they grew used to the idea of keeping the spear heads of the men on their right close to their bellies, the line straightened. Shabaqo halted his squad at the edge of the clearing, murmured a few words to the other commanders and started them back toward the king and Menkure at a run. Ten paces from the two men, he shouted and every spear swung forward as the commanders skidded to a halt, the spear points only a pace or two from Menkure.