The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  "My lord king, this is your first victory over the Nine Bows. It would not be seemly for you to leave the field so soon. Let the men see you, cheer you, and know that you are unhurt."

  So he drove to the temporary camp where a field tent awaited him and the spartan conditions of an army at war. Attendants rushed to disrobe him, bring him heated water, fragrant soaps and oils. Others stood waiting with fresh clothing, jewelry and makeup, ready to prepare him for the victory feast. Watered wine was handed to him in a favourite blue glass cup, hurriedly brought from the main camp. Washed and dressed again, he waited in his spacious tent while preparations continued outside. At last, in the dazzling rays of the setting sun, he walked out into the presence of his army and the crashing salute of five thousand men. Tutankhamen walked, bursting with pride, to the high throne and mounting the steps, sat down.

  Priests came forth and led the officers and courtiers around the throne in a rousing anthem of praise to the gods, in particular Amun, Heru and Re. They were also mindful of the god-king that sat among them and praised Tutankhamen to his face, thanking him for defeating the enemies of the Two Lands. When they finished, the king stood and sang the song of Re, similar to and adapted from the song to his brother's god, the Aten. The pure notes rose into air that sparkled as the dying sun glinted off dust particles, and the soldiers cheered. Some of the priests, notably the leopard-skinned priests of Amun, hid their fury at this break with tradition.

  When the song ended, Tutankhamen remained standing, and raised his arms for quiet. He spoke, and stentorian-voiced soldiers called out his words so all could hear. "Men of the noble Re legion, men of Sept legion and men of Heq-at, we have won here this day a notable victory. Your king has led you to a victory that will echo down the centuries as the day in which the Hittite menace was broken." The men broke in on him, yelling and cheering, the Re legionnaires drumming on their shields with the hafts of their spears.

  Hednakht turned to Paramessu with a questioning look. "Hittites? I didn't see any Hittites," he murmured.

  Paramessu maintained a neutral expression. "If the king says they are Hittites, they are," he said quietly. "Who are we to question him?"

  "I have decided to commemorate this great victory," the king went on, "By erecting a stela on the site of the battle that will tell of my exploits. Also, I will build a temple honouring Amun-Re at the Stream of Kemet, and another at Zarw..." The priests of Amun hid their earlier anger, aware that with some clever management, much gold would flow into the god's coffers. They smiled and showered praises on the generosity of the king.

  "Rewards shall flow to all who took part in my victory," Tutankhamen continued. "To every man in the ranks I bestow a link of fine gold and the opportunity tomorrow to plunder the fallen Hittite warriors." A roar of approval almost drowned him out. "To the junior officers of the three legions, I bestow five links of fine gold and to the senior officers a full deben of gold."

  Hednakht, being young, had not yet forgotten his lessons at the feet of a scribe, and was doing some rough calculations on his fingers. "He will not empty his treasury with that gesture," he muttered, "Though the stela will cost a lot out here and the temples will eat gold like grain. Look at the priests," he added. "They know when they're well off."

  "Some men distinguished themselves in battle with acts of bravery and strength. The officers have a list of these men and to each will be awarded land near their home towns of one hundred cubits square. Furthermore, every man who was wounded in battle and must be invalided out of the army will receive a copper bracelet in addition to his link of gold."

  "Generous," Hednakht muttered. "Most commanders would just send their wounded men home empty-handed."

  "However, we all know that no matter how brave and fearsome the soldiers are, without capable leadership an army is lost. Commanders of the legions, step forward and be honoured." Tutankhamen turned to a servant nearby and instructed him to bring an ebony chest from his tent. "Bakenkhons, commander of the Sept legion; Ipy, commander of the Heq-at legion; and Hednakht, commander of the Re legion--to each of you I give the Chain of Praise of fifty deben weight and fertile land in the Delta three thousand cubits in length and breadth." He called the commanders up in turn and draped the heavy chains around their necks. A royal scribe scribbled away, making notes of every award so that the king's will might be done.

  "Let my general Nakhtmin stand forth," Tutankhamen called. The general, limping from a wound sustained in the battle, approached the king. "My loyal and worthy general Nakhtmin, your counsel and advice has been of great service to me and I reward you with the post of Fan-bearer on the King's Right Hand." Nakhtmin bowed, smiling.

  Hednakht, playing with the links of his Chain of Praise, whistled. "By the gods, he fares better than anyone and he scarcely took part in the battle."

  "He must have done something," Paramessu observed. "Such an honour is not given lightly."

  "Furthermore," the king went on, "You drew the enemies of the king away from his royal person, sustaining a grievous wound in the process. For this I reward you with rich Delta land five thousand cubits square and gold of two hundred deben weight." Nakhtmin bowed again, his smile becoming a grin.

  "He did what?" Paramessu asked quietly. "How did he protect the king? I was beside him for most of the battle and I did not see him."

  Hednakht laughed softly. "He rode in the king's chariot with Lord Djedefre while the king took the smaller one. The Amorite archers thought they were shooting at our king. That's what he means. As for the wound, an arrow took him in the buttock."

  "Further, in honour of the part you played in the battle, I name you General of Chariots for all of Kemet."

  Abruptly, Nakhtmin's grin slipped and a look of baffled fury clouded his face. "My lord king," he hissed. "You promised me I would be General of the Armies."

  Tutankhamen frowned. "You dispute with me?"

  Nakhtmin took hold of his anger and pushed it down, bowing deeply to give himself time to recover. "Never, lord king. I...I thought you said..." His ego wilted in the face of the king's anger. "I...I praise you and thank you for this great honour." He stepped away as Tutankhamen waved dismissively.

  "Let Paramessu, General of the Northern Army, greet his king."

  Paramessu strode out in front of the assembled army to wild acclaim. He marched up to the king and threw himself down on his knees in front of the youth. "My lord king, may you live a million years."

  Tutankhamen smiled and stepped forward. To a gasp of astonishment from the watching officers and courtiers, he took Paramessu's upper arms and pulled him to his feet. "Arise, General. I would not have so able a man kneeling before me when he should be beside me as my right hand."

  The general arose with a bemused expression. He stood with head bowed in order not to overtop the young king, earning him a mild reprimand. "Stand tall, Paramessu, for you too are the victor this day." He turned the general to face the troops. "This man, known to all of you as your General Paramessu, advised me well before the battle, guarded me during the battle, and educated me in the way of victory even as I crushed the enemy. He will henceforth be known to you not as General of the Northern Army, but as General of All the Armies of Kemet."

  The legions, especially the Re legion, erupted in wild cheering. Pride and joy crossed Paramessu's face, joined there by worry. "My lord king," he murmured. "That position belongs to Lord Horemheb."

  "No longer, for I have other duties and other honours for him." Tutankhamen raised his voice again. "Gold to the value of five hundred deben and rich land, two farms each of five thousand cubits square, for my General. Let all who hear my words rejoice and let no face be sad tonight, for we celebrate a great victory and we honour many brave men. Eat and drink, men of Kemet. Sing songs, tell stories and dance, for you deserve it."

  The king gave a signal and a long line of carts that had been waiting behind now came forward, laden with bread, vegetables and meat. Great jars of beer were broached and the men, l
oudly singing the praises of their warrior king and lauding his generosity, fell to with a will. Paramessu excused himself and sought out Hednakht.

  "Have bread and meat taken to the sentries, but no beer. I will make my rounds later tonight. If any are found drunk, I will have them executed."

  "Yes, my lord general," Hednakht said, grinning. "You surely don't expect trouble, do you? We smashed the Amorites, and their General Jebu is dead. I saw his hand with its ring, myself."

  "We smashed a small part of the army. Jebu may be dead but it is possible his Lieutenant will take command. I will not risk being surprised."

  Hednakht gave the orders before walking with his general through the camp. "General of All the Armies, sir. That's quite a step up. I wonder who will become General of the North. Djedhor, I suppose. He has seniority."

  "You talk too much," Paramessu said sourly, removing the sting of his words with a smile. "I will be staying up here; at least until I can be sure the borders are quiet."

  Hednakht commandeered two mugs of beer off a soldier and passed one to his general. "Well, you're a rich man now, a land owner. No-one would think ill of you if you ran the armies from closer to home."

  "How about you? You could retire onto your land easily enough. Give up soldiering."

  Hednakht laughed uncertainly. "But it's my life, sir. I'm a young man still; I don't want to do anything else."

  "Right, and neither do I. I'll hear no more about retiring or taking it easy. We both have a job to do so let's do it."

  Paramessu and Hednakht continued their rounds, walking among the men and talking to them, sharing their food and drink and swapping stories of former exploits and the recent battle. Eventually, they ended up in the realm of the physicians.

  All the wounded men who could not look after themselves were taken apart from their fellows and lay on reed mats or the bare ground, with linen sheets hung on ropes and poles dividing the injured from the healthy. Behind the sheets, in a camp of their own, lay nearly a hundred men tended by a handful of physicians and a few friends of the injured. An air of hopelessness lay over this camp, with cries and moans replacing the merriment elsewhere. As Paramessu walked into the camp, the men nearest recognised him and raised a faint cheer. One of the doctors hurried over.

  "My lord General," he said with a worried frown. "You are injured?"

  "No. What is your name?"

  "Iymeru, sir."

  "Tell me what is being done to help these men."

  "Done, sir? We have some unguents and powders, also some priests." Iymeru shrugged. "They are badly wounded sir; you know their lot is death."

  "Some, no doubt. I know the realities of warfare as well as you, physician. But these men are valuable; I would have you save as many as possible."

  "Of course, sir...but how? It is in the hands of the gods. We have little that will be of help. We have healing prayers bound to wounds and such medicines as we have are given and yet the man dies. The medicine is lost and the prayer must be recopied. We are too few and they will die anyway."

  "Then offer your limited resources to those that might recover. For the others...ease their passage into death." Paramessu saw the doubt in the man's eyes and crooked a finger. "Come, let us do this together." He led the physician down a row of men, talking to some of the injured, praising their efforts in the battle, calming fears, and asking the physician about others.

  Paramessu pointed to a soldier who lay quietly, watching the progress of the senior officers. "This man has a broken leg and open sword cuts on his arm. He will live. Bind his leg and wash out his cuts."

  "Wash his cuts, sir? Why? What will that achieve?"

  "I don't know, but a physician I once knew swore by cleanliness. Just do it."

  The physician detailed a man to carry out the general's orders before following him to the next patient.

  "This man has a deep belly wound," Paramessu said softly, so the groaning man would not hear. "His entrails are cut and he will not live. Have him carried to a place apart and give him unwatered wine to ease his pain."

  "We have none, sir."

  "You may withdraw it from my personal stores." He took a scrap of papyrus and a stick of charcoal and scribbled a note. "Take this to my quartermaster." Paramessu walked to the next man, and squatted beside him, examining the deep slash in the man's calf muscle, already suppurating in the heat. "This man is badly hurt but his leg and his life may yet be saved. Clean his wound of the dead flesh and bind it with linen soaked in honey."

  "Honey, sir?"

  "The same physician I once knew recommended it. He saved my own leg." Paramessu stood and turned his leg, revealing the sunken and twisted scar running from thigh to calf. "Nebhotep was his name."

  Iymeru nodded. "We will do what we can sir, but we have little honey."

  Paramessu sighed. "My stores again." He continued on down the line of wounded men, recommending treatments for some, asking Iymeru about others, and consigning a few to death. After a while he passed the task over to the physician, who had been joined by his colleagues and some of the priests. "I know only a fraction of what Nebhotep, the king's physician told me, but clean the wounds, put honey on them, bind bones so they cannot move and allow the really badly injured to die."

  "What about prayers?" one of the priests asked.

  "It cannot hurt. Say your prayers but be uplifting. Keep the men in good spirits. Praise their deeds and tell them they will recover. Who knows, if the gods are willing, you may yet save most of these men." Paramessu left the physician's realm and struck off through the camp towards the king's tent.

  Hednakht walked in silence for a while. "You do realise most of those men will die, don't you?" he asked softly. "The grievously wounded within hours, the others may last a few days."

  "I know it," Paramessu growled. "And it angers me that there is so little we can do. A serious wound means death unless the gods intervene, as they did for me."

  Hednakht grinned, taking a cup of beer from a soldier and draining it. The soldier stifled a curse as he recognised his commander and Hednakht clapped him on the shoulder. "I thought you said this Nebhotep saved your leg, not the gods."

  "Do not take the gods lightly," Paramessu warned. "And I take nothing away from Nebhotep. We are all instruments of the gods."

  "That's as may be, sir, but I thank the gods we have a Horemheb and a Paramessu on our side."

  Paramessu flashed his commander a quick smile. "Not a Nakhtmin?"

  Hednakht snorted. "That fool? He could as well be in the pay of the Hittites for all the good he does. Did you see how he got his wound? He was..."

  Paramessu held up a hand to cut off his commander's comment, looking round to see who was in earshot. "Be cautious about what you say, commander. Nakhtmin can be a bad enemy, especially as he has the ear of the king."

  "I'm not afraid of him."

  "You should be. He is ambitious and he is Ay's man; a dangerous combination."

  "You are a match for him, sir."

  "Yes, but you are not and I will not always be here, so be circumspect. Do not malign him in his hearing or in the presence of anyone who might favour him. Must I make that an order, commander?"

  "No sir."

  "So how did he get his wound? My gaze was elsewhere."

  Hednakht laughed out loud. "Naming no names, sir, but a certain man made as if to run and was taken in the buttock by an arrow. All the injured in the Re legion took their wounds in the front," he added proudly. "None fled."

  "Nor would they with such a lion as their commander. You did well, Hednakht. You deserve your gold and your land and more."

  "With such men and a worthy general to lead me, I could do little else."

  "Do not belittle yourself, Hednakht. It does not become you."

  Paramessu led his commander back to Tutankhamen's tent. Throughout the camp, the celebrations kept every man occupied. The general noticed a few women joining in the revels, relieving many men of their hard-won spoils. He shook hi
s head, marveling that even here, hours after a battle; the camp followers had found them and were busy plying their trade. "Why is it that sex follows hard on the heels of death?" he murmured.

  The guards at the king's tent hurriedly hid a jug of beer as their general approached. Paramessu accepted their salutes and allowed them to hold the tent flaps for him. "Drinking on duty, Neshi?" he said quietly to the captain of the guard. "You know better than that. Get rid of the jug and come with your detail to my tent at dawn. I'll find something to help you remember your duty next time."

  "Y...yes, sir. Sorry sir," Neshi stammered, while the other guards shuffled their feet.

  Paramessu nodded and strode into the tent, with Hednakht at his heels. The king and General Nakhtmin sat on two great couches, drinking wine from faience cups and talking in low tones. Tutankhamen looked up as the two men entered, his face betraying annoyance.

  "Where have you been? I wanted to talk to you but you'd disappeared."

  Paramessu bowed to the young boy. "My apologies, great king. I did my rounds of the camp and visited the injured."

  The king raised his eyebrows. "Why? I have physicians for that."

  "Indeed, great king. However, I have found that when men lose their lives, they like to know the sacrifice is appreciated. I always visit the wounded after a battle. Lord Horemheb taught me that."

  "Hmm, so how are the wounded? Eating and drinking my health, I hope."

  Paramessu frowned but spoke softly, as if to a child. "Half will die within another day, the other half will live in great pain for a while longer and no more than one in three will ever fight again. I did not see much cause for happiness, nor any eating and drinking."

  "Enough of such things, General Paramessu," Nakhtmin said smoothly. "The king does not want to hear of such melancholic news. He has won a great victory and we should be celebrating."

  "Yes," Tutankhamen said. "Both of you, pour yourself some wine, or beer if you prefer, and join us. We are discussing my future plans."