by Overton, Max
"A good leader is one who is mindful of the well-being of his men, sir."
"Good. Is that all?"
"N...no, sir. He can command without hesitation and...and...he is a good fighter...I think, sir."
"A good leader will not ask his men to do anything he cannot. He is willing to fight alongside his men, eat with them, sleep on the bare ground beside them and even go into the towns and drink with them." Horemheb smiled, though the gesture was lost in the darkness. "I used to be a legion champion at beer drinking when I was a Troop Commander, did you know that?"
"I have heard stories, sir."
"I have also led men on a forced march through the desert and outrun men half my age, then fought a battle at the end of it. I do not tell you this to brag, Penno, but to show you I have lived with my men, shared their hardships and never asked any man to do what I cannot." Horemheb stepped forward and clapped his Lieutenant on the shoulder. "The company of men you lead south tonight will know you have run all day already and will respect you for it. Get some sleep, Penno. You're going to need it."
Penno's fresh company left at moonrise, just as the still-swollen orb lifted clear of the hills. The main army left not long after and followed the beaten track of the several hundred men of Smenkhkare's army and Penno's company into the hot and still night. The cloud cover increased as they ran and while the moon still hung in the western sky, wisps of gray started to obscure the light. The pace of the men slackened, and as the moon finally slid behind dense cloud, they were forced to a slow walk, stumbling in the darkness. Horemheb cursed, and ordered a halt, hoping that the heavy overcast would disperse. Instead, a few fat drops of rain fell, awing the few men who had come from Kemet with the General. The men who lived and worked in Nubia knew the phenomenon, and what it presaged.
"It's not good, Lord Horemheb," Qenna said. "When the rains start it'll be hard to move and impossible to fight."
The dark clouds seemed content just to remind rather than fulfill, and as dawn approached in grayness under a leaden sky, the army resumed its passage. They found Penno and his company near the lip of the escarpment and the Lieutenant mastered his fatigue and trotted back to report.
"Cliffs and steep slopes, sir, but there is a passage down. I sent out scouts and they report a trail showing recent usage." Penno hesitated and his voice betrayed self doubt. "The cloud broke at dawn, sir, for a few minutes. I thought I saw distant gleams of metal, spearheads...like an army. I could be wrong, sir. It could just be sunlight reflecting off water."
Horemheb nodded. "Or you could be right. Are you willing for one more job, Penno? I will not think worse of you if you refuse."
"To do what, sir?"
"I want you to take your company down the trail and take up a defensive position at the bottom to guard the descent of the main army. If you are too tired, I will have Mose do it."
"I will do it sir."
By mid-morning the army was at the bottom of the escarpment and facing the wide plain to the south. Scouts were sent out again while the men rested and prepared their equipment for the coming battle. The cooks following in the baggage train gathered wood and cooked a hot and nourishing meal. Mose looked up at the blue curls of smoke rising in the oppressively hot air with misgivings.
"They'll see us, sir. Can't miss that.'
"I want them to," Horemheb replied. "Maybe I can bring him to meet me so I don't have to chase him all the way to the ocean."
Scarab came to see the General again, asking whether he remembered his promise to talk with Smenkhkare.
"That's why I've had fires lit," he growled in reply. "If I surprised him with my army he would either run or fight, depending on his strength. If he knows I'm here, he may look first. When he does, I'll let him know I want to talk first. After that it's up to him--and you, Lady Beketaten."
After Scarab left, Horemheb sought out Qenna. "The rebel brought no more than a couple of hundred men with him from Kemet," he said. "What of the tribes in this area? Could he have recruited more men?"
"It's possible, sir," Qenna replied, nodding. "We 'aven't seen any of the Tu'qa or Q'ema peoples, which is worrying. They've either moved right out of the way or they've joined forces with 'im, sir."
"How many would they add?"
Qenna shrugged and scratched himself. "Five 'undred maybe, sir. No more."
"Five hundred I can manage. We still outnumber him two to one."
"And they is farmers sir, not proper warriors."
By midday, the army was moving again. Horemheb left the baggage train behind at the base of the escarpment with a score of men to act as guards, mostly ones with injuries or fevers. The army moved off in battle order, prepared against attack, but still managing to move quickly. The scouts reported nothing close by, and Horemheb picked up the pace. In the mid-afternoon, more scouts came hurrying in, with news of a battle being fought. Horemheb and Penno had the scouts brought to them immediately.
"Two large groups of men sir--about five 'undred against a thousand."
"A thousand?" Horemheb raised his eyebrows. "The rebel has more men than I supposed."
"No sir, the Kemetu soldiers is in the smaller group. The big one is just tribesmen--lots of 'em."
"Who would they be, Qenna?"
"Probably the Suri, sir. They is the biggest tribe around here, fierce too."
Horemheb turned to the scouts again. "How far away?"
The scouts discussed it briefly and checked the position of the sun. "We could be there before sunset, sir," said one of them. "Unless you wants to go to the village first. There's a tribe lives over yonder," he pointed to the southeast. "Leastwise they did, cause they is all dead now."
"More Suri?" Horemheb asked of Qenna.
"Likely, sir. They has villages all around here. Looks like the rebel is attacking the villages then got surprised by a larger force."
Horemheb dismissed the scouts with thanks and ordered the army forward again, picking up the pace. Through the sultry afternoon, he led his men at a run through the open scrub, sweat pouring off semi-naked bodies. Every hour, he ordered a short break so that men could drink tepid water and ease their aching lungs. None were allowed to sit, for fear that muscles would stiffen, and always within minutes they were on their way again.
The sun slowly fell toward the western horizon and as the rim touched the tips of the hills, the Kemetu army found the first of the dead. At first in ones and twos, then in groups, and at last drifts, the dead lay naked and helpless in the heat, bodies bloated and fly infested, open eyes staring sightless at their last day. They were all Nubian tribesmen, armed with short stabbing spear or bow and arrow.
"Is this just a tribal war?" Horemheb asked. He called Qenna to him again. The tall Nubian scout examined the bodies. "Mostly Suri, sir. Some T'uqa, more Q'ema. Them are the missing tribes from the north, sir. But no Kemetu."
Qenna was wrong though. Less than a hundred paces on were the first Kemetu soldiers, their copper skins paler in death and standing out as pallid corpses among the swollen black dead. Horemheb had them pulled away from the other dead and laid out to one side. By the time the sun had fully set, nineteen bodies lay in a line and the drifts of the dead were thinning out again.
"Where are the others?" Penno demanded. "A battle was fought here and hundreds died, yet only a score of Kemetu rebels, none of them officers. What has happened to Smenkhkare?"
Horemheb pointed off to one side in the gathering dusk. "Set up a camp two hundred paces upwind. Two rings of guards, relieved every three hours. We shall get to the bottom of this at first light."
It rained during the night, a mercifully short torrent falling from the skies accompanied by blasts of heavenly fire and the sound of the heavens groaning in agony. The wind and the rain put out the fires and many of the men who had not experienced rain before were on the verge of panic when, abruptly, the downpour ceased. The dawn broke over a wet and chilled army, though gaps in the cloud allowed warming rays of early light to lift the m
en's spirits. Horemheb led a song of praise to the morning sun.
The search resumed as soon as the light grew strong enough. First, scouts went out in small well-armed groups and as they returned with no news of the enemy, Horemheb sent out company-strong groups to search for more bodies. Four more Kemetu soldiers were found, a little distance to the south, but then nothing. The trail of many men led into the plains but the rain had obscured the tracks and it was impossible to read much from the scattered sign.
"We continue south," Horemheb said. "I must be certain."
"Lord Horemheb," Penno said hesitantly. "We do not know what lies ahead, our baggage is a day behind us, and the season is late. What if the rains come?"
"Does a bit of water scare you?" Horemheb growled.
"Please sir, talk to Qenna. He knows the area."
Grudgingly, Horemheb acquiesced.
"It will rain again, sir, heavier and longer. We are fifteen days away from the river, more like thirty in the mud, and it may be too swollen to cross when we get there." Qenna did not like bringing bad news to his General but knew enough not to try and make the situation less desperate.
"So if it is already too late to get back in time," Horemheb said grimly. "Why not press on and find the rebels?"
"We'll lose the tracks next time it rains sir, an' if theys changes direction, we'll never know."
Horemheb swore, in a low voice but colourfully, for several minutes. At last, he nodded. "We turn back, Penno. I have failed to find the rebels but I will not fail to return my men to their homes."
When news of the return spread through the ranks, Scarab hurried to find the General. "You cannot turn back, Lord Horemheb," she said. "What of your promise?"
"The gods themselves are against this enterprise," he replied gruffly. "You saw the rain last night. There will be more of it. We must turn back while there is still time to reach the river."
"Then wait here two days and let me find my brother. Please, Lord Horemheb, there is too much at stake to give up without making a last effort. For Kemet, if for nothing else."
Horemheb shook his head. "My scouts have ventured two days south of here and have found no trace of his army. The land has swallowed them up and you would die if you followed. I will not allow that, for you are a royal princess, one of the last, and you are too valuable to Kemet."
Scarab stood in silence, staring toward the southern plains where fine gray nets of misty rain clung like spider web to the landscape. She sighed at last and looked at the General, studying his deep set eyes for his intention. When she spoke, her voice betrayed her anxiety. "What do you intend for me and my companions?"
"I will take you back to Waset."
"To be killed by Ay?"
Horemheb looked shocked. "He would never do that. You are a princess, and the king's sister. A place will be found for you in the palace."
"I do not believe it. Ay tried to kill me once before. He succeeded with many of the Councilors, but he failed with me. I do not imagine he will fail again."
"Lady Beketaten, I am sure there has been some dreadful misunderstanding, but I give you my word, you shall be under my personal protection in Waset." Horemheb smiled, trying to reassure the young woman. "You trusted me once before, did you not? When Ay tried to overthrow the Heretic. Did I let you down then?"
"No, but then Ay was your enemy. Today he is your friend..."
"Never friend," Horemheb growled. "Ally, maybe--fellow servant of the king, certainly--but I still do not trust him fully. You will return with me to Waset and I will safeguard you, you have my word on it."
Scarab bowed her head. "It seems I have no choice, my lord," she said meekly. She excused herself and hurried off to find her friends.
"Horemheb returns to Waset and means to take us with him. We must escape tonight."
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Chapter Twenty-One
The palace at Men-nefer was old, far older than the grand palace at Waset, and fallen somewhat into disrepair. Not since the early days of Menkheperure Thutmose had its halls and rooms rung to the tears and laughter of men and women, the scampering feet of the children of the women's court, and the learned discussions of scribes and officials as the business of the Two Kingdoms was conducted from its airy chambers. Men-nefer was the old capital city of Kemet, fallen from favour as Per-Aa, the royal family chose to inhabit southern Waset, capital of Waset province, the fourth sepat of Ta Shemau, the land of reeds. Menkheperure Thutmose had walked the breezy stone chambers, felt the cool tiles beneath his feet and looked toward the great stone edifices that had stood, seemingly forever, on the great sandy plateau to the north of the city. Though he could not see it from the palace, Menkheperure knew Shesepankh, the stone god that had raised him to the throne, still crouched, looking out over Iteru and gazing into the rising sun. For this reason alone, he had not abandoned the city of Men-nefer. It was his son, Nebmaetre Amenhotep who left behind the City of White Walls and built a new palace on the west bank, across from Waset, for his Khabiru Queen.
Tutankhamen knew the history of his family well, for his family the Per-Aa was one of the most illustrious in all of Kemet's long history. He could almost feel the centuries oozing out of the walls, the cool regard of long-dead kings and queens, and it made him shiver even on a hot day, and call for extra candles when he lay alone in his great bedchamber at night. Were it not for one thing, the king would have found some excuse to return to the old familiarity of Waset. That one thing was the absence of his uncle the Divine Father, Tjaty of Ta Shemau and Ta Mehu, Lord Ay. The young boy was certain the rage of his Tjaty had been mighty when he heard the king was staying in Men-nefer, but the king now slowly emerging from the boy was adamant he was not going back to his uncle's tyranny. For the first time, he felt himself to be a king, in charge of his own destiny. I am fourteen after all, no longer a child .
The thought made him think of his own child, if the gods willed, a son and heir. He had not even known Ankhesenamen was pregnant when he left Waset, but word waited for him when he returned triumphant to Zarw. Immediately dispatching a courier with a letter, he bade her make her way downriver to Men-nefer, where he would join her as soon as he was able. Their child would be born in the old city called Ankh Tawy, 'That Which Binds the Two Lands', as a symbol of their hopes for their unborn son.
The reunion was joyous and loving. Queen Ankhesenamen had, over the years, developed a love for her boy-king. Initially a marriage for position and power, she had grown fond of the boy and, as he matured, found herself fighting her controlling grandfather through her position as Queen. An act of love on the eve of Tutankhamen's departure for the war had born fruit, and her fondness blossomed into love. Already disappointed at bearing a still-born daughter to her own father when she ruled as his queen, she was determined that this child would live. What is more, it would be a son. She stoically bore the ministrations of the priests of almost every god and goddess, submitting to baths in mineral solutions and herbs, eating strange and sometimes disgusting foods, having holy plants burnt on the altars and the smoke wafted between her opened legs. Around her neck, she wore amulets inscribed with prayers and daily she drank potions in which other prayers written on papyrus had been soaked so that the holiness leached into the liquids. Some of them tasted foul and it was all she could do to stop herself vomiting. After a while, she had honey added to the drinks, which did not seem to affect their efficacy but certainly improved the taste.
Now she had arrived in Men-nefer, and her husband and king had welcomed her both as queen and as wife and mother. They kissed in public, chastely; and later in the privacy of their chambers, he had fondled her swollen breasts and belly, inordinately proud of his achievement. The action aroused him but as intercourse might harm the unborn child, he contented himself with a close embrace and spent himself on her silken thighs.
The king and queen spent many days in the old-fashioned luxury of the palace and toured the grounds, ordering a splend
id refurbishment of the gardens with trees and shrubs planted in profusion, fish-ponds dug and a reed-lined lake constructed for bathing. The menagerie was a shadow of its former self and Tutankhamen gave orders that hunters were to go into the deserts and bring back examples of every animal that was to be found in Kemet. An expedition was even organised to far-off Nubia to bring back exotic animals more commonly found there. The messengers took with them gold as gifts, and private letters to his boyhood friends Hiknefer and Khai, now long since returned to their fathers in Wawat and Kush. The days passed in pleasant idleness and the evenings in feasting and intimacy. Only one thing disturbed the king's peace and joy--the continued, though distant, presence of Ay.
The Tjaty had allowed the king to go to war, providing his close associate General Nakhtmin as a guardian, giving him instructions to stay close and keep the king from harm. It would have been safer to keep the boy in Waset, away from the dangers of war, but he had to learn the skills of managing men sooner or later, and a controlled skirmish with a known enemy was acceptable. The news from the north had terrified Ay and then angered him as the king first fell into real danger only to be extricated not by Nakhtmin but by Horemheb's creature, Paramessu. As the king matured, Ay found his enemies multiplying around him. Ay might have power and position as Tjaty, but Horemheb and Paramessu were shaping up to be stones in his sandals. The king had rewarded Paramessu with the title of General of All the Armies--that was Horemheb's title. It was hinted that Horemheb would have greater rewards heaped upon him, but what? One step above Supreme General was his own position of Tjaty--was the king planning something disastrous?
Ay's worry and anger vented itself over the men in his power and many members of his household in Waset died as the days slipped by and the king tarried in Men-nefer. He wrote a letter to the king, in anger, and was ignored. Controlling himself, he wrote again, hinting that Queen Ankhesenamen would be better for the return of her husband to Waset. Then the queen publicly departed for the north and he lost his hold over the king. He sent for Nakhtmin, and then had to bear the ignominy of having the king deny his request. Now he sent a stream of letters to the king's court, detailing every aspect of rule, asking for decisions, requesting formal judgments on cases that could be handled by the city magistrates. In short, he overwhelmed the young king with the tiresome business of rulership, trusting that when the burden became too much, he would have to ask his Tjaty for help. Then Ay would regain a measure of control. So far it had not worked.
