The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  Tutankhamen and Ankhesenamen liked to go out in the streets of Men-nefer, quite informally, with the merest handful of nobles and only a single squad of Medjay. The king was convinced he was loved by everyone and regarded as a hero after his successful war against the Hittites. One of his favourite pastimes while on these informal excursions was to visit the temples and official buildings where sculptors and painters were busy inscribing walls with his daring exploits. He would stop and talk with the artists, discussing some aspect of the expedition, correcting misconceptions and telling again the stirring tale of how he fought and killed the enemy general. When he left, the scribes would issue instructions on the corrections needed.

  "I am in awe of your bravery and skill, my husband," Ankhesenamen said as they walked out of the cool shade of a temple dedicated to Heru. "I thought I knew the tale of the war, but you continue to amaze me with fresh details and insights."

  Tutankhamen looked sideways through kohl-encrusted eyes at his queen, unsure whether there was implied criticism in her words. "Some things are driven from the mind in the heat of battle," he said. "The memory of them only returns later."

  The queen smiled and stroked her swollen belly. "Our son will have to be a great king to emulate the deeds of his father."

  Tutankhamen grinned and stopped in the forecourt of the temple. He pushed aside the flimsy linen dress and put his hands on his wife's belly. "Let Heru bless him, in whose temple you uttered those lucky words." The king called over the high priest and ordered him to say prayers of blessing over the stretched skin of Ankhesenamen's body. As the blessing came to an end, the queen winced and put a hand on her side, low down.

  "You are in pain, my petal?" Tutankhamen asked solicitously.

  "It is nothing, a passing cramp." She started forward again, biting her lip as another pang pierced her.

  Outside the temple, the sun beat down savagely and the parasol bearers produced ostrich feather plumes to shade the royal couple. They decided to wander down toward the river, hoping for a cooling breeze from the water. Crowds of people accompanied them, eager to keep close to such a handsome young couple. Men and women jostled in the streets, laughing and enjoying the festive air that always accompanied one of the king's informal outings. Women smiled and tried to catch the eye of the king, while men fought to walk alongside, for the king had been known to hand out riches when he was in a generous mood. Children ran and played, weaving in and out of the legs of the adults and stirring up the light dust that clung to everything. For the most part they were unaware of the presence of the king, knowing only that a procession of sorts was in progress. Processions were always important and were good opportunities for stealing things from inattentive shop-keepers and spectators. Queen Ankhesenamen suddenly stopped and pointed at one of the children.

  "Look, husband, that boy. Does he not have the very appearance of my lord when he was very young?"

  Tutankhamen regarded the children, especially the small, thin boy his queen pointed out. The naked boy stood quietly as his playmates ran around him until with a word and a gesture, they stopped and gathered round him. He said a few words and the children screamed with laughter and ran off.

  Ankhesenamen beckoned to one of the Medjay accompanying them. "Fetch me that lad." As the giant Nubian leaped to obey, she called after him, "Gently! He is only a boy."

  The Medjay guided the small boy over to the royal couple, one of his hands almost enveloping the child's head. The boy looked up at the giant Nubian with fear, but as he saw no harm came from him, looked toward the youth and girl waiting for him.

  "What is your name?" Ankhesenamen asked, smiling reassuringly.

  "Why, I ain't done nuffing," the boy whispered.

  The Medjay squatted and put his lips next to the boy's grubby ear. "Be polite, little one, this is a great lady."

  "What is your name, child?" Ankhesenamen asked again.

  "Sinre."

  "And what game is it you play, Sinre, where your playmates attend on you so attentively?"

  "I'm a king," Sinre said. "They gotta do what I says."

  The queen laughed and turned to Tutankhamen. "You see, my husband, not only does he look like you as a child, but he is a king too."

  Tutankhamen smiled. "Your subjects have all run away," he said to the child.

  Sire looked up at the youth, his eyes dark. "They will come back when I is really king."

  "What do you mean, 'really king'?" Tutankhamen asked, still smiling.

  Sinre shrugged and picked at his nose. "In a little while, when the king dies."

  Ankhesenamen gasped and Tutankhamen took a step back, a frown replacing his smile. "What words of ill omen are these? Is the child mad or...or does he mean me harm?"

  The Medjay standing by the boy swung him round and stared into his face. "Why did you say that? Did someone tell you to?"

  A woman in the crowd screamed and Sinre's head whipped round. He struggled to free himself of the Medjay's hand and the woman screamed again. Sinre bit the hand holding him and with a curse, the Nubian knocked the young boy to the ground. A roar went up from the crowd and a man ran out, yelling at the Medjay. Another two Nubians intercepted the man and shouts of anger arose. Moments later, a missile flew from the back of the crowd just missing the Queen who stumbled back. Tutankhamen paled and ordered the squad of Medjay to quell the disturbance. The tall Nubians charged the crowd, their clubs swinging, but the crowd was too great and the pressure of bodies thrust them back.

  Amid the shouting and the heaving and the dust, Ankhesenamen cried out and gripped her husband's arm before collapsing onto the hard baked ground. Tutankhamen screamed in panic to his Medjay and an officer scooped up the queen. Calling his men around him to protect the king, he retreated until a solid stone wall was at their backs.

  The crowd, now a mob, rampaged through the streets, shouting and destroying, while a steady barrage of missiles rained down on the king and his Medjay. After what seemed like half the morning, reinforcements arrived, Medjay armed with spears and shields. They charged the mob and the shouts turned to screams as the spears turned red. When the soldiers from the garrison arrived, the populace of the city melted away leaving the dead and streets littered with debris. The king and queen were hurried away to the palace and physicians sent for to examine the queen.

  The head court physician prostrated himself in front of the young king, trembling as he gave his report. "O Great King, may you live forever, the queen has...has taken an injury to...to her womanly parts. She is bleeding and...and..."

  "What is her injury? Can you cure her?" Tutankhamen was still shaking from the shock of the sudden attack in the streets and cut the physician off abruptly.

  "O Great King, I am a physician, not a midwife." The physician sounded shocked and a little insulted despite the precariousness of his position. "Knowledge of a woman's parts is the concern of other women."

  "Then find me a midwife," Tutankhamen shouted. "This is the queen we are talking about, my royal wife. I would expect my court physicians to be able to treat everyone, not just men."

  "My lord, we do treat everyone. It is just women's parts that..." The court physician caught sight of the baffled fury on the king's face and scrambled to his feet, almost falling in his haste to back out of the king's presence. "I will find a midwife."

  A messenger arrived minutes later to say that a midwife had been found and was ministering to the queen. Tutankhamen hurried over to the queen's chambers but was met at the entrance by an old woman.

  "Do not enter, lad," she said, blocking the doorway.

  "What? Do you know who I am, old woman?" the king screamed.

  "Yes, you are a king but you are also a man," retorted the woman crisply. "This is women's work now. You have had your part in this, leave now before the gods of childbirth grow angry."

  "Childbirth? My son is coming?"

  "It is early, but it is in the hands of the gods. Leave us, Great King. She is in good hands."

 
Tutankhamen hesitated and his shoulders slumped. "Take care of her, old woman. Do not let her die or...or I will have your own life."

  "Life, and death, is not in my power, Great King. Go to the temples and pray, there is nothing for you here." The woman slipped through the door of the queen's bedchamber and firmly shut it behind her.

  Tutankhamen stared at the door for a while, his hands resting on the polished wood as if he could feel his wife behind it. "May the gods be with you, dear Ankhe, and with our son," he whispered. "I go to shout in the gods' ears."

  By sunset, the sweet odour of burning incense rose from every temple in Men-nefer, the blue smoke curling and rising until the gentle north wind caught it and spread a haze over the river and farmlands. The chanting of the priests rose and fell as prayers to every god drowned out the normal bustle of daily life. In the streets, where the riot had taken place, the ordinary people of the City of White Walls mourned their dead, paying the embalmers what they could to ensure their loved ones had some measure of life after death.

  Tutankhamen waited for word of his wife and child in his own chambers with Nakhtmin and the exiled First Prophet of Amun, Amenemhet; and the Second Prophet who had also been a King's Councilor, Aanen, the brother of Ay. The king had made it quite plain to Nakhtmin that no matter what the Tjaty desired, the two priests of Amun were under his personal protection. Nakhtmin bowed in acquiescence, looking with curiosity at the two priests.

  "There is no word as yet, Great King," Nakhtmin assured the king. "I have a member of my household, a servant girl, in attendance, and she says the queen is not suffering unduly."

  "What does that mean?" Tutankhamen asked. "She was in pain. I saw her."

  "They administered poppy juice, Great King."

  "Not too much, I hope," Amenemhet observed quietly. "It would not do for the son and heir to be born with his senses dulled."

  "If it is a boy," added Aanen drily. "The king's family throws girls."

  Tutankhamen turned and glared at Aanen. "You forget yourself."

  Aanen bowed. "Your forgiveness if I spoke out of turn, majesty. Your brother always bade me speak the truth, however unpalatable."

  "I am not my brother," Tutankhamen muttered. He started pacing, his sandals slapping on the cool stone floor. "It's all that boy's fault--the one in the street. He cursed me and the queen. You weren't there, but that's what he did." The king's voice rose, becoming shriller. "He said I would not be king much longer and that he would be king after me. That means my son would not be king. He cursed me and my heirs." He swung round and faced Nakhtmin. "Find him for me, General. We must make him take off the curse."

  "The boy is dead, Great King. Killed by the soldiers as they cleared the streets."

  "Dead? Then there is no hope?"

  "Majesty, I have heard reports of what was said," Amenemhet said gently. "It is likely this was some childish game rather than a plot to kill you."

  "Besides," Aanen added. "The gods of Kemet are stronger than any curse. Can you doubt that the gods love you, you who have brought back true worship to the land?"

  "No, I suppose not," Tutankhamen admitted. "So you think it was just a game?"

  "Or else someone paid him to say it."

  "What are you saying, Nakhtmin? There is a plot after all?"

  "I'm just saying it is best to err on the side of caution, Great King. If there is someone who wishes you ill, it would be best to find him--quickly."

  "And how would you do that?" Amenemhet asked. "The boy is dead."

  "There are ways," Nakhtmin said smoothly. "Do I have your authority to pursue this matter, Great King?"

  "How would you do that?" Aanen asked. "By torture and death?"

  "Not unless I am forced to it. But is it not better that a few common people should die to ensure the king's safety?"

  Tutankhamen nodded. "That is a sad truth. You have my permission to find out who the plotters are..."

  "If any."

  "Yes, of course 'if any', Aanen. Have my scribe draw up the necessary papers, General. I will sign them." The king looked towards the doors of his chamber. "Why is there no word? Surely something must have happened by now."

  "Best not to think about it, Great King," Nakhtmin said. "Take your mind off it with a game of Senet--I see you have a set over there."

  Tutankhamen's eyes lit up. "I should warn you, I rarely lose."

  The two priests fetched the elaborately carved gaming table of ebony and ivory over to a position near the window, where a cooling breeze alleviated the heat of the evening. Chairs were set up for the king and his general while the king opened up the inlaid drawer within the table containing the pieces and throwing sticks.

  "I am 'Lion'," Tutankhamen said, lifting out a small carving of a striding lion in ivory. "You can be 'Fort'."

  Nakhtmin shrugged, his face showing some annoyance that they were not to throw for their pieces. Instead, he removed the seven ebony forts from the drawer and started placing them on the board. "Seven or five pieces, Great King?" he asked.

  "Five," Tutankhamen said promptly. "I want a challenge. Oh, and you must place first."

  Nakhtmin clenched his teeth but made no comment, returning two of his forts to the drawer and placing the first of his playing pieces on the first square. Lions and forts followed, occupying alternate squares until the first row of ten squares was occupied. The general took out the two throwing sticks with their flattened edges and passed them to his king. "Please throw first, Great King."

  Tutankhamen grinned and threw the sticks onto the board, bending over them to read the symbols inscribed on their flat surfaces. "Five!" he crowed. His hand darted to his third lion and moved it to the square past his leading one. Nakhtmin grunted and threw the sticks. "Three." He hesitated, then moved his fourth piece to Tutankhamen's second, forcing it to change places. The king scowled and grabbed the sticks again.

  Amenemhet and Aanen moved away a few paces and stood watching the game and the fierce concentration on the players' faces. "Nakhtmin plays a dangerous game," the high priest murmured. "It seldom pays to best your king, even in a game of Senet."

  "On the other hand, a hard game lost to the skill of a king is worth much gold in the game of power," Aanen observed. "The king is a skilled player despite his youth. See? He takes control."

  Tutankhamen had opened up a slight gap with three of his pieces occupying adjacent squares. Now Nakhtmin could pass him if he threw high enough, but could not force an exchange of position. Minor flurries in the placing of the rearmost pieces took place, but the king kept his block of three intact, slowly advancing them every time he threw a three. A few moves later, he added a fourth lion to the block and Aanen clapped his hands in delight.

  "Oh, well played majesty." He leaned toward the high priest and murmured, "All but unbeatable now."

  "I'm not so sure," Amenemhet replied. "He still has the third row to negotiate with the unlucky square and the more pieces are tied up in the block, the fewer choices one has."

  Indeed, Nakhtmin now formed a block of his own behind the king's, reducing the options still further. Two moves later, Tutankhamen swore and was forced to break his block, sending his front piece scurrying for the end of the board. At once, Nakhtmin leaped over the king's block in pursuit, in turn opening up a gap that the king's trailing piece exploited. Throw followed throw and the king landed on the lucky twenty-sixth square and leaped over the unlucky square, bringing the first of his pieces to the end and off the board. Meanwhile, the general had shattered the king's block, throwing his remaining pieces into disarray. Tutankhamen fought back with skill, but the luck of sticks went against him and Nakhtmin's block now crept toward the end.

  A knock came on the cedar doors of the king's bedchamber. They opened and a court messenger put his ashen face around the edge. "Oh, Great King, my lords, I bring word from the Queen's chamber."

  Tutankhamen stared toward the messenger with an ivory lion in his hand. "The...the queen..."

  "She liv
es, Majesty, and is asking for you."

  The king uttered a great gasping sigh and put his piece down on a square far in advance of where it should have been. Nakhtmin opened his mouth to protest, and then thought better of it. "I shall attend on my wife as soon as I win this game. Go back and tell her I shall be there in a few minutes."

  "Majesty, there is other news." The messenger entered the chamber and prostrated himself, shivering with fear. "The child, majesty..."

  "My son! Is he healthy?"

  Amenemhet frowned and caught Aanen's eye. "This is not good news he brings."

  "Majesty, it was...was born dead."

  "What?" Tutankhamen jumped to his feet, bumping the gaming table in his haste and sending an ivory lion skittering across the tiled floor. "My son is dead? How did this happen? I will have the midwives executed." A sob broke from his throat and he staggered, Amenemhet leaping forward to prevent him falling.

  "A girl, majesty," the messenger whispered to the floor.

  "The judgment on the line of the heretic continues," Aanen muttered, drawing a warning glance from the high priest.

  "I...I must go to her," Tutankhamen said.

  "Of course, majesty," Amenemhet said as Aanen joined him supporting the shaking young man. Together they walked the king slowly past the prostrate messenger to the doors.

  Nakhtmin nudged the messenger with his foot as he passed. "Get up, fool, and make yourself scarce."

  Tutankhamen looked around as he reached the door and stared at the gaming table. "We did not finish the game."