The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

In the minds of the people, Heru is Asar reborn, their wise and loving king resplendent in his new-found youth and vigor. This year the celebrations reached a fever pitch as the young king himself, Nebkheperure Tutankhamen played the part of the god Heru and the part of Set by a condemned criminal. In exchange for his participation, the criminal had been promised a quick honourable death at the hands of the young king instead of his scheduled slow and ignominious end in the desert. The condemned man played his part well, drawing out shrieks and groans from the audience at the depravity of the god whose part he played. When the young Heru finally slew Set, dispatching him with a quick thrust of a spear, the joy of the citizens erupted in singing and cheering. The bark of the god, the ship-like vessel in which the god rode through the streets was seized from the startled priests by the populace and, borne aloft by strong men, carried throughout the city. Tutankhamen clung tightly to the gilded statue of the god with one hand and steadied his tall double crown with the other as he rode through the streets on the shoulders of the mob, grinning hugely at the cheering crowds. The Medjay, charged with the safety of the king, raced after the bark, their faces set and cudgels gripped tightly in their hands, appalled that the person of the king was so at risk.

  Only one thing would make this day better , Tutankhamen thought, his grin slipping momentarily from his face. If only Ankhe was here with me .

  Queen Ankhesenamen had not been present at any of the celebrations of Sokar, and had not even attended the play in which the king had starred so brilliantly. Only a month ago, she had been brought to bed once more, her hopes high for the birth of an heir, one on which all the hopes of the royal family and Kemet itself rested. She prayed for a son, but knew in her heart that a healthy girl would do. The king loved her, she knew, but a dynasty was all-important and if she did not produce a living child very soon, her darling Tuti would take another wife. For the sake of her husband and the kingdoms, she would smile and welcome the new wife into the palace, but her heart would break.

  The day had come, early, and even as her body started into the age-old rhythms of birth, she felt the hand of Set around her heart. "It is too soon," she whispered to the midwives.

  "Hush," they replied, hiding the dread in their eyes.

  The child came quickly but did not live long enough to draw its first breath, ceasing its weak struggles even before the cord was cut. The cries of the bereft queen shattered the expectant air of the palace as the midwives tended to her, and cleaned up the tiny corpse of the baby girl before handing her to the embalmers. She, and her elder sister, may never have even drawn breath, but they would accompany their parents into the tomb and thence the afterlife where they would live again in health and happiness.

  The king had been supportive of his beloved queen, though in private, melancholy brought him to the edge of despair. Later, when Ankhesenamen could talk without dissolving into tears, the king had taken her into the perfumed gardens of the palace, sat her by the ornamental fish pond where the songbirds greeted the day and given her hope for the future.

  "I will not take other wives," Tutankhamen said calmly. "Not while there is hope for us. I would have my queen as the mother of my children."

  "Oh, Tuti, so would I, but I cannot. You...you must take..."

  "I have been thinking and talking to priests, to physicians and...and even fortune tellers. I think I know the reason for our misfortune."

  Ankhesenamen blew her nose daintily on a delicate linen cloth and stared at her husband with red-rimmed eyes.

  "Yes, it is because of your father Akhenaten. He insulted the gods of Kemet grievously and their anger is not yet spent."

  "But Tuti, you have built temples to all the gods throughout your reign, all nine years of it. How can they be angry with you? With me, maybe," she sniffled.

  "They have been angry with both of us," Tutankhamen said firmly. "We were born with the names of the false god--Tutankhaten and Ankhesenpaaten--and we did not change them immediately. The priests named me Tutankhamen at my coronation but I continued to use my heretical name for another three years. But the anger of the gods will end, Ankhe, I promise."

  "Really? How can you know? Have you had a dream?"

  "Sort of." Tutankhamen side-stepped the question and hurried on with his explanation. "Now this might upset you a bit, Ankhe, so try to restrain your tears. You have had three children..." he stopped as his young wife burst into tears. After a little while, she sniffed and blew her nose again, loudly. "Go on, Tuti."

  "I'm sorry if this hurts you, Ankhe. You had your first daughter to your own father when you were thirteen, the second to me when you were eighteen and you are now twenty-two with your third. All daughters, all born dead."

  "Ex...except this one, Tuti," Ankhesenamen sobbed. "She...she lived for...for a moment."

  "That is my point," Tutankhamen said excitedly. "You lost your first at five months; your second at seven months, and this one was born at eight months and almost lived. The anger of the gods is waning, Ankhe, I can feel it."

  Ankhesenamen sat in silence in the bright sunshine by the fishpond in the palace of Men-nefer, the sound of songbirds loud in the trees and the rich scent of flowers heavy in the air. She thought about her husband's words and fought the searing pain in her heart. "You think the next one...?" she whispered.

  "Yes, I am certain of it. I shall instruct the priests of every temple in the Two Kingdoms to offer up prayers and burn more incense than has ever been burnt before. Our supplications shall be so loud in the ears of the gods that they cannot ignore us. Ankhe, they will grant our plea. You'll see."

  That had been two weeks ago, yet the queen still put off visiting the king in his chambers or inviting him to her bed. The priests dinned the heavens with their prayers and the blue smoke of sacrifice hung like a cloud over the land but the queen waited, as if afraid to test the gods. Tutankhamen waited patiently too, availing himself of a concubine when his blood grew hot. None of these lesser women mattered; he had love only for his Ankhe. They served only to keep the king's temper sweet.

  Tutankhamen's mind was jolted back to the present as one of the carriers of the god's bark stumbled. He clutched Heru's carved waist and twisted to look back at the Medjay running behind the mob. Suddenly, he had had enough of the wild celebrations and sought solitude once more.

  "Wait, good people of Men-nefer," he called. "It is time to let me down and for you to return to your rejoicing."

  "No, no," they cried. "You are Heru and we are your worshipers."

  "Then worship me in feasting and drinking, good people. Take me to the palace and the kitchens shall be opened to you."

  A great cheer arose and amid great confusion, the mob reversed its course, starting back toward the palace. The Medjay dived into the crowd, cudgels rising and falling, and beat the people away from the god's bark, wresting the poles from the weary carriers. With shouts of triumph, the Medjay took control and ran through the streets, rejoicing that they had rescued the king. They arrived at the palace and the guards ran out, their spears leveled, to drive back the singing and shouting mob. The king raised himself high in the bark, balancing with his hand on Heru's falcon-shaped head and shouted for silence.

  "Go round to the rear of the palace. I will have food and beer sent out that you may properly celebrate this joyous day."

  The crowd divided and poured around the walls, heading for the barred gates at the back. Tutankhamen jumped down and signaled for the god's bark to be returned to his temple in the city.

  "Send word to the Overseer of the Kitchens," he said as he started up the palace steps. "I want bread, vegetables and beer sent out to all who ask. If there is not enough, issue measures of grain or copper tokens that may be redeemed for bread tomorrow." The messengers hurried off and the king slipped into the cool, shaded hallways of the palace and removed his double crown. Handing it to the waiting Keeper of the Crowns, he beckoned to his Chamberlain, Meres.

  "Where is the queen?"

  "Your majesty,
the queen is in the women's quarters." The Chamberlain paused delicately before saying; "Shall I inform her majesty of your presence?" It was a difficult thing to suggest the queen be sent for, even when the king wanted her.

  Tutankhamen shook his head. "Tell her I will attend on her presently. But first, where is the Tjaty?"

  "I believe he is in the Hall of Justice, your majesty. Shall I send for him?" Meres was on safer ground here.

  "Yes, have him come to the Northern verandah, and have food and drink sent there too."

  "Yes your majesty." Meres bowed and as the king walked off, snapped his fingers and rapped out a string of orders, sending messengers scurrying. Rather than send a servant, He walked to the Hall of Justice himself to announce the King's pleasure to the Tjaty. While a messenger would suffice, it never hurt to be seen to be polite and honour the man's rank.

  The Tjaty was dealing with the last of the morning's business when Meres slipped through the doors into the packed Hall. Despite the passing of the years and the king's growing maturity, he still showed a marked reluctance to involve himself in the day to day business of the Kingdoms. Meres sent a minor scribe over to inform the Overseer of Scribes of his presence, knowing he would in turn inform the Tjaty. He watched the progression of the message with a half smile until the Tjaty raised his head and stared toward him. Meres bowed but said nothing--it was not needed. The Tjaty knew that Meres would not disturb the proceedings lightly.

  A few minutes later, the Tjaty came across while the scribes were busy transcribing some documents. "You wanted to see me, Meres?"

  The Chamberlain bowed. "My lord Tjaty, the king requests your presence on the Northern verandah."

  "Now?"

  Meres coughed discreetly. "His majesty did not exactly stipulate a time..." He left the statement hanging in the air between them.

  "Very well. I shall be there immediately." The Tjaty stalked back to the Overseer of Scribes and offered some quick instructions. "This session of the Court of Justice is terminated," he announced to the assembly.

  Without seeming to hurry, the Tjaty marched back to Meres and past him, out into the hallway. Meres followed quickly and accompanied the Tjaty to the Northern verandah, bowing and withdrawing as they reached the doors.

  The king turned from a contemplation of the distant vista of the sand plateau and its great pointed stone monuments to greet the Tjaty. "Ah, Lord Horemheb, please," he gestured toward the table, "Will you eat with me?"

  "You do me much honour, your majesty." Horemheb bowed to the young king and selected some fruit from the table, walking over to stand near him at the edge of the verandah.

  "Do not stand on ceremony, Horemheb. You may eat as we talk." The king waited until the Tjaty bit into a fig before pointing to the north, where the tips of the pyramidal monuments with their granite benbenetu shone in the bright sunlight. "How old are they, Horemheb?"

  The Tjaty swallowed quickly. "It is said they are a thousand years old, your majesty."

  "A thousand years? It is hard to imagine a thousand years. I have only been king for nine."

  "Your majesty will, I'm sure, be king for many more years to come."

  "And how will I be remembered when I am dead a thousand years? I have built no monuments like that. Will my temples last as long?"

  "That is with the gods, your majesty, but fame can rest on deeds as well as monuments."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You brought Kemet back to the worship of all gods after the heresy of your predecessors. Surely that deed will resound through the ages?"

  Tutankhamen mused on this idea for a while. "Why do you say 'predecessors'? Surely it was only Akhenaten."

  "Smenkhkare as well, your majesty."

  "Really? I did not know that."

  "Tjaty Ay informs me that is the case."

  "Ah...Tjaty Ay." The king fell silent again, staring out over the city toward the distant tips of the stone mers. "What do you think of Ay, Lord Horemheb?"

  Horemheb paused, gathering his thoughts. Was this an opportunity or a trap? "He is an able governor, your majesty," he said slowly, "And he has had his hands on the reins of state for many years."

  "And on my throat," Tutankhamen muttered. He continued aloud, for Horemheb's ears. "He is growing old, is he not?"

  "Indeed, your majesty, over seventy summers in all. He has outlived most men of his time."

  "He should retire."

  Horemheb said nothing.

  "But how to make him retire?"

  "Your majesty?" Horemheb murmured, injecting sufficient interrogation into the phrase to evoke an answer if the king was so inclined.

  "I have no wish to end up like my predecessor, my brother Smenkhkare."

  "Sir?"

  "I have heard rumours, Horemheb, and I do not doubt there is some truth to them. What have you heard, Horemheb? You were in his counsel in those days."

  "I do not listen to gossip, your majesty."

  "Do not think to protect him, Horemheb," Tutankhamen said sharply. "I will have the truth of this." When Horemheb was silent, he asked again, quietly but firmly. "Did Ay have a hand in killing Smenkhkare?"

  "Smenkhkare is not dead."

  "What? Are you sure? Where is he then? What is he doing?"

  "I am sure, your majesty. He is deep in Nubia. Ay sent me south five years ago to finish what he started, but I could not."

  "So he did try and kill him." Tutankhamen turned to look into the old Tjaty's eyes. "Will he try and kill me as well if he cannot control me?"

  "Your majesty, I am sure Ay is your loyal servant," Horemheb said, implying by his stress on the words that there was considerable doubt. "Besides, the Tjaty of the South does not control you."

  "No, nor does the Tjaty of the North," the king said with a smile. "I was wise to promote you to Tjaty four years ago. You have proved a balance for the ambitions of Ay, lord Horemheb, and I would reward your loyalty further."

  "I am honoured by your trust, your majesty. Your praise is reward enough."

  Tutankhamen laughed. "Nonsense. Gold is worth more than kind words and position more than praise. I am going to make you Tjaty over all of Kemet. What do you say to that?"

  Horemheb felt his heart leap. The king was still without an heir and this was one step closer to the throne..."And what of Ay?"

  "His days are over. He will retire."

  "He may not want to, your majesty."

  "He will have no choice."

  Horemheb decided to stay silent once more.

  "What forces does Ay have at his disposal?"

  "The Amun legion in the city itself, smaller groups in the cities of Djeba, Nekhen, Asna, Behdet and Iunet--together another legion perhaps. Detachments of Medjay, the guards of the Great Valley."

  "Who are they loyal to?"

  "The men will be loyal to you, your majesty--providing they know it is you who commands them. The officers will obey Ay and follow him blindly through greed or fear."

  "Who commands the legions?"

  "Psenamy leads the Amun legion, Nakhtmin has overall command."

  "How do you rate their generals?"

  "Psenamy is incompetent but Nakhtmin is cunning and ruthless. Neither is a match for me at the head of trained legions."

  Tutankhamen nodded and clapped his hands together, his face set in a determined frown. "Lord Horemheb, you will gather me an army sufficient for my needs from the northern borders and from conscripts. In three months we march on Waset. I will oust Ay, by force if necessary, and rule once more from the city of Amun. You will, once Ay is removed, return to Men-nefer and act as Tjaty over all of Kemet from here."

  "I hear and obey your majesty." Horemheb bowed deeply. "I beg your leave to withdraw so I may start fulfilling your wishes."

  Tutankhamen nodded. "You have my permission."

  Horemheb hurried out and immediately called his deputies to him, all former army officers that had caught his eye during his military years, but none of them so senior that their
loss to the army would jeopardise the safety of Kemet's borders. He stripped the city legion of most of its men and sent them off in groups to scour the countryside for men who had served before. Scribes took down letters requesting stores, men and arms from the northern cities and he wrote one himself.

  "To Paramessu, son of Seti, General of all the Armies of Kemet and Governor of the Forts of the way of Heru--greetings from Horemheb, Tjaty of the Northern Kingdom.

  The day has come at last, old friend. The king plans to move against Ay and I am to lead his army south. Without weakening the northern army too much, detach two legions, Heru and Re, and sent them south to the city of Iunu. I have decided to make the plains there my training ground. I am also conscripting men from the towns and villages to form the Khent-abt legion and will lead an army of six thousand against Ay.

  Be circumspect and burn this letter. Tell your commanders only that the legions are to be rested in turns. May the gods be with you, my friend. At long last, our beloved Kemet will emerge from the darkness. Horemheb."

  He sealed the letter carefully and gave it into the hands of a trusted messenger. Dismissing the rest of his staff, the Tjaty went to his rooms and sat in his most comfortable chair, with a cup of watered wine, to consider the future and the options before him.

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  Chapter Twenty-Five

  To the south and west of the region known as 'Between the River' lies a vast grass plain, where the wind from the west combines with the sunlight to create ripples of light and dark on the long grass. Seasons are more distinct here than along the banks of Iteru, for there it seldom rains. In this land of grass there are two seasons, a long dry summer and a short wet winter when the rains turn the plains into a vast shallow lake before it drains away to the east into the valley of the Great River. As the sun strengthens after the rains, an army invades the plains, slow-moving and inexorable, cutting a swathe through the fresh green blades sprouting on the rejuvenated earth. This army is composed of millions of beasts, large and small, great ox-like animals and dainty striped horses, huge boulders of gray flesh with voices that shatter the air, and bounding, horned antelopes that gladden the heart just to watch them.