The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  Predators follow the herds, tawny cats and spotted long-legged wraiths that course the plains like land-bound falcons, dogs of various forms, some familiar, some strange, and a host of smaller beasts that fly or run or hop through the long grass, feeding or being fed upon.

  Men live here too, tending herds of their cattle, and following the slow migration of wild animals. They view the army with mixed emotions each year, for the beasts eat the grass upon which their herds depend, but they also provide an inexhaustible source of meat and hides. They are nomads, having no fixed abodes beyond what they can construct from the scrubby trees that dot the plain and a thatch of drying grass. When their cattle have stripped the ground bare, they move on, leaving their homes with as little emotion as one would a broken pot.

  Other men came to the plains, but these were men who did not follow the seasons, harvesting the spring growth and fostering their cattle. Instead, they preyed on the people who used the plains, setting up great towns of mud brick and thatched wood. They were not a people at peace within themselves, but vied for position and wealth with others around them. One group, paler of complexion, dominated the others though they were vastly outnumbered. These ones, known as Kemetu, spread themselves thinly, and were a mere leavening amid the barley dough of the native inhabitants.

  The dough was made up of three tribes, two small and full of self-importance, a third much larger and smoldering with resentment. The minor tribes were the T'uqa and the Q'ema, drawn south with the Kemetu conquerors having been promised riches by the Kemetu king. The largest tribe was the Suri, once dominant in the south until the tiny Kemetu force, together with the small tribes, shockingly smashed their army in a battle. Since then, the Suri leaders had licked their wounds and looked for a means to reverse this upset. That likelihood was looking more and more remote as time went on, however, as the Kemetu forced limited engagements with their maddeningly superior force and one by one, removed the Suri leaders who disagreed with their king.

  Now, nearly four years after that initial battle, the hundred Kemetu men controlled an army of nearly twenty thousand Nubians. They controlled them and in a continuing series of great training exercises, pushed them to their limits. Only two men among that hundred were unable to push themselves to the limits of physical endurance--two men crippled by the teeth of a great predator nearly ten years before. Instead, they sat on a low hill and watched as companies of men raced across the open plains, turned and swirled like flocks of birds, pausing to gather themselves before plunging on their massed fellows like a flight of falcons.

  "You have done it, Djeser," one bearded man said to the other. Both were dressed simply in plain linen kilts, without any adornment or hint of gold to show their rank. To the undiscerning observer, the two men did not look at all like a crowned and anointed king of Kemet and his loyal Tjaty. On closer examination, they exuded that casual power and confidence that arises from a life of privilege based on birth, overlain with the hardness that comes from survival in a hostile environment. Despite their similarity, however, the one addressed as Djeser subtly dominated the other man.

  "We have done it, Menkure. I could never have accomplished this alone."

  "When do we reclaim your kingdom then, Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare?"

  Smenkhkare thought, absentmindedly watching the movements of the men below him. "It will have to be soon. Having trained your hawk you must fly him or he will spoil. This great army of mine is well trained, but unless I give them an enemy worthy of their skills, they will decay."

  "There are tribes as yet unconquered to the south and west. We could exercise our army against them...maybe even increase it."

  "I am sure our friends the Suri would welcome a chance to plunder more cattle, but it leads us further from Kemet. I think we should be getting ready to return now."

  "The rains are nearly upon us and in Kemet it will be the Inundation. That is not a good time to be fighting a war."

  "The Flood could speed our passage down Iteru."

  Menkure laughed, totally at ease with his king. "Where would you get the boats, Djeser? This is no rag-tag company you have now. It is one of the greatest ever led against the enemies of Kemet."

  Smenkhkare scowled briefly before shaking his head with a rueful grin. "Just as well I have you to remember these things. So, I have a great army--is it enough? Enumerate our enemies, Tjaty."

  "Very well, majesty." Menkure frowned and started ticking off places and people on his fingers. "First and foremost are Horemheb, his prot�g� Paramessu and the Northern Army. Together with the garrisons of the Forts of Heru they will total nearly as many men as we have, well trained and battle hardened. The good news is that they will not be able to bring more than half against us for fear of the Hittites taking advantage of the weakened borders."

  "Who else is there?"

  "We know Ay will be in Waset with the Amun legion, probably commanded by Psenamy..."

  "That fool?"

  "Indeed, majesty, unless he has been replaced by somebody more competent. Either way, there will be another legion spread out through nearby cities. Lastly, there is Penno in Sehotep-Neteru with another legion. If they are all brought together, we will outnumber them four to three. Factor in training and generalship and the forces are nearly equal."

  "Surely our new tactics must count for something?"

  "Against native tribesmen and raw conscripts, certainly. Against the Waset and Nubian legions, probably. Against seasoned troops of the northern army..." Menkure shrugged. "Who knows?"

  "Then how can we give ourselves the advantage?"

  "Normally, by choosing the time and place of battle. This time, however, it is where we fought before, under the walls of Waset, and the enemy knows this, giving them the advantage."

  "You must have a plan, Menkure, I have never known you to be without one."

  "I have one, majesty." Menkure stopped to collect his thoughts. He got up and started pacing up and down in front of his king, his limp noticeable but no longer crippling after many years. "The obvious plan is to head back into Kemet via the Great River, basically the way we came. Iteru has always been the road by which armies move. This plan has the advantage of meeting the Nubian legion alone and demolishing it before moving down to Waset and the main attack. On the face of it, it puts the northern army as far away as possible and allows us to invest Waset with little of our strength dissipated." He rounded on the king and stood with his fists balled on his hips, head thrust forward belligerently. "I dismiss this plan utterly."

  "Why? It sounds perfect."

  "Because as soon as we arrived in Kush at the head of a large army, word would be sent north to warn every fort, garrison and city along the way. We would still demolish the Nubian legion but we would be fighting every pace of the way to Waset, forced into unavoidable delays. When we got there we would find Horemheb and the northern army waiting for us and we would be crushed."

  "Then how? As you say, Iteru is the way to Kemet--either the river or the roads that run alongside it."

  "There is another," Menkure said with a smug look. "But I doubt anyone has ever thought of it." He stood and looked at Smenkhkare as if waiting for him to guess.

  The king scratched his bearded face. "Well, unless you mean to emulate the gods and fly us to Waset, I cannot guess the way."

  "By the temple at Setweh."

  "The oasis in the western desert? How can that be a road?"

  "You should have spent more time talking to the merchants of Waset when you were king, Djeser."

  "I did when I was a boy," Smenkhkare scowled. "I often roamed the city with my sister. Later, she befriended other merchants. If you want somebody knowledgeable about trading, see her."

  "The Lady Beketaten--Scarab? I did not know that." Menkure said in surprise. He whirled and scanned the plain, suddenly pointing. "There she is, Djeser. Let us call her to us. She may know things about the route that even I do not."

  Smenkhkare nodded his assent and Menkure su
mmoned a messenger, instructing him. They watched as the man bounded down the hill then set off at a rapid pace through the long grass, intercepting a company of tribesmen with two paler figures in the van. After a few moments, one of the figures detached from the company and raced toward them, outdistancing the returning messenger. Minutes later, Scarab, ran up and sketched a salute to her brother the king.

  "You wanted me, brother?" Scarab grinned, her chest heaving as she recovered from the dash across the plain. "Is it important? There are some exercises I want to put my men through."

  Menkure eyed the young woman appreciatively, from her flowing red-brown hair now matted with sweat, strong straight limbs and clear skin covering muscle that accentuated her womanhood rather than detracting from it. She wore a simple military kilt, a linen headdress and a band of coloured cloth that bound her full breasts firmly. Despite himself, he felt a surge of lust toward her. "It is important. You may have knowledge that could help us, Scarab."

  Scarab contemplated the bearded and scarred man standing beside her brother. He had totally replaced her in her brother's thoughts since Ay's assassination attempt that had so nearly claimed both their lives. She could not fault his loyalty but often felt uneasy around him. Today she felt the prickle of his gaze across her body and withdrew into aloofness. "Of course I will help if I can, Lord Menkure. What is it you want to know?"

  "Sister, remember when we used to go into the city as children?" Smenkhkare asked. "Can you remember much of what you saw and heard?"

  Scarab lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "That was a long time ago. I can remember faces and names, but not everything they told us." She saw the look of disappointment on her brother's face and sought to lessen the blow. "There was so much to learn and I spent much time gazing at my wonderful brother."

  "What about later, when you went without your brother?" Menkure's tone was harsh and broke in on pleasant memories.

  "As you say, Lord Menkure, I was older, I remember more."

  "What can you remember of Setweh?"

  "The temple in the western desert? Why?"

  "What can you remember?"

  "I...I have heard the name...but I cannot recall..."

  Menkure sighed. "It was a gnat's chance. Never mind, my own memories will no doubt suffice."

  "Enough to pin all our hopes on?" Smenkhkare asked. "It may be crucial."

  Menkure smiled wryly. "Then let us see. The route from Waset is across the river and runs northwest to the Kharga Oasis which is about a day's travel, then west to Sitweh, another two days. The roads are good and..."

  "And if you relied on that information, you and your men would be dead," Scarab interrupted. "I remember, there was an old glass blower called Ahhotep and his...his apprentice...no, he adopted him. His son, Nakht. I remember now, it was just before the crocodile, brother, and I saw him in the city. He had made a beautiful blue glass cup for you."

  "I remember it," Smenkhkare nodded. "Fine workmanship and a really deep blue."

  "I talked with Ahhotep later, just before he died," Scarab continued. "And he told me how he made the blue colour by adding a pink powder..."

  "Pink?"

  "Please, majesty, ask later," Menkure murmured. "Go on, Scarab."

  "The powder came from a dry salt pan near the oasis half a day north of the Setweh temple. They dig it out of the ground and put it in sacks before..."

  "Did he say anything about the road?"

  "Is that what you want to know? You take the boat across the river to Iuny and follow Iteru south to Ta-senet before taking the inland route a little south of west for about five days to the Kharga Oasis. Then the track, for you cannot call it a road, leads a little north of west about seven days to the Setweh Oasis. The roads are not good and there is no water between the oases." Scarab looked from Menkure to her brother and back again. "Why do you want to know? There is nothing at Setweh for us is there?"

  "Menkure seems to think there is," Smenkhkare observed. "Perhaps he will now enlighten us."

  "My pleasure, your majesty." Menkure bowed and grinned. He started his explanation, watching their faces, delighted as incredulity turned to excitement.

  The army started northward a month later, a great migration of men and cattle that mirrored the streams of wild animals that wound like rivers across the grassy plains every spring. The king, and his handful of loyal Kemetu, was returning to reclaim a kingdom, home, and family; but for the majority of men on the trek, plunder was the prime reason. The Suri tribe, and to a lesser extent the Q'ema and Tu'qa, would be leaving their ancestral lands, villages and families, with no assurance that they would ever see them again. So for the first few months, whole tribes were on the move, thousands of women and children, together with vast herds of cattle and goats. The women were laden with the accoutrements of home life, bundles of clothes upon their backs, pots balanced on heads and arms clutching other possessions or infants. The whole army of humans and animals moved at the pace of the slowest, barely five thousand paces in a day, and the king and his officers chafed at the delay.

  "It will take us a year at this rate," Smenkhkare growled. "We should leave the women and cattle behind."

  "With respect, your majesty, we cannot do that," Kashta said. "The tribes would mutiny and refuse to go."

  "There is another problem with this enforced slowness," Menkure added. "We have a well trained army at the moment, but if we dawdle along for a year we'll just be a rabble, Discipline is crumbling already, and we've only been traveling ten days."

  "So there is nothing for it," the king said. "We must cut loose and leave the baggage behind."

  "There might be an alternative, your majesty," Shabaqo said. "The women and cattle must move slowly, being limited by the slowest element, but what is to prevent the armed men from traveling at whatever rate they want?"

  Menkure sighed impatiently. "That is no solution. We race on ahead and arrive months before the rest. Then we have to sit around waiting with discipline disintegrating again. Unless you'd have us running round in circles?"

  "That is not what I meant," Shabaqo said in an aggrieved tone. "I meant leave the column and attack some of the tribes hereabout. It would keep the men's edges sharp and we could practice some of our plans."

  "I like it," Smenkhkare said, brightening visibly. "But are there any tribes around here?"

  Kasako, the Suri chieftain, nodded. "Many small ones, but only three big ones--the Selaim to the east, the Kerma to the northwest, and the Senka beyond them."

  "Are any of them worthy foes?" Kashta asked.

  "As long as they are not too worthy," Menkure grumbled. "I have no wish to blunt our weapon on unimportant tribes."

  Kasako scowled. "They are women, and we shall eat them up."

  "You know this for a fact?" Menkure asked. "Have the Suri fought against them?"

  "The Selaim and Kerma are beneath our dignity," Kasako said, his nose in the air. "I would not lend them the dignity of an attack now, except they will provide sport and allow the young men to wet their spears."

  "And the Senka?" Menkure pressed.

  The Suri chieftain appeared to have bitten into an unripe fruit. He scowled and looked away. "They are treacherous snakes." He looked away from the assembled officers, though his eyes rested momentarily on Scarab's body, the tip of his tongue moistening his upper lip. "In my grandfather's day, the Senka were but a clan of the Suri. They paid their tribute along with all the other clans and offered up a levy of young men for the army and young women for the chief's pleasure. There was a plague one year and several of my grandfather's women died, so he sought others from the clans as was his right. Clan chief Taharqa of the Senka refused to hand over his only daughter and when my uncle was sent to collect the girl, he murdered him and fled with his clan and the cattle entrusted to him. Cattle that were by right the property of the Chief of the Suri. Since then, we have been at war. Every year, the bravest of our young men raid the traitor's lands, killing and carrying off his women and c
attle."

  "So you'd welcome a chance to attack him in force?" Menkure asked.

  "I will slaughter every man and child, sparing only the young women that they might share my bed mat," Kasako said, his eyes glittering as he turned to stare at the king's sister again.

  "I would be wary taking a woman to my bed under such circumstances," Scarab said clearly into the silence after the chief's statement. "If any man took me like that, he would find my knife in his throat."

  Kasako glared at Scarab, his anger warring with his desire. "Lord King," he complained. "Am I to suffer such an insult? Can you not control your women?"

  Smenkhkare raised a hand to cut off Scarab's angry retort. "My sister is her own woman, Chief Kasako. In the land of Kemet, a woman may speak her mind and if a man takes offence, he may seek legal redress by taking it to the courts or even to the king. In my view, my sister merely made an observation of her preferences rather than implying a criticism of another person's behavior." He looked at Scarab impassively. "Did you mean to insult Chief Kasako?"

  Scarab controlled her rising anger and swallowed. "No, my lord king. If my words were interpreted thus, I ask your pardon."

  Smenkhkare nodded, hiding a smile as he noted Scarab's apology had been to him rather than to the chief. "Then let no more be said on the matter."

  The chief ground his teeth but made the best of it, excusing himself and stalking off shortly after. With him went a few of his sub-chiefs that had accompanied him. As soon as they were gone, Menkure allowed himself a scowl.

  "That was not well done," he said. "I dislike Kasako as much as anyone, but we must remember he leads nearly three-quarters of our army. If he feels insulted, he may decide to quit our enterprise."

  "Let him try," Shabaqo growled. "I'll call him out in single combat and send him westward without benefit of burial."

  "You will do nothing precipitate," Menkure admonished. "I will talk to him, remind him of the riches that await the successful conclusion of our war. Perhaps we could even promise him marriage to a noble lady."