The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  Huni and Sepi reverently took the king's body and walked into the tunnel with it, Khu and Hapu following with the Ka statue. The others followed, Aanen still muttering prayers. In the treasure chamber, the body of Smenkhkare was laid in its carved coffin and after a few moments the lid was lowered, closing off the golden face of the king from the eyes of all but the gods. It took four men to wrestle the coffin within its shrine. Aanen bound the handles with rope and sealed them with a lump of clay, imprinting in it the seal of the priests of Amun.

  "It is accomplished," Aanen said softly.

  Everyone withdrew, Scarab only after laying a hand on the carvings of the shrine and murmuring a last farewell. They left the oil lamps burning in the tomb and at the entrance, waited while Neb and Pamont exercised long unused masonry skills, sealing the chamber with prepared bricks and fresh mortar. The passage was blocked again at the top of the tunnel and everyone helped carry rocks and rubble to fill the cleft. Scarab pronounced herself satisfied as light crept once more over the lip of the eastern hills.

  "We should go before full light," she said, starting toward the edge of the ledge.

  "There is one more thing to be accomplished before we go," Aanen said, "And as we cannot use the Great Temple of Amun in Waset, it must be done here, before the old king's tomb."

  Scarab turned and saw all the men on their knees in the dust. "What is this?"

  Aanen smiled. "The gods spoke to me, there within the tomb of the dead king. Smenkhkare also spoke, his voice beating like wings inside my head. He told me, 'There is but one in the land who is of the blood of Nebmaetre, my sister Scarab. Anoint her king that she may purge the land of pretenders to the throne.'"

  Scarab paled and took a step back. "You are joking," she said in a flat voice. "I don't know why you would say such a thing..."

  "The gods command it. Would you disobey them?"

  "No, of course not, but I cannot be king." Scarab laughed nervously. "There is no-one who could consecrate me, you need the Hem-Netjer of Amun to do that."

  "Amenemhet is dead," Aanen replied. "By natural succession I am now Hem-Netjer of Amun. The gods have spoken. You will obey or be cast aside."

  "If...if that is truly what the gods desire, I am their hand-maiden."

  "We do not need the panoply and ceremony of an official coronation, such as would take place in a temple. That is so that the people can see the gods accepting their new king. Here," Aanen gestured toward the kneeling men, "We all know that you are blessed by the gods. You have told me that you follow the Nine of Iunu, and that is good, for Kemet will need to be healed by a return to the traditional gods. But the Nine are not enough--you must not forsake the others, especially Re who blesses all men, and Amun, titular god of your royal family. Do you bow down before all the gods of Kemet?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I name you Heru, Maatka-atumre, Truth is the Ka of AtumRe; I name you Nebty, Neferheput segeretawy, She of the Good Laws, Who pacifies the Two Lands; I name you Heru Nebu, Wetjetkhau sehotep neteru, She who wears the crown and satisfies the gods; I name you Nesut-byt, Neferkheperu, Beautiful of Forms; I name you Khnumt-Atum Scarab, Scarab who is Joined to the Atum."

  Aanen finished naming the five titles of the enthroned king, then removed the tall red and white double crown, the Deshret and Hedjet, from a sack and advancing on Scarab, placed it reverently on her head. He placed the crook and flail in her hands and with some difficulty, knelt in the dust at her feet. "Neferkheperu Khnumt-Atum Scarab, Lady of the Two Lands; may you live a million years. Health and prosperity!"

  The other kneeling men shouted out "Scarab! Health and prosperity!" The echoes rolled down the narrow ravine, spreading out in the dawn light, rolling over sand and scrub, as if the earth itself sang her praises.

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  Chapter Thirty-Six

  "I've found them!" Nakhtmin threw the doors of his father's chambers wide and burst in, scattering servants and scribes. Ay sat at a low table near the window, taking advantage of a gentle cooling breeze from the river, sorting through a pile of papers. He looked up in annoyance at the disturbance.

  "What are you talking about?" he snapped.

  "The fugitives. Scarab and the others. They have been seen."

  "Where? No, wait." Ay tersely directed everyone in the room to leave with the exception of the hulking form of his steward Mentopher, who sat in one corner talking idly to a young servant girl. Mentopher reluctantly let the girl go and ambled over to his master. "Alright," Ay said as the door closed behind the last servant, "You have something at last? Where?"

  "Right here in Waset, two nights ago."

  "Two nights? And you wait until now to tell me?"

  "I only found out three hours ago myself. I was looking through Medjay reports and I came across one from a patrol near the waterfront. Four men and a woman carrying a wicker basket with a wrapped body..."

  "And despite knowing we were looking for just such a thing, they let them go?" Ay asked incredulously. "Have the man dismissed. I want no such incompetents working for me."

  "Of course, but in his defense, he did question them and examine the body. It was of a young man from a poor noble family who had died on a visit to Waset. They had been sent to pick up the body from the North Dock House of the Dead. The officer checked the sigil on the basket. It was North Dock."

  "Hardly the place you'd expect to use for the preparation of a king," Ay mused. "What made you suspect something?"

  "Nothing in the report except for the timing. It was sixty-seven days after his death. If I was burying a king after the regulation seventy days, I'd be picking up his body around then. So I interviewed the officer and his men, asking them for descriptions. Three of the men with the body were soldiers but the fourth was a young man answering the description of Khu, one of the fugitives. The woman was the clincher--young, good looking--and though she wore a head-covering, one of the men thinks her hair was reddish."

  "Scarab."

  "Yes. They were loading the body into a boat."

  Ay got up and stood at the window looking out at the river. "Three days ago. Somewhere, they are burying the body of Smenkhkare. I swore to burn his body, deny him all hope of life. Well, it's not too late if we can find the tomb." He turned and looked at his adopted son. "Which way did they go? Did the patrol see?"

  "No, but I have a report of a small boat moving south under sail just after dawn."

  "Well, that will be useful," Ay sneered. "We only have half of Kemet to search then."

  "Uh, my lord..." Mentopher coughed discreetly and waited for permission to speak. When Ay nodded, he continued. "Unless they is going to bury him close to the river, they has to go overland to the tomb."

  "Yes, of course. What of it?"

  "They can't of sailed too far if they has to carry the body by land. Maybe two days?"

  "Ta-senet ," Nakhtmin ventured. "Or Behdet."

  "Won't be a town--too many people, and it has to be the western desert," Mentopher added.

  "So they can't bury him in moist farmland," Nakhtmin continued. "They need sand or rock--the western cliffs."

  Ay nodded. "Yes, good. And there are caves in the Ta-senet region." He shuffled to the table and grabbed a piece of papyrus, scribbling a few words on it. "Mentopher, take this to Psenamy at the barracks. I want a sweep of the river south and patrols along each bank."

  "That will take days," Nakhtmin objected. "And for all we know, they will disappear into the Nubian wilderness after the burial. The gods know there is nothing for them in Kemet any longer."

  "There is little else we can do. Mentopher, see it gets done. Nakhtmin, you will go upriver yourself. Keep me appraised of the situation." Ay sat down at the table again as Mentopher left the room. He sighed and shuffled his papers again. "There is such a lot to do, organizing a funeral and running the country at the same time. Then there is the problem of Queen Ankhesenamen..."

  Nakhtmin nodded, not really interested in the
woman but giving the appearance for his father's sake.

  "One last thing before you go. Any word on Horemheb?"

  "Nothing. I have men at Ta-senet , Kharga and Setweh. They will send word immediately he is sighted."

  "Giving us how much warning? Ten days perhaps." Ay smiled. "It is enough. I bury Tutankhamen in five days. I will open the king's mouth myself and reveal the king's trust in me by reading his will publicly on the sixth day. Three days later I will be crowned king and not even Horemheb would dare oppose me."

  "And the Queen?"

  "For now she is a queen, but in ten days she will be just a woman."

  "Surely not just a woman. As wife and queen of even a dead king she has power. If she should marry a powerful man..."

  "Then I would have a rival. However, I will render her helpless by marrying her myself."

  "I thought you did not want to. She is your grand-daughter after all."

  "It will be for form's sake only. I have no interest in sleeping with her. After a year or two I will put her away or marry her to you."

  "To me?"

  "Yes. You do not want her? She is beautiful enough--the daughter of Nefertiti. I might remind you that as grand-daughter of the reigning king she would be a suitable match for anyone, even the adopted son of the king."

  "And heir. I am your heir too."

  "Of course. Have I not said it? Now go and find me the body of the rebel king that I might have my vengeance."

  Nakhtmin took his leave of his father and went to his own rooms to prepare for the voyage south. He did not think it would be particularly arduous, but it was better to be prepared. Before he left the palace, he visited the Chief Scribe and obtained a copy of a map of the river between Waset and Abu. There was little detail to the river itself as the sandbanks and islands kept changing, but he would trust navigation to the boat master. What he was more interested in were the cliffs on the western bank. Despite his father's idea that the caves of Ta-senet would be a good burial site, Nakhtmin did not believe it. The cave-riddled cliffs were too close to human habitation and no-one could hope to arrange a clandestine funeral without being seen. He would send men to investigate, of course, one did not ignore the wishes of a man about to become the king.

  The same could be said of the cliffs between Waset and Ta-senet . There were some possibilities, but again, the farmland pressed too close to the cliffs for safety. Nakhtmin's fingers pored over the lines on the map, gradually moving south as he eliminated sites. After many minutes, he frowned in exasperation. Above Behdet, the cliffs became much lower and less likely to harbour caves, the western desert encroaching more closely on the river as dunes of sand and great sweeps of rock and scrub. Could they have doubled back and sought a tomb within the Valley of Burial itself? No, the Medjay guards would see them. North, then? Perhaps the boat sighted had not been the fugitives. Or did they go deep into the western desert? Or even the east bank? West was customary but hadn't the Heretic Akhenaten built tombs on the east bank near his city of Akhet-Aten? Had they gone there to use one of the unused tombs? He groaned and put his head in his hands. There were too many possibilities. Best just to go with the first idea and hope that the gods would smile.

  An hour later, Nakhtmin was on one of a flotilla of boats forging slowly upriver. He sat at the prow of the lead boat enjoying the shade of a small awning and the intermittent spray thrown up as they crossed the shallower water of one of the many shifting shoals. Behind him, oarsmen strained to send the boats upriver as fast as possible, outdistancing the army patrols casting along each side of the river, searching for any sign of the fugitives or their boat.

  They forged on through the night, though more slowly, the boats of the flotilla attempting to remain in line abreast across the current to prevent a small boat slipping past. As a rule, any small boat out on the river at night was suspect, for most trade took place in daylight hours. The river could be a dangerous place at night. They stopped at Ta-senet to allow the army patrols to catch up and to replenish stocks of food, giving the crews of oarsmen a brief respite.

  To the south of Ta-senet are extensive reed beds where the river widens over a stretch of five miles or so. The water flows more sluggishly and the river and its banks abound with wildlife. Lush meadows line the banks and farmers bring livestock here to graze, though since the events of the last three months, the meadows are littered with the bones of cattle and goats. Hunters still stalk the reed beds, on foot or in small boats, hunting wild fowl with bow and arrow. Fishermen sweep the edges of the beds, vying with the white egrets and great blue herons for the silver fish that dart in the shallows.

  There were many small boats in and around the reed beds and Nakhtmin's boats were kept busy for each one had to be intercepted and checked out. Twice a boat slipped through the line and was chased down, the oarsmen bending their backs to the task as they overhauled the fleeing boats. Some of the hunters were deep in the reed beds, out of sight of Nakhtmin's boats, and here the army patrols came into play. A little inland, a spear throw or two on the eastern bank, was a small ridge of rock that stood no higher than one of the great statues of Nebmaetre Amenhotep back at Waset. A man on the ridge had a commanding view of the reeds and signaled, by the waving of pennants, whenever a boat was spotted.

  The river narrowed again and the reed beds thinned, the water moving faster. Dusk was falling, casting long shadows of the western cliffs over farmland and river when the army lookout signaled once more. Nakhtmin's boat was closest to the eastern shore and turned to investigate. Normally, a hunter would exhibit anger at being disturbed, followed by frightened servility as he realised the identity of the boatmen. This boat, approached at dusk, took them by surprise. A flight of arrows, too many to be sent by a single hunter, threw Nakhtmin's boat into disarray. Two men died on the spot, transfixed, and another fell overboard, floundering in the water and screaming. Then people erupted from the reeds, and a small boat slipped out into the river channel, racing with the current into the growing shadows. Nakhtmin's men, and those from another boat, leaped overboard and started splashing through the water after the other fugitives who split up and fled in different directions.

  "Take them alive!" Nakhtmin yelled. He jumped into the waist-deep water and half swum, half waded ashore.

  Figures moved ghost-like through the reeds, accompanied by noise but only fleeting glimpses. Nakhtmin saw something pale duck down behind a bush at the edge of the water and he drew his sword, advancing on it cautiously. It moved, and he saw it was an old man, striving to remain hidden behind the vegetation.

  "You there, old man, come out."

  The man stood up slowly and edged away, trying to keep the shrub between him and Nakhtmin. The general swore and dashed after the old man, catching him within a few paces and grabbing him, swinging him round and holding the sword to his throat.

  "Do not strike," called a clear voice. "He is a priest of Amun and the god forbids his people to be harmed."

  Nakhtmin swung round as a woman stepped out of the shadows and came closer. He saw she had red hair and felt his heart leap within his chest. "You are the one called Scarab?"

  "I am."

  "Then you and this old man you call a priest will accompany me down to Waset. There is someone eager to meet you."

  "Ay, I suppose."

  "Tjaty Ay, to you."

  "He is my uncle and the brother of this man here," Scarab said. "I have known him longer than you and know his heart. He deserves no title." Scarab had been advancing slowly as she talked and suddenly reached out, grabbing Nakhtmin's sword arm and pulled him toward her. As he stumbled, off balance, she slammed her fist into his temple and he fell, crying out hoarsely.

  "Run, Aanen, quickly." Scarab gave the old man a push and he lifted his robe and set off at an ungainly trot, quickly disappearing into the growing darkness.

  Shouting and splashing came from the swamp and she turned to make her own escape. Nakhtmin struggled to his knees and yelled, throwing himself forwa
rd and grabbing her legs. She kicked out and struggled free but soldiers arrived and bore her to the ground, pinning her limbs and almost choking her until a command from Nakhtmin loosened their hold a fraction.

  "Secure her, and put her in the boat." Nakhtmin ordered the other boats to converge on the area and search for the other fugitives. "I want them all found. Bring them down to Waset when you have them secured."

  Aanen watched from the temporary safety of the darkness as Scarab was tied up and deposited, none too gently, into one of the boats. It was poled out into the current and turned toward Waset, vanishing quickly into the night. Aanen gathered his thoughts and prayed silently to Amun, then, after a considered pause, offered up supplications to the Nine of Iunu also, imploring them to come to the rescue of the new king of Kemet, Khnumt-Atum Scarab.

  The passage to Waset was swift and Nakhtmin's boat arrived two days before Tutankhamen's funeral. The city was quiet and Nakhtmin sent for a detachment of soldiers from the barracks before moving his captive. He incarcerated her in a cell in the barracks and set several guards in place, warning them that any attempt to talk to the prisoner or offering her any assistance would be dealt with quickly and severely. Nakhtmin then bathed and put on fresh robes before seeking out his father.

  Ay's reaction was unexpected, given the urgency he had displayed a few days earlier. "I haven't got time to deal with her now. Leave her in the cell and make sure no one talks to her. I'll see her after the king's funeral."

  So Scarab sat in her cramped cell, or slept on the thin straw mattress, passing the time by killing the vermin that infested the prison, for three days. Bread, water and mouldy onions were brought in twice a day and the waste bucket emptied once. Flies gathered in the heat, adding to her discomfort, but she closed her eyes on her hardships and thought about her son. On the second day, there was a commotion as another prisoner was brought in and thrown into a nearby cell. She heard a familiar voice and called out, "Aanen? Is that you? Are you alright?" The guards immediately shouted at her, but she heard the thin voice of the priest answering her before a door slammed, cutting off the possibility of future communication.