by Overton, Max
On the third day, Scarab was brought, under heavy guard, to the Hall of Justice. The guards secured her to a heavy bench and left, closing the doors behind them. A few minutes passed, and then a door behind the raised throne opened and Ay walked in. He picked up a stool from near the rear wall and carried it over, setting it down a few paces from the captive woman.
"Well, Lady Beketaten," Ay said affably. "How very nice to see you again."
"That is not my name any longer, and you are lying if you say you are glad to see me."
"Hmm, yes, that's right. You like that absurd name of Scarab that the heretic gave you. But you are wrong about the other matter. I am glad to see you because you are going to help me with a little problem I have." Scarab said nothing and after a few minutes during which the only sound was a hoopoe crying somewhere in the palace gardens, he continued. "I want to know what you have done with the body of your brother, Smenkhkare." Scarab still said nothing. "I know you had him embalmed in Waset, we tracked down the House of the Dead that committed the deed and destroyed it. However, I'm sure you can see that I need the body itself."
Scarab stirred, hiding the shock she felt that Ipuwer's actions had been discovered. "You buried King Smenkhkare in effigy ten years ago after your bungled attempt at killing him. Why do you begrudge him a proper burial now?"
"I do not. Smenkhkare has a tomb in the Valley of Burials, along with his forebears, but it is occupied only by a statue. Let me bury his body in his tomb that he may enjoy the afterlife in a manner befitting a king."
"He has a proper tomb and all the rites were observed."
"Then tell me where he is so I can make my own grave offerings."
"I know you, Ay. You have always hated my older brother and you hate him still. I will never tell you where he is."
"No? Well, perhaps one of the other prisoners can be persuaded to." Ay got up and walked out of the Hall without a backward glance. A little later, the guards came to return Scarab to her cell.
The next day, Scarab was back in the Hall of Justice with Ay. The Tjaty got up from the throne as she was led in and waited beside her while she was bound to the bench once more. He smiled but said nothing until they were alone.
"Whatever possessed you to imagine you could be king?" Ay asked. "A woman, if suitably connected, and married to a king, can become a queen, but to rule in her own right? That is almost unheard of." When Scarab again said nothing, Ay sat beside her on the bench. "My brother Aanen told me everything. He is a doddery old fool and obviously believes in what he did but you are an intelligent woman--how could you believe the ceremony has any validity? Aanen was dismissed from the priesthood years ago. Not only is your brother buried without the rites, but you are now a common impostor. I could have you put to death for impiety and treason."
"Then do it."
"Did the death of your brother and the shattering of all your dreams unhinge your mind, perhaps? I do not want to have you killed, you realise, so I am looking for an excuse to merely exile you."
"Let me ask you something, uncle. When you rebelled against your rightful king, Smenkhkare; and his legitimate Council, of whom Aanen was one, as well as being the Second Prophet of Amun, chosen by the god--was your action lawful?"
"I was obeying a higher authority," Ay replied stiffly.
"This higher authority being self-interest? Do you not believe in the gods? A king is set in place by the gods as are the Prophets of Amun. Any man who acts against king or prophet is defying the gods."
"To tell the truth, I have seen little evidence of the gods. A man rises to the level of his natural ability and I have risen to the top."
"Not quite the top. Tjaty is still second."
Ay smiled again, regaining something of his good humour. "I opened the king's mouth at the funeral."
"So you mean to be king? Know that I will oppose you."
Ay's smile broadened and he chuckled. "Is that supposed to frighten me? Even if you were at liberty you could not harm me, but you are a captive and totally in my power. I want to know where Smenkhkare is buried."
"What happened to questioning your other captives?"
"There was only one, an old deluded man, and he died."
"Aanen?" Scarab's voice cracked. "You killed your own brother?"
"It happens. Did not your brothers kill each other?" Ay rose to his feet and stood looking down on his bound captive. "I will not be king for long, I am too old, but I want my son to succeed me. I must therefore protect him from those who would harm us both."
"Horemheb. He stopped you once before."
"Lord Horemheb and I have an understanding. No, you are my main foe, so I cannot let you live."
Scarab stayed silent, calming her hammering heart. She thought of her son Set and sorrowed that she would never now see him in life. Paramessu too, but he would easily get over her. Khu would miss her though. She thanked the gods he had escaped--the others too.
"I will put you to the question," Ay said coldly. "You will tell me where Smenkhkare is buried before you die."
Scarab took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "No, I will not."
"It will be interesting to see how much pain you can stand. My steward Mentopher will conduct the inquiry. He is quite inventive." Ay clapped his hands and the guards came in and dragged Scarab away, still bound so tightly she could not walk without help.
Nakhtmin entered behind the guards and watched, with his father, as Scarab was led away. "You mean to kill her? What if the old man spoke the truth and she really is an anointed king?"
"Oh, I'm sure she is. My brother Aanen would not lie about something like that. If he says she is consecrated, she is. I don't know what he was thinking but it will not save her."
"Still, she is royal--and female. Does she not have dynastic value? I...I could marry her and instantly become king."
"Would you trust her in your bed?" Ay laughed. "You would be a very short-lived king. Besides, you must wait your turn, my son. I have told you I will be king first. I have waited too long to be denied now."
"So she must die."
"Yes, she must die, but once more, as with her brothers before her, I cannot be seen to be responsible. You take charge, my son. After Mentopher has amused himself for a while, have her taken out into the eastern desert and released. Like her heretic brother Akhenaten, let the sun kill her."
Return to Contents
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The sun disc blazed down from a sky of lapis lazuli, its fierce rays shattering on the desolate landscape and rebounding in a shimmering haze. Heat, as of a freshly opened oven, sucked moisture from the air, replacing it with a thin dry dust that caught at the back of the throat. Khnumt-Atum Scarab, newly anointed King of Kemet, daughter and sister of kings, trudged slowly through the eastern desert, her feet blistering in the burning sands despite her sandals. Her muscles ached in a harsh counterpoint to the agony stabbing her ribs and her head with every step. She stopped and turned, holding her side gingerly and looked back toward the Great River. A dark smudge of green along the horizon and the distance-diminished walls of Waset was all that remained of her former life. Nearer at hand but dissipating quickly in the heated air, a plume of dust rose into the clear desert sky from the soldiers who had left her here to die.
Scarab lifted a hand gingerly to her face, shuddering as her fingers touched the ruin of her right eye. Her fingers came away clean, the blood flow dried by the heat and dust. She flicked a quick glance up at the cloudless sky, the motion sending another wave of pain through her aching head. Her vision blurred and she staggered, almost falling. She stood panting, her feet braced as she waited for her ebbing strength to return. Adjusting the thin veil of her linen dress about her bruised and broken body, Scarab turned toward the east once more. Her face set in a grimace of determination beneath the mask of dried blood; she stumbled forward up the shifting sand dune.
Hours dragged by, delineated by the metronome of her plodding strid
e. The sand gave way to loose gravel and pebble before solidifying into twisted and gnarled pillars of sandblasted stone. She stopped at increasingly frequent intervals, less by choice than by finding herself lying supine on the blistering surface, as her already stressed and battered body found its reserves of strength slipping away. Scarab stopped once more, this time of her own volition, and stared up at a smooth wall of rock blocking her way. Waves of heat reflected off the worn surface of the rock, pushing her back. She bowed her head and sank to her knees, her back red and burnt beneath her thin garment. For a long moment she knelt in front of the rock wall as if in prayer to the deities of the desert, then with a shuddering sigh she stood and moved off to the north, following the curve of the cliff face.
The disc of the sun dipped through dusty air, sinking toward the western horizon where the boat of the gods stood ready to bring the sun god back to his rebirth in the next dawn. The sky reddened, bathing the desert in blood. Scarab, her strength finally spent, collapsed against the still-hot rock and stared out with her one functional eye at what she knew to be her last evening. A cool breeze lifted her dry and lifeless hair and she turned toward it, her tongue seeking but finding no last moisture in her mouth to dampen her cracked and broken lips.
Standing a few yards away in the shadow cast by a temple-sized fragment of rock fallen from the cliff, stood the menacing figure of a black bull. Deep within the shadows, his body merged with the darkness, only the gleam of his eyes and the pale smudge of his horns gave form to his shape. The figure moved, trotting silently out to stand before Scarab. She gasped, her undamaged eye widening in shock. The bull was midnight black, unblemished, with a huge dewlap, white spreading horns framing the disc of the setting sun. The eyes, dark within blackness, stared back at the young woman with an intelligence that was neither beastlike nor human, but something more. Scarab felt as if the eyes were as deep as all Kemet, knew all things, and had seen all things.
"Who are you?" she whispered. "What are you?"
The bull's lips did not move, but words formed in the evening breeze, slipping over the rock face, sliding over the cooling sand. "Khnumt-Atum Scarab, daughter of Nebmaetre Amenhotep, you are joined to me in a sacred bond."
"Have I died? Are you a demon come to take me to the underworld?"
"No, child. I am the creator god, whose worship you seek to uphold. The Nine of Iunu is mindful of your worship. Know that Atum holds you in his hand and gives you your namesake--Khnumt-Atum Scarab, Scarab-Joined-to-Atum. Call on this scarab when you have need, and I will fill you with the strength of the bull, the determination of the scarab." The god-bull dipped his horned head toward the sand at her feet.
Scarab saw a faint gleam of gold and without thinking, reached down and picked up the object. Turning it over in her hands she recognised the great scarab beetle sacred to Atum. She slipped it into the folds of her dress and leaned back against the warm rock, closing her eye. Her cracked lips twitched in a wry smile. "My mind is lost. And soon my body will follow." A stink of rotted meat drifted on the breeze. She opened her eye but the great black bull with the sun disc between its horns had gone. Instead, standing in front of her, so close that she felt the hot fetid stink of its breath, stood a magnificent black-maned lion. Its yellow eyes stared into her single one and its rough tongue lolled between huge white fangs. Scarab cowered back, her breath coming faster as the lion lowered its great shaggy head and licked her bloody face, its rasping tongue tearing at the scabs.
"The god Shu thanks you and bestows the gift of cooling wind," rumbled a voice from the throat of the beast. The lion's head turned and stared out across the rocky wasteland. A tawny body moved lithely between the rocks and boulders of the desert, moving closer.
A lioness, sleek and strong, muscles rippling beneath a glowing hide, stood beside the lion, her body leaning against the larger male. Together the predatory cats stared at the young woman for several minutes before the female eased forward and nuzzled the petrified woman, rubbing long stiff whiskers against her face.
"Water is my gift," moaned the lioness. "The goddess Tefnut is grateful."
Scarab shook, her breath rattling in her throat. "Water," she gasped. "There is no water."
The lioness crouched at the woman's feet, its great yellow eyes watching her. "You have not asked for water."
Scarab fought off a feeling of faintness. I am dreaming, she thought. Or else there really are two lions and I will soon be dead. The lioness remained motionless and Scarab's panic slowly abated. She moved her head slightly, looking for the lion but could not see it in the dusk.
"Shu has gone," the voice spoke again. "Yet if you ask, he will grant his gift." Silence fell for the space of twenty breaths before the goddess spoke again. "I think you are more in need of my gift."
Scarab felt a hysterical laugh building inside her but she cleared her throat and nodded, pain lancing through her head as she moved. "I have need of water, merciful Tefnut. Please grant me my wish." Even as she spoke she felt dampness beneath her hand resting on the bare rock. She glanced down in surprise at the dark spreading smudge, gasping as water bubbled up from the solid stone. She scrambled painfully to her knees and knelt beside the small pool of water gathering in a slight rocky depression. Hesitantly putting out a hand, she dipped a finger in the water before lifting it to her lips. A moment later she threw herself down, splashing her face with cold water and drinking great draughts from her cupped hands. At last she could drink no more and she settled back against the rock, a smile on her lips.
"Thank you..." Scarab looked around but the lioness had vanished into the night. "Thank you, great Tefnut." She settled back against the rock wall and looked out over the desert toward the west. Already stars blazed in the night sky and the breeze from the north cut through her thin garment. She shivered in the coolness and drew her legs up, wrapping her arms around them. Despite the pain in her sunburnt skin, the fiery wound deep within her side and the pulsing ache from her ruined eye, she slept.
Scarab awoke in the pre-dawn chill. She shivered violently before getting to her feet and moving around, stamping her feet and swinging her arms to get some warmth into her. Looking around at the dark desert she grimaced. Where do I go? she thought. Where can I go? Ay's army blocked the way to the west, back toward the Great River. South lay Nubia but Nubia had proven to be a false dream--there was nothing for her there any longer. East was only the Long Sea but North lay the border city of Zarw and her son. North it is then. But how do I keep my son and me safe from Ay? Do I seek out another land in which to live? How do I find it? I have no real idea where I am or how to get there .
The pre-dawn darkness curdled, surging and coalescing. From the four cardinal points light stabbed across the sky, followed by a rolling peal of thunder. Flinching, Scarab closed her good eye, opening it a moment later to see a slim woman standing before her. The streams of light from north, west, east and south bathed the woman in a pearly glow that glinted and coruscated from her gleaming white dress. "I am Nut," the woman said, her voice deep and rolling like distant thunder. "I separate order from chaos and I hold the four points of the compass in my hand. My gift to you, Blessed One of Atum, is the choice of your direction."
Refreshed by her intermittent sleep and the water, Scarab stared interestedly at the woman in front of her. "Forgive me, divine Nut," she murmured. "I have never seen a goddess before."
The figure stared back at her emotionless and distant. "Did not Tefnut give you water?"
Scarab flushed, though her sun burnt face masked the effect. "Yes, divine Nut. I meant only that I..."
The goddess shimmered and thinned, the pearly glow of her form dissipating and flowing up into the sky. Her voice rumbled in the thunder that issued from the night sky now lit by the first flush of dawn. "Choose your path and ask. I will show you." The glow faded and became lost in the early rays of the sun.
Scarab sat down again by the drying pool of water and dabbled her fingers in the coolness. "Have I reall
y seen the gods this night, or am I dreaming?" she asked herself. She remembered the scarab and slipped her hand into her dress, searching. Cool metal met her fingers and she drew out the gold image, holding it up to the morning sun, turning it over. The upper side of the scarab depicted the back of the great beetle, head down and hunched as if gathering its muscles for the enormous task of rolling the sun across the heavens again. The artist who made it was skilled, every ridged line of its carapace, every joint of its legs showed in fine detail as if it were living, bathed in golden light rather than molded from precious metal. She turned it over. On the underside, someone had carved the image of the Aten, the sun disc, complete with rays ending in hands holding the ankh, the symbol of life.
Scarab gasped in surprise. Who would carve the symbol of the god Aten on the scarab symbol of Atum-Re? She put the carving down and glanced up at the rising sun, half afraid that the solar disc would leap into life and confront her. Rubbing the dazzle from her good eye, she smiled self-consciously. Why shouldn't the Aten be on a scarab? Is not the sun disc itself an aspect of the greater glory of Atum-Re ?
The dazzle of the rising sun reminded her of her predicament. Soon the heat of the new day would sear the desert and suck the very life from her unless she could find help or shelter. She drank her fill from the last of the water and splashed what remained over her face, wincing from her bruises and the sharp pain in her side that spoke of broken ribs. The cool water felt good on her face, though the action sent probes of agony into her ruined eye socket.
