The Amarnan Kings, Book 1: Scarab - Akhenaten

by Overton, Max

  "There is no-one else." Tiye paused, thinking. "There is only Smenkhkare and he is but a boy."

  "Then the priests will look outside our family for a successor. Do you now appreciate how serious the situation is?"

  "What can we do? Can we persuade my son to hold off on this decision?"

  "I think it is too late, sister. I am told that he means to announce it in Akhet-Aten today. By now he is already Akhenaten."

  "Then there is nothing we can do?" Tiye put down her wine goblet on the marble floor tiles, her hand shaking. "We must pray for Nebmaetre's health and long life."

  "There is another way."

  Tiye stared at her brother, her eyes searching his face. "What way?" she asked quietly.

  "I am styled God's Father and a priest of Amun," Ay shrugged. "And of Aten," he added. "I think I could persuade Amenemhet, the Hem-netjer, and our brother Aanen to grant me power--unofficially of course--until such time as a permanent solution can be found."

  "You want to be king?"

  "Merely the power behind the throne until Kemet can be returned to the true worship of Amun."

  "You are a hypocrite, brother. You admit you do not believe in the gods but would use them to attain power."

  "I prefer the term 'realist'. Kemet will be thrown into confusion if Akhenaten is toppled. It is unprecedented that a ruling monarch is deposed, but a strong hand on the helm until a legitimate substitute can be found is of benefit to everyone."

  "That legitimate substitute being you, I suppose."

  "I have no interest in being king, but think on this, dear sister. What will happen to your only son if he is deposed? Do you think his successor will let him live? If I have the power though, I can ensure he lives on in health." Ay clasped Tiye's hands and smiled encouragingly. "Akhenaten is not interested in governing. His only interests are in his god and beautiful things. Let him keep those, live out his life where he can do no further harm to Kemet, a king still, but a king only in name. I will bring the Two Lands back to the true worship of Amun."

  Tiye withdrew her hands and folded them in her lap. "The army will oppose you. The generals swore allegiance to my husband and my son."

  "They can be persuaded. Why already I have ..." Ay broke off. He got to his feet and walked over to the balustrade, leaning on it and looking down into the garden through the heat-rippled air. "Do not oppose me, sister. You have neither the power nor the experience."

  "I sat on the throne of Kemet when my husband first fell ill."

  "For six months. The country governed itself. Do not think you could manage a country in the throes of rebellion."

  Tiye rose and crossed to where her brother stood looking out on the palace gardens. She put a hand on his arm and leaned her head against his bare shoulder. "Ay, brother, do not make me choose, I beg you."

  "I am not offering a choice, sister. For as long as Nebmaetre lives, Kemet is safe, no matter what Akhenaten does. When he is gone, I will look after Kemet and I will make sure your son comes to no harm. You must trust me."

  "I do trust you, brother."

  "Then it is settled. Leave everything to me." Ay put his arm around his sister and held her close. He smiled, looking out over the palace grounds toward the city of Waset. His smile creased his face, but came nowhere near his eyes which coldly regarded the rooftops of the city, calculating the future.

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  Chapter Twelve

  A dust cloud hung low over the well-used road that ran along the shores of the Great Sea, east and north out of Kemet. Through the cloud, stirred up by many feet, could be seen the sweat-streaked and dusty bodies of soldiers, grim-faced and determined, running despite the heat that blasted back at them from the road and surrounding rocky hills. Though still several thousands of paces from the recognized border posts, the region the men ran through was dry and desolate and regarded as part of the Nations, not the green and bountiful land that was Kemet.

  A breeze sprang up, carrying with it a humid freshness from the sea, blowing the dust inland. The men turned heads to look at the sparkling expanse of water though they never missed a stride as they ran onward. The road dipped into a shallow gully where a trickle of fresh water oozed from the dry rocks, across the road and tumbled a pace or two into the lapping waves. The man running at the front of the column raised a hand and the men slowed to a walk, then stopped, remaining motionless on the road, awaiting orders.

  The man wiped the sweat from his face and spat grit from his mouth. He raised his head and slowly surveyed the surrounding countryside, paying especial attention to the rock-strewn hillsides and the skyline. He nodded his gray-fuzzed head and turned to the young man beside him.

  "We rest here, Paramessu. Have sentries posted on the ridgeline, and on the road, front and aft. You know the way I like it."

  Paramessu saluted respectfully. "Yes, my lord general." He turned away, barking orders at the men. Pairs of men briefly dashed water in their faces and drank from the tiny stream before racing off to appointed guard positions.

  The column of men disintegrated into groups of ten, each moving off together into whatever shade they could find, picking up twigs and dried dung to start a small fire, or reclining on the hard ground. In turns, the groups moved to the watercourse and washed the sweat and grime from their bodies, slaked thirsts and refilled hide water containers. Those lucky enough to find fuel, congregated around small cooking pots, making up gruel of pounded grains and a little dried meat. Other groups watched enviously, gnawing on hunks of bone-dry bread and meat.

  Some men clambered down the rocks to the tiny beach and, stripping off kilts and headdress, waded out into the cool water. One or two men in each group remained on shore, guarding the clothing, kit bags and weapons of their fellows. At intervals, a man would emerge from the surf, scattering water joyfully, and relieve one of his fellows.

  Paramessu strolled along the road, noting the disposition of each of the nine groups of men, and scanning the distance for the tenth group on guard duty. Satisfied, he turned back toward the stream and the presence of his general. As he approached he examined general Horemheb, sitting with his back to a tall rock and poring over a papyrus map. Although nearly twenty years his senior, Paramessu knew that the older man was still capable of running the rest of the day with the men in his Hundred, and fighting a pitched battle at the end of it if need be. He smiled, respect tinged with affection for the gruff old gray head who had become his mentor.

  Horemheb looked up as a rock clattered on the path. He saw the young officer, nodded and indicated a flat rock beside him before turning back to his examination of the map.

  Paramessu sat down and stretched his muscular legs out in front of him, smoothing down his dusty Shendyt kilt. The grime of the road nearly obscured the stitched blue wool scarab design on the front flap of the brown linen kilt. He rubbed a thumb over it, flicking it to remove the dirt. An officer in the Blue Legion of the Re Division, Paramessu had applied for, and been granted, permission to adopt the blue scarab as an insignia of his Troop. All his men sported the design and having seen their new commander in battle, wore it with pride. Jumping two grades since his adoption onto Horemheb's staff, Paramessu now was Captain of a Troop, though only a hundred men were with him from the under strength Re Division. More importantly, in Paramessu's eyes, he was a confidant of the general.

  "We are here." Horemheb tapped a gnarled finger on the map. "We have made better time than I thought." He sat back and watched as Paramessu knelt in the dirt and examined the map. "Can you read it?"

  Paramessu nodded hesitantly. "Yes, sir."

  "Don't lie, boy. Plead ignorance if you must, but never lie to me."

  "No sir, I mean, I think I can read it but I don't know why you think we are here. This coast road all looks the same."

  Horemheb smiled briefly. "Learn to look around you." He tapped the map again. "This morning, early, we saw this mountain off to our right. It now lies well behind us, b
ut this mountain here," he tapped another mark on the papyrus. "This one we have not yet seen. Look at the coast. The map indicates a large bay here. What can you see out there?"

  Paramessu shaded his eyes from the glare off the water. "The coast curves, sir. It is the bay."

  "I believe so. If it is, the fort that was attacked lies at the head of the bay; no more than an hour's run from here."

  Paramessu leapt to his feet. "Then we must get ready, sir."

  "Sit." Horemheb waited until his protege sat down once more. "I want the men rested. It is not likely the raiders are still there, but I want the men ready for action anyway."

  "They could be, sir. The runner found us last night; it was the night before that the Amorites attacked. That is less than two days. We have never been this close behind them."

  "Yes, it was rather fortunate we were in the area. However, another hour will refresh the men. It does not pay to go into battle with a blunted blade."

  "It will scarcely be a battle, sir. A gang of bandits will not trouble our men."

  Horemheb bent down and picked up his hide water bottle, taking a drink of the tepid water. Unlike many of the new generals, Horemheb believed in sharing the hardships of his men, never asking them to do what he could not. Paramessu smiled to himself, knowing the old man could out-run and out-fight men half his age, and that on a handful of grain, a cup of stinking water and a few hours snatched sleep.

  "They are not bandits, Paramessu. You will not have seen the reports from Waset and Avaris."

  "No sir."

  "They are Amorites under the control of Prince Aziru. There have been raids throughout our allied lands this past year or more, burning farms and crops, slaughtering people and livestock. Even our forts."

  Paramessu frowned. "Why does the governor of these lands not control them? Surely it would be simpler for him to do so than to send for us?"

  "He is helpless. Ribaddi of Byblos is the governor over Lebanon, down as far as Gezer, but he lacks troops and gold. He has petitioned our king but he does nothing, sends no-one. The old king Amenhotep would have sent troops or at the very least gold to pay for troops but our young king in Akhet-Aten ignores the peril."

  "Is it bad, sir? The situation, I mean."

  "Bad enough, and worsening. This last year Aziru has raided our lands unchecked. They strike where they will, killing and plundering. Now traders refuse to travel the roads, flocks are untended and farmers fear to sow or reap the harvest, sitting inside fortified villages waiting for their turn." Horemheb rose and moved behind a boulder, lifting his kilt to one side. He paused, waiting for a full stream before continuing.

  "We cannot hope to stop it by ourselves, but a swift hard blow may at least make Aziru more cautious." He shook himself and readjusted his kilt, moving back around the boulder. "Get the men up, Paramessu. It is time to move on."

  The soldiers formed up on the road again with very little fuss. Bathed, refreshed and with a little food in their stomachs, the men were ready for what the gods and their generals threw at them. Horemheb came down the columns lined up on the road, casting his eyes over the men and their equipment. With a nod, he set himself at the front and Paramessu gave the order first to march, then to break into a steady run.

  The road rounded a headland and plunged eastward around a deep but narrow bay. At the head of the bay another small stream debouched, a small fortified camp lying astraddle the road leading out of Kemet. Nothing stirred on the ground or in the sky above. Horemheb halted the columns three bowshots out from the fort and scanned the walls.

  "The gates are open but there are no signs of life."

  Paramessu pointed. "There, on the battlements, sir. Extreme left. Something moved."

  Horemheb nodded. "I see it now."

  The object moved again and opening its broad black wings, launched itself into the air. It flapped briefly above the fort before dropping out of view within its stone walls.

  "A vulture," Horemheb said flatly. "Nothing lives within the fort else it would not join its fellows." He signaled to the men and led them forward at a trot.

  As the soldiers approached the open gates, Paramessu turned and waved squads of ten men left and right to circle the fort. The main body he halted outside the gates and led another squad of ten inside to join the general.

  Despite the intact walls, the inside of the fort was devastated. Timber housings around the walls remained only as blackened stumps poking up through mounds of sour-smelling gray ash. Scattered around the bare earth courtyard were a dozen or so bodies, lying naked for the most part though clothed in dried blood and their gaping wounds open to the scorching sun.

  As Horemheb entered the fort a jostling, squalling mass of feathered bodies arose from the center of the courtyard, black vultures running and flapping in a panicked attempt to get aloft. Horemheb dismissed them from his mind. He had seen worse than this before on any battlefield and Nekhebet, the vulture, was a very necessary part of life and death. Not without reason was it held sacred, the bird of the sun, soaring so high that it disappeared into the sun's blinding light.

  After a cursory examination of the closest bodies, Horemheb stood back and let the soldiers check the rest. A few moments later, Meny, Leader of Ten, came up to Paramessu and saluted.

  "All dead, sir. Most have been fed upon too."

  Paramessu dismissed Meny before walking over to where the general squatted beside the ashes of the living quarters. "The vultures have been feeding a while, sir. They are long gone."

  Horemheb straightened and dusted the gray ash off his hands. "Not that long, Paramessu. Those vultures have not stripped the bodies which they could do in the day and a half since the attack, and that ash still has some warmth in it. I judge they left here half a day ago."

  Paramessu grinned. "Then we can catch them."

  "Oh, yes. We will catch them. Send out your scouts. Find which route they took."

  A shout from the gateway made them swing round as a young man entered at a run, his sandals churning up the dry dust. He skidded to a halt in front of Paramessu and stammered out his report.

  "Tracks, s...sir. Leading northeast, away from the road and into the hills."

  "Show me."

  The young soldier led his commanders out of the gates and round the fort to where the shallow stream valley plunged back toward the hills. A path ran alongside the stream and at one place, where the path dipped down along the waterway, fresh prints of bare and sandaled feet, and horses' hooves, could be seen clearly in the soft mud.

  "How many would you say, Paramessu?"

  The young officer squatted and examined the path carefully, looking at the prints closely. "Thirty sir, maybe more. At least ten horses too. Cavalry?"

  Horemheb nodded. "More like fifty and I think those are pack horses rather than cavalry. If they are only half a day ahead, we can catch them. Bring your men up, Paramessu."

  Paramessu set up scouts in front of the main body of men as they trotted slowly up the path into the hills. The rough worn track soon left the boulder-strewn streambed and headed up toward the ridge of the hills. The scouts reached the crest and peered over cautiously before signaling for the others to follow. The general studied the terrain below them, his pointing finger tracing the winding path as it descended through a dry and stony hillside to the dusty plains below.

  "There are one or two places that would allow an ambush."

  Paramessu frowned. "Is that likely, sir? They have no way of knowing they are followed."

  "Unless they had a lookout watching the fort." Horemheb smiled. "Very unlikely, I grant, but what would you do to circumvent the possibility?"

  Paramessu stared down at the place where the path ran through a boulder field and another where low scrub pressed close around the track. "Scouts could cross upslope there sir, and there. If I sent a squad of archers, they would be in a position to threaten any ambush."

  "Good. Do so."

  They waited while the archers scrambled across
the hillside to a position overlooking the two suspect areas. One of them waved back at the men on the hill crest. Paramessu nodded, sending his men down the track at a run.

  They reached the plains without incident beyond a fall or two and a few bruises. The track turned north again, following the line of hills, the prints of feet and hooves plain in the dry soil. Horemheb and Paramessu led their soldiers at a brisk run along the path, traveling in single file except for a squad that spread out on the open ground to the east and a few that scrambled over the sloping skirts of the hills to the west.

  The afternoon wore on and the burning sun dipped below the hills on their left, sending a great cooling shadow over their progress. Horemheb flashed a quick grin at his subordinate and picked up the pace, the dust kicked up by their heels settling in a low cloud behind them.

  A cry came from one of the out-runners near the hills. Paramessu angled over to check, then halted the column of soldiers. Horemheb found him squatting by the body of a bearded man.

  "An Amorite, sir. Dead of his wounds, by the look of it." He gestured at the bloodied rents in the man's clothing. He reached over and prized open the mouth, flicking a small coin out with one finger. "Here," he said, tossing it to the soldier who had found the body. "Your reward soldier." The man grinned and slipped the coin into his pouch.

  Paramessu straightened and looked at his general. "The man was not left to die. He had the death offering."

  "And the body has not yet fully stiffened. We are close behind them." Horemheb turned back to the path at a run.

  Sunset found them at a point where the track, together with the sign of their quarry, angled away from the hills into the great open plains. Horemheb called a halt and the men collapsed where they stood, panting and groaning.

  "We camp here. There is enough light for another hour's travel but I would rather we had the shelter of the hills tonight."