by Overton, Max
They descended into the dried streambed, the breath of the enemy hot on their necks. Paramessu caught a glimpse of the towering rocks on the south side and prayed to Re that Horemheb was in place. A man tripped and fell beside him, uttering a scream of terror. The others ran on but Paramessu whirled, nearly overbalancing, his sword arcing round to slice across the chest of the man behind him. The man fell back with a curse and Paramessu stepped forward just as the fallen soldier died, stabbed by three swords. He slashed at another man before turning tail again, a spear thrust scoring his hip and ripping his kilt from him. He ran on naked, down the shallow gully, the horde of Amorites on his heels.
The Amorite horsemen spurred their mounts along the northern lip of the gully, passing the fleeing man and urging the horses down into the streambed ahead of him. Paramessu looked up and saw his way blocked. He slowed without thinking and he half-heard the whistling rush of air behind him of a descending blade. Throwing himself to one side, he rolled and lifted his sword in time to block the first blow, but saw others coming as the leading Amorite soldiers swarmed toward him, their eyes burning with rage.
"For Re and Kemet," Paramessu screamed, preparing to die.
A grimace flashed across the face of the first man as he slashed down at the fallen Kemetu. Then the man fell across Paramessu, two of his comrades' swords biting deep into his back. Paramessu fought the man aside, struggling to lift his own blade as another man fell, a look of surprise on his face, then another, a blue-quilled arrow deep in his throat.
Paramessu scrambled to his feet and grinned in relief as he saw a wave of Kemetu soldiers erupt from the rocky cover on the south side. Silently they rushed down the slope and bit deep into the loose Amorite rabble, their deadly long-handled axes wreaking bloody havoc. Paramessu joined in, striking at the backs of the enemy as they turned to face the new foe. A riderless horse trotted by, eyes rolling, and he knew the archers had once more proved their worth.
Already outnumbered, the far end of the Amorite column turned tail and ran, throwing their weapons aside for greater speed. Horemheb's men, fresh after their wait, rapidly overtook the fleeing Amorites and cut them down. A few threw themselves to their knees and begged for mercy, dying with arms outstretched. Within minutes, silence returned to the desert, broken only by the groans of the wounded.
Horemheb found Paramessu standing naked among the dead and dying save for his stained linen headdress, his bloodied sword in his hand.
"Never let me catch you doing that again, you young fool," Horemheb growled.
Paramessu's grin faded and he drew himself to attention. "Sir?"
"Risking your life for the sake of a few mangy Amorites. If I'd known you were going to do that, I'd have put Meny in charge. At least he knows enough to run when he's told to."
"I'm sorry, general," Paramessu said stiffly, staring straight ahead. "I did what I thought was right to lead the enemy into the ambush. If I have angered you, I ask your mercy."
Horemheb sighed and put a gnarled hand on the young man's shoulder. "I am not angry, Paramessu, just concerned. Kemet would lose a future general if you got yourself killed--and I would lose a respected colleague and a friend." He slipped his arm around him and started walking. "Come now, let us find your Shendyt kilt. A commander should preserve his dignity where possible."
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Chapter Thirteen
"So where do you want to go if not to the priests?"
Scarab shrugged her thin shoulders and looked down, smoothing her clean new kilt. A necklace of lapis hung on her flat brown chest, a small blue scarab beetle with outspread wings and tiny eyes of red glass. "Somewhere interesting."
Smenkhkare regarded his young sister solemnly. The two years since meeting her had passed quickly, and his expeditions into the city, once a solitary pastime, had become a keenly anticipated adventure for the two of them. He enjoyed showing the little girl--well, not so little now , he thought--now that she has her first kilt she looks almost grown-up, despite her side-lock . "The priests are interesting," he said. "There are great things happening in Kemet and the priests know more about them than anyone."
Scarab shrugged again, drawing a line in the dust with one toe. They stood below the old acacia tree that had half-tumbled the ancient stone wall behind the head gardener's cottage. The temples and the priest's houses were barely a stone's throw away across a well-tended garden. The children were familiar visitors to the temples and could be assured of a welcome into shady vine-covered porches, a cool drink of water or milk, a handful of dates or figs, and conversation. But beyond, baking in the heat, lay the great city of Waset with its myriad delights.
"I don't know, maybe Ahhotep? I love his glass ornaments and beads. Or Kenamun, the toy maker?"
"We went there last week. Besides, you may still like to play with toys but I'm too old for that." Smenkhkare looked down his nose at his sister summoning up every ounce of dignity present in his eleven-year-old body. "We should go somewhere we can learn something."
"Pooh. I don't want lessons. I want to have fun, have an adventure."
"How about the House of the Dead?"
Scarab looked up and cocked her head on one side. "What's that?"
"Come on, you must have heard about that. It's also called the House of Embalming. It's where the bodies go while they are being prepared for burial."
"I've never seen a dead body."
"Well, here's your chance. There are always lots of bodies there, in all stages of preparation. I know one of the embalmers, Ipuwer. I'm sure he'll be happy to show you round."
"Do you know people everywhere, Smenkhkare?"
The boy grinned. "Not yet, but I'm working on it." He took his sister by the hand and started across the garden toward the temple gates that opened into the road leading into the city. They skirted around a small flock of ibis searching for food on the temple pastures, not because there was any need for caution, but in order not to disturb the sacred birds. "Seriously though, Scarab, when I'm king I want to be a good one. I think a king should know everything about his people if he wants to rule them well."
"Do you still think you'll be king one day?"
"Maybe." Smenkhkare shrugged. "King Akhenaten still does not have a son. I'm next in line if he doesn't."
"What about Iset's son, Tutankhaten? He's our brother and Heqareshu says ..."
"He's only a baby. A baby can't be king. Honestly, little sister, you must learn to tell real life from the stories of the nurses."
Smenkhkare led Scarab through the temple gates into the busy thoroughfare of the great Avenue of Rams running into the city, then onto one of the narrower streets running at right angles to it. They walked hand in hand, keeping close to the buildings on one side, out of the path of horsemen, chariots driven by nobles and the occasional ox-cart. A great crowd of men and women walked around them, chattering and talking, arguing and bartering with the shopkeepers on both sides of the road. Children ran and played too, but kept to themselves, wary of strangers. Dogs barked; oxen lowed as the whips cracked over their long-suffering hides and horses stamped and blew as they pulled the chariots through the throng. The hot sun beat down on them all, reflecting off the stone buildings and raising swarms of flies on the fresh dung and refuse in the roadway. The stink of the ordure mingled interestingly with those of cooking foods, fresh-baked bread, and the sweaty bodies of the workers.
Scarab sniffed the air, wrinkling her nose at the mixture of odors. "Why does the city stink so much?" she complained.
"Because there is so much going on." Smenkhkare pointed across the road. "You want something to eat?" Without waiting for a reply he led his sister across the road, darting between a wagon full of melons and a chariot carrying a haughty looking man. He stopped outside a baker's shop, smelling the delicious odors of freshly baked bread.
Leaning through the doorway he greeted the baker standing sweating by his open fires. "Ho, Teti. I see you." Smenkhkare sauntere
d into the shop, grinning at the wife of the baker who was serving a woman, and a teenage girl kneading dough on a great wooden slab. "This is my friend Scarab," he announced to the shop. "Scarab, this is Teti and his wife Ruia. Also their daughter Nyla." He turned with a bow and a broader grin at the customer. "You, madam, I do not know." Scarab shuffled timidly into the shadows beside the doorway.
"Ee, a cheeky young scamp, isn't he?" the woman commented to Ruia. She turned, planting hands on her ample hips. "And who might you be, eh?"
Teti the baker coughed and came forward a few paces. "That be Lord Smenkhkare," he said. "He be a young lordling up at palace."
"Ee, a lordling no less. What are you doing down 'ere then? Come to see 'ow the poor people live?"
"Indeed I have, madam. I take an interest in the workers of Waset and wish to learn as much as I can about conditions and how men and women conduct themselves."
The woman shook her head and picked up a large conical loaf of bread from the counter, slipping it into a reed basket. "It seems to me, young lord whatever-your-name-is, it would be better if you learned a useful trade instead of gallivanting about sticking your nose into other people's affairs." She sniffed loudly and marched out of the shop.
Smenkhkare looked after her with his mouth open, then broke into a fit of giggles. "Perhaps I should learn a trade. What do you think I should be, Teti?"
Teti's face cracked into a wide grin. "I think you could be anythink you wanted to be, young Smenkhkare. Stay clear of baking though, young sir, it be powerful 'ot in 'ere." He lifted his apron and wiped the sweat from his face. "Nyla, love." He addressed his daughter with obvious affection in his voice. "You be getting back to your work." Nyla bobbed her head and resumed punching a great ball of floury dough.
"So who's your little friend?" Ruia asked. "Come over here dearie, and let's 'ave a look at you." She held out her hand, smiling, and Scarab felt encouraged, walking over to the counter.
"I'm Scarab," she whispered.
"She's my friend and well, actually, she's my sister too." Scarab turned and smiled at her brother, her eyes glistening with love.
"Well I never," Ruia exclaimed. "A lord and a lady in my shop." She leaned her head on one side and examined the children with a twinkle in her eye. "Would you be wanting something to eat?"
"Yes please, Ruia," Smenkhkare said. Scarab nodded.
"Well, then, come in the back and I'll see what I can find. Husband, mind the shop while I'm gone."
"What d'yer think I'm likely to do?" Teti muttered. "Burn the place down?"
"Mind the fires now, children, an' the baking pots; they're very 'ot." Ruia ushered them past the counter and into a one-room dirt-floored house at the back of the shop. Two beds, a large and a small one occupied opposite corners, large squares of material half-hiding them. A table sat in the middle of the room with trestle benches along each of its sides. Along one wall was another long table, laden with pots and pans. A rickety set of shelves occupied most of another wall. A hole in the brickwork functioned as a window and a chimney, letting the smoke that eddied from a large earthenware pot escape the room. "Sit yers down then."
Ruia rummaged in the cupboard for a couple of clay platters and set them on the table in front of the children before disappearing back into the shop. She returned almost immediately with a small conical loaf, golden-brown and smoking from the baking pots. She ripped it in two and set the steaming halves on the platters. "Careful now, children. It be 'ot from the pots."
Smenkhkare thanked Ruia and bit into his half of the loaf, exclaiming and fanning his open mouth vigorously. "Hot!" he cried. "Very hot."
Scarab ate more slowly, breaking off a small piece of the dark brown grainy textured bread and popping it into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. "It's very nice," she said politely. "Thank you." Taking another bite, she yelped as she bit into a bit of grit. She grimaced and removed the offending chip of stone. "It's got things in it."
"Not what yer used to, young lady?" Ruia asked. "Up in the palace the flour is properly ground in fine, smooth mills no doubt. 'Ere we 'ave to use what we can afford." She shrugged, then grinned broadly, exposing her chipped and broken teeth. "Bits of stone come off the grinding stones. I catches some of them but bits gets missed."
Scarab grimaced and picked up the loaf, turning it over. She examined it closely then dusted it down and prized a small piece of gravel from the crust, dropping it to the floor. Ruia raised her eyebrows but said nothing. Smenkhkare scowled.
"It's very sweet bread, Ruia," he said, distracting the woman from his sister's complaints. "Is this the bread you make beer from?"
"Why yes, it is, young lord. We crumbles it and soaks it in water with dates. When you is older you can try some."
"It's very nice, really." Scarab smiled uncertainly and took another bite, chewing gingerly. She found a few grains of sand which she spat out but no more pieces of stone, and finished up her half loaf quickly. "Thank you."
"Delicious," Smenkhkare exclaimed. "We thank you for your hospitality, Ruia." He slipped off the bench and dusted a few crumbs off his kilt. "We must be getting on though; I promised Scarab I'd show her the House of Embalming today ..." He glared at his sister for a moment. "... and I like to keep my word."
Ruia laughed. "You won't get nothing to eat there."
"Ah, but there are so many things to find out. Besides, I like meeting people and seeing what they do. It's boring up at the palace."
"Now I could live with that kind of boredom," Ruia said. "Well, you come again young lord. Bring your sister too if she can put up with me coarse bread."
"I'd like to," Scarab whispered. "I'm sorry if I offended you."
"No offense taken, little lady." Ruia stroked Scarab's side lock of hair tenderly. "You remind me a bit of me baby Abar. She would 'ave been about your age if she 'ad lived." She sighed deeply and looked away for a moment. "Well, off you go then."
Smenkhkare led the way out onto the hot and dusty street, turning left and walking westward toward the river. He looked straight ahead and ignored his sister. Scarab scampered after him, her face screwed up with worry.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
Smenkhkare stopped abruptly and turned to face his sister. "You don't have to be rude to them just because they are poor," he hissed. "These people are my friends and they welcome me into their houses and share because they are good people. I don't like it when others who have never done any work complain about how hard things are or about a few little bits of grit in their bread."
Scarab gaped. "But...but you don't work either."
"No, but I shall. If the gods favor me I shall be king and I will work hard for my people. And even if I'm not, I will be a man, a...a general or a scribe or a priest and work hard anyway. You are just a girl, a princess who will always sit around and have things done for her."
"I can't help being a girl," Scarab wailed. "And I don't want to sit around. I want to do things, see people like you." She grabbed hold of her brother's arm and gripped it tightly. "Please, Smenkhkare, don't be upset with me. I didn't know but I can learn; if you show me. Please."
Smenkhkare grunted and nodded, looking over the head of his sister at the passing crowds in the street. "All right then, but you must try and be conscious of who you are. Members of the Great House are privileged, but they also bear great responsibilities to look after the people."
"I will, I will." Scarab nodded vigorously and standing on tiptoe, kissed Smenkhkare on the cheek. "Thank you," she grinned.
"We'll forget what happened today then, but next time we come out you are going to pick a nice piece of jewelry from your box and give it to Ruia. Just to show you are sorry."
"Do I have to? I've only got this necklace, two others and a few bracelets and jewels."
"And how many do you think Ruia has? You saw that necklace of wooden beads she wore? That was probably all she had. They are very poor." Smenkhkare took Scarab by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "If you want
to come out with me again you need to apologize to Ruia by giving her a present. I think your silver and onyx bracelet would do very nicely."
Scarab opened her mouth indignantly then subsided. "Yes, brother."
Smenkhkare smiled. "Good girl. Come on then, let's see if we can find the House of Embalming."
"What do you mean, find it? I thought you'd been there before."
"I have, little sister, but I've always gone straight there from the palace. Going to Teti's first has confused me a bit." He looked around then pointed down a side street. "Down here I think." Holding Scarab's hand, he set off down the street.
The shops in this part of the city were all concerned with producing the basic things of life. They passed another baker, a large brewery, and shops displaying linen cloth of a low grade, as well as ones selling furniture and wood carvings. Interspersed with the shops and tiny factories were dwellings, mud brick for the most part though a few of the evidently more affluent citizens had homes of stone with tiny courtyards. The crowd of people on the street thinned out and the two children in their spotless white linen kilts and jewelry stood out. A few heads turned to follow them as they passed.
"I'm not sure it is down here," Smenkhkare said. "This street does not look familiar."
Scarab skipped along happily beside her brother. "This is fun anyway. It doesn't matter if we don't find the Embalming House, we're having an adventure."
Smenkhkare tugged on her hand sharply. "Stop that, you are attracting attention." He bent down and whispered as she quieted. "It's not always safe on the streets, Scarab. You wouldn't want to be robbed...or worse."
"What do you mean; worse?"
"We are going to have to ask somebody." Smenkhkare looked around, trying to decide who it was safe to approach. After a few moments he walked up to an old street sweeper sitting against the stone façade of an ale-house, nursing a pot of beer.
"Excuse me," Smenkhkare said. "Can you tell me the way to the East Gate House of the Embalmers?"
The old man peered up at them out of beer-fuddled eyes. A dribble of thick yellow pus streaked the outside corner of his right eye and he rubbed it away with the back of one hand. "You're a bit young to be getting embalmed, aren't you?" he cackled.
