The Amarnan Kings, Book 1: Scarab - Akhenaten

by Overton, Max

  "Up Heru!" Djedhor screamed, leaping to his feet. His men erupted from the gully with a loud roar of anticipation, Paramessu and the Re Legion a split second behind them.

  From the point of view of the fleeing Amorites, it was as if the earth had spewed up armed men at their feet. Before they could even raise their shields or draw sword, lift spear or fasten helmet, the Kemetu legions were upon them, bronze blades flashing, bright spears thrusting as the twin gods of war and death feasted.

  The ragged wave of Amorite soldiers burst on the breakwater of Kemetu bronze and was hurled back in confusion. The Re and Heru legions advanced, their disciplined training kicking in as they stepped, stabbed, hacked and stepped again. Overwhelmed, the Amorite soldiers died or retreated.

  Then the Ptah Legion hit them from behind. Paatenemheb and Minmose had harried the last of the Amorite raiders, pressing with superior numbers, herding them south toward the main Amorite camp. As the two enemy forces joined, the Ptah Legion fell on them and forced them in a disorganized retreat into the plains of slaughter.

  The three Kemetu legions met as the enemy fled in small groups, scattering for their lives. A small troop, marginally more organized, fled north, slipping around the Ptah Legion, racing on foot for the cover of the hills. Paramessu saw them when he stopped to survey the battlefield, watching his men dispatch the wounded enemy, the army surgeons start to attend to the Kemetu wounded. He screwed up his eyes and put a hand up to block the low sun. A glint of gold caught the light and a red banner fluttered in the distance.

  "Aziru," he hissed. Paramessu turned and shouted to Meny, a Greatest of Fifty. "Meny, bring your Fifty, at the double." Without waiting to see if he was followed, Paramessu set off to the north, leaping over bodies and dodging around groups of bloodied and tired soldiers. Tucking his short sword into his belt, he slung his small war-shield over his back and concentrated on his running.

  Skirting the last of the bodies, Paramessu glanced over his shoulder and saw Meny, together with a dozen or so of his men, strung out behind him. He nodded grimly and scanned the ground in front of him, trying to discern how many fled from him and where they were going. The Amorites had about equal numbers but were more tightly knit, clustered about a central figure, their retreat slowed by the pace of this one man.

  "It must be Aziru," he muttered.

  A thousand paces ahead, the Amorites turned slightly to the right, heading up a broad dry stream bed. From his long forays into the area, Paramessu knew the stream turned to the left then split into numerous gullies before rising to the ridge ahead. There was ample cover further up and he and his men would find it hard to follow if the Amorites had any archers. He knew if he was to have any hope of reaching Aziru it would have to be before they reached the ridge.

  Instead of veering right, Paramessu continued straight ahead, forcing his tired legs up the slope of the hill shoulder, away from the dry stream bed. The slope became steeper, scattered with boulders and loose rock. He skidded and slipped, almost falling, forcing himself upward. His leg muscles ached and his breath came in great rushing blasts, the sweat pouring off him, but he reached the crest of the shoulder. He stood panting at the top, holding his side and grimacing at the tight pain. Looking down he saw the dry stream bed where it turned to the left and the scrambling figures of the Amorites almost directly below him. He could not cut them off but he would be close behind them if he could descend fast.

  Meny and the first of his men were about fifty paces down from him, making heavy going of the loose surface. The rest were further back but coming on as fast as they could. It would have to do. Paramessu pointed down over the crest, waving Meny on, before plunging down the slope toward the tail of the fleeing Amorites.

  Several heads looked up as rocks plunged down the slope ahead of the Kemetu commander. A shouted order and four men dropped back to intercept Paramessu, the rest hurrying on. Paramessu looked up, a cry of frustration passing his lips as he saw a man who undoubtedly was King Aziru, disappearing up one of the side gullies, climbing for the ridge line. Not watching where he was going, his foot caught on a rock and he pitched forward, landing hard on the loose surface and careening downward in a shower of rocks.

  Paramessu landed hard on the rocky floor of the stream bed, and lay half stunned. Rocks clattering ahead of him gave a warning and he rolled over onto his knees, shaking his head to clear it. He looked up as a shadow fell on him and, without thinking, threw himself to one side, a spearhead clanging off a rock beside him. Scrambling to his feet, he snatched his sword out just in time to deflect another stab by the spear. He backed away, the spearman coming after him with a grin on his face, his weapon probing. Another Amorite spearman followed, scrambling over the boulders to outflank the Kemetu.

  Paramessu slipped his small war-shield off his back, his eyes never leaving the spearman's face. The bright point of the lance bobbed and weaved in the periphery of his vision. A flicker in the man's eyes and Paramessu leapt forward, his shield raised, blocking and forcing the spear upward, the sharp bronze point still managing to score a bright line of blood across his shoulder. His sword stabbed forward and caught on the plates of the man's leather and bronze armor, deflecting to the side. Closing with the Amorite he hacked to the side and up and felt his blade bite deep into the man's armpit. Screaming, the man dropped his spear and fell, his life blood pulsing out over the rocks.

  Whirling, Paramessu was in time to dodge the spear of the second Amorite. He was forced back, blindly stepping over rocks, slipping in loose stones. He blocked a thrust and saw he was being backed toward the other two Amorites who, armed with swords, were advancing to cut him off. A cry came from up the slope and a stone cracked and ricocheted off a boulder near the spearman. Paramessu saw the man's eyes glance toward the slope and he threw his sword hard, catching the man on the chest with the hilt, knocking him back. Throwing himself forward, he grappled and wrestled him to the ground. He gripped a rock and swung it hard, again, the first blow landing on the man's shoulder, the second on the side of his head. Blood spurted and the man cried out, his hands feeling blindly for Paramessu's throat. He swung again and the man's skull bones collapsed with a wet sound like a melon bursting.

  His breath coming in great whooping gasps, Paramessu glanced up the slope to see Meny and the first of his Fifty sliding down the slope toward him. Others followed and Paramessu turned back to the two remaining Amorites, suddenly conscious that his sword was lying somewhere on the rocky bed. He swung the shield around to cover him and tensed, waiting for the attack.

  The Amorite glared at the Kemetu commander. "You have killed my men, Kemetu. Do not think I will forget." He spoke in Syrian, but Paramessu understood him. He said nothing but waited, his men coming ever closer.

  "Jebu, come away," the other man called. "Hurry."

  The Amorite leader stared at Paramessu for a moment then nodded, turning away and running after his fellow. They disappeared into the gully as Meny and the first of his men arrived in a flood of loose scree.

  "Fornicating Amorites," Meny panted. "Shall we get after them, sir?"

  "No. Aziru is long gone by now. Gather your men and we'll return."

  The Kemetus stripped the dead Amorites of their armor and weapons and hacked off the right hands, carrying them away as the troop descended along the stream bed.

  Paatenemheb was waiting for his Re Legion commander, along with Djedhor and Minmose. He eyed the two hands thrown on the growing heap nearby. "You got him?"

  "No sir. He dropped back a rearguard to cover his escape."

  "But it was Aziru?"

  "I think so. I didn't get close enough to be certain but he wore gold."

  Paatenemheb nodded. "We did well today." He addressed all three commanders. "But these Amorites are but the first bite of the loaf. The Hittites are coming, gentlemen, make no mistake. We will need more troops than we have at our disposal to meet them in battle."

  "What can we do if the king will not pay to build up the army?" Dj
edhor complained. "We need gold. Our own troops' pay is in arrears as it is."

  "Petition him again, General, it is the only way," Minmose added.

  "I have tried, but I will try again." He looked at his commanders searchingly. "What else can we do to prepare? I want ideas."

  Minmose shrugged. "Fortify Gezer. The Hittites will have to travel down the coast road and lay siege to Gezer. They cannot invade Kemet and leave that garrison in their rear."

  "Meet them in the field before they reach Gezer," Djedhor growled. "My fornicating Heru Legion is a match for any Hittite army."

  Paatenemheb allowed himself a small smile. "I'd back them at odds of three to one, Djedhor, but not even your men could handle odds of thirty to one."

  "Strip the other garrisons then," Minmose added. "Take all the men out of Avaris, Tanis and the Sin forts ..."

  "Five hundred more at most." Paatenemheb shook his head. "What else? Paramessu, any ideas?"

  "The Nubian battalions stationed at Qerert."

  "Gods, Paramessu," Minmose interjected. "They are all that stand between us and the southern hordes."

  "Who have been quiet this past twelve-month. We could take them if we don't make too much of a fuss. Bring them north, meet and crush the Hittites, then have them back in place before the Nubians know they are gone."

  Paatenemheb pursed his lips. "A bold plan. How many would you take?"

  "The garrison at Qerert was recently cut by more than half. Even so, I could find a thousand men, I'm sure of it."

  "Not enough, but better than nothing."

  "Then let me recruit among those laid off. I could find a thousand more."

  "And pay them with what?" Djedhor asked. "Our troops are virtually fighting without pay now. You won't get soldiers to sign up again without at least silver in the hand--preferably gold."

  "There are gold mines near the Nubian border."

  "The king's," Djedhor said. "You are not thinking of robbing the king?"

  "I was thinking merely that the king will eventually see sense and release enough gold to pay for Kemet's defense." Paramessu smiled disarmingly. "Perhaps we could make a small withdrawal against that time. Say, six month's pay?"

  "A year would be more like it," Paatenemheb grunted. He held up a hand to forestall Djedhor's protest. "But I cannot countenance robbery. You must go down to Qerert and see what you can do just on a promise." He stepped between Paramessu and Djedhor, turning his back on his senior commander. "You will go to Qerert for me, and raise me an army?" The general's mouth twitched in a smile and the eyelid of one eye drooped.

  "Yes sir. I will leave at once."

  "Good man." Paatenemheb turned to include the other commanders. "Speed is essential. Take a small group with you, say a Fifty. Stop for nothing. It is now just past the new moon, with luck you should be down at Waset by the next new moon, Qerert perhaps eight days later. It will take you longer to return, but with the help of the gods we should have an army back here within three months."

  "And what will we be doing while he's doing that?" Djedhor asked.

  "You will take your legion north past Gezer. It is essential we have warning of the Hittite movements. Minmose, you will take the Ptah and Paramessu's Re to Gezer and fortify it. You know how to do that."

  "And you, General?"

  "I will appeal to Akhenaten once more. I will head south with Paramessu." Paatenemheb grinned at his commander's expression. "Don't worry, I won't slow you down. You will go on ahead and I'll bring another Fifty down with me more slowly. I'll meet up with you again on your march north." He saluted his commanders. "You have your orders, gentlemen."

  Taking Paramessu aside after the other commanders had left, Paatenemheb handed him a papyrus scroll. "You will need this authority to bring the troops up from Qerert."

  Paramessu's eyes widened. He unrolled the papyrus and scanned its neat columns of writing. "You knew? Before I raised the idea you knew we'd have to use the Qerert garrison?"

  "Of course. It is the only logical thing we can do." He grinned. "I was confident you'd think of it."

  "You could have told me."

  Paatenemheb shrugged. "No need. Now, I want at least three thousand men. Akhenaten has bled this army dry too long and I mean to rectify matters. Take men you can trust but hit the gold mines at Kemsah--you know them?"

  "I know where they are though I've never been there."

  "Don't kill anyone if you can help it but get what gold you need then raise me an army at Qerert. You can do it?"

  "I can try."

  "Do more than try." Paatenemheb clapped his commander on the shoulder. "Oh, and one other thing. If you make a pig's arse of the robbery and get caught, remember I cannot be involved. I won't lift a finger to help you. Let's face it Paramessu, my life is worth infinitely more to Kemet than yours."

  ***

  Paramessu made better time on the road than he thought he would. The General and his men slowly fell behind, but Paramessu, together with Meny and his Fifty, ran onward. By the time they crossed out of the Sin plains and into the desert roads of Kemet, they had taken to traveling at night. It was cooler and they could cover greater distances. The moon waxed and on the night of the full moon they found themselves about fifty or sixty thousand strides to the north and east of Akhet-Aten, moving south on the great caravan road toward Waset.

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  Chapter Thirty-One

  Farmer Pa-it and Asenath his wife sat on a wooden bench outside the door of their one-room hut in the tiny village of Akhet-Re. He sipped on a large pot of weak beer while she leaned against him, enjoying the peace and quiet in this hour between finishing the evening chores and bed. A small fire in the dirt outside the hut supplied a little heat to dispel the evening cool and a little light to push back the shadows. Around them, village life wound down for the day. A soft murmuring came from the half-dozen huts in the little community, the gentle flicker of firelight leaking from the edges of the curtained doorways or through chinks in the wattle and mud daub fabric of the walls. Sounds of normal, everyday human life. Voices raised in laughter briefly, the chatter of children as they were put to bed, and the squall of an infant mingled with the bleating of sheep and goats in the pens close to the huts and a shuffle and low from the village milk cow in its pen further out. A young pup scuffled with an older, almost blind dog in the dust of what could be called a street but was in fact just a wide space between the huts. The pup barked excitedly as, snapping and snarling, they rolled and lunged, their tails telling of pleasure and contentment. An old tom cat sat in the shadows watching them languidly before closing its eyes and dozing.

  Pa-it and Asenath's two daughters, Enehy and Imiu, were no longer at home. In the thirteen years since the building of Akhet-Aten across the river, the economics of the region had changed. A huge market had opened up right on Pa-it's doorstep and the city bought all the produce the little farms could grow. The farmers of Akhet-Re, unlike so many other workers of the land, benefited from the new king's regime, though the loss of the old gods worried them. Pa-it for one still greeted Khepri and Re each day, but silently in his own heart.

  Materially, the villagers thrived. Pa-it could afford a dowry and his eldest daughter Enehy married and moved downriver with her new husband, starting a family of her own on another farm. Imiu had left the land and found a job as a lady's maid in the city. The sons, Min and Khu were adults now and lived, by choice, in a lean-to attached to the back of their parents' hut. The youngest son, named for his father, was usually referred to as Pa-it-pasherit or little Pa-it, to distinguish him from his father.

  The elder Pa-it was now nearly fifty and the oldest man in the village. Though Akhet-Re was not large enough to warrant an official village leader, with the concomitant duties of keeping the peace and tax gathering, the other farmers looked to him for guidance in most things that involved the community.

  Pa-it yawned and stretched before draining the last of the beer. He belche
d, stifling it politely because of the presence of his wife. "Bed, I think, Asenath." Still he made no effort to get up, sitting contentedly watching the dogs play in the dust. The older dog broke off his play and stared fixedly at the darkness toward the river, his ears cocked. The pup took the opportunity to lunge again at the old dog's muzzle, then yelped as the dog snapped hard before turning its attention back to the darkness. After a moment the pup quieted, sniffing the air before erupting into a volley of barks, running forward to the edge of the firelight then back again. The old dog growled gently and Pa-it got up, picking up a stout wooden staff from the ground beside him.

  "Min, Khu, Pa-it-pash, get out here. Asenath, go back inside. Barak," he snapped at the young dog. "Be quiet." The pup ignored him and barked again.

  "What is it?"

  "I don't know, but I'd like you inside. Min, Khu, where are you?"

  The curtain across the doorway of the hut was pushed aside, sending a shaft of light over the darkened street. Two young men, short but wiry, pushed out into the open and looked enquiringly at Pa-it. A taller youth followed them, his untidy shock of black hair and large eyes lending him a look of having just awakened.

  "What is it, da?" the youth asked, looking around the village. The young dog let loose another barrage of barks and Pa-it-pash snapped his fingers. "Barak. Stop that." The pup immediately dipped its tail and came running to the youth, pushing between his legs then turning to face the darkness, quivering and whining softly. The older dog stayed where it was, silently, listening intently.

  "Someone, or something, coming from the river," Pa-it answered.

  "We'll take a look." Min grabbed a burning branch from the fire and whipped it back and forth to make it burn brighter. He started toward the darkness where the dogs pointed. Khu picked up a mattock and followed him, as his older brother walked into the darkness, his brand held aloft, casting a dubious light into the shadows.

  Pa-it, and Asenath, for she had joined her husband outside again, heard a cry of surprise from Min, followed by a laugh from Khu and almost immediately three figures emerged into the light of the street fire. Between the two young men walked a young girl, not much past puberty, wearing a short servant's kilt and toting a bundle of blue cloth. The girl walked hesitantly up to Pa-it and bobbed her head, a worried look on her face. She glanced at the old woman standing behind him, then at the youth with the dog. The pup growled and edged forward, sniffing at her legs. After a moment its tail started wagging.