Once they made their exchanges, Tut and the Egyptian army left Kush with chariots filled with Nubian treasures.
“He kept smiling at me while his guards filled our chariots with their gold and ivory,” Tut said to Horemheb. “Under what circumstances is it ever a joyful occasion for a king to give his treasures away? Either he doesn’t take me seriously as the anointed pharaoh of Egypt, or he’s conspiring to do something against us.”
“I commend your intuition, my Pharaoh. However, I think both scenarios are true. He certainly does not take you seriously because of your youth, and he indeed is conspiring against us as his spurious demeanor easily gives him away. The Nubians are no different than the Hittites—both are untrustworthy dogs and deserving of each other,” replied Horemheb.
Their journey home from the Nubian kingdom was long and treacherous. Dust-filled windstorms enveloped the desert, creating unbearable heat. Horemheb’s army lost many of their horses to dehydration and their food supplies had dwindled to almost nothing by the time they reached the boundaries of Egypt. Only the camels appeared unscathed.
Senpaten was waiting for Tut in her chamber when he returned. He had an aching in his shoulders pulsating outward to his extremities. She helped him to his favorite chair and rubbed his body down in an aloe ointment.
“Tut, you have a fever,” she said after caressing his forehead.
“It’s nothing,” he replied.
“I know your plan is to lead the army into battle, but your illness will put your life at risk. I beg you to let Horemheb take the lead,” said Senpaten.
“Just because I haven’t taken part in a war doesn’t mean I’m incapable of fighting in one. I am a skilled archer and master of the chariot.”
“Tut, you’re the bravest man I know and will make a great warrior king. But think of us. What will we do if you don’t return? How will I tell our child? It will need its father.”
Senpaten placed Tut’s hand on her swelled belly. It was her eighth month of pregnancy. Tut worried for her, but refused to forsake the calling set by his grandfather, Amenhotep. The glorious scenes of combat drawn on the walls throughout the Colonnade Hall had evoked an irresistible urge in him to lead their army in the war against the Hittites.
Tut pulled out his father’s amulet from under his garment. “The Aten will protect me from my enemies,” he said, “I’m not afraid.”
Horemheb admired Tut’s passion for learning the ways of war and his keen determination to lead the fight for his country, but physically the young pharaoh’s body was much too slight for combat, and his prowess, grander than what his small frame allowed. A Hittite soldier could easily toss him from his chariot and crush every bone in his frail body with one blow of the battle ax. The pharaoh’s position in the front line would be a liability, not an asset to his army. Tut’s strength was his skill as an archer, and the challenge to keep him alive during the combat would be an unnecessary burden on Horemheb’s men.
Traveling east through the fortress of T’aru, Horemheb tried his hand at convincing Tut to abandon the fight, with no success. He pleaded with Tut to at least take the position in the rear of the platoon where he would be more protected. Tut’s resolve could not be shaken. Horemheb had no choice but to support Tut’s decision by granting him the respect a general gives his pharaoh in allowing him to lead the charge.
At the break of dawn, in the valley of Kadesh, Tut ordered a surprise attack on a remnant of the Hittite army as they were encamped at the base of Mount Hor. Tut led the charge in his war chariot adorned with the engraved copper symbol of the Montu god. Behind him loomed three thousand of his soldiers in battle formation carrying spears, battle-axes, and leather shields.
The Hittite army was no less well-equipped. Bronze conical helmets covered their heads with earflaps that extended down their backs to protect their necks. Their powerful bows shot bronze-tipped arrows, and the Hittite warriors carried bronze daggers, lances, spears, and curved swords. The function of their chariots proved to be more effective as well. Instead of a bowman at the helm, some had javelin throwers. Still, the overwhelming number of Egyptian horses and chariots were enough to rip through the Hittite camp, leaving most of them with no time to mount their horses for a counterattack.
Tut’s fever raged, and though disoriented, he was successful at striking down a large number of Hittites with his articulated arrows. Horemheb demonstrated immeasurable agility as well, despite his age, and his skill with the spear and battle-ax proved to be devastating for the Hittites.
The battle was going well for Tut when the left wheel of his chariot loosened from its axle. The wheel broke apart piece-by-piece as two vengeful Hittites on horseback focused their rage on Tut and chased after him. In an attempt to escape the bombardment of the enemy’s spears and arrows, Tut signaled his driver to accelerate their speed well past the mechanical ability of the chariot.
The driver made a sudden turn, and before the wheel completely disintegrated, he and Tut jumped from it. The driver landed on his side uninjured as the carriage broke away from the horse’s bridle and flipped three times. Tut landed on his leg, shattering his tibia bone so violently that it broke through the skin. The sight and shock of it deadened the pain. His driver rushed over to him, tore off a strip of his garment, and wrapped and tied it over his wound. After Tut was helped into another chariot, twenty-four of his soldiers formed a circular barrier around it, protecting their pharaoh with their arrows, axes, and shields. Not one Hittite was able to penetrate their defense.
The Hittite army struggled against the Egyptians but in the end conceded defeat. Those who survived retreated to their homeland of Hatti. Those injured or dead on the battlefield were mutilated. Horemheb ordered their uncircumcised genitals and hands severed and brought back to Egypt as trophies of their conquest. Their most prized trophy from the war was the captured Hittite General Callum.
Tut longed to bask in Egypt’s triumph with his general, but was still suffering in great pain as he lay in the healing temple days after the battle. He watched the physicians meticulously clean and disinfect his wound with copper and honey, and shrieked when they set the bone and secured it with splints on both sides. Tut was ashamed that he hadn’t kept control over his reactions. A pharaoh’s inclination should always be of long-suffering and strength. He wondered if the people thought of him as he did in that moment—a failure to the memory of his grandfather Amenhotep.
Sia appeared with his priest wand and waved it over Tut’s leg. He then recited a healing spell to the god Amun that Tut had no confidence would work. When Sia completed the incantation, he left Tut alone with Senpaten. She cried when she took hold of his hand. He masked the pain so as not to make it worse for her.
“The Amun priests say that your ailment was judged and treated, and that you’ll be healed,” said Senpaten.
“Then why are you crying?” asked Tut.
“It hurts me to see you like this.”
“My leg will heal. It’s not what I’m concerned about.”
“Tell me. What is it?” she asked.
“The Aten amulet is gone,” he said. “It must have broken away from my neck when I jumped from the chariot.”
Senpaten reached under his garment to feel his chest. Nothing was there.
“I fear without it I have no protection,” said Tut.
“You have no enemies here in Thebes,” she said. “There’s nothing to fear.”
CHAPTER
35
AT LONG LAST, Egypt’s most grand structure, the Colonnade Hall, was completed. Amenhotep had begun construction forty years before and Tut, along with Horemheb, had been determined to see it finished. Amenhotep’s legacy as the great builder of Egypt would live on.
In the healing temple, Ay prepared a special mixture of the cure made of goat’s milk and latex from three poppy capsules for Tut to drink. He assured him it would numb the pain so he could walk with his splints in time for the festivities. The potion made him vomit, but as Ay
promised, it soothed his pain. The citizens of Thebes expected to see their pharaoh at the Colonnade Hall celebration no matter how wounded or ill he might be.
With the help of a cane and the hand of his pregnant wife, Senpaten, Tut approached the podium in front of the large gathering of his subjects, still burning with fever.
“People of Thebes, we have gathered here at Egypt’s most grand structure: The Colonnade Hall. This hall was envisioned and commissioned to be built by my grandfather, Amenhotep the Third, the great builder of Egypt, and now today after many years of construction, I stand before you to dedicate the completed structure in his honor. Many praises to Amun—the mighty and benevolent god that lives in our midst!”
Aware that he was being monitored by the twelve Amun priests, Tut continued his declaration, saying what he thought would appease their senses.
“I have immolated the bull and the ox, offerings to the gods Amun, Montu, Khonsu, and Osiris, my gods and your gods. You will witness the spilling of their blood on the pillar of the Amun temple when the sun disappears from the horizon, but first we must pay homage to the greatest general Egypt has ever known. Because of his bravery, we have defeated the Hittites once again,” Tut said turning toward Horemheb. “General, come to me.”
Horemheb strode up to the podium and bowed before Tut.
“The victory over the Hittites was borne of your skill and bravery, general,” said Tut. “With this gold collar, I promote you, General Horemheb, to the highest post in Egypt. From this day forward, you will be the Overseer of All Works of the Pharaoh.”
Ay stared suspiciously at the general before he handed Tut the collar that he would place around Horemheb’s neck.
“I’m honored to serve you, my Pharaoh,” Horemheb replied, “and proud to present the Hittite General who goes by the name of Callum, for you and the peoples’ amusement,” the general said before turning to his guards. “Bring him forward!” he shouted.
There were hushed gasps as a stocky man with a groomed beard, dressed in a decorated tunic and the distinctive curled up shoes of the Hittites was shoved forward with his hands and ankles shackled. The people had never seen a Hittite general before, at least not one alive with his hands and genitals still attached. As General Callum was led across the hall in chains, the crowd whipped into a frenzy of jeering and shouting. From the pompous smirk on his face, the captive Hittite general looked amused at being paraded around, and he sneered back at the Egyptian people.
General Callum was a temporary trophy for Horemheb, but not the one he wanted most of all. Horemheb’s greatest desire was to capture King Suppiluliumas himself. In truth, any prince of Hatti or anyone of Hittite royalty would do. With such a prize, he would keep the vow he made to Amenhotep, to avenge the murder of Lady Lupita. The Hittite general was mere entertainment Horemheb could bestow upon the Egyptian people until he fulfilled that promise. After the spectacle was over, he would allow the Hittite general to return to his country, knowing the shame he would no doubt endure from being captured.
As General Callum weathered the Egyptians’ insults, Senpaten caught his eye, and he smiled at her, amused by her curiosity.
“Where is the prisoner from?” Senpaten whispered in Tut’s ear.
“He’s from a land called Hatti, ruled by a duplicitous king named Suppiluliumas,” said Tut. Grandfather Amenhotep signed a peace treaty with them many years ago, yet they still attack our tributaries. Why do you ask?”
“I was only curious. Do I dare say there’s something kind about his eyes?”
“There’s nothing kind about him or his king,” Tut corrected. “The heathens once murdered an Egyptian queen by the order of their King Suppiluliumas.”
“How do you know?”
“The story was written in hieroglyphics on the Colonnade Hall.”
“Are all stories inscribed on the Colonnade wall true?”
“Why would the scribes write a lie that would be read from a wall throughout eternity, Senpaten?” Tut snapped. “Besides, Horemheb told me it was he himself who retrieved her body—”
A searing pain shot from Tut’s leg and spread up into his chest. The numbing effect of the cure had faded. The pain was so intense that the pharaoh doubled over, placing all of his weight onto his cane. It cracked before breaking in half, and Ay and Senpaten had to help him into the royal chariot where he was taken back to the healing temple of Amun.
Before Sia and the physicians appeared at the temple to treat Tut’s illness, Senpaten and Mayati went to him first in private.
“Why won’t you take more of the cure from Ay so you won’t have to bear the pain?” asked Mayati.
“It makes me vomit. The cure can’t remove an evil spirit that someone has conjured up,” said Tut.
“Then Senpaten and I will pray to the Aten in secret for your protection.”
“The amulet was my protection, as it was to Father and his brother. Do you think the Aten has abandoned me?” Tut asked, revealing his deepest fear of all.
“Don’t ask such things,” replied Senpaten. “You are a strong and wise king. You have survived what would have been a fatal accident for a mere mortal. I know the Aten will continue to protect you even without the amulet.”
Senpaten was interrupted by the arrival of Sia and his entourage of physicians: one to treat Tut’s bruises, one to treat his fever, and another to treat his pain. Senpaten and Mayati moved aside as the bruise physician unwrapped the bandages from Tut’s leg and removed both splints.
Sia was curiously fixated on his leg. When Tut tried to sit up in bed to see it for himself, Sia forced him back down to a lying position. “Don’t look at it,” he warned.
“Why? Tell me.” said Tut. “Is the wound not healing?”
“The wound has spread, my Pharaoh; gangrene has set in. We’ll have to amputate the leg or the infection will spread and kill you.”
Senpaten and Mayati both froze in fear.
Tut couldn’t digest what Sia had just said to him. It was devastating, and the last thing he wanted Senpaten to hear. She was nearing her moment to give birth, and he was concerned about his inability to console her like a husband should at such a crucial time. Senpaten had experienced premature birthing pangs, and Tut worried about her and the health of their unborn child. Sia’s diagnosis would only cause her more despair.
“You’re mistaken. Bring me another physician!” Tut yelled. Another jolt of pain shot up his leg, and the pharaoh arched his back and screamed.
Senpaten cried and Mayati took her in her arms.
“It’s not a mistake, my Pharaoh,” Sia repeated. “The amputation must be performed before the infection spreads.”
Senpaten rushed over to him and held his hand. Tut looked her in the eye. “I won’t let them sever me,” he murmured with defiance. “What sort of pharaoh has only one leg? I would be an embarrassment to Egypt, a symbol of weakness to all the other kingdoms.”
“Tut, please. I don’t care what other kingdoms think. Let them remove it before it’s too late. If the leg is infected, it’ll spread the poison to your heart if you don’t stop it,” said Senpaten.
Senpaten siding with the Amun priest made Tut’s temper boil. He wanted them all to go away.
“Leave me!” he shouted.
Sia and the physicians gathered their utensils and left his chamber as ordered. Senpaten and Mayati remained standing next to him in tears.
“If I had been born with just one leg from the beginning,” said Tut, “then I would have been divine like our father, perfect in his deformity from birth. An amputation is not godly, but a constant reminder of my incompetence.
Tut couldn’t bear his sisters’ sad faces anymore. Shame overwhelmed him.
“All of you! Leave me now!” Tut demanded.
Clutching each other’s hands, Senpaten and Mayati rushed out of the healing temple leaving Tut alone in his desperation.
When Horemheb and Mundi attempted to visit him, he turned them away in the same manner, shouti
ng that they leave his presence. The two were the closest thing to parents he had left, and the thought of them seeing him in such a vulnerable state made him feel like a failure, ashamed of being a son they couldn’t be proud of.
Alone and in solitude, Tut closed his eyes and said a prayer to the god of his father and mother, the only god he knew—the Aten.
My god, the Aten, the sun-disk, you are the one and only god of Egypt and of the world. As my father, Akenaten, was your son, I, Tutankhaten, am also your son and the one that brings you glory. I come to you without the amulet of Aten, hoping that you will forgive me for losing it. There is only one that can save me and that is you, the Aten. Please strike from me the evil spirit that is infecting my leg. I desire your power to shine down upon me and my wife, Senpaten, and our child. My father—the Aten, I ask you to remove this evil disease from my leg and bless your son and his family with good health.
Tut repeated his prayer seven times, knowing that such words spoken inside the Amun temple had little chance of reaching the ears of the Aten. Nevertheless, he envisioned his divine prayer being carried away on the wings of a crowned falcon, out from the dark blasphemous Amun temple and beyond to the bright shores of Amarna, the place where his father first saw the sun rise between the two mountains, the home where, with his sisters and parents, he once lived the joys of his childhood.
As soon as Senpaten and Mayati returned to the palace, Senpaten’s birth pangs became so severe she lost consciousness and had to be revived with pungent incense. When she stood up, liquid from her womb burst and spilled out on the floor. The child was coming a month early. Mundi went to the palace to help Senpaten onto the birthing stool, but after two days in labor, the child still remained trapped in the womb. Mundi assumed that an evil spirit blocked the child’s exit way, most likely a messenger of the god Sekhmet, and it would have to be removed with magic before the child’s path could be cleared.
VALLEY OF THE KINGS: The 18th Dynasty Page 29
