by Overton, Max
"He married Kiya, but he did not bed her. Until you, my Waenre was faithful to his vow."
"Tell me, mother, what would have happened if I had refused father. Be honest."
Nefertiti scowled unseen in the darkness, her face black against the night sky. "He would have forced you, and none would oppose him."
"Then why do you blame me?"
"Because you wanted to."
"But you are telling me that whether I wanted it or not, the outcome would have been the same. I loved him, mother, and I love him still. That is why I gave up everything to guide him in his blindness, so that he would not be alone."
"I can forgive much because of that."
"Because I love him?"
"Yes. He is a religious fool, but I...I am fond of him still."
"Then tell him, mother. He believes you do not care."
"As I believed for seventeen years he did not care," Nefertiti said. "He had his sun god to keep him company, and now it seems he has a new god, this 'Yah' of his. He has no time for me, and I have none for him."
"But mother..."
"Enough, Meryetaten. It is time for bed. We have work at sunrise." Nefertiti hitched up her dress and shuffled off to the local midden.
Merye went inside and by the faint glow of starlight through the door and window, found a pallet and lay down, composing herself for sleep. A few minutes later, her mother came in and lay down next to her.
"Goodnight, mother."
"Goodnight, Merye. Do not worry about your father and me; it is with the gods."
* * *
Yahmose did not find the gate on the road that led back to the coast, but instead took the road that led further into the mountains, to the mines and quarries. Guards questioned him at intervals, wondering at the old blind man stumbling toward them. He told them his new name--not that he would have been in any danger using the name Akhenaten, for who could possibly see the face of the heretic king in the battered bearded face of an old beggar. Rather, he told them 'Yahmose' because his former life was dead to him.
The road ended at the mines, and the guards turned him away, not unkindly, telling him to do his begging in the town.
"I do not want to go back to town," Yahmose said. "Is there another path? One that leads further into the mountains?"
"Only goat tracks, old man. Go back before you take a tumble and break your scrawny neck."
"Set my feet on the path and I will give you a blessing."
The guards laughed and spun him around, watching with great mirth as he reeled and walked into the side of the mountain, almost falling. One man took pity on him and took Yahmose's arm, leading him to a goat track.
"We can all use a blessing in this terrible place," the guard said. "Think kindly of Paner, old man, and keep to the right of the path always."
"May the blessings of Yah be upon you, Paner. He will reward those who perform acts of kindness toward his servant."
Yahmose left the jeering soldiers behind and climbed the goat track, shuffling along with his staff probing the path ahead. He bore in mind Paner's advice and kept to the right side of the track for the wind blew keener on the left and the echoes from rock striking rock took longer to reach his ears on that side. He could not see, but he could sense the drop down the mountainside. As he climbed, he prayed to his god, praising him and petitioning him for guidance.
"O Great Yah, the only One who can truly say 'I am', hear my prayer. Before the mountains were born, or you created the earth and the sky, you are from everlasting to everlasting, eternity to eternity, for you are the only God. A thousand years in your sight are like a day in ours, like yesterday when it has gone.
"O Great Yah, give me all that I need each day, satisfy me in the morning with your love, with the generosity of your spirit, so that I may want for nothing. The smallest crumb that falls from your table will satisfy me. I will sing for joy and be glad all my days.
"O Great Yah, take from me the memory of my bad days. Make me glad the same number of days that the world has afflicted me, the same number of years I have seen evil at the hands of wicked men.
"O Great Yah, guide me in your ways, let your work appear to Yahmose your servant, and let your might and majesty be evident to the wicked men and to their children. Let the favour of the Lord God Yah cover me, pouring out blessings upon your faithful servant. Tell me what you want me to do, O Great Yah, confirm for me the work of my hands."
Yahmose reached the point where the goat track passed over a ridge, and he stumbled as the path fell away before him. He stopped and raised his face to the sun, feeling its heat suck the moisture from his dry and chapped skin. I should have brought a water skin .
"No, I have faith in my god. He will provide all that I need."
He set off down the track, striding confidently in the knowledge that his god would keep him from harm. For a thousand paces he strode, exulting, and then his sandal slipped on a patch of loose gravel, he stumbled and tripped, falling heavily and sliding down the slope a dozen paces. His staff fell from his hand and swung, cracking him viciously across the back of the head and Yahmose tumbled into darkness.
Yahmose woke to the coolness of the night, though his face burned from the sun's blazing touch. His head ached abominably, and when he sat up, the world lurched around him and he cried out with the pain. Flashes of light lit his vision, pulsing in time with the pounding in his head.
"O Great Yah," he called excitedly, "Grant your servant the gift of sight that I may serve you better."
The flashes of light did not resolve into vision though, merely fading with the passage of time. The ache in his head eased and Yahmose felt around for his staff and got to his feet. He set off in the dark, tripping and stumbling over the rocks but when he reached the stony plain beneath the coastal range, his journey eased and his progress became more normal.
The sun rose and the temperature swiftly climbed. Yahmose sought shelter and in the absence of water, sucked a pebble. It stimulated his saliva but did not help his raging thirst. He dozed, feverish, and woke with the setting sun, moving off again with his long shadow lurching in front of him.
"Great Yah...Great Yah...help me...help your servant...I thirst..." He stumbled on, getting weaker as the stars circled him like vultures. I will die tomorrow ..."No, god will help me." A grumbling mutter sounded to the east where the land rose again. Yahmose stopped and listened. The sound came again, distant, and he racked his brain trying to think of its cause. It continued for a while and then died away, and Yahmose continued trudging toward it.
Toward dawn, on what he knew would be his last day...unless Yah has a purpose for me... he fell into a gully and sought out, by touch, an overhanging rock and a sandy space beneath it. He curled up and fell asleep.
Yahmose woke, drowning, spluttering and gasping for air as a surge of muddy water tore him free from his sandy nook and tumbled him down the gully. He fought the current, feeling it weaken, and hauled himself free of its pull.
When he recovered, he dragged himself back down to the trickling brook and drank deeply, vomited it back up and drank again.
"Praise Yah, for he sent the thunder and the rain, saving his servant for his purpose. Guide me, Yah, that I may do your bidding."
Yahmose knelt in the drying mud by the now small pools of water and bent his head in prayer, waiting to know the will of his god Yah.
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* * *
Chapter Nine
Paramessu led the Sobek legion south to Waset himself, though the legion commander Iurudef accompanied him. A lesser man would have taken a barge upriver, content to view his troops from the comfort of a chair under an awning, but Paramessu never asked any man to do what he could not. He ran at the head of the legion, Iurudef alongside him, and they ate up the dusty days between the two cities.
Six days brought them to the cliffs above Akhet-Aten, the once-proud city of the heretic already starting its long drift into obscurity, and another day brought them
to the well among the rocks where he had killed Bennu the bandit and rescued a young girl. Paramessu rested the legion among the rocks and saw to the replenishing of their water. He had the legion physicians examine the men, and dismissed two of the troopers whose feet had become infected from cuts and scratches. Another was beset with a bloody flux and could not continue. They would follow at their own pace.
"We should rest the men a day longer," Iurudef said quietly to Paramessu. "They are tired."
"They will be a lot more tired by the time we get to Waset, and I want them fit enough to fight a battle." Tjaty Paramessu fixed the legion commander with a flinty gaze. "These troops are in shocking condition, and discipline is terrible. We may very well have to fight rebels in the south. The least I can do is run some of the fat off them and get them used to hardship. I look to you to lead in this, Commander Iurudef."
Iurudef saluted. "Yes Tjaty. I will not let you down."
Paramessu led the legion out an hour later, while the heat still remained in the rocks and the air. The men grumbled but they obeyed, and when they had settled down into some sort of rhythm, he had the legion commander take over while he dropped down the line. Fifteen hundred men on the run occupy a large section of road, and though the troop commanders and Leaders of Fifty, Ten, and Five tried to keep order, the soldiers were little more than a rabble in Paramessu's eyes. He ordered men back into line, cajoled them, ran alongside them and told stories of his days within the northern legions, of his battles when most of them were still at their mother's skirts.
"A soldier of Kemet is no better, man for man, than a soldier of any other nation," he told them. "But add to this a love of the gods, of Ma'at, and discipline, and a Kemetu legion is unstoppable. You, soldier..." he addressed a youth running beside him. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen summers, sir."
"What is your name, and your village?"
"Khu, sir, of Tanaset."
"Indeed? I know another Khu. Older than you but a good fighter. He was a farmer, but now he is an apprentice physician."
"I was a farmer, sir."
"Good man. What about the rest of you?" Paramessu asked the other men around them. "What are your professions?"
"Fisherman...boatman...farmer...carpenter...builder...herdsman..."
"Excellent. Shall I tell you why? Men who work with their hands and are not afraid of honest labour make the best soldiers. They can put in that little bit extra that is the difference between a good soldier and a great one. They have a love for their families and a love for Kemet and will fight hard to protect both."
The men ran on for a while in silence, digesting their Tjaty's words.
"Sir," asked a Leader of Ten hesitantly. "Where are we going?"
"We are going to Waset and beyond. How many men here have been to Waset?" All the men in earshot shook their heads or murmured 'no'. "Waset is the southern capital and the greatest city on earth. Its walls may not shine as brilliantly as those of Ineb Hedj, the White City, but it has a majesty and power that is second to none. It is the city of Amun, and the centre of power of the kings of Kemet. Across the river from it is the Great Valley, where the kings and queens are buried."
"Are we to be stationed there?" asked the same Leader of Ten.
Paramessu hesitated, wondering how much to tell the men. "When one king dies and another one steps forward is often a time of unrest. Nobles--and others--start to wonder whether they have what it takes to ascend the throne. Well, that is possibly happening now, in Waset. Normally, trouble like that could be taken care of by the resident legion--the Amun--but its integrity has been compromised. That is why Lord Horemheb has sent us south. He trusts us to settle the situation, without bloodshed if possible, with if necessary."
Paramessu saw that he had the attention of every man within earshot. "What say you? Will you obey Lord Horemheb's command?"
"Aye, sir, we are loyal; have no fear of that," Leader of Ten said.
Another man, a Leader of Fifty, spoke up. "We obeys all lawful commands, sir, but some of the men, well, they been saying, 'the king is dead and has no heir. Who is lawful king now?' and I said I'd see what I could finds out."
"Does anyone here remember old Nebmaetre Amenhotep?"
A few older men raised a cheer.
"As I thought, most of you are too young to remember him, but he was a legitimate king of the Two Kingdoms, as was his son Waenre Akhenaten. I know, he tried to turn men away from the gods, but he was still king. Then came his brother Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare and a few years later, young Nebkheperure Tutankhamen, also a son of Nebmaetre."
"What about the late king, sir?" Leader of Fifty asked. "He weren't a son of Nebmaetre."
"No, he was not, but he was styled 'God's Father' as he was father to Akhenaten's queen, Nefertiti. Being the king's father-in-law, fan bearer, and Tjaty, gave him rights. He also married Tutankhamen's widow, Queen Ankhesenamen, which as you know, makes him a member of the royal family."
"Lord Horemheb's going to be the next king, sir?"
"Yes."
"Don'ts you get me wrong, sir, we all respects Lord Horemheb, and, well, he be a fine general and all, but he isn't one of them royals, is he?"
"No, he isn't, but he will do what Ay did, marry a member of Nebmaetre's family."
"But theys be all dead, sir. I remembers, two year back, how the queen ups and dies."
"True enough, but there is another. You remember Lady Beketaten, daughter of Nebmaetre?"
There was a chorus of agreement, but also a few mutterings.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but she's dead," said Leader of Fifty. "She died back when Ay became king. I remembers because my cousin was in the young king's guard and afterward he heard she had died in the desert."
"I heard that too," Paramessu said, "But it was not true. I saw her just after that and even better, I saw her not eight days ago, in Ineb Hedj. I talked to her, so I know it was her, and what is more, she is to become the wife and queen of Lord Horemheb. Married to her, he becomes one of the royal family."
"That's good to know, sir."
Paramessu left the men to it and increased his pace, slowly working himself back up to the head of the column. He knew that the conversation would be passed on to others.
"Everything alright, sir?" Iurudef asked, when his commander rejoined him at the head of the column."
"Yes, I was concerned that your men lacked determination, but I think they will do. Camp early tonight and rest them. Tomorrow, we are going to take a day off from our march and practise some battle tactics. They need a bit of sharpening before we meet a real enemy."
"Real enemy, Tjaty. You consider these rebels worthy of the name?"
"Do not make the mistake of thinking Nubians in animal skins are just savages. They are led by Menkure, a Kemetu noble and general under King Smenkhkare. He will have trained his men. Granted, they are not Kemetu soldiers, but they could still be formidable."
The legion rested that night, and then from dawn to dusk the next day, practiced a variety of manoeuvres, troops charging one another, repelling attacks, and fighting in formation where each man looked to protect his neighbour as well as himself. Paramessu allowed himself to be satisfied when it grew too dark to fight, and he allowed the soldiers to limp wearily back to camp, nursing a variety of superficial wounds.
The march resumed the next day, at a somewhat slower pace, but Paramessu, falling back to run alongside the column, heard expressions of pride and confidence from the men. He smiled, and when the troops had recovered, scheduled another day of drill and mock battle.
They reached Waset on the fifteenth day after leaving Ineb Hedj. The great sandstone walls, the blocks hewn from the cliffs across the river, loomed like a mountain as they neared the city. People lined the walls, pointing and chattering as the legion approached, and by the East Gate, a group of soldiers waited, with a nervous looking officer in charge. Paramessu halted the men a hundred paces from the gate, and strode forward to meet the ner
vous officer, accompanied by Iurudef.
"General Paramessu," the officer said. "This is a surprise. What are you doing so far from your station?"
"My station is wherever the king sends me, Psenamy. Read this." Paramessu thrust a scroll of papyrus into the old general's hands.
The old man's hands shook as he opened the scroll. He read slowly, his lips sounding the words. "Tjaty? You are named Tjaty?" He read on. "But this is by order of General Horemheb. He does not have the power to appoint you Tjaty. Only a king can do so, and there is no king." He licked his lips and glanced toward his small force of men.
Paramessu's gaze followed Psenamy's. "This is the Amun legion? Where are the rest of them?"
"We are under strength. Another two hundred guard the streets and the temples."
"That is the work of the Medjay." Paramessu walked over to the ranks of Amun legionnaires and started down them, examining them critically. He stopped after the first fifty men and pushed his way to the front, where he confronted Psenamy.
"These men are slovenly and ill-equipped. They are a disgrace to name of Amun and to the city."
Psenamy shrugged. "That is your opinion, General. I have done the best I could with the resources at my disposal."
"Then Kemet thanks you for your efforts, General Psenamy, and releases you into a well-earned retirement. Who is your lieutenant?"
"You cannot do this, Paramessu. You do not have the authority."
"You have seen my authority. I am Tjaty of both Kingdoms, and my authority is only exceeded by the king's."
"There is no king."
"There will be in about twenty-five days, and Lord Horemheb is king-designate in the interim. He named me Tjaty, and Tjaty I am. If you dispute this, I can enforce it." Paramessu whirled and bellowed, "Commander Iurudef to me with a Hundred."
Instantly, a column of men charged out from the waiting Sobek legion and came to a halt between Paramessu and the Amun legion. The Amun legionnaires stepped back and several looked as if they might drop their weapons and run.
