Saved by Her Enemy Warrior

by Greta Gilbert

  ‘Tausret’s treasure will pay for mercenaries in General Setnakht’s army.’

  ‘So your plunder will pay for more killing.’

  She fought her tears, but they came anyway, falling on Tausret’s resin-stained bandages, which had been tugged and loosened by Intef’s careless partners.

  ‘You could have stopped all this.’

  Aya did her best to settle the cloths back into place. Without her death mask Tausret seemed so small and fragile. Even her elegant embroidered robe could not conceal her hollow ribcage and the wretched concavity of her stomach.

  ‘I cannot stop anything now,’ said Intef. ‘The moment the tunnel was complete, the tomb was lost. You must understand this.’

  ‘I thought you were an honourable man.’

  ‘It is possible that the number of mercenaries we purchase will prevent a battle with the High Priest. It is why I am here.’

  ‘To prevent a battle?’

  ‘I am tired of fighting, Aya.’

  ‘Then why have you spent all these years in Setnakht’s army?’

  ‘I just want someone to prevail. I do not care who.’

  Aya wiped her tears. ‘Now it is I who no longer believes your words,’ she said, for if she did believe them, then she could not blame him. If he was speaking the truth, then the reasons for his actions were honourable. And she did not wish to believe him honourable—not right now.

  ‘It is the only way to ensure a peaceful succession. I wanted to tell you. I—’

  ‘Do you really think the High Priest will concede without a fight?’ asked Aya.

  ‘If General Setnakht can overwhelm him with the size of his army, then, yes. Everything depends on the mercenaries.’

  She shook her head. ‘You do not know the High Priest.’

  Aya gazed down at Tausret, catching a glint of silver. There were two small silver objects wedged just behind her Pharaoh’s leg. She reached down and touched the cool metal and sensed a memory hovering at the edges of her mind. They were a pair of silver gloves—too small for anyone but a child.

  Where had she seen the gloves before?

  She stepped back and studied Tausret’s face one last time, then bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I will not rest until your legacy is restored,’ she whispered. She was going to say more, but she sensed Intef moving around the sarcophagus and looked up.

  He was placing something inside Tausret’s coffin. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked.

  ‘Ah...’

  Aya strode towards him and seized the object: a scroll with a broken wax seal. She opened it and began to read. ‘“I, Tausret, Daughter of Merneptah and Takhat, Granddaughter of Rameses the Great Ancestor...”’

  When she’d finished, she felt the room begin to spin. She gripped the side of the sarcophagus.

  ‘I am the heir,’ she whispered. ‘I am Tausret’s daughter.’

  She reached for one of the silver gloves. She remembered them now. Tausret had given them to her as a gift when she was young. They were decorations—not meant to be worn—but Aya had been too young to know it. She had pulled them from a shelf and had tried to wear them on her hands. Tausret had laughed and lifted Aya into the air, then hugged her with great affection.

  Aya had tucked the memory away, for it had been rare for Tausret even to smile, let alone embrace anyone.

  Like a mother would have embraced a daughter.

  ‘Why did you seek to hide this from me?’ Aya demanded.

  ‘I tried to tell you, but you did not believe me.’

  ‘But the scroll is proof!’

  ‘Yes, and proof changes everything,’ he said. He gave her a significant look and she slowly absorbed the meaning of his words.

  It did change everything. Now there was irrefutable evidence of her birth. As Tausret’s proven daughter, she had the Great Ancestor’s blood running through her veins. She was part divine and could confer legitimacy upon whichever pretender she chose. She had just become a kingmaker.

  Intef plucked the scroll from Aya’s grasp and tucked it back into the coffin. ‘Nobody needs to know.’

  Aya’s mind raced. ‘If the heir were female, we could avoid a war,’ she echoed. ‘You said that to me only days ago.’

  ‘I was only speaking theoretically.’

  ‘Do you not wish to avoid a war?’ she asked. She placed the silver glove back into the coffin and pulled the scroll out again.

  ‘It is not worth sacrificing your life. Did you not say that Tausret wished for you to live?’ Intef asked.

  Aya could hardly think. Outside, armies were gathering. She alone had the ability to stop them. ‘Was Tausret foolish in her alliance with the King of the Hittites?’ she asked Intef.

  ‘I believe she was.’

  ‘But many lives were saved through that alliance.’

  ‘Except Tausret’s own,’ said Intef. He bowed his head. ‘May she live on for ever in the Fields of Paradise.’

  ‘There is no choice, Intef. It is my life or thousands of lives.’

  He moved towards her, then seemed to stop himself. ‘Please do not do this, Aya. Do not give away the rest of your life. You have served Great Egypt nobly. Now it is time to live.’

  ‘If I married Setnakht’s son, or even Setnakht himself, I would still be living.’

  ‘You would become a royal brood mare, just like Tausret. Your mother kept you secret all her life just so she could avoid that fate for you.’

  ‘And my mother worked her whole life trying to save Egyptian lives.’

  He was shaking his head. ‘This is all my fault. We should have escaped the night after you tunnelled through. I would have had you out of here sooner if we had not...’ He paused.

  ‘If we had not made love?’ She smiled sadly. ‘I know you do not love me, Intef. You made that very clear. Nor do I love you.’ She felt a pinch in her chest, as though she was betraying some piece of her heart. ‘Though I respect your intentions, I cannot trust you and I know I will never be able to again. There is no need for you to protect me, or feel obliged to me any longer. We both seek what is best for the people of Egypt. I will give myself to Setnakht and his son Rameses and lives will be saved. There are many ways to honour Pharaoh’s memory, but this is the best.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  They departed before moonrise. Aya went first and as she emerged from the tunnel she choked on the smoky air. Glancing around her, she could not see a single torch flickering anywhere along the ridges. She felt certain the guards had abandoned their posts. Ranofer’s fire trick had worked.

  They were fortunate it had, for it must have taken an hour for the men to lift all their treasures out of the tunnel. Aya watched in horror as they pushed up load after load, placing it all on the litter they had constructed with Tausret’s own bed rails.

  Aya gave no hint of the anger boiling inside her. To do so would have been to show weakness and she had vowed never to be weak again. She had made her decision and now she would carry it out.

  They were a clumsy, lumbering group. The litter the men carried was so overburdened with Tausret’s treasure that they had to stop every fifty paces just to rest. Aya welcomed the breaks herself, for she carried her own heavy object: the acacia wood cradle.

  She would have preferred to have carried Pharaoh’s death mask, but Ranofer would not allow it. It was the single most valuable item in all the horde and he placed it on the litter near him, for he wished to present it to his General himself.

  Aya eyed the mask as she walked behind the men. Whatever happened, she had to return it. It was the most important component of Pharaoh’s tomb. Without it, Tausret’s winged ba would not recognise her body and would be unable to occupy it and take its rest. Eventually it would become lost for ever.

  * * *

  They walked throughout the night. By the time the sun god’s light wa
s painting the horizon in red and orange, they were standing atop a plateau, gazing down at a spectacle.

  Two armies had assembled on the field below. On the eastern side of the field, an army of men and chariots stood in formation. There must have been ten thousand of them—row after perfect row of kilted, leather-clad soldiers, organised by weapon group.

  At the head of the formation, Aya could see the royal banner of the Horus hawk flying high, followed by rows of archers, infantry and then chariots. Atop one of the chariot platforms she saw the white linen robe and leopardskin pelt of the High Priest of Amun.

  On the western side of the field was an army of equal size, though much less organised. Its soldiers wore kilts and sandals, but few donned the leather chest guards and protective hats typical of soldiers of the double crown.

  Nor were they separated in any discernible way: the spear throwers stood alongside the archers, who stood alongside the sword-bearers, while the chariots had gathered haphazardly around the periphery.

  Towards the back half of the assemblage, the men appeared rougher, somehow, and some carried unusual weapons. One man held a three-pronged spear, while another appeared to wield a terrifying scythe. At the very rear of the group, two men in long white kilts and leather chest guards sat atop twin white horses.

  Aya looked back and forth between the two armies, trying to determine who held the advantage. They appeared to be equally matched, just as she had feared. There was only one way forward.

  * * *

  Holding fast to their heavy litter, Intef and the others stumbled down the plateau and headed for the rear flanks of the western army. As they made their final descent, the soldiers began to cheer, for their payment had arrived. Those who could survive the day would be compensated handsomely, compliments of Pharaoh Tausret.

  Intef felt ill. It did not matter how much wealth they carried in their litter; it still would not make more mercenaries. The armies were simply too well matched. Soon it would be Egyptian against Egyptian in another bloody battle—perhaps the worst of the civil war. There was only one thing that could be done to avoid a fight, yet he prayed that Aya would not do it.

  The soldiers cheered louder as the litter neared and Intef spotted a boy in the crowd. His sidelock of youth had not even been cut; it had instead been stuffed inside his small leather hat.

  Intef glanced at Aya. She had spotted the boy, too, and her brow wrinkled with distress. She, too, knew there was a tragedy about to unfold. Half these men and boys were about to lose their lives so that one man or another could sit on the throne of Egypt.

  He could see the solemn resolve spreading across Aya’s face.

  No, he thought.

  He pictured her lying beneath Rameses’s fleshy figure, night after cursed night. He saw her holding her pregnant belly and screaming in the birthing chair, then lying beneath Rameses once again. The cycle repeated year after terrible year. The very thought sent an agony through Intef’s body more painful than any battle wound.

  Please, Aya, he prayed. Do not do it.

  The men set the litter down a good distance behind the last row of soldiers and Setnakht and Rameses rode out to meet them.

  ‘Ah! There is my beetle!’ said Setnakht fondly, greeting Intef. ‘I see the ants have found you.’

  ‘And a good deal of treasure as well, my lord,’ said Ranofer.

  Setnakht eyed the heavy litter greedily. ‘Take it to my war tent and guard it there,’ he commanded. ‘We will retrieve it after we have brought the High Priest’s army to its knees.’

  The two Generals cajoled their horses around to return to their men.

  ‘Wait!’ called Aya. ‘Do not go.’

  Intef felt his heart collapse in his chest.

  ‘What is it?’ barked Setnakht. ‘A woman? On a battlefield? Can you not see that we have a battle to fight?’

  Aya shot Intef a look, then pulled the scroll from her sack. ‘Not after you hear this.’

  After that, time seemed to pass in flashes of awareness. ‘I, Tausret Daughter of Merneptah,’ Aya began reading out loud.

  She was speaking loudly enough for the assembled soldiers to hear her and when she finished reading the scroll it appeared that the entire army had turned to gape.

  Intef could hardly watch as General Setnakht ceremoniously dismounted his horse and approached Aya. ‘But you are obviously Libyan,’ he said. He plucked the scroll from her grasp and read it closely, then took her face in his hands. ‘Look at those eyes.’

  ‘I believe that is part of the reason why my identity was concealed,’ said Aya. She lifted her hair and the General peered at the tattoo on her neck.

  Intef felt his heart lurch. For no reason at all, he wished to punch the General in the gut. Nobody should be looking at her tattoo like that save Intef himself.

  ‘That is the same symbol that was on the scroll,’ Setnakht remarked.

  ‘That is not all,’ Aya said. She directed him to the cradle that she had placed on the ground and lifted it so he could read the plaque. The General read over the hieroglyphics with great interest.

  ‘How old are you, woman?’ he asked Aya.

  ‘Four and twenty years old,’ she replied.

  Setnakht peered up at the cloudless sky and shook his head in wonder. ‘I dare say the gods are with us today and one in particular.’

  He whispered a prayer to Horus, god of kings, then waved to a mounted spear thrower. The man galloped to Setnakht’s side. ‘Summon the High Priest to the middle of the field. We wish to apprise him of some new circumstances.’ The soldier nodded and speeded off across the field.

  ‘Come, Rameses,’ Setnakht said, motioning to his son. ‘There is someone I would like for you to meet.’

  As Rameses turned his horse towards the group Intef moved quickly to Aya’s side. He gave her arm a tight squeeze. ‘I understand what you feel you must do, but it does not have to be for ever. Marry him and stop the war, but leave him at the earliest chance. Run far away, Aya. Do not become this man’s brood mare.’ He pushed the arrowhead into her palm. ‘Use your gift.’

  Rameses dismounted and stepped before Aya, his small black eyes flashing, and Intef gave a short bow and stepped away.

  Setnakht gestured grandly to Aya. ‘Rameses, meet Aya, the great-grandchild of Rameses the Great Ancestor,’ Setnakht was saying. ‘Your new wife.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  ‘Wine!’ Intef shouted. He could hardly make himself heard above the din. He was standing in the crowded courtyard of the Temple of Amun along with half of the population of Thebes.

  He grabbed a passing servant by the arm. ‘Get me more wine,’ he demanded. He drained the contents of his cup and handed it to the man. ‘Now!’

  ‘Yes, my lord,’ said the man, scurrying away.

  Intef looked out over the jubilant crowd, which had spilled out of the temple courtyard and into the streets. Never before had there been such a gathering. Sun-baked farmers raised their cups alongside march-weary soldiers. Deadly Nubian mercenaries sang odes to chubby Theban babies. An infantry officer from the late Pharaoh’s army sparred with an archer from Setnakht’s ranks.

  It would never have been possible until today. Not only had the battle been averted, but Egypt was united once again. There would be no more bloodshed, no more civil war, and the blood of Rameses the Great Ancestor would live on.

  The servant returned to Intef with two cups of wine, one of which Intef downed in a single gulp. He tossed the young man a gold deben—enough gold treasure to pay for a year’s worth of bread. ‘What are you waiting for?’ barked Intef, holding up his empty cup. ‘More.’

  Now was not the time to lose himself in drink, yet Intef could not think of what else to do. His dream had finally come true: there would be no more fighting. He could meet his father in the afterlife and finally hold his head up. So why did he feel like the most
odious creature on the face of the earth?

  Two soldiers approached Intef, clanking their cups together. ‘To the Hero of Thebes!’ they shouted. Intef had to look twice. One man wore the pleated kilt and copper cuffs of an officer in the pharaonic army; the other wore the red armband and tattered rags of Setnakht’s personal guard.

  Intef forced a grin, then guzzled down another cup. Until this day, the only time he would have seen such men together was fighting one another on the battlefield.

  But that very day, when Setnakht rode out to parlay with the High Priest, a miracle had taken place. The Priest had not only conceded the double crown to Setnakht, he had agreed to give over command of his army right then and there, as long as Setnakht promised to keep him in his position as High Priest of Amun.

  General Setnakht had agreed and, when he had announced the news to both armies, he had added that every single man would receive a bonus in pay to celebrate the great news—that Egypt was finally united.

  ‘Pharaoh Setnakht! Pharaoh Setnakht!’ the men had shouted.

  And it was that moment that Setnakht chose to introduce his son’s betrothal. ‘The divine blood of Rameses the Great Ancestor shall be united in marriage today!’

  The High Priest had bound the couple’s hands and said the holy words.

  ‘And you are all invited to the feast!’ Setnakht had shouted.

  It was as if after a long drought the sky had opened up and the gods had deluged the people of Egypt with blessings. The cheering had been so loud that it had been heard all the way across the river in Thebes.

  Now the two soldiers clapped Intef on the back. The story of Intef’s heroics had already become legend. ‘We heard that you discovered the Princess by listening to a crack in the rock,’ said one soldier.

  ‘And that you had to fight demons to free her,’ said another.