by Paul Doherty
They skirted the Necropolis, and somehow Shufoy hired a small boat to cross the Nile. On the quayside Amerotke threw all dignity to the wind as he sat down, knees up, arms crossed, eyes closed. He found he couldn’t stop shivering.
‘What you need is some hot food.’
The invitation was too much. Amerotke began to retch and vomit. He allowed Shufoy to pull him to his feet and to settle him under a palm tree near one of the late-night beer shops. Shufoy put him down on a stool, bawling at the owner not to worry, that they would pay. He then made Amerotke drink a cup of strong white wine.
‘You’ll feel sleepy but better.’
Amerotke took a deep gulp. He became aware of his surroundings, of sailors in their distinctive attire, laughing and joking with the whores, pimps and pedlars, off-duty soldiers, pompous harbour officials all going about their nightly business. Amerotke felt like jumping to his feet and screaming about the horrors he had seen.
‘I can’t go back like this,’ he warned. ‘Norfret will be beside herself.’
‘We’ll wait here for a while,’ Shufoy replied soothingly. ‘Some wine and a little food, master.’
‘How did you know where I had gone?’ Amerotke asked.
He noticed how pale and drawn Shufoy’s little face had become. Amerotke stretched and touched the dwarf’s cheek.
‘You are no servant, Shufoy,’ he said quietly. ‘You are free and rich. You are my friend to be clothed in the finest linen and sit in a place of honour.’
‘No, thank you very much,’ Shufoy responded. ‘A man’s fate is a man’s fate. And, if the gods have given you an empty basket, then it’s light and easy to carry.’ He lowered his head. ‘At least I’m not a judge in the Hall of Two Truths being hunted by hyenas in the dead of night. Master, that was a stupid thing you did.’
‘I know.’ Amerotke leaned back against the tree and wiped the sweat from his neck. ‘I am a judge, Shufoy. The thought never entered my head that someone would dare threaten Pharaoh’s justice. Tonight I was taught a lesson in humility. I am a man of many limitations and my life is like any other. A flame in the breeze.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Which can disappear like that!’
‘I wondered where you were going,’ Shufoy told him. ‘So, as usual, I searched among your papers. I found the snake priest’s letter and I followed you.’
Amerotke looked up. ‘Where are the bow and arrows?’
‘Somewhere in the Valley of the Kings,’ Shufoy joked. ‘I visited Prenhoe’s house and took them. He was gone. Otherwise he would have come with me. Anyway, I took his bow and his quiver. I crossed the Nile and went into the Necropolis. I met that man, the embalmer, the one who was at the trial. He told me he had seen you. So I followed. I saw where you had stopped to help that old woman. Your robe had snagged a rock. I hurried on. It was pitch dark. I couldn’t see where you had gone or how to get there until I heard your screams. You had an oil lamp. I caught a flicker of it. I may have no nose but I’ve two good eyes and ears. Just before leaving the Necropolis I bought,’ he smiled and shrugged, ‘I stole a pitch torch. The rest you know. I clambered up the rocks.’
‘I didn’t know about your skill with fire arrows,’ Amerotke said.
‘I was an archer once,’ Shufoy replied proudly. ‘One thing I learned on my journeys, no animal will brave fire. A sword, dagger, but fire? Believe me, master, in the desert, in the dead of night, fire truly is the gift of the gods. Now tell me, master, why were you there?’
He refilled Amerotke’s cup and listened as Amerotke recounted what had happened since Meneloto had first been tried before him in the Hall of Two Truths. About the rivalries in the council, of his meeting with Hatusu, the deaths of Ipuwer and Amenhotep.
Shufoy recalled that wax effigy pushed into his hands the night before, but he decided not to mention it. If his master had been foolish so had he. He should have warned Amerotke, shown him the waxen effigy and alerted him to the dangers. The dwarf quietly vowed he’d never make that mistake again.
‘There’s no doubt,’ he declared once Amerotke had finished, ‘that the assassin struck at you tonight.’
‘But why like that?’ Amerotke asked. ‘Why not a cup of poison or a snake?’
‘It was similar to the others. Amenhotep was lured to some lonely place along the Nile and butchered. I tell you this, master. The assassin was at least half successful. For some strange reason that old snake priest Labda had to die. He wanted to silence him. Only the gods know for what reason. But you’re different. You were not at Sakkara with divine Pharaoh. You are not to be punished but simply removed. If I hadn’t found that note, it might have been weeks, months, if ever, before the bloodied remains found in that cave were traced to you. The assassin simply wanted you to disappear. Those hyenas had been deliberately enticed in, their appetites whetted. Once the fire was gone, they closed in. It would have looked like some dreadful accident.’
Amerotke drained his cup and put it down. He heard sounds from deep in the town, men shouting and yelling.
‘Something’s gone wrong!’ He rose unsteadily to his feet, looking up at the night sky. Was it a fire?
Shufoy grabbed him by the wrist.
‘As I followed you, master, a chariot squadron came into Thebes, or what was left of it. The horses were blown, the chariot riders looked bloodied and dusty. I heard whispers, gossip that something dreadful’s happened in the north!’
Amerotke walked towards the noise, Shufoy padding behind him. They left the quayside, hastening through the narrow, winding streets into the great enclosure before one of the temples. People milled about, thronging round three young officers. From their insignia Amerotke could see they were from the Isis regiment. He pushed his way through and seized one by the arm. The fellow would have pushed him away, for Amerotke was bloodied and dishevelled, but he held up his ring.
‘I am Amerotke, chief judge in the Hall of Two Truths! What’s the matter?’
The soldier led him away from the rest, closer to a shop where a pitch torch had been fixed to a crevice in the wall. He studied Amerotke’s face and demanded to see the ring again.
‘You are what you claim to be, my lord Amerotke.’ The soldier bowed.
‘Never mind! What has happened?’
‘You’ll be needed at the palace,’ the officer replied. ‘I and my companions are rejoining our regiment. The Mitanni and a huge army have crossed the Sinai. They threaten Egypt.’
Montu: falcon god, usually depicted as a man with the head of a hawk wearing a sun disc surmounted by two feathers. He is the Egyptian god of war.
CHAPTER 12
The four great regiments of Egypt’s power, the Osiris, Isis, Horus and Amun-Ra, were now advancing north in massed might along the eastern bank of the Nile. Each regiment had its own silver insignia and standards though these were now dulled by the thick clouds of grey-white dust sent up by the tramping feet.
The army had been marching fast for two weeks; the scribes marking off the iter, each six and a half miles long, which marked its progress. Provisions and water had been carefully guarded and apportioned out to cover each iter. Nevertheless, the men were both hungry and thirsty. They gazed enviously to their left where the royal war galleys with their gilded prows, carved in the shape of snarling animals, cut through the water of the Nile. The marines on board stood to arms, their bronze armour catching the sun. The rowers bent over their oars to the shouts of the overseers and officers striding along the deck in between. The breeze had fallen and it was essential for the galleys to keep close contact with the regiments; in their holds they bore water, precious foods, arms and provisions. Moreover, the war fleet guarded their left flank.
The Mitanni were cunning fighters. Intelligence was difficult to collect and the Mitanni might have crossed the Nile in an attempt to outflank them. Worse still, if the meagre reports they had received were to be believed, the Mitanni could have even seized war galleys themselves and be cruising down the Nile intent on devastation and destruc
tion.
Nevertheless the army was in good heart. From across the water came the faint song of the oarsmen bellowing defiance at their unseen enemy:
‘We go upstream in victory!
Slaughtering the enemy in our own land!
Hail to thee, oh great Montu, mighty god of war!
And to Sekhmet the devouress who will ravage Egypt’s enemies!
We will come back downstream burning their camps, stripping their corpses!
Hail to thee, oh great Montu!’
The song rose and fell. Amerotke, marching to the right of his phalanx, also gazed enviously at the water. He lifted his gourd and took a sip then paused, opened the small palette he carried in the bag slung across his back and applied more rings of kohl around his eyes, sure protection against the wind and dust. After putting the palette away he marched wearily on. His white headdress, bordered with the red stripe of an officer, afforded some protection against the sun but his throat was parched, his feet calloused and his legs ached, begging for rest. Yet he had to maintain the cool poise of a senior officer. His men would study his mood. Even now he knew that those grumblers among the Neferu, the new recruits, were watching intently for any sign of weakness or softness in this great nobleman, their officer.
‘When will we rest, sir?’ a voice shouted.
‘When it’s dark!’ Amerotke shouted back. ‘Keep walking, lads! It strengthens the thighs. The women will whistle when you return to Thebes.’
‘They’ll be admiring much more than my thighs!’ a voice shouted back. ‘If I don’t have a woman soon I’ll be walking on three legs, not two!’
The bawdy remark caused a ripple of laughter among the ranks as the badinage was passed on. Amerotke strode on more vigorously. Above him vultures flew, great feathery wings extended, ‘Pharaoh’s hens’, or so the troops called them. They would follow this long column of men waiting for pickings but the soldiers didn’t mind. Although scavengers, the soldiers regarded the vultures as a sign of good fortune.
Amerotke shaded his eyes and glanced to the right where the great chariot squadrons, thousands in number, five hundred being attached to each regiment, thundered along in clouds of dust. Among them was his own squadron of two hundred and fifty men, for Amerotke bore the title of pedjet, chariot commander, leader of the corps nicknamed the ‘Hounds of Horus’. His own chariot would be driven by his skedjen, or charioteer. It would be easier to travel with him but, although tempting, this would only have slowed the column of march and wearied the horses. The chariots were light, of gilded wickerwork, but they also carried a driver, bow, quiver and throwing spears. The prancing Canaanite horses, with their war plumes dancing in the breeze, had to stay as fresh as possible in case of sudden attack.
Far to the north and east were a line of scouts, mercenaries drawn from the desert wanderers or sand-dwellers. Omendap, the commanding chief, did not trust these. The chariots were a sure defence against sudden attack, a wall of bronze and horseflesh to protect their right flank and allow the regiments to deploy if the Mitanni appeared.
Amerotke gazed up at the sky. It would be just past noon in Thebes. They had been marching for over two weeks. They had passed Abydos and Memphis and now were following the Nile, seeking out the Mitanni, massing, so their scouts believed, somewhere to the northeast. Rumours had swept the regiments, how the sacred shrines of Amun-Ra had been pillaged and burned and now the Mitanni, rested and refreshed, awaited Egypt’s army. Once this was destroyed, the rich, lush valley of the Nile would lie unprotected and the Mitanni could take their pickings at ease.
Amerotke just hoped Omendap was right, that they would take the enemy by surprise. Omendap argued constantly, during the long meetings at night, how the Mitanni would not expect this huge host of men hastily organised by the scribes from the House of Battle. These, and the clerks from the House of War, had worked non-stop to bring in arms, provisions, carts, donkeys and all the impedimenta of battle. Amerotke ruefully reflected that, if they surprised the Mitanni, it would be a change for the better. Spies from the House of Secrets had come back to Thebes with news of a great hostile army which had crossed the Sinai desert, keeping well away from the royal highway, the Road of Horus, and the small Egyptian garrison placed there to defend it. The Mitanni had advanced in stealth and now controlled both the road and the desert with its mines of gold, silver and turquoise.
Somewhere in front of the column the trumpeters among the army musicians blared out fanfares to stir the blood of the marching troops. The different battalions answered with roars and cheers before they began to sing songs, usually filthy, about each other.
Each battalion had its own name: ‘the Roaring Bull of Nubia’, or ‘Pharaoh’s Raging Panther’. Each corps jealously guarded its reputation and used the long march to exchange good-natured banter with each other. Scouts on foam-flecked horses thundered along the column towards the officers in front. Amerotke watched them go, his mind drifting back to that night when-Shufoy had rescued him from the terrors in the Valley of the Kings. They were halfway home when they had been overtaken by royal pages who insisted that he return with them to the House of a Million Years. Shufoy took messages to Norfret, while he hurried to the palace to find the royal circle in uproar. The jealousies and divisions had now come to the surface. Scribes from the House of Battle clashed with those from the House of War though both united in shouting abuse at the scribes from the House of Secrets and their powerlessness in revealing this terrible threat to the kingdom. The councillors were no better. Hatusu, Sethos and Senenmut openly jibed at Rahimere while the Vizier, supported by Bayletos and the priests, laid the blame squarely at Hatusu’s door.
‘If you had known your place,’ Bayletos had sneered, ‘and allowed the government of Thebes to be united, we would not be unprepared. Regiments could have been sent.’
‘Nonsense!’ Senenmut had hurled back. ‘Her royal highness is of Pharaoh’s blood. If you had not whiled away her time on who does this and who does that … !’
Eventually Omendap had reminded them of the threat facing them, laying out in clear, precise sentences the real threat the Mitanni, under their war-like king Tushratta, posed.
‘We have only a few troops in the north,’ he declared. ‘The Mitanni have crossed Sinai. They have probably burned cities and villages and suborned our military garrisons. They will not strike at the Delta or march south, they’ll wait and see.’
‘For what?’ Hatusu asked.
‘They’ll know about the divisions here,’ Omendap added bitterly. ‘Perhaps even of the deaths, the terrible murders. They hope we will only send some raggle-taggle army north which they’ll annihilate before moving south.’ Omendap smiled thinly. ‘We have one great advantage. Because, how shall I put it, of the sensitive atmosphere in Thebes following divine Pharaoh’s death, four regiments stand outside the city ready to march. A fifth, the Anubis, can follow on behind us. We must strike and strike quickly. The army must be on the move shortly after dawn.’
His statement caused fresh uproar but Omendap coolly and calmly repeated his reasons.
‘You will command it,’ Rahimere declared, his eyes sliding to Hatusu. ‘But her highness should really accompany the army. As the lord Senenmut says, she is of Pharaoh’s blood, the troops will demand that.’
Hatusu was going to object but Senenmut whispered in her ear. Sethos, too, murmured his advice. Yet Rahimere had been clever. The campaign could be a fruitless one; the Mitanni might well gather treasure and slaves and re-cross the frontier. Or Hatusu might suffer a setback. Either way she would come creeping back to Thebes to find Rahimere’s control over the palaces and temples had only tightened and, of course, he would have personal custody of the divine boy. Hatusu had accepted but she pointed to the war crown, the blue helmet Pharaoh always wore in battle.
‘I shall take that,’ she declared. ‘So the troops know that Pharaoh’s spirit marches with them!’
Rahimere had lowered his head.
‘And take
your councillors with you,’ he quipped. ‘My lord Amerotke, were you not a chariot commander? General Omendap, you’ll need all the experienced commanders you can.’
‘I will go.’ Amerotke spoke up, his face flushed with anger, the words out before he reflected. ‘During this time the Hall of Two Truths will be closed.’
Rahimere merely blinked and looked away. Amerotke knew he was committed. However he struggled, however he tried, he had thrown his lot in with Hatusu who was already pushing back her throne-like chair. The meeting of the royal circle was ended.
Amerotke had hastened home and explained what was happening. Norfret had gone pale, biting her lip. She tried to put a good face on it but Amerotke glimpsed the worry in her eyes. He put his arms round her.
‘I’ll be safe,’ he reassured her. ‘I’ll come back to Thebes in glory.’
These were the only few moments they had alone. The boys had burst in with a whole spate of questions. Amerotke had reassured them. Prenhoe and Asural were sent for. They were given strict instructions about the custody of the temple and how they were to help Shufoy protect the lady Norfret and her two sons.
‘Can’t I come with you?’ Shufoy had demanded. ‘You will need someone to watch your back.’
Amerotke had crouched down and taken the little man’s hands in his.
‘No, Shufoy, believe me! You must stay here. The custody and care of Norfret and my two sons are your concern. If the worst comes to the worst, and you will know before that happens, protect my family. If you give me your word, I can march a more contented man.’
Shufoy had agreed. Shortly afterwards Amerotke had left to join the regiments already debouching from their camp, forming up in the column of march.