by Paul Doherty
‘This was meant to happen,’ she hissed, lifting her face. ‘Omendap had to die. When I get back to Thebes, I’ll take Rahimere’s balls, stuff them into his mouth, then take his head!’ She wiped the spittle from the corner of her mouth; her face was white and drawn, her eyes large. ‘I’ll take each and every one of them. I’ll crucify them against the walls of Thebes! Rahimere and his gang wanted this: Hatusu and her army to die in the sands!’
‘My lady, we do not know if Rahimere was responsible for the attempt on Omendap’s life,’ Amerotke warned.
‘We do not know,’ she mimicked, shaking her head. ‘We do not know. What are you going to do now, Amerotke? Summon the court? Listen to all the evidence?’
Amerotke would have risen to his feet but Senenmut grabbed him by the wrist.
‘My lady, Amerotke is simply giving a warning. The killer could be someone else. Now is not the time to be pointing fingers. The god Amun-Ra knows the truth. Justice will be done.’
‘We have no gods,’ Hatusu said. ‘Nothing but the sand, the wind and the burning heat.’
She spoke so passionately, so fiercely, Amerotke flinched at the hate in her voice. Did she believe in anything? Had Hatusu changed so her only god was burning ambition? Her desire to rule?
She sat up and took a deep breath.
‘Senenmut, have the Mitanni brought in!’
Her adviser disappeared. A short while later the guards brought in a bloodied, bruised man, his black leather body armour torn and cut, his beard and moustache caked in blood. One eye was closed, and his captors had ripped the rings from his earlobes. The prisoner was flung at Hatusu’s feet. This was the first time Amerotke had seen a Mitanni warrior: he was short, thickset, his head shaven at the front, his long black hair, thick and oiled, falling down to his shoulders. He gasped for water. Senenmut, crouching beside him, forced a cup between his lips. The man drank greedily.
‘You are going to die,’ Senenmut told him. ‘What you have to decide is whether you wish to die quickly or pegged out in the heat for the hyenas and jackals to gnaw at.’
The man gasped and sat back on his heels.
‘Does he understand our tongue?’ Sethos asked.
Senenmut spoke again, his language harsh and guttural. The Mitanni turned, lip curling, his thickened tongue licking at the bruises on the corner of his mouth. Senenmut spoke again then glanced at Hatusu.
‘I’ve offered him his life.’
‘Offer him the throne of Thebes for all I care!’ she replied.
The questioning continued. Senenmut’s face became grey. He kept swallowing hard; the Mitanni sensed his nervousness and chuckled until Senenmut slapped the prisoner viciously across the face. Senenmut looked at the guards.
‘Take him out beyond the camp! Cut his head off!’
The Mitanni was dragged to his feet and hustled out. Senenmut went to close the flap. He joined the semi-circle before Hatusu.
‘The Mitanni have taken over an oasis and one of our fortresses to the northeast. Their chariot squadrons are a short way off. They have plundered the mines and used the wealth to bribe the sand-dwellers and desert-wanderers, which is why our scouts have not returned. The information we have learned is false. Tushratta is only a day’s march away. His army is at least twice ours. It’s well provisioned, well armed, with at least six thousand heavy war chariots. If these break out, my lady, they could roll into our camp.’ He spread his hands.
‘And will they attack?’ Hatusu placed her hands on her knees. She reminded Amerotke of the goddess Ma’at: all emotion was gone, her face was translucent, calm. She looked above their heads.
‘They can’t hide for ever,’ Senenmut declared. ‘Provisions and water are running out. If they attack then it will be soon. They want to bring us to battle and utterly destroy us.’
Hatusu’s head went down. She sat there silently. Amerotke heard the cries of the camp, the neighing of the horses.
‘You promised that Mitanni his life.’
Senenmut shrugged. ‘My lord Amerotke, I gave him his life, for a short while, and his death will be quick. If he lived he could tell his masters how vulnerable we are or worse, let it be known here how strong the Mitanni really are. We have camp followers, the usual rabble which follows any army. They always seem to find out what is going to happen. They’ll desert first, then the Neferu will follow. Within days we’ll have half our force.’
‘They’ll attack soon.’ Hatusu spoke sharply. ‘My lord Amerotke, you will take a small chariot squadron. Go back down the Nile. Order Nebanum to bring the Anubis regiment up by forced march. My lord Senenmut, I will take over from General Omendap. His sickness is to be kept secret. I want the camp strengthened. The chariot squadrons are to be taken a mile to the north, and only a small squadron should be left here.’ She got to her feet, clapping her hands. ‘It will be dawn in an hour. Amerotke.’ She went across to a table and, picking up one of her personal seals, thrust it into his hand. ‘If Nebanum won’t obey my order, kill him!’ She clapped her hands again. ‘Come on! There is little time to waste!’
A short while later Amerotke, his charioteer standing beside him, led the small squadron out of the camp. They followed the dusty, winding road they’d followed the previous day, a strange sensation as the sky lightened and the sun’s rays grew stronger. The Nile, with its lush green banks, shimmered in the morning heat; flocks of birds rose up alarmed by some animal, crocodile or hippopotamus, splashing in the shadows. To their left the desert turned gold-red as if welcoming the sun’s rays. The morning chill disappeared. The dew quickly evaporated and the sun rose, a glorious ball of brilliant fire. Under Amerotke’s direction the chariot squadron kept close, travelling three abreast, one out in front, and another on their left flank to ensure they were not surprised. By the time the sun had fully risen the horses had moved into a gallop, the chariots swaying and bouncing.
They stopped at noon, sheltering down near the river, resting under palm trees against the fierce heat. The horses were watered and fed, the men ate and drank. Like Amerotke they had changed for battle into bronze corselets, linen kilts covered with leather straps, tightly fitting sandals. The drivers wore protective neck-plates and bronze collars with a linen loin guard. Their lightweight chariots were armed with quiver, bow and throwing spears.
The men did not question his orders. They were from Amerotke’s squadron and, if necessary, would ride back to Thebes if he wished. Nevertheless, he could sense their unease. On one side flowed the quiet Nile, now sluggish, on the other lay the silent watchful desert. Amerotke wondered if rumour had begun to spread. Did the men sense that a huge Mitanni army was moving to meet them? They were travelling back to urge the Anubis to march on, so they must suspect something was wrong. Amerotke got up and clambered up the bank. He stood, hands on hips, staring out across the desert, flinching at the blast of heat. The air shimmered, disfiguring and twisting the distant rocks, the dips in the ground: a whole army could march there, he thought, yet keep its presence hidden. He urged the men to their feet.
‘We must move on!’
The horses were re-harnessed. Amerotke himself felt an uneasy disquiet as if they were being watched. The horses, refreshed, broke into a quick canter, the silence shattered by their snorting, their galloping hooves, the rattle of the wheels, the cries of their drivers.
They reached the Anubis camp shortly before nightfall. Amerotke told his squadron to stay outside, to eat and drink the little food they had brought. Accompanied by an officer, he went into the camp. The Anubis was well organised, the palisade and ditch dug according to regulations. A shrine for the god had been set up in the centre of the camp but there was none of the sense of frenetic activity Amerotke expected. Nebanum, heavy-eyed with sleep, came out, a linen robe thrown over his shoulders. Sharp-featured and hooded-eyed, Nebanum scratched his balding head and yawned as Amerotke introduced himself then, turning, ordered the priest beside him to fill his beer jug. Nebanum took a gulp, washed his mouth out and spa
t, barely missing Amerotke’s feet.
‘So, Omendap sent you.’ He glanced over Amerotke’s shoulder at the standard planted before the shrine. ‘I suppose you’ve brought orders for me to hurry up. But I can only march with due regard for myself and my horse.’ He yawned.
‘My lord.’ Amerotke smiled and stepped closer. He produced the cartouche Hatusu had given him. ‘General Omendap has not sent me but her highness.’
Nebanum forced a smile and, following protocol, bowed and brushed the cartouche with his lips.
‘My orders are quite simple,’ Amerotke continued. ‘I am here to re-emphasise Pharaoh and Pharaoh’s power.’
‘Life, health and prosperity,’ Nebanum cynically murmured.
‘You are to force-march within the hour,’ Amerotke ordered. He drew his sword and his officer did likewise. ‘Or I’m to execute you now and take over your command! That is Pharaoh’s divine will!’
The change in Nebanum was startling. Amerotke realised Hatusu and Senenmut had made a mistake. They had treated this troublesome commander softly and he had grown insolent in his disobedience, but like any officer he had to obey without question Pharaoh’s authority.
Within the hour the camp was roused, baggage wagons hastily stacked, chariots hitched and, before the sun had fully risen, the Anubis regiment was force-marching along the road. Columns of sweating men, fully armed, moved rapidly to the north, signal trumpets brayed, drums beat.
Amerotke ordered his squadron to hang back in the rear. As the morning wore on little could be seen to left or right, because the tramping feet and the chariots alongside raised thick clouds of dust.
At first the regiment had been startled; the men grumbling at the meagre rations and the discomfort of the urgent march. Eventually they settled down. Priests led battle hymns which were taken up. The morning drew on and the heat, the dull pain of aching limbs and the all-enveloping dust imposed a harsh silence, broken only by the rattle of the chariot wheels and the rhythmic pounding of thousands of marching feet.
Now and again a short break was ordered. Water was quickly distributed, then the march continued.
By late afternoon Amerotke realised they were close to Hatusu’s camp. The dusty plain gave way to more luxuriant bushes, shrubs and trees. The dry heat of the day subsided; suddenly Amerotke heard shouts and yells. Scouts in lone chariots were now racing back to the column. Amerotke urged his driver on. As he did so an ominous rumble, like thunder, rose from his right. He reached the front of the column where Nebanum and the other officers were clustered. They, too, had heard the rumble and observed the growing cloud of dust from the east; scout chariots were racing back. One of them reached the column and reined in. The driver was wounded, an arrow in his shoulder. When his companion jumped down, they saw his helmet was discarded, his bow broken. He threw this on the ground and knelt before Nebanum.
‘The Mitanni, my lord! A screen of chariots!’
But Nebanum was not listening. He stood like a man transfixed, staring out across the desert.
‘In the name of all that’s holy!’ Amerotke shouted. ‘Order your men to deploy!’
He stared down the ranks where confusion was breaking out. Some of the veterans were unslinging their shields, trying to bring the different corps into some sort of formation, but the recruits were beginning to panic, fearful of the growing dust, the rumbling noise, the loss of their own chariots. They were pressing forward, breaking ranks, ignoring the screams of their officers. The ripples rose to waves as men surged forward. Amerotke looked round in horror at the line of chariots which broke out of the dust. Row upon row of Mitanni, horses galloping like the wind, chariots bouncing. They charged in closed, massed ranks, standards displayed. Chaos broke out in the Anubis regiment. Egyptian chariots charged forward to meet the enemy. Some of the foot formed a shield wall. A few other quick-thinking officers went back to their posts. Nebanum, however, jumped into his chariot, screaming at his driver who lashed the horses into a gallop, away from the sea of bronzed might heading towards them.
Amerotke cursed. Hatusu’s camp could only be a few leagues away. If the Anubis broke and fled, the Mitanni would simply follow them back into camp. He signalled to his own squadron, shouting and yelling. A few of the chariots joined him, but of the rest there was no sign. The Mitanni were now closer, horses’ heads straining forward, war plumes nodding, the sun shimmering on the bronze-work of the chariots. Amerotke could make out the black-scaled armour, the grotesque war helmets. The air sang with the hum of arrows. Men began to fall and then, like a wave racing into the shore, the Mitanni struck the disintegrating ranks of the Anubis regiment. The front of the column was spared but Amerotke saw rank after rank of them go down, cast aside by the charging horses, crushed and beaten by the spiked wheels. One or two brave souls tried to leap for the chariots, only to fall away, jabbed at by spear or sword or taking the full impact of the horn bow carried by the archer inside. The Mitanni chariots were heavier than the Egyptian, the wheels in the middle of the chariot, the axle strengthened to support a driver, spearman and archer. The charge was like a child’s game, with the Egyptians going down like skittles before a ball. The right flank of the Anubis column collapsed as spears flashed out, left and right, in an orgy of killing. The Mitanni whipped their horses to a lather as they ploughed like a sword into the crumbling Egyptian ranks. Discipline collapsed. Shields, bows and swords were cast aside. Panic destroyed all order. Behind the Mitanni came hordes of foot soldiers. Now and again a Mitanni chariot would overturn, spilling out its three-man crew. The Egyptians would close, clubbing and hacking, but others came to their rescue. More and more of the Egyptian foot pressed to the top of the column. The first wave of the Mitanni chariots was now turning, sweeping back into the fight. The dust rose blocking out the sky, vultures glided in attracted by the noise and the horror, the iron tang of blood.
‘My lord!’ One of Amerotke’s officers ran up and grasped the chariot rail. ‘My lord, we must warn the army!’
Amerotke nodded. He closed his eyes and thought of the long, rectangular Egyptian camp. At the far end stood the royal enclosure. He would avoid the main gate and ride along its eastern flank where he could warn Hatusu and Senenmut about what was happening. He signalled to his driver. The man heaved a sigh of relief and snapped the reins. Amerotke’s chariot shot forward; the horses, restless and frightened by the noise and clamour, were only too eager to escape this place of slaughter. In a short while the chariot was at full gallop. Amerotke screamed out what directions the driver could take, repeating the order over the rumble of the wheels and the drumming hooves.
He looked behind him. The Anubis regiment was now enveloped in thick clouds of dust. Some men had broken free. Other chariots were following them. The Mitanni had noticed this and detached forces in pursuit. When Amerotke’s driver screamed a warning, Amerotke looked to his right to see that Mitanni chariots were now heading in his direction, either to cut off their escape or simply ride them down. Amerotke unslung his bow. He notched one of the long arrows, leaning against the side of the chariot, feet apart. He quietly prayed that the wheels wouldn’t buckle or the horses falter. A fall would injure or stun and Amerotke knew the Mitanni would not take any prisoners. The driver was now screaming at the horses. The Egyptian chariots were lighter, the horses faster, but Amerotke’s horses had also taken part in the hasty journey the previous day, not to mention the full rigours of the forced march. The one on the right began to falter. The chariot swayed precariously. Amerotke looked to his right. They were breaking free of the Mitanni line. However, one enemy chariot, its driver more skilful, had turned in an arc, hoping to block Amerotke’s flight. The world had now come down to this: pounding horses, the rumble of chariots, the rocky ground speeding beneath them, the hot dust and that war chariot, its colours of black and gold, horses straining at the leashes.
Amerotke noticed one of his squadron was now coming up on his right to shield him. The driver had seen what was happening and Amerotke
thanked the gods for the bravery of this officer. As the Mitanni drew closer the Egyptian officer brought his bow to bear. Amerotke heard his driver bellowing to shoot at the horses. The officer did and then the chariot pulled back, allowing Amerotke to shoot. He found it hard to keep his balance, standing slightly behind his charioteer. He breathed in; shooting at the men would be futile, two carried shields. He released his arrow. He thought he had missed, then one of the Mitanni horses stumbled. The chariot swayed and, tilting over, crashed and bounced along the rocky ground. Amerotke was free. His horses seemed to find fresh strength and, in the distance, through the dust, Amerotke made out the palisades of Hatusu’s camp.
In the camp itself Hatusu stood on a parapet. Like her officers, she had been summoned by the tell-tale clouds of dust. Jabbing fingers directed her attention to the flashes and glints of bronze which could be seen as the dust clouds moved.
‘Chariots at speed!’ Senenmut whispered into her ear. ‘Massed squadrons!’
Hatusu stood, heart in her throat. Would it all end here? Out in the northern desert? Would her body, once soaked in the most precious perfumes and oils, be left out for the jackals and hyenas to fight over? Would she never know the rites of embalming, the ritual which would allow her Ka to go forward? Was Amun-Ra dealing out judgement and punishment? She felt her stomach churn, her legs grow weak as the sweat broke out over her body. Around her officers were shouting. Chariots were now breaking free of the dust clouds. The keen-eyed among them declared they were Egyptian, but in full flight.
‘Come down,’ Senenmut urged her hoarsely. ‘You are not a god, my lady.’
Hatusu felt a wave of panic from the officers and men clustered about her. She grasped Senenmut’s wrist.
‘What is happening? What is happening?’
Senenmut pulled her down. She had no choice but to follow him back through the camp.
‘Go to your tent!’ Senenmut said urgently, pushing her forward. ‘Arm yourself!’