The Amarnan Kings, Book 2: Scarab - Smenkhkare

by Overton, Max

  Scarab shrugged. "If a mouse is the worst of it, I shall sleep well tonight." She laid the two bedrolls out in the middle of the room and lay down on one of them. "Goodnight, Khu." She blew the lamp out.

  Scarab woke in the pre-dawn chill, shivering. The door creaked loudly but she cracked it open, peering out into the first faint light of the new day, then drew it wider. She walked around the side of the hut and squatted, relieving herself. Rubbing her arms briskly, she turned back to where Khu sat on his mat, a dimly seen shadow in the hut's darkness, knuckling away the night's grime from his eyes.

  He yawned hugely. "That was one of my worst night's sleeps," he complained. "I hardly slept for all the fleas and rodents."

  Scarab laughed. "Really? So every time I woke up you were just pretending to snore?"

  "Hmmph." Khu rolled over and up onto his feet. "Excuse me a minute." He ducked out into the darkness, returning a few minutes later to rummage in the bag of provisions. "Are you hungry?"

  "Not really, but I suppose we should eat something. It's nearly dawn." She accepted a few dates and chewed quickly.

  Khu pulled out the jug of thin beer and sniffed the opening. "The stopper fell out and I think it's flat, but it still smells good." He upended it and took a pull, suddenly turning his head and spitting out the contents in a spray of liquid. "Ugh, there was a cockroach or something in there." Putting his eye close to the opening, he peered into the container. "Can't see a thing. Oh well," he shrugged and took another drink.

  "I think it's time to go." Scarab got to her feet and looked out into the gray light where people moved across the grass and along the sandy paths through the unkempt temple gardens toward the main gate, many of them carrying burdens. She turned toward the bound bundles and tugged experimentally on the ropes binding one of them. "They're heavy."

  Khu bound up their small bundle of provisions and came across to heft the bundles by the door. "Not too bad. They are about the same, but I'll take our bundles as well."

  "No you won't." Scarab grabbed the flat package of their old clothes and slipped it under one of the cords binding one of the bundles. Gripping the bundle firmly, she bent and hauled the bundle up, grunting with exertion as she wrestled it up onto one shoulder. "There, not so bad," she panted, moving to lean her burden against the wall of the hut.

  Khu grinned and picked his up in a fluid motion, swinging it up onto his shoulder. Holding it in place he squatted to retrieve the provisions which he kept in his free hand. "Well, my lady, shall we go?" He gestured toward the doorway.

  "Don't call me that, I'm just plain Scarab now." Pushing away from the wall, she walked slowly through the doorway, having to turn her shoulders slightly to negotiate the opening because of her large bundle. Khu followed and they walked slowly toward the main gate.

  A small retinue of priests gathered in a group by the main gates which were still shut. Twenty or so servants stood off to one side, mostly men but a few women too, their bundles at their feet, awaiting the command to move. Scarab and Khu joined them, keeping their eyes averted from priests and servants alike. Dropping their bundles to the ground they sat on them, turning away and leaning together as if talking. Nobody took any notice of them.

  A few minutes later a senior priest arrived from the temple and things started to happen. The gates swung open and the servants, with much groaning and grumbling, shouldered their burdens, forming up into a double line. Scarab and Khu jostled their way into line near the rear. The priests shouted out a command and the procession moved off. The broad avenue outside the temple gates was already thronged with people despite it being just after dawn. Normally the life of the city rose and fell with the sun and no matter how hard the work, the city hummed with a cheerful energy. Today though, the mood was somber and quiet, the faces of the people lined and anxious. Tradesmen and laborers both started early, though the womenfolk would not be on the streets until the sun rose higher. Their early duties were in the home, cleaning and preparing, planning and performing the myriad tasks that kept a home running smoothly. The crowds parted in front of the procession, flowing smoothly around the short line. Except for a few glances at the priests, the people ignored them and Scarab felt her tensed shoulders relax.

  The priests led them down into the West quarter and along to the docks. The temple of Amun boasted its own docking facilities and several vessels. Tied up on the pier in front of them was one of the barges used to transport the god himself on the holy days. Small, but sleek, and gleaming with fresh paint and gilt, the barge and the rows of naked oarsmen that stood alertly on the gleaming deck, waited expectantly for the god or his representatives in the Two Lands. Between the procession and the barge stood a troop of soldiers.

  An officer barred the way, his eyes flicking down the line. "What have we here then?" he asked.

  The senior priest flushed and pushed up to the front of the line. "I am Ephenamen, priest of Amun. By what right do you stop us?"

  The officer inclined his head respectfully. "I am under orders from Tjaty Ay who has taken charge of the city until a new king is crowned. I am looking for two people, a man and a woman."

  "And why would you imagine I have them? Who are they, thieves?"

  "Princess Beketaten and Councilor Khu."

  Ephenamen roared with laughter, his fellow priests joining in, and it was the officer's turn to flush.

  "My orders are that every person leaving the city is to be stopped and questioned. Do not hinder me in my work."

  "Very well," replied Ephenamen with a sneer, "Examine my servants." He snapped out a command and the servants lowered their bundles to the ground. "You can see for yourself we have princesses, queens, lords and ladies among them."

  The officer bowed stiffly and stalked down the line, his eyes flicking lightly over each face in turn. Ephenamen accompanied him.

  "What does this Beketaten look like?" the priest asked.

  "I do not know, only that she is the king's...the late king's sister."

  Ephenamen was incredulous. "If you do not know what she looks like, how will you recognise her?"

  "Breeding must show. A lady cannot hide her quality."

  Ephenamen snorted. "I wish you well with your impossible task, soldier." He pointed down the short line of servants. "Do you see your lost princess?"

  The officer's eyes passed quickly over the females in the line, stopping on Scarab's fine features. He moved closer and peered at her face, dropping his eyes smoothly over her breasts and legs. "Quite a beauty we have here. What is your name, girl?"

  "Neferkhepre, sir," Scarab murmured, keeping her eyes lowered.

  "Beautiful scarab, eh? Not a bad name. Where are you from, little scarab?"

  "Waset, sir. My father is a baker."

  "Why are you not working for him?"

  "I seek to better myself, sir, working in the temple."

  "You speak well for a servant."

  "Thank you, sir." Scarab sketched a brief bow. "I have tried to imitate those around me."

  "You do not miss grinding the flour and putting it in the ovens to bake?"

  "It is easy to see you have never stepped into a baker's, sir. The flour must be worked into dough with water in which grape skins have been soaking; else you will not get it to rise."

  The officer grunted. "You are wasted as a menial servant, beautiful one. Hard work will rob you of your beauty. Say the word and you can become my bed-mate, living a life of leisure and pleasure." He grinned and slipped his hand between Scarab's thighs, pushing up under her kilt.

  Scarab kept a firm grip on herself but stepped back calmly with a smile. "What, officer? No gifts, no sweet words? I do not think much of your romantic technique. I like my men to be slow and sensual. Are you as hurried in bed?"

  Beside her, Khu growled softly, his muscles flexing. The officer glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. "And what is it to you, fellow? Do you dare challenge me?"

  Scarab laid a hand on Khu's arm. "This is my brother Mena, and he is a littl
e slow-witted. He is protective of me. It is all right, Mena. The officer means no harm, do you sir?"

  The officer snorted and turned away, casually examining the rest of the servants before coming back up the line. "All right," he said to Ephenamen. "You may pass."

  The officer watched as the procession moved onto the dock and boarded the barge. One of the soldiers sidled up alongside him. "I saw yer talkin' ter the pretty one, sir. She be beautiful enough ter be the princess, I thinks."

  "Don't think, Hem, it doesn't suit you. A real princess would have had my eyes out for slipping her one like that. She's good looking but she's common. She knows how to make bread, which is something no princess would know. Now fall in, soldier. We have other ships to check."

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  Chapter Eleven

  A messenger arrived from Waset three days after the fall of Akhenaten. Written dispatches from the Tjaty were delivered to General Psenamy in the North Palace. Psenamy took them from the hand of the dirt-covered rider and verified the seals were intact.

  "You have a verbal message for me?"

  "Yes, General. To be given after you read the scroll."

  Psenamy nodded and waved the messenger away, retreating into the next chamber to read and consider the information. He poured himself a cup of earthen-cooled water and sat by the balcony, examining the seal once more. It was definitely the Tjaty's private seal, he decided. Cracking the wax with his thumbnail, he unrolled the scroll and scanned the columns of writing.

  "Greetings, General Psenamy," it read. "By now you will have given the king the sad news of his brother's demise. I trust that you have given the king every assistance and support in his time of grief." Psenamy shifted in his seat, feeling a faint frisson of unease at the tone of the letter. "Remember that in this troubled time, Kemet must be assured of the safety of our beloved king, so stop at nothing to ensure he is protected and guarded in a safe place. As a suggestion, I would recommend the North Palace as it is a secure and comfortable temporary accommodation until such time as the stability of the Two Kingdoms returns." He nodded, comprehending Ay's purpose. In the unlikely event the letter fell into the wrong hands, it contained only a loyal concern for Kemet and its king.

  "I have need of you here in Waset. Leave as many men as are needed to guard the king, keeping his sacred person secure from any who might importune him and return to Waset as quickly as you can with the rest of your legion. Bring with you such personages as you deem useful in settling the peace of the Kingdoms, as we talked about before." It was signed "Ay, Tjaty of Upper and Lower Kemet, Divine Father, Fan Bearer on the King's Right Hand," followed by another sentence that Psenamy read twice, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

  The General let the scroll roll up as he gave vent to a few fine curse words. What has happened ? he thought. Ay wants me down in Waset after just a few days. Has the city rebelled ? He drained his cup and marched out into the foyer. "Where is the messenger? Bring him at once."

  The messenger arrived a few minutes later, still chewing and swallowing a hasty meal. His face was still caked with the dust of the road and he walked hesitantly, as if in pain. Coming to attention in front of the General, he saluted.

  "Do you know the contents of this scroll?" Psenamy held up the message.

  "No, sir. I was told to deliver it into your hand, wait until you had read it then give you my verbal message."

  Psenamy dismissed the guard at the door, sending him outside the chamber. "Do you know why I am recalled to Waset?" he asked.

  The man looked mystified, shaking his head. "No sir, only what I was told to tell you."

  "Go on then."

  "Yes sir. I am to say that the sister has escaped and that the Tjaty greatly desires the third daughter to visit him when the boy cousin does."

  "That is all?"

  The messenger nodded and Psenamy tapped the scroll in his palm as he looked at the weary man. "Do you understand any of that?" he asked. "It seems a bit vague to me."

  The man hesitated then shrugged. "I think the third daughter might mean Ankhesenpaaten, sir, though she is more properly titled queen. That would make the boy cousin prince Tutankhaten."

  "And the sister?"

  "No idea, sir. Unless it means the sister of Ankhesenpaaten--you know, Meryetaten, the queen of the late king."

  Psenamy nodded. "I don't have to tell you to keep silent about all this, do I? Though nothing has been said that is treasonous or even impolitic, in the wrong hands these words could be embarrassing."

  "No sir, I know how to keep quiet."

  "Good man. Well, I won't keep you. No doubt you have a meal and a bed waiting for you."

  The man saluted again and turned toward the door. Before he had taken more than two steps, Psenamy dropped the scroll and whipped a dagger from his belt. Three strides and the General slammed the dagger home into the messenger's back, his free hand coming round to snatch the head back. Another plunge of the dagger and the surprised shout of pain faltered and died. Psenamy lowered the body to the blood-spattered tiles and thrust the knife once more, between the ribs. Standing up, the general ripped his tunic, and then lay down on the floor near the dead man, smearing himself with some of the blood. He took a deep breath.

  "Help! Guards, to me, help!"

  Moments passed before the door to the chamber burst open and three guardsmen poured through, swords at the ready. They stopped and stared at the sight of their general scrambling up all covered in blood.

  "Well, don't just stand there, you fools. Help me up." As one man grabbed an arm and awkwardly hauled him up, Psenamy gestured toward the dead messenger. "The son of a whore tried to kill me. See to him, I want to put him to the question."

  The other soldiers bent over the man, lifting limp eyelids before straightening with a grunt. "He's dead, sir. Won't get nuthin' outa him."

  Psenamy huffed in exasperation, shaking off the hands of his helper. "Curse the man; I need to know who sent him."

  "Perhaps this might tell you, sir." A guard stooped to pick up the papyrus scroll. He half-opened it and almost dropped it when Psenamy snatched at it.

  "Leave me." He gestured at the dead man. "Take that offal out with you." He waited until the door closed behind them before unrolling the scroll once more. He re-read the last sentence, added as a postscript after Ay's signature.

  "To be safe; kill the messenger."

  Psenamy took the scroll over to a wall torch and held the message in the flames until it caught. He let it fall and watched until the papyrus turned black, the borders winking in tiny red crawling sparks, before grinding his sandaled heel into it. Leaving the mess on the floor, the General left the chamber and walked swiftly to his own where he stripped and sponged the blood off his body before donning a clean kilt. He chose his adornments with care, selecting a heavy gold and malachite pectoral and solid gold armbands that matched the rings on his fingers. Opening the door, he called a servant over to him, bidding him run to the Southern Palace and notify the Chamberlain that General Psenamy would be calling on Prince Tutankhaten and her majesty princess Ankhesenpaaten within the hour.

  Satisfied, Psenamy turned toward the inner chambers of the North Palace where the Heretic, Akhenaten, held solitary court watched by the half dozen Nubian soldiers that stood guard over him. They had been picked for their strength and loyalty to Amun. Guards came to attention as the General strode deeper into the palace, spear hafts clunking dully against the tiled floor. The chambers that now held the king of Kemet had once been storerooms, shut away in the middle of the palace, far from the fresh air and blazing sun. In lieu of daylight, orange-yellow rush torches and oil lamps lit the bare rooms, cramped and poorly furnished, while dark and shifting shadows crouched in the corners, dragging down the spirits of the occupant.

  Akhenaten was sitting on the small, low bed against the far wall staring fixedly at one of the tall Nubians guarding him. He looked up as the doors swung open to let Psenamy into the chamber.
The king stared at the general blankly for a few moments before recognition crept into his face. "General Psenamy, why am I being confined to this room?"

  "For your own safety."

  "Your tone is insolent, General."

  Psenamy smiled mockingly and made an exaggerated bow. "My apologies, your divine majesty. You are here for your own safety though."

  Akhenaten got to his feet and though he had been stripped of all the royal regalia, he still managed to look like a king. "Safety? Where lies the danger, if not from you?"

  "Your brother Smenkhkare is dead. I would not want to see harm come to you too."

  "I thought you said my brother died by crocodile. Do you imagine I am in danger from them too?"

  "From men who see in your brother's death a chance to rid the Kingdoms of heresy."

  Akhenaten drew himself up, staring stonily down his long face at the General. "Have a care what you say. My word is Law and the truth of the Aten is self-evident to any whose hearts are pure."

  Psenamy shrugged. "I did not come here for a philosophical debate, your majesty. I came to tell you that you will be staying here a while longer but that I must leave today for Waset."

  The king flicked a hand nonchalantly. "It is of no importance to me where you go."

  "Then I will bid you farewell, your majesty." The General bowed again and turned on his heel. Behind him he heard a ragged breath and looked back over his shoulder.

  "Where is my dear wife, Ankhesenpaaten? I greatly desire to see her."

  Psenamy turned back to face the slumped figure of the king. "I told you I would not allow her here. You have the Lady Kiya to console you."

  "I don't want the Lady Kiya." Akhenaten stamped his foot petulantly. "I want my wife Ankhe. Bring her to me."

  "No. Ankhesenpaaten is required in Waset, together with your young brother Tutankhaten."