by Overton, Max
"Nefer, you will take that tray there. Khu, the pitcher and a cup. No, it doesn't matter which one, do you think the king can afford to be choosy?" Sethos waited until the two young people were burdened down. "You are going to take the king his supper. He likes everything to be perfect--good food, wine and cups, beautiful servants with clean bodies and neat clothing. What a pity he will have you to serve him tonight."
The Overseer of the Kitchens waddled off, the other servants fleeing before him like a school of little fish scattering before the lumbering progress of the Pehe-mau . He led Scarab and Khu slowly through the palace, not to the royal suite, but to the inner storerooms.
"Where is he taking us?" Scarab whispered. "The royal chambers are over there." She jerked her head to the right.
"Quiet," Sethos snapped in his childlike voice. "The king has been moved. For his safety, is the story we are told. They must think we are fools. Anyone can see the king is a prisoner."
They arrived at the inner rooms where a guard ran his eyes over Sethos with distaste, Khu with disinterest and Scarab with enthusiasm. Dragging his eyes away, he unbolted the door and opened it wide.
Sethos pushed through into the room that blazed with the light of several torches. Akhenaten stood at the head of the bed, his head downcast, a wooden carving in his long-fingered hands. He never stirred as the door opened. Two tall Nubians stood in the far corners of the chamber, appraising the newcomers, flickers of light glinting off their bronze spear points. "Your majesty," Sethos said, his head bobbing in the sketchiest of bows. "Your supper is here, brought by courtesy of Wenner, your Chamberlain, who supplied these two servants." Masking a sneer of contempt, he backed through the door and closed it, leaving Scarab and Khu standing with the food and drink.
"Put the food on the table," Akhenaten said, his voice tired and despondent. Scarab and Khu moved to obey. Scarab poured a cup of wine from the pitcher and carried it over to the king, boldly meeting his eye as he raised his head. His forehead wrinkled into a frown. "You look familiar, though your manner is insolent. Were you one of my servants in the other palace?"
"No, Akhenaten," she murmured. Scarab flicked her eyes toward the Nubian guards. "Can they understand us?"
Akhenaten nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Scarab's.
She dredged her memory for lessons learned from Ay when he had been her tutor, seemingly a lifetime ago. Ay was half-Khabiru, as was her own mother, Tiye. Akhenaten had passed his early years in Zarw, city of the Khabiru. She forced her tongue haltingly into the half-forgotten language.
"Akhenaten, I am your sister Beketaten whom you named Scarab long ago," she said in execrable Khabiru.
Akhenaten's mouth twitched in amusement as he too fell into the Khabiru rhythms. "Indeed? I thought her dead." The king sighed. "Perhaps she is and you are just a joke played on a helpless victim." His eyes narrowed. "If you really are my sister, why and when did I name you Scarab?"
"When I was four, you came to the garden with your queen, the beautiful Nefertiti..." A shadow darkened the king's eyes. "...and found me watching Khepri, the sacred scarab beetle. As I was then no-name, you named me for the beetle I studied."
Akhenaten nodded. "So I did. Well, Beketaten..." He ran his eyes over her. "You appear to have fallen from favour, like me."
"I prefer the name Scarab now."
"You have forsaken the Aten too?" he asked sadly. Looking at Khu, he went on, "And who is this? A lord's son, no doubt? Still loyal to his king? Who are you, lad?" he added in Kemetu.
"I am Khu, son of Pa-it, of Akhet-Re, your majesty." Khu sank to his knees, his head bowed.
"Akhet-Re? The little mud village across the river? There is no lord there."
"His father is a farmer, brother. Yet Khu has risen to become a Councilor of...of... he is a loyal friend," Scarab finished.
Akhenaten nodded, dismissing the young man from his thoughts. "Why have you come to see me?"
"Your brother Smenkhkare, whom you raised to be king beside you, is dead."
"You do not tell me anything I do not know." Akhenaten stared at the little carved figurine in his hand then abruptly tossed it onto the bed. "How did he die?"
"They say he was taken by a crocodile, but I do not believe it. I think our uncle Ay had him killed." Scarab proffered the cup of wine again, glancing at the baffled look on the faces of the guards. "Take it, brother. They are starting to wonder what we talk about."
Akhenaten took the cup and sipped. "What do you plan to do?"
"I? I thought to ask you for help."
The king smiled sadly again. "As you can see, I am not in a position to help myself, let alone others."
Scarab turned away, the palm of her right hand slapping her thigh. She frowned, thinking hard, oblivious to the looks of outrage on the faces of the guards as she stood with her back to the king.
Khu moved forward and offered the tray of food to the king. As he passed close to Scarab he nudged her. "Turn around," he hissed softly. "You have your back to the king."
Scarab stood for a moment trying to decipher the significance of Khu's statement, then a glance at her stained and tattered kilt reminded her of the part she played. She whirled, and dropped into a deep bow, her head almost touching the floor. "Your pardon, great one," she said loudly in Kemetu. "Your words contain such wisdom I forgot myself as I contemplated their meaning."
"You are forgiven, child," Akhenaten said in a regal voice. He switched back to Khabiru. "Having found your king to be ineffectual, what will you do?"
"There are those still loyal to you." Scarab rose from her obeisance though she still kept her demeanor downcast. "I will find Horemheb. He has no great love of Ay."
Akhenaten nodded. "I should have listened to his counsel once before. But will you throw the Two Lands into civil war?"
"If I must, but you will see, Akhenaten. The people will not accept Ay."
"But they will accept Tutankhaten, with my Ankhesenpaaten as his queen." Akhenaten said softly, his eyes searching Scarab's face. "And Ay will rule through my young brother, as he did through Smenkhkare."
"Ay did not rule Smenkhkare," Scarab flared, before hurriedly moderating her tone. "That is why he killed him, before my brother could dismiss him from office."
"Ah, I wondered at the cause." Akhenaten took a fig from the tray Khu held and chewed noisily. "Well, if you can interest Horemheb, maybe we shall yet succeed. There is still a little time. Ay will not have me killed until his own hold over Tutankhaten is complete. You will have to travel into Kenaan to find the general though. He has left Zarw to counter the Amorite threat. I heard this just before...just before."
Scarab's shoulders slumped. "Kenaan? How can we travel there? I have never left Kemet."
Akhenaten looked at his sister dispassionately, his expression calm. "The Aten will guide you, child," he said, reverting to the Kemetu tongue.
Return to Contents
* * *
Chapter Thirteen
"Has he taken leave of his senses?" General Horemheb exploded up out of his seat, overturning the table in front of him and scattering papers and his wine cup. The heavy linked gold of his chain of office flashed and glinted as his broad chest heaved with anger. The courier backed away, his eyes wide, remembering the sayings of the barrack room as soldiers talked about their officers over a pitcher or three of strong beer. 'The last thing many an enemy of Kemet has seen has been Horemheb angry,' was a common saying. 'Flight may win you no gold but you may live longer,' was another. The man started to consider the wisdom of this one.
"What has he done that is so wrong?" Paramessu asked, bending and setting the table on its legs again. He started to pick up the fluttering papers. "Ay has acted as Tjaty on the unexpected death of the younger king and..."
"Leave those things alone," Horemheb snapped. "Use your head, Paramessu. This has the stink of Ay all over it. Do you not remember what nearly happened four years ago?"
Paramessu turned to the trembling courier and dismiss
ed him, pressing a copper clasp into his hand. "Go and have a drink, soldier." His grip tightened on the man's hand. "But have a care what you say."
The courier nodded; his trembling increasing as he looked into the dark eyes before him. "Never a word, sir," he croaked. "On my life."
Paramessu smiled with his lips. "Just so," he agreed softly, releasing the man's hand. He followed him to the flap of the tent and called the captain of the guard over. "A perimeter of men fifty paces away. Allow no-one closer." After watching for a few moments to see the captain hurrying off, bellowing commands, Paramessu turned back inside the large tent and walked over to his General. "I have a feeling we are about to talk treason."
Horemheb snorted. "When has the good of Kemet become treason?"
"Ay is Tjaty of Upper and Lower Kemet, appointed by Akhenaten, our anointed king," Paramessu said softly. "Speak against him without good cause and you speak against the king. That is treason."
"Was it treason four years ago when Ay and his bitch-daughter Nefertiti tried to overthrow Akhenaten?"
"You know it was not."
Slightly mollified, Horemheb grunted and picked up his wine cup, brushing the sand out of the damp interior. He looked around for the wine pitcher and refilled the cup with the watered wine mixture, draining a cup in three long swallows. Belching mightily, he refilled the cup and handed it to the younger man. "On the face of it, Ay acts correctly. Smenkhkare dies under somewhat suspicious circumstances..." He waved a hand as Paramessu opened his mouth. "...maybe, maybe not, I won't argue the toss now...so he brings the young boy down from Akhet-Aten and means to crown him king in Waset in thirty days time." He shrugged. "Yet it does not feel right."
"A popular independent king dies and a young untested boy succeeds him? I know what you mean. Ay could see his control of Smenkhkare vanishing and replaced him with someone he can twist round his finger."
"Now who is talking treason?" Horemheb smiled wryly. "Are you going to drink that wine or just play with it?"
Paramessu looked down at the forgotten cup before raising it to his lips, drinking. He passed it back to the General who finished it and poured another.
Looking quizzically at his aide, Horemheb asked, "How do you know Smenkhkare was asserting himself?"
Paramessu looked down at the ground and coughed self-consciously. "I had letters from...from princess Beketaten, sir. She described the situation at court most fully."
"So you have yourself a spy in the king's household, eh? Or is it more than that? I seem to remember you thirsted after those rosy-tipped breasts once."
"Sir!" Paramessu strove for shocked but merely sounded embarrassed. "She is a princess."
"It wouldn't be the first time a lady of breeding has gone for a bit of 'rough', lad. If the opportunity arises, go for it, I say."
"That is not how it is, sir. I respect her."
Horemheb grinned. "Then remember she is sister to kings. Woo and marry her and you could find yourself with a strong claim to the throne of the Two Kingdoms. Ahmose, the first of her dynasty was a common soldier." He raised the wine cup in a mock salute and sketched a bow to his friend. "Health and long life, King Paramessu."
"Do not joke about it," Paramessu said in a tight voice. "I have the greatest regard for princess Beketaten and I will not have anyone hold her in low regard. Anyone." He fixed his General with a hard stare.
Horemheb nodded. "Point taken, young Paramessu, I meant no offense."
The tent lapsed into silence as the two army men sought for ways to heal this slight rift in their relationship. Paramessu tidied the mess of papers on the ground while his General watched him morosely, sipping the wine in his cup. After a few minutes, Horemheb sighed and punched the younger man on a shoulder, a sympathetic look on his face.
"I am sorry, Paramessu, but there is one other thing you need to consider."
Paramessu raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked cautiously.
"If Ay has had Smenkhkare killed, what has he done with Beketaten?"
The young officer paled visibly. "He would not, surely? What reason would he have?"
"After what we have just discussed? Consider the princess Beketaten, Paramessu. With your mind if you can, rather than your balls. Smenkhkare dies; there are two males left, Akhenaten the Heretic who can be disregarded, and a malleable youngster. There are also three females; Meryetaten who by all accounts is drifting back to Atenism, Ankhesenpaaten the young queen of the Heretic, and Beketaten. All are royal; all would make good dynastic marriages." Horemheb started pacing, falling into a lecturing mood as he so often did before a battle. He began ticking points off on his fingers. "Meryetaten can be ignored. She is so steeped in the heresy; no follower of Amun would accept her. Her sister Ankhesenpaaten is young, not much older than Tutankhaten, and her beliefs are not yet as strong. She could be accepted as queen." He stopped and stared at Paramessu. "Then there is Beketaten; sister to present king, past king and future king. Too old for Tutankhaten, in fact too headstrong and independent for any young man."
Paramessu frowned. "Then if she is not to be married to Tutankhaten, where is the danger?"
"I said she was more than a match for any young man, not any man."
"Ay?" Paramessu snarled. "He aims too high."
"You think so? Ay was Tjaty to Akhenaten, ruling Kemet in all but name. Then came Smenkhkare who limited his power, and died for it. Now comes a young boy whom Ay can manipulate as he will. He is all but king again."
The General drained his cup and busied himself refilling it. He held it out to Paramessu again but the young man shook his head.
"What happens when the boy becomes a man and asserts his manhood?" Horemheb asked softly. "Will he die too? He is the last of Nebmaetre's male heirs. Who do you think will claim the throne and whichever female relative is still alive?"
Paramessu picked up the chair from the corner whence it had tumbled and set it upright. He lowered himself into it with a groan, forgetting that he sat unbidden in the presence of his superior. Anyone less than Horemheb would have flogged him for the disrespect, but the General just smiled faintly as he watched his young prot�g� wrestle with the problem of Ay.
"What will you do, sir?" Paramessu asked after a long time. "You have no love for the Tjaty. I cannot see you standing by and doing nothing."
Horemheb grunted. "What is it you think I can do?"
"March the army down to Waset. Arrest Ay and set Tutankhaten up as undisputed king."
"To be guided by whom? He is underage."
"Yourself."
"You'd replace a tyranny of Ay with a tyranny of the army?"
"You are not a tyrant."
Horemheb grinned. "Ask the men out there and see what they tell you. But no, I am not a tyrant yet I could become one if I ruled Kemet, even on behalf of the king."
"Then a Council, like the one Smenkhkare had?"
"Possibly."
"It is the only course of action. Go to Waset, General. Take your army and confront Ay. Find out the situation and if you judge it in Kemet's interests, remove him and see the new king enthroned either with yourself as his strength, or with a Council to advise him."
Horemheb regarded the young man seated before him, who leaned forward in his eagerness, whose voice lifted stridently with excitement. He noted the tones of command in his powerful voice. "I hear and obey, O General of All Kemet's Armies," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Paramessu frowned, looking up at his superior. "But you are General..." The realization of where he sat and the things he'd said crashed in upon him and he leapt to his feet, his face ashen. "General, forgive me." He fell to his knees on the hard-packed earth and prostrated himself, dropping his forehead into the dirt. "Forgive me, sir. I meant no insult."
Horemheb walked around the prostrate figure of his legion commander and sat down on the chair. He regarded the prone form thoughtfully for several minutes before telling him to rise. Paramessu got to his feet and stood in front of the General,
stiffly erect, arms by his side and eyes unfocused, lined on a point straight ahead of him.
"What are your wishes, sir?"
"Wipe that smudge of dirt off your forehead."
Paramessu hesitated as if trying to make sense of the command, then rubbed at his forehead with one hand. He looked down at his hand to check the results before resuming his rigid stance.
"I value your thoughts, Paramessu," Horemheb said softly. "You have a good heart and a good head on those broad shoulders of yours. You just need to remember to think a bit more often. Now let's have no more of this prostration nonsense. I am not a king to demand such subjection; I am just your commander. I know you acted without thought, not out of pride or malice." He smiled and extended his hand. "Will you accept me as your General and friend?"
Paramessu blushed, then grinned, at first uncertainly, then in growing strength. "Willingly, sir." He gripped his general's hand firmly, feeling the strength in the fingers of the old man seated in front of him.
Horemheb allowed Paramessu to pour him another wine, while the old general watched. He accepted the cup with a nod of thanks. "You are partly right, I will go to Waset."
The younger man opened his mouth to speak but shut it again, question unspoken. He stood silently, waiting for his general to continue.
"Good man," murmured Horemheb. "I will go to Waset, but not at the head of an army. I have no desire to rule, just to ensure Kemet is ruled well. If I went in strength, Ay's hand would be forced and we do not need a civil war."
"Then what will you do, sir?"
"I will talk to him."
"Talk? To Ay? What can..." Paramessu cut himself off with an effort. "Sorry, sir."
Horemheb nodded. "I will talk to Ay and find out his intentions. I will talk to Tutankhaten and Akhenaten, and I will watch and wait. I will not fight fellow Kemetu unless I am forced to it."
"When will you leave?"
"Immediately. It is imperative I get to Waset before the coronation in thirty days time."