The Amarnan Kings, Book 2: Scarab - Smenkhkare

by Overton, Max

  "I choose to, Paramessu. It is my right." Scarab eased off her man and sat beside him on the army blanket. She removed her kilt and lay back naked. "I choose you, Paramessu, my love."

  Paramessu rolled over onto one elbow and looked down at the naked girl, his face flushed and his breathing coming hard. He flipped his kilt aside revealing his erection. Scarab's eyes widened and for a moment she drew back again, a flicker of fear in her eyes. Then, with a soft cry like the swallow chick that launches itself from its nest in the eaves of the temple of Amun for the first time; she opened herself and drew Paramessu down onto and into her.

  She cried again then, piercingly, but with the gentle motion and the soft touch of hands and lips she calmed, letting her tears roll unhindered, crying out only once again as the motion of their bodies quickened toward the end.

  A lifetime later she lay quietly, her hands stroking the great muscled chest and arms beside her as Paramessu dozed, exhausted by his exertions as battle never could. Scarab looked at him fondly and smiled, wondering what it would be like to live with such a man. Her life as a princess was over; maybe it was time to consider life as an army wife.

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  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The river was much narrower above the first cataract; in places a strong man might throw a stone from one bank to the other. Certainly a man with a bow could have sent an arrow into anyone standing on the deck of a barge forging its slow way upriver. Horemheb stood in the prow of the lead barge, scanning the vegetation on either side, his demeanor as close to nervousness as anyone had ever seen him. Behind him, on the swiftly flowing river, was the Amun legion from Waset, aboard a dozen great barges, and another four or five loaded with arms and supplies.

  The journey upriver from Waset had been long and drawn out, following a protracted period of preparation. Horemheb had barely contained his fury at the delays, eager to be heading south toward the bandit leader named Son of Sobek. Ten days of preparation followed by another twenty to reach the city of Abu, on the doorstep of the first cataract. Technically, they were already in Lower Nubia, the province of Wawat, yet most people regarded the cataract the real boundary. Just south of Abu the mountains ran together, pinching the wide river into a narrow gorge where the placid water they had been traveling on was transformed into something malevolent. Huge boulders sent spray crashing into the air and the roar of the waters thundered like a continuing hailstorm.

  The barges could not be rowed or sailed up the cataract, even had a strong wind blown from the north. The only way upriver was for the barges to be towed through the gorge. Disgorging their cargo of soldiers, arms and food on the eastern bank of the river, opposite the great docks of the city Abu on its island, the lightened barges, now almost bobbing in the water, were drawn by their crews to the base of the swift water. Strong hawsers were attached and the men strung out along the narrow path beside the torrent. They hauled, bracing themselves against the rocks, the muscles in their arms and legs standing out like giant serpents, the sweat dripping off their bodies, as they pulled the barges upward, hand by hand.

  With the sailors engaged in bringing the transport over the cataract, Horemheb organized his own men into a baggage train that crossed the hills an hour or two inland, bringing all their arms and supplies overland. The journey took the best part of two days but by the time they reached the once more placid river above the long cataract, the barges were there waiting for them, the sailors lounging around on the shaded banks, resting after their exertions.

  Horemheb's legion re-embarked and the river journey began again, though through very different terrain. Northward, in Kemet, the land on either bank of the great river was farmed, and especially toward Abu, every hand breadth was planted, even under the date palms and fruit trees. In Wawat, having crossed the low mountains of the first cataracts, the land was dryer, the banks steeper, and the green areas around the dotted villages smaller. The soldiers stared out at a landscape that was barren even by Kemetu standards, rock and scree and sand interspersed by clumps of withered grasses and stunted thorn trees. Little moved in these barren lands except the ever-present vultures and hawks, circling far above and reminding them, comfortingly, that the gods of Kemet were present even here in the wilderness.

  The river bent slowly west of south, not just a vagary of the river valley but a trend that hinted at other changes. The river, too, no longer ran smooth, long stretches of swiftly flowing but calm water broken by swirling whitecaps that had the sailors straining at their oars, soaked with sweat in the burning sun as the laden barges crept upriver. Nothing that could truly be termed a cataract, yet it was by no means the gentle life-giving water that they all knew from lower down. At intervals, the fleet passed temples, their serried ranks of pillars standing like groves of petrified trees on knolls and bluffs above the river. Forts too, of stone and mud brick, dusty signs that this land was under military control. A handful of soldiers turned out at each outpost, standing staring down at the passing barges. The Amun legion called and waved greetings to their lonely brethren, but rarely was their greeting answered. The sight of such massed force was too strange, too disturbing, to evoke feelings of comradeship. The river kinked almost north, briefly, with temples on both sides of the river and the great fort of Aniba standing guard over the wasteland, just where the river resumed its southwesterly course.

  The voyage to the capital city of Wawat proved laborious. As nightfall approached each day, Horemheb pulled his fleet in to the calmer shore and set out an armed camp with two circles of guards and thorn bush hedges. He did not have his army forage off the land, partly because there was little to be gleaned from the parched terrain, but mostly because he wanted to reach the city of Sehotep-Neteru as fast as possible. The sooner he met with Huy, the Viceroy of Wawat, and Penno, the garrison commander, the better.

  The journey took a month, far longer than Horemheb planned but he had not counted on the swiftness of the river in Wawat, nor the frequent stretches of rapids. According to his charts, only one cataract lay between Abu and Sehotep-Neteru and he had expected a smooth and easy passage. Instead, he thought, it might have been faster to march. Several times he caught himself contemplating the idea, and each time he put it firmly aside. He would need the barges later if the rebels crossed the river.

  At last the fleet of barges drew alongside the city of Sehotep-Neteru, that the natives call Faras, and turned their prows in toward the western bank. The city itself was a strange mixture of Kemetu city and sprawling native village. The populace turned out to see the fleet put in to the docks, a great crowd of chattering Nubians in brightly coloured clothing interspersed with migrants from the north, scarcely paler in complexion and just as gaudily dressed. A military contingent was there too, soldiers smartly kitted out, standing impassively in a great double line between the docks and the army garrison.

  Horemheb's barge docked and, restraining his impulse to leap out onto dry land after the month of enforced captivity aboard, Horemheb waited with a vague semblance of patience for the gangplank to be set out and the gold-threaded ceremonial matting laid down. At last all was in place and Horemheb strode onto the great dock and marched alone up to the waiting dignitaries. Snapping to attention, Horemheb, General of All Kemet's Armies, saluted crisply before dropping to his knees and lowering his forehead to the ground.

  Viceroy Huy, representative of his august majesty Nebkheprure Tutankhaten, waited the requisite interval of time in the shade of the ostrich feather fans before leaning forward and lightly touching the kneeling general on the back with his symbol of office, the royal flail.

  "Arise, Horemheb, trusted servant of the king," he intoned formally for the benefit of his entourage. In a softer voice he continued. "Get up, Horemheb, the day is hot and I have cool wine from the Delta in my palace."

  The general arose slowly then embraced Huy three times before stepping back a pace. The viceroy snapped his fingers and a scribe bustled forward bowin
g to Huy deeply and Horemheb less deeply. One by one, the scribe introduced the other prominent personages in the viceroy's retinue--Amenemipet, one of the deputy viceroys; Soleb, the high priest of the temple of Nebmaetre Amenhotep; Mermose, second prophet of Amun in Wawat; another Huy, this one merely the mayor of Sehotep-Neteru; and Penno, the lieutenant of the fortified garrison.

  Horemheb bowed to them all, varying only the depth of his gesture with the rank of the recipient. The problem of Amenemipet was a ticklish one. Strictly, as foremost General of Kemet, Horemheb outranked him, yet on occasion, the deputy viceroy could stand in for the king himself. In the end, Horemheb bowed gracefully and low, but maintained firm eye contact. Amenemipet smiled slightly as he returned the compliment, making sure the depth of his bow accorded Horemheb equal rank. Penno, as befitting a junior officer, both bowed and saluted his General.

  The viceroy climbed into a sedan chair and four burly Nubian servants quickly carried him up the hill to the vice-regal palace. Amenemipet ordered Penno to stay behind with a detachment of guards and organize the movement of the Amun legion into temporary accommodation near the garrison quarters. He then gestured in the direction the viceroy had taken, suggesting that Horemheb accompany him. The others followed, the two lines of soldiers falling in around them, maintaining a barricade between the dignitaries and the jostling crowds.

  "You have troubles here?" Horemheb asked as he strode along beside the deputy.

  Amenemipet waved a hand to disperse a small cloud of flies. "What makes you ask that?" he said lightly.

  "Your guards. This crowd does not look dangerous."

  "It is not. My men are here merely as an honour guard."

  Horemheb raised an eyebrow, recognising the watchfulness of the soldiers and the unmistakable battle-readiness of the men. "I know men," he said flatly. "Tell me."

  Amenemipet shrugged. "I do not expect trouble but it does no harm to be prepared. The rebels have struck in cities before, on market days and festivals."

  The procession wound up the hill toward the threefold structure on the hill overlooking the river--the vice-regal palace, the temple of Amenhotep and the garrison commander's headquarters. The priests bowed as they reached the temple area and slipped through the cordon of soldiers, paying no heed to the remnants of the crowd that still clung to the route from the river. Amenemipet led Horemheb into the palace and took him to the western wing, his own quarters. On a spacious verandah on the shaded north side, where a cooling breeze fought back the heat of the day, servants brought river chilled wine and a selection of dried and fresh fruits for Horemheb's pleasure. The doors shut and the two men found themselves alone.

  "I'd rather wait until Penno gets here," Horemheb said, forestalling the deputy's questions. "Will he be long?"

  "I had not thought to invite him. He is only the garrison commander."

  "Nevertheless, he is experienced. I would appreciate his presence."

  Amenemipet scowled and called out to one of the guards outside the doors to fetch the garrison commander. Twenty minutes later, he arrived, out of breath, his eyes looking questioningly at the deputy viceroy and the General.

  "All right, he is here. Now, we could argue about rank and precedence," Amenemipet said, "But it would not be productive. I propose that we forget we are viceroy and General and just attend to the matter at hand. Why are you here, Horemheb?"

  "You know why I'm here. To catch this bandit king of yours."

  "We can catch him ourselves," Penno said.

  "That is true," added Amenemipet. "We do not need the great Horemheb up here implying we are incompetent."

  Horemheb shook his head. "But did you not request help from Tjaty Ay? That was my understanding when he commanded me upon this venture."

  "We asked only for men. We have generals enough."

  Horemheb stared at the other men in silence for a long time. "I am General of all the Armies," he said quietly. "I am commanded by the king and his Tjaty to come to Wawat and put down this rebellion. Are you refusing to help me? Am I to consider you both rebels as well?"

  "By all the gods," Amenemipet exploded. "You accuse me of treason? I am deputy viceroy of Wawat and the king's trusted servant. I could have you flogged for such insubordination."

  "You could try," Horemheb agreed. "But the Amun legion is loyal to me and," he smiled thinly, "You really do not want to test them. Now, you said that we forget about rank and precedence and concentrate on the matter at hand. Why do we not do just that?" The general chose a comfortable looking padded chair and sat down, putting his feet up on another.

  Amenemipet glowered but said nothing. Penno kept quiet also, very conscious of his relatively junior position. He busied himself pouring chilled wine into golden cups inlaid with precious and semi-precious stones.

  Abruptly, the deputy viceroy nodded. "Very well, this matter needs to be resolved. For the good of the king's peace I shall let you assume command of the forces here in Sehotep-Neteru. Penno, you will place yourself at this man's disposal." Amenemipet whirled and stalked to the door, ignoring the cup Penno held out for him.

  "You are not staying, my lord?" Horemheb asked gently.

  "I have other duties. Penno knows as much as I."

  "Actually, a good deal more," Penno murmured as the deputy viceroy swept out of the room, the guards quickly closing the doors behind him. He offered Horemheb the cup and took the other one in his hand to another chair nearby. "We'll leave the other cup for 'Ipet, if he deigns to return," he grinned.

  Horemheb raised his cup. "It is customary to drink to the king's health, life and prosperity, but under the circumstances I think we will just toast the success of this expedition." He drank, thirstily emptying the cup. Stifling a belch, he put the cup down and turned to the young garrison Lieutenant. "So, tell me all."

  "All? I, er, I hardly know where to start."

  "Then tell me first who he is."

  Penno shrugged eloquently, drinking from his cup. "He calls himself the Son of Sobek..."

  "Why?"

  "Er...because he is fierce? I don't know, sir. Is it important?"

  "Never mind. Go on."

  "Well, he came from the north less than a year ago, not long after we had news of the death of Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare. He only had a few men then but his band grew quickly."

  "How? What incentive did he offer his men? Rape and plunder, I suppose, like any other bandit?"

  "Strangely no. I have not received word of a single village attacked by this Son of Sobek. A few reports of massacre came in but all proved to be the work of other gangs."

  "So how does he hold his men?"

  "With gold, sir--King's gold." Penno frowned and got up to get more wine. He refilled Horemheb's cup and brought over a plate of sugared dates, placing them on a stool near the general's chair. "He attacks the king's gold mines and any small concentration of troops."

  Horemheb popped a date into his mouth and chewed, spitting the stone out into his hand. "How is it that a gang of thieves can defeat even a smaller group of trained soldiers?"

  "They are not just a gang, sir. Their leader commands them as would a general. A survivor from the Kumma attack last month told me..."

  "A survivor? Did the man cut and run?"

  Penno shook his head. "The fort was overwhelmed in the pre-dawn darkness. Only about ten were killed and the rest captured."

  Horemheb put up his hand and rubbed his eyes, his head bending as he sighed. "Kemetu soldiers captured by bandits? I can understand being killed; death comes to us all, but allowing yourself to be captured?" He looked up at Penno. "What happened then? He killed them? How did your man escape?"

  "Apparently he offered them a choice, sir. Serve him or return to Sehotep-Neteru unharmed." Horemheb gaped. "I'm sorry to have to say that several joined the Son of Sobek."

  "This has happened before?" Horemheb croaked. "Soldiers turning traitor? How many?"

  "All told?" Penno stared down at the floor miserably. "About a hundred. Ad
d that to his native army and slaves he released from the mines and he commands a force of close to a thousand men."

  "Gods!" Horemheb sat back and stared out the window. "Why have you allowed it to go on so long? Why did you not report this to the court in Waset immediately?"

  "We did, sir. As soon as we knew the extent of the damage. It has only been in the last three months that things have become serious."

  Horemheb arose and walked over to the edge of the verandah, looking out over the thatched rooftops of the city. A stench drifted up from the close-packed houses and streets--the usual mix of animal and human excrement overlain with sweat and rotting food, but here the sharp and tangy aromas of spices mingled with the foul air. The sounds of a city came to his ears too. He strained his senses to separate out the voices, to make sense of them, but after a while he gave up. The many tongues of Wawat defeated him. Shifting his gaze to the narrow strip of garden underneath the verandah, he calmed himself again as he watched the Nubian gardeners tending the manicured beds of flowers and the fruit trees. Close to the verandah, a few cubits from his own feet, Horemheb saw a pale-complexioned man, a Kemetu, his back turned, apparently monitoring the activities of the gardeners. Who would want a job like that , he thought. Far from home, among provincials and overseeing the gardens of the viceroy . Shaking his head he turned back to Penno.

  "I have heard nothing but defeat in your narrative and in what Amenemipet said. Have you had no victories over this Son of Sobek? You are soldiers of the king, by all the gods."

  "We have had victories," Penno said stiffly. "When we meet him on equal terms we prevail. He has attacked five towns and in four we beat him back."

  "And in the fifth?"

  Penno looked away. "He burned the fort to the ground."

  "This was the attack you told me of earlier? In Kumma?"

  "No sir, this was over the river, in Semna."