by Overton, Max
"I will attend to matters. Now leave me."
The three men trooped from the room, one of them scowling at a missed opportunity to finish his meal. As they left, Ay's steward Mentopher entered. Ay called him in.
"Bring writing materials. I must prepare a letter. Then ready yourself for a journey."
"You want I should find a scribe too, master."
"No. I will write this myself."
When Mentopher arrived with pen, ink and papyrus, Ay sat down and composed a short letter to Khaemnum in Akhet-Aten. While it spelled nothing out--Ay was always careful--to the eyes of a man prepared it left no doubt as to the expected course of action. Sealing the letter with wax, he pressed his ring into it, leaving the mark of authenticity. Mentopher left immediately, and by sunset was well down the river, his passage aided by a stiff southerly breeze.
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Chapter Thirty-Three
Smenkhkare's army poured through the pass over the mountain range south of the city of Abu, and formed up on the cultivated plains opposite the great island city. The eastern bank of the river ran close to the island, the narrow strip of blue water being the only thing that protected the city as the southern army had no boats. The granite boulders of the island rose in grey billowings that resembled an elephant's back, formations that gave the city and island their names. Smenkhkare halted his army opposite the docks and looked longingly at the boats and barges tied up at them.
"How do we get them?" Menkure asked. The scarred young warrior with the limp approached his king and gestured across the narrow channel.
"I cannot see a way," Smenkhkare replied. He ran his hand over his freshly shaved face and head. He and Menkure had shaved when they neared the borders of Kemet. The lack of hair accentuated the livid scars that were the legacy of the crocodiles.
"Could we send swimmers across under cover of night?"
"Perhaps, though I think Governor Ka-Nakht will be waiting for us." Smenkhkare glanced involuntarily upriver to where the fog of the cataract misted the granite defile through the mountains. "Whatever we do, it will have to be soon. Horemheb will know we tricked him and be after us. He has barges. Unless we can get our own, he will be in Waset before us."
"Do you think the Governor knows of our presence?"
"If I was Horemheb, I would have sent messengers north. What I do not know is whether he has reached his barges yet. If he has, then you can be sure he will be spreading the news. There are enough boats on the river to take a hundred messages."
"Can we provoke the Governor to attack us?"
"How?"
Menkure looked around at the villages and fields full of ripening crops. "What if we torched the villages and fields? He would not want to see his property destroyed."
Smenkhkare considered the idea, weighing the injury that would be done to his subjects. He felt a tiny itch of guilt rise up in his mind but quickly pushed it away. "It may work. See to it, Menkure."
Curls of smoke soon lifted into the blue skies of Kemet as first the villages, then the crops in the fields were put to the torch. Screaming women and children were driven inland, many of the men willingly joining the rebels despite the destruction of their meager belongings. The gray and white clouds of smoke coalesced into a great pall that swept over the river and the northern part of the island, obscuring the sun and turning the light underneath the shroud into a dull orange glow. Lookouts posted on the cliffs reported activity within the city and shortly after, there came reports of soldiers massing near the docks.
"It's working, my lord."
"So it seems."
The first boats put out into the current shortly after, drifting downriver as they waited for others to join them. Soon, a mass of small boats and several oared barges crept slowly across the smoke-hazed water toward the eastern shore.
Menkure limped down from the heights to where Smenkhkare stood talking to his commanders. "My lord, there are twenty-three boats with an estimated five hundred soldiers."
"So few? Governor Ka-Nakht seemingly does not think much of us." Smenkhkare grinned. "We will not disappoint him. Kashta, Psuro, take your commands and hide in the palm groves. Wait for my signal. Kasaya, Shabaqo, take the irregulars and fall back across the burnt fields as the troops land. Draw them away from the river. Aspalta, take a hundred men and secure those boats when you hear the sounds of battle." The commanders raced away and in rapid order, half the rebel army faded away into the surrounding palm groves. The remainder, a motley looking rabble of men, milled around in the open space near the river, shouting and shaking their weapons in the air.
The first boats docked, running aground on the muddy banks, and the soldiers leapt out, quickly forming into ranks under the shouted commands of their officers. They spread out in a defensive cordon, allowing the other troops to safely disembark and form up into columns.
"They are well-disciplined, Menkure. It will be a pleasure to accept such men into my army."
"We have to defeat them first, my lord."
The troops from the Abu garrison advanced inland in battle order, the officers keeping the men under a form control as the rabble of men in front of them hurled rocks and taunts before falling back a few paces. The troops came on, spreading out as they entered the burnt fields, their sandaled feet and legs becoming blackened as they stirred up clouds of choking ash. The rebels fell back again, then scrambled into a loose formation, seemingly urged on by officers with whips.
The Abu troops halted fifty paces from the surging line of rebels. On a signal they crashed their curved bronze swords against hippopotamus-hide shields, let loose a full-throated challenge and charged the rebels. For a moment the rebel line hesitated then suddenly disintegrated, turning tail and running. A cry of triumph echoed across the smoke-filled field and the pursuing troops broke ranks, losing their cohesiveness as they raced after their foes.
A trumpet wailed somewhere in the murk and the pounding of feet. Determined men ran out of the smoke and crashed into the flanks of the Abu troops, rolling both ends of the line back into their fellow soldiers. At the same time the routed enemy turned and stood firm, pressing back, and weapons slashing. Outnumbered and demoralized by the sudden flank attack, the Abu garrison threw down their weapons and knelt on the ground, holding out their arms toward the rebels in a sign of surrender. Several were slaughtered by enthusiastic soldiers but their officers quickly got them under control. The prisoners were herded together to await the king's pleasure and the discarded weapons gathered up.
Aspalta sent a runner back from the river to report that all the boats had been captured. Smenkhkare nodded and, gathering his commanders, strode over to where the Abu garrison sat on the blackened ground, hands clasping their heads as their captors pointed weapons at them. The cordon of guards drew back as their king approached. Many of them knew what was about to happen, having seen it before, though never on such a large scale.
"Men of the Abu garrison," Smenkhkare called, pitching his voice to reach over the hundreds of men seated before him. "You need feel no shame at having been defeated by my men, for the gods of Kemet are behind me. Ask of your own god Khnum and his consort Satet. The gods of Kemet recognise the truth and justice of my cause, for I am Per-Aa, your anointed one, your king Ankhkheperure Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare. Perhaps some of you were in Akhet-Aten when I was made co-ruler or in Waset at my formal coronation in the temple of Amun. Speak up. Do any here recognise me?" He walked into the midst of the sitting prisoners and archers among the guards trained their arrows on the troops nearest him. "Disregard my wounds, look upon my face. Do you recognise me?"
"I do, my lord king," sobbed an older man.
"And I," said another. "I was there in Waset. It is the king, lads, no mistake."
A clamor of voices arose and many hands reached out toward Smenkhkare as he slowly walked through the prisoners. He left the circle and stood outside, staring back at them.
"I march for Waset to take my
throne back from Tjaty Ay. He has laid hands on his anointed king and for that his life is forfeit. Who will join me?"
A deep silence greeted Smenkhkare's words. Menkure gestured angrily and shouted out. "What of the oaths you gave to your king? Are you traitors that you forget them so easily?"
One of the prisoners rose slowly and saluted. "I am Djutep, Leader of Fifty, my lord king." He hesitated, looking from Menkure's angry face to Smenkhkare's calm one. His eyes lingered on the horrific scars criss-crossing both men's bodies and he could not disguise a shudder. "What of our oath to Nebkheperure Tutankhaten, my lord? If we obey one oath we break another. You ask us to risk the anger of the gods as oath breakers no matter what we do."
"I have no quarrel with my brother," Smenkhkare replied. "It is Tjaty Ay who has sinned, not the young king in Waset. I will put Ay to death but Tutankhaten will be co-ruler with me. By joining my army you will not break any oath of loyalty. Rather, you will be reaffirming those you made to me."
"You swear this, my lord?"
"How dare you question the word of your king?" Menkure yelled. "Cut that traitor down where he stands." At once, two archers raised their bows.
"Hold." Smenkhkare's voice was conversational, but carried the expectation of instant obedience. One archer immediately dipped his bow, relaxing the taut bowspring. The other, a fraction faster in his reactions, threw his arm up despairingly as he loosed the arrow, sufficient for the projectile to whip over Djutep's head. The archer immediately dropped to his knees and prostrated himself on the ashen soil.
"Djutep, Leader of Fifty," Smenkhkare continued. "You are either a brave man or a foolish one. I do not need to give my word, for a king's statement is truth. However, I will do this. I swear by the gods that I mean no injury to my brother Tutankhaten. None who join me will break their oath to him."
"My lord." Djutep dropped to his knees and bowed his head. "I will follow you willingly."
"Who will join this officer?" Menkure asked loudly. Many prisoners scrambled up and knelt in the blackened fields, though others did not, sitting where they were or arguing with their fellow soldiers who knelt. "All who would follow their rightful king stand forth and make ready to re-take your oath of allegiance." Menkure gestured for the priests to come forward with the sacred objects.
Smenkhkare turned to go but whispered to Menkure as he did so. "Swear them in and kill the rest. Have the new recruits do it. It will be a test of their commitment. Kill any who refuse."
Sometime later, Menkure marched the men down to the riverside, where the rest of Smenkhkare's army stood. The city across the river resembled an ant's nest stirred with a stick. The remnant of the Abu garrison was whipping and beating the populace into a defence of the city.
"How many men did we lose?" Smenkhkare asked.
"Thirty," Menkure replied. "And twice that from wounds, no doubt."
"How many recruits?"
"Three hundred and some."
The king nodded and turned his attention back to the city across the river. "We do not have enough boats. We will have to capture more."
"A bloody business, my lord. Ka-Nakht will not be fooled again. We will have to fight for every span of ground. Could we not just march on Waset by river and land?"
"And leave them in our rear? Horemheb will no doubt be grateful for the reinforcements."
Menkure studied the island city. "We could land troops almost anywhere and march on the city itself. There are no walls. Under cover of night, maybe?"
Smenkhkare nodded. He glanced up to where the sun was dropping to the horizon through the thinning smoke. "Put the best troops on the boats and sail them north just before dusk. Have the rest of the army march along the bank in columns. We shall make them believe we are bypassing the city. We will return in the night and land on the western side. With the help of the gods we will succeed."
The small fleet set sail just before sunset when the shadows of the island of Abu fell across the narrow channel. The garrison ran to keep pace with them, shadowing their progress down the river until they reached the end of the island where they stood and watched them out of sight. The rebel army on the eastern shore marched away into the dusk too, then circled round out of sight of the river and returned to the blackened fields opposite Abu. Later, in the blackness of the night, lit only by the brilliance of the stars in the body of Nut, the boats returned, oared upriver slowly, turning into the western channel. Their cargo of soldiers were landed without incident on the rocky shore of the island and a handful of men guided the boats around Abu and through the narrow strait between the main island and the Isle of Amun to the south. They made landfall again in the darkness before dawn, just as the marching army returned to their starting point.
As dawn broke, lighting up the granite buildings of the city, as many as would fit into the boats clambered aboard, making a suitable amount of noise, and set a course for the main docks of Abu. The lookouts in the city spotted them almost immediately, and before they were half way across, the garrison was massed on the eastern shores of the island, preparing to throw back the invaders.
The boats stayed just offshore, weathering a desultory hail of arrows and men from the garrison who had changed sides the day before, starting yelling across the water to their fellow soldiers.
"It is the king returned," they shouted. "Smenkhkare himself. We have seen him, it is true. Surrender and he will be merciful."
The startling news caused some discussion in the ranks of the garrison soldiers and when the boats drew closer, fierce arguments raging allowed only a half-hearted response. As the soldiers stood about undecided, Smenkhkare and Menkure led a two-pronged attack on their rear, charging through the streets of the city and scattering the populace. The garrison turned to meet the threat and the boats disgorged their occupants onto the docks. Small pockets of resistance melted away as the garrison threw down their arms, bemused expressions on many faces as they recognized friends and fellow soldiers among their captors.
Smenkhkare addressed the captives and the men of the city, quickly convincing them all of his identity and most of them to renew their oaths of allegiance to him. Governor Ka-Nakht refused however, and forbade any of his immediate staff to join the rebel cause.
"A man is king until he dies, sir," he said stiffly. "Smenkhkare died and was buried after the seventy days. He cannot come back to life."
"Are you a fool, Ka-Nakht? Look at me. Do not tell me you do not recognise me. I put your staff of office into your hands myself."
"Smenkhkare confirmed me in my office as Governor, which your illustrious father Nebmaetre awarded me twenty..."
"So you acknowledge Nebmaetre as my father?"
"I know a son of Nebmaetre when I see one." Ka-Nakht sighed. "Young man, I do not doubt that you were once King Smenkhkare but you died to that position. No man returns from the House of the Dead unless he is granted rebirth."
"What makes you think I am not reborn?"
"Smenkhkare died four years ago, whereas you are more than twenty floods. You cannot be the king reborn. If you are not the king reborn I cannot offer you my allegiance." Governor Ka-Nakht drew himself up straight and looked Smenkhkare in the eye. "Will you now kill me, as I'm told you killed my men who did not join you?"
"If I leave you alive, what will you do when Horemheb arrives?"
"Assist him as best I can. My oath of loyalty to Nebkheperure Tutankhaten binds me."
"And if I succeed and become king again?"
"Then the gods will have spoken and I will swear my oath of loyalty to the new king."
Smenkhkare turned away and looked out through the window at the granite city of Abu spread below him. After several minutes he spoke quietly. "You have your life, old man."
"And what of my men?"
"If they choose to stay I will spare their lives also."
Governor Ka-Nakht nodded and smiled. "Yes, you were a king once. You are merciful to those you have conquered."
"I will take as many m
en as I can. I will take every boat, every bit of food I can, and the contents of your treasury as payment for those lives. I will not leave anything for you to help my enemies."
"We will starve. Without boats we cannot fish, nor can we fetch food from the fields, if you have left any unburned."
"Make do, Ka-Nakht. Perhaps Horemheb will help you. Or if you can hold out a month or two, I will help you. Once I am king again I will empty the Waset granaries to feed you."
The entire army squeezed aboard the fleet of boats and barges, loaded with men and food and gold until the water lapped close to the tops of the painted sides. Less than a hundred unarmed men stood with Governor Ka-Nakht and watched as the horde of small craft were carried out of sight by the current. When they were gone, Ka-Nakht busied himself with an inventory of the city, finding out missed food stores and reassuring himself that not all his treasury had been stripped. The granite quarries of Abu held more than just fine building stone--they held a secure cache of arms and gold. When Horemheb arrived, he would find Abu ready and willing to help him.
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Chapter Thirty-Four
"Scarab! Scarab!" Khu raced through the Khabiru tent city, his black hair flying behind him and his kilt flapping. His eyes searched the tents, seeking a familiar pattern of colours and designs among the varied styles and patterns. He sought too a familiar face, but to Khu, the Khabiru face lacked the distinguishing features the Kemetu had. Several times he thought he saw Jeheshua, the jeweler, and as many times was disappointed. He looked for the women he knew were companions of Scarab, but they too seemed to be in hiding. At last he saw a woman who looked familiar and stopped, breathing hard, in front of her. His windblown hair and staring eyes alarmed her and she called out for assistance.
Khu understood very little of the Khabiru tongue and the words he had picked up were often not exactly what he wanted to say. He had been slapped once or twice by pretty girls so this time he restricted himself to names.