by Overton, Max
"We must all share the wealth that flows from the nobles," Hay murmured. "Though it seems to me that Rait and his 'Sons of Re' protect a better class of brothels than do my 'Sons of Set'. Why should more wealth flow to him, Mahuhy?"
"I would hesitate to call you mistaken," Mahuhy said cheerfully. "But you really must get your scribes to go over your accounts again. I try to be fair to all my friends and business partners. I am deeply indebted to the two largest and bravest gangs of warriors in Waset as I'm sure we all are." He gestured at the other men in the darkened warehouse, their leaping shadows stretching out from the single lamp in their midst. "Paser, your dock workers benefit from the Sons of Re and Set, do they not? And Roma, surely even the armorers are better off for peace in the streets?"
"Oh, indeed," burly Roma said, flexing the massive biceps on his arms, the result of a lifetime's expertise with hammer and anvil. "Their rapaciousness is only exceeded by Ay's Medjay."
"You would rather we withdrew our protection?" Rait asked in a voice as soft as spider silk.
"Or ours?" Hay growled. "It can be arranged."
"No, of course not," Roma grated. "Ay unfettered would be far worse."
"Would you say..." Mahuhy asked, "...That Ay is bad for business?"
The other men stared at the brothel keeper. "What stupidity is this?" A large man limped out of the shadows and confronted Mahuhy. The man's right leg was twisted and shorter than the other and he supported himself with a long staff. "Ay treads on everyone trying to earn a living in Waset. Even my beggars are hounded off the streets despite the valuable service we perform."
Paser snorted. "I don't begrudge your right to beg, friend Menmut, but how can you describe begging as a valuable service?"
Menmut grinned, revealing another deformity hidden by the shadows. One side of his face did not move, remaining leaden and still as the other side flexed and creased. "Why, friend Paser, our presence reminds those more fortunate that the gods smile on them, no matter how hard their lives."
"If I might ask again," Mahuhy said. "Is Ay bad for business?"
"Of course. We all know this."
"Then you will be interested to hear of who threatens Ay's peace of mind. Someone is coming to attack Waset."
"Old news," yawned Menmut. "My spies heard about the bandit horde five days ago."
"It is true," Hay agreed. "We have all known of this for days. What else has Ay been doing than prepare the defences?"
"What have you heard?" Rait asked sharply. "You would not waste our time with something as obvious as a gang of bandits."
"Indeed, no," Mahuhy said. "Who leads this gang?"
"One bandit is much the same as another," Roma growled, glancing at the leaders of the Sons of Set and Re.
"He calls himself the Son of Sobek, so I hear," Rait said. "If it's the same gang from Nubia."
"It is." Mahuhy found it hard not to grin. "And it's not some son of the crocodile god, it's Smenkhkare."
"Horse dung. He died. They buried him."
"They buried tokens only," Menmut said slowly. "One of my people saw the sarcophagus before it was sealed. His body was never found."
"That's because it was eaten. Our beloved king Smenkhkare lies as crocodile shit at the bottom of the river."
"Ay does not believe that and I'll tell you why," Mahuhy said. "I was on the King's Council and in the days immediately following the disappearance, when we were all in fear of our lives, I met a man whose brother works for Ay. He says this other man reported to Ay behind locked doors of what happened on the king's hunting expedition, and afterward, Ay had the man killed."
Menmut grimaced, though the expression could have been a smile. "Hearsay, Mahuhy. Have you nothing better to go on."
"I overheard Ay and General Nakhtmin talking on the walls this afternoon. They spoke of Smenkhkare and how they depend on Horemheb getting here in time."
"Would Smenkhkare be better for us than Ay?" Roma asked.
"Smenkhkare is more likely to support the army than the boy. A bigger army means more weapons for your guild to make."
"What of the dock workers?" asked Paser.
"A vigorous young man as king means a strong Kemet trading with the world. More trade, more ships, more work. And as for you others, well, I know Kaha as the guild of corn merchants will benefit from stability, and if Smenkhkare returns maybe his sister Beketaten will too..."
"If she's still alive," Heb interjected.
"Pray to Het-Heru she is. She was always kind to the poor and unfortunates of the city. Menmut, your beggars will benefit too."
"This is all very well," Rait said slowly. "You all benefit by Smenkhkare's return and I can see where this conversation is leading, but what's in it for us, Mahuhy? The last thing Hay and I need is a strong, stable government. That means a strong army and Medjay and the next thing you know, I'm hanging from the walls with the crows picking my eyes out." The gang leader shook his head. "No thanks, I'm better off if Ay rules."
Hay nodded his support and the two men started toward the door.
"There is one thing you might consider, gentlemen," Mahuhy said, making no attempt to block their exit. "Think back five years. Where did you find your wealth?"
Hay turned and cocked his head to one side. "What are you getting at?"
"You robbed the nobles, you intercepted rich caravans, and you took a cut of all the riches that poured into Waset. Where do you get it now?"
"From merchants and small businesses as protection," Rait stated. "A lot more work for less profit. Do you think things would return to the old days?"
"I cannot promise it, Rait," Mahuhy said. "Smenkhkare may tighten the laws but surely he will look favourably on any who assist him now?"
"What would you have us do?"
"What I would have you all do if Smenkhkare attacks the city. Use your followers to disrupt the defence, open the gates if you can, riot so that the Medjay are busy with you rather than fighting our king."
Menmut thought about it for a few minutes, the other men looking to him for his decision. At last the leader of the beggar's guild nodded. "If I can do it I will, but I will not risk my people in pitched battle with soldiers or Medjay. If Smenkhkare returns, I will help him." The others nodded their acceptance, the two gang leaders last of all.
"Thank you," Mahuhy said simply. "General Nakhtmin thinks we have five to ten days before the king arrives, so I suggest you use the time making plans."
General Nakhtmin was wrong. Two days later at dawn, the lookouts on the city wall sounded the alarm and the officer of the watch, General Psenamy ordered the gates closed. Within minutes, Ay and his main advisers joined Psenamy on the wall, looking south to where the river was now covered with a scattering of white sails, the waters chopped by oars stroking in time as the fleet sped toward the city.
"Your advice?" Ay asked.
"Sit tight." General Nakhtmin shrugged. "It is a very pretty sight but what can he do? Smenkhkare will sit outside these walls until Horemheb arrives."
"That is not honourable," Psenamy said vehemently. "When Smenkhkare arrives we should allow him time to rest his men then assemble the army. We must, of course, meet him in battle."
"Fool," Nakhtmin muttered. "Do you want to hand the city to him? Smenkhkare has twice as many men as us."
"I fear the general is right, Tjaty," Usermontju said. "My Medjay are zealous but they are no match for trained soldiers. I say we wait for Horemheb to arrive."
Ay looked at his other advisers. "What about you? Do you have an opinion?"
Bakt shook his head. "I will pray to Lord Amun. This is his city, he will not forsake us."
"I am only a scribe," said Treasurer Maya. "I can manage the financial affairs of the Kingdoms, but I am not competent to comment on military matters."
"At last, somebody who realizes it," Nakhtmin snarled. "There is nothing to see here, Ay. I suggest we head down for breakfast."
"You can eat at a time like this?" Maya's eyebrows rose.
"A soldier learns to eat when he can."
Smenkhkare's fleet landed a little south of the city and his army disembarked. He had the boats drawn up and secured, then set up a defensive perimeter and sent scouts out to survey the city defenses. By mid-day he was sitting in his tent, sipping fresh river water and contemplating the high walls of the city and planning his next actions.
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Chapter Thirty-Seven
The journey from Zarw to Waset occupied the worst month of Scarab's life. The first day was the horror of saying goodbye to her infant son, ameliorated only by the knowledge she was leaving him in the hands of doting grandparents. Her letter to Paramessu had gone with an army messenger, also taking the news of her brother Smenkhkare's resurrection. She explained how she must go to his side and help him if she could, but that she could only do this if she knew her infant son Set was in good hands. "I will be back inside three months--six at the most," she wrote. "I will be there to see his first steps, to hear his first words. I am torn by my decision but I have to do this." Pleading with Paramessu to return to Zarw at the first opportunity, to see his son, she filled the rest of the short scroll with protestations of her love. That first day, on a small fishing boat scudding down the canal toward the great river, she nearly asked them to turn around, to go back, as the pain in her heart grew too great. Alone with three men--Khu, Nebhotep and a taciturn young boatman the very antithesis of the garrulous Amenhotep of their voyage to Iunu--Scarab missed the company of Meryam and being able to talk of womanly things.
"He'll be missing me. What if Set won't feed?" Scarab asked anxiously of Nebhotep. "I have milk, he should be drinking mine."
"You were there, Scarab. We found him an excellent wet-nurse and Paramessu's parents will provide him with the best of care. You could not do better your..." Nebhotep bit his lip, but Scarab completed the sentence and burst into tears, running off to the stern of the small boat to look out into their wake longingly. For days, Scarab turned any conversation inevitably to the subject of her abandonment of her beloved baby and would not be consoled by any clumsy male attempts to soften the impact of her loss. For a reason that neither Khu nor Nebhotep could understand, the contradictory ideas that Set was better off without her or worse off, produced equally disastrous effects. In the end they decided her illogicality was something uniquely female and left her alone. This did not work either, as she then accused them of not caring.
By the end of the first week, at about the time they passed Ineb Hedj, aided by a fresh northerly wind, Scarab's milk was drying up. Mixed emotions flared again--relief at the cessation of soreness and the embarrassment of damp gowns, but sorrow that now she could not even pretend she was a mother. As long as she was producing milk she could cling to the notion that if by some miracle Set was restored to her, nothing would have changed. Now that her milk had ceased to flow, she could not even feed her own baby. She cried herself to sleep most nights.
"I should have brought Set. I could have sat up here in the bows and looked after him without getting in the way."
"Scarab, you know that's not true," Khu chided, forgetting his decision not to get involved in any 'baby' conversations. "We are going into a war. That is no place for a baby."
Scarab stamped her foot and turned her back on the men, refusing to speak again until the evening meal. As usual, the small craft did not risk sailing at night but was beached at dusk and, if no villages were nearby, they made a small fire and roasted fish caught during the day. If they were near habitation, their meal could be eked out with bread and vegetables. Judge Seti had provided them with a small box of copper and silver to provide for necessities. It was enough to last them until they arrived in Waset.
"I'm sorry, Khu," Scarab murmured that night as she accepted a roast fish from the lad. "I should not have been so rude. You are right; we are going into a war."
Khu blushed and muttered something indistinctly, turning his attention to his meal. He glanced at Nebhotep and winked.
"I have been thinking," Scarab went on. "Of what use are we going to be to my brother when we find him?"
"Use? I don't think the king will be looking for a use for his sister," Khu replied with a laugh. "Just having you there will be enough. Our physician too will be an asset. There will be a need for doctors after a battle. And as for me..." Khu flexed his arms. "A good strong man like me will probably be asked to lead the battle."
Scarab shied a pebble at Khu, hitting him on the leg. "Be serious. I'm not just going to sit around like the other women looking beautiful while men fight for my brother."
"What makes you think you're beautiful?" Khu laughed again and dodged another pebble. "Anyway, what can women do? Organize the servants maybe, or help Nebhotep?"
"I could fight. Meny taught me...don't look at me like that. When those thugs attacked us in Waset, I killed two of them while you just got yourself stabbed."
"That was just luck. You surprised them."
"I could take you, Khu."
Khu laughed and slapped his leg, looking at Nebhotep and the boatman for support. "If I was asleep, maybe."
"Try me." Scarab stood up and dusted the dirt off her hands. "Show me you're a better fighter."
"Come on, Scarab, I'm not going to fight you. What would it prove? I'm bigger and stronger and anyway, I wouldn't want to risk you getting hurt."
"You won't hurt me. You won't even touch me. We'll use twigs as daggers, Nebhotep can adjudicate and the fight ends after the first hit to the body."
Khu sighed noisily. "I don't want to fight you, Scarab. Nebhotep, help me out here. She shouldn't be doing anything strenuous so soon...er, you know..." All three men looked at Scarab warily, waiting for a fresh outburst of tears.
"So soon after I've had a baby, you mean," Scarab said with barely a tremor. "Tell him, Nebhotep. Physical exercise would benefit me."
The physician nodded. "That is true. The muscles need toning again. You will need to exercise care, but I cannot see any harm coming from it." He smiled. "Except perhaps injured pride."
Full night had fallen by now but they threw more wood on the fire and cleared a small area of stones and sticks. Nebhotep selected two twigs of equal size and handed them to Scarab and Khu.
"Now I don't want any injuries," Nebhotep admonished. "Arms and bodies only. Nothing near the head or below the waist. If either of you get hurt I will tell the king you recklessly endangered yourselves." He stepped back. "Fight."
Scarab stepped back two paces and unfastened her gown, letting it fall to the ground with a sibilant whisper. Below it she wore only a brief kilt, her breasts, though shrinking back to their former size, swung in a most provocative manner as she moved.
Khu's eyes left their watch of Scarab's, his attention wandering downward and Scarab leaped forward, her left arm suddenly raised at eye level, her right hand held low. Khu jumped and flinched away from her left hand, bringing his twig up even as he fell back, then cried out as her twig snapped on his ribs.
Scarab retreated and tossed the broken twig on the ground, grinning. "See? I told you I could take you."
"That's not fair," Khu said, rubbing his ribcage. "I was distracted."
"Yes, you were rather," Nebhotep laughed. "Still, in war you fight anyway you can just to survive. Scarab wins."
"Wait. As I said, I was taken by surprise. She could not do that again, now that I'm ready for her tricks."
"Up to you, Scarab." Nebhotep cocked his head enquiringly. "You won but you can fight him again if you want."
"Why not? I don't have to distract a man to win."
They faced each other again across a few paces of sand and circled slowly, each looking for an opening. Scarab feinted and as Khu made to block the blow, slashed, forgetting the twig had only stabbing capabilities. She leapt back out of the way and started circling again, her feet feeling the irregularities of the ground. Khu suddenly tossed the twig to his other hand and stabbed. Scarab backed a
way quickly, her defence confused by the switch and the twig grazed her stomach. She weaved her 'blade' to and fro, watching Khu's eyes follow it. Hiding a smile she moved it across at chest height then jumped, making her breasts bounce. At the same moment she swept forward with her hand, stabbing for his chest again. His hand came across, knocking her arm aside and his twig snapped against her side.
"Fornication," she shouted, throwing down her weapon. "That was too low. It was on my waist."
"My lady." Khu bowed and straightened, grinning. "Though I don't think such expressions are commonly uttered by of a lady of the court."
"A fair blow," Nebhotep confirmed. "Scarab, you cannot rely on men being distracted by your er, attributes."
"Again," Scarab grated. "I will not be beaten."
Khu shook his head. "Enough, Scarab. We have won one apiece. Let us call it a draw and be done with it."
Scarab bent and snatched up her twig from the ground and lunged at Khu, weaving and feinting. Unarmed, Khu fell back, his eyes watchful, circling the fire. "Stand still," Scarab muttered. She lunged again and Khu ducked to one side, grabbing hold of her right arm, pulling her off balance. Exerting his strength, he bent her arm forward, pressing it inexorably toward her chest, despite her flailing left fist. With a cry of anger she dropped the twig just before it touched her and Khu let go, pushing her backward and scooped it up as it fell. Leaping forward, he gave her no time to recover her balance and rammed the twig home against her ribs. Scarab sat down hard and swore colourfully.
Khu tossed the fragments of twig into the fire and extended his hand to the fallen girl. "Never fight angry," he said. "My father taught me that."
Scarab slapped his hand aside and scrambled to her feet, her eyes blazing. She snatched her gown up and stormed off into the darkness.
"Scarab, wait," Khu cried out and started after her.
"Leave her to cool down, Khu." Nebhotep put a hand out to restrain him. "Nobody likes losing, royalty least of all. Her pride is wounded, best let her heal by herself."
"But she's alone out there. Anything could happen. Bandits...or a lion."