Not for his generation, the great battles of times gone by. He knew all the stories of Megiddo and other victorious campaigns, but he’d never killed a man in combat. He’d never had to strategize anything more than a training exercise. Now, on this mountainside, he and the remaining forty-four soldiers and five bowmen potentially had the life of their King in their hands.
‘What can I do?’
*
Amunitore walked out with her husband to be. She kissed him on both cheeks and he sprang up on to the chariot. The King followed soon after and climbed up beside his young fan-bearer. The Royal procession moved out of the Palace grounds. Amunitore waved enthusiastically as the King took the reins and motioned the horses forward to the front of the line. Amunitore felt so proud. She was to be married to the brave, handsome man standing next to his King. Life was going to be good.
Also in chariots were Mahu with Meri-Bes beside him. There, too, was Yuya in his favourite chariot alongside Merymose. Their job would be to lead the rest of the procession along the west valley when the King and the guards moved up the eastern side. Another chariot contained a grey-faced Nahkt, squashed uncomfortably between the two guards he had, until last night, trusted with his life. They were now dressed in the uniform of the King’s special guards with golden breast ornaments and amulets. Spears with golden bands were locked in their positions on the chariot and swords, with gold on their hilts, were slung at their sides. On their heads were helmets which appeared like golden crowns, they looked formidable. Their appearance was not deceptive.
*
By the southern ridge, the Commander looked down towards the place where the tomb robbers were laying their plans. He felt he had no alternative but to attack and prevent them from setting their own trap for the King. It would be almost impossible to approach unseen. His force was not so strong that he could be sure to arrive unscathed and in sufficient numbers, from the attacks of the enemy bowmen, to finish the job.
If he and his men were lost too cheaply then it made the job of the robbers easier. He either had to lead his men into the attack, ensuring they killed or disabled everyone, or at the very least, reduced their numbers and abilities.
He searched the terrain for potential vantage points to position archers. He didn’t have a feeling of victory. He only had five bowmen. Not enough to out flank their opposite numbers. A frontal attack would be suicide. Their bowmen could pick his men off and kill all, or most, of them before they could get into spear throwing distance. This would be a waste of his men.
The soldier, sent to warn the contingent approaching from the western valley, managed to follow a dried wadi and reached them much quicker than he thought. The Commander listened to everything he said and ordered his men to increase their speed to get to their waiting point as quickly as possible. He knew the Commander of the group, approaching from other side, well. He had every faith in his abilities as a soldier and leader. There would be no chance of communicating with him and so he would have to make his own mind up when he reached the top and hope the two groups would be able to stop the robbers before the King arrived.
Meanwhile, the southern Commander assigned two soldiers to each bowman and instructed them to circumvent the points where he believed the robbers’ bowmen would be hiding. The five teams of three were to avoid contact with the enemy by using ridges for concealment. The robbers wouldn’t know the spies had lived long enough to give warning. Maybe there was still some chance of surprising them.
The group, approaching from the west, also looked down at the way they would need to approach the tomb. The scene was very similar to that faced by the southern approach and the Commander came to the same conclusions.
His bowmen, each accompanied by two soldiers, headed off to establish vantage points to give relative safety for an approach on foot. There was, however, one difference between the two plans. The western Commander, realising his route brought his men closer to the entrance of the valley, had sent his best archer and four soldiers, to skirt further down, cutting off any attempted ambush on the King. He also sent a man back down into the western valley to get to the entrance in time to warn the King. It was unlikely to succeed, but he must try.
The robbers were desperate. There wasn’t enough time to escape. Their only hope was to cause as much chaos and confusion as possible and try to flee when others were distracted. They were grateful their leader had the foresight to employ thirty bowmen for protection. Given their abilities and the terrain, this number would certainly be enough to hold ground and cause mayhem.
Killing the King should achieve their aim. The three best archers were sent along the ridge to take up positions. It hadn’t been difficult for them to find good places to hide and wait, with a clear view of the approach and a relatively easy shot. The remaining archers were deployed to the southern and western approaches. It was certain the troops approaching from there, wouldn’t be aware that a trap had been set and would come, happily marching in formation, into the hail of awaiting arrows. The robbers themselves were heavily armed. Although not soldiers, they were tough. They didn’t care about rules of warfare or any form of fair fight. They could kill, quickly and efficiently. In fact, they were certain that between them they had killed more men in fights than the whole of the Palace Guard. Let the bowmen do their job and the robbers would fight their way out of any corner.
The King’s procession approached. As had been agreed, Yuya in the chariot with Merymose turned right at the entrance to the valleys, taking the western fork towards Haqwaset’s tomb. The King and the soldiers carried on, taking the left fork, increasing their speed as they did so. The soldiers on foot struggled to keep up with the chariots even though the charioteers were pulling the horses back from top speed. Mahu brought his chariot to the front. The King had at least agreed to that. His security conscious eyes looking everywhere. He caught the occasional glimpse of a flash, like sun reflecting off metal. He trusted these were reflections off the spears of the royal troops. He ordered the trumpet sound, which was to be the signal for the soldiers in the mountains to start the assault on the other two fronts, closing in on the robbers from three sides, taking them completely by surprise. He noticed another flash. The next thing he knew he was losing balance and the chariot was starting to tilt. Meri-Bes, beside him, was cursing.
‘They shot the damned horse,’ he said.
The horse keeled over. The chariot, with its own momentum, slewed sideways, then tipped over, throwing both Mahu and Meri-Bes from inside. They were fortunate the horse had not been going at a gallop or they could have been killed. Instead, at this moderate speed, they could jump at the last moment to take them clear of the collapsing and rolling chariot.
All charioteers were trained in the necessary manoeuvres to escape, or limit injury or death, should a chariot be toppled over. In battle, the horse was the easiest target for a bowman and, even when riding for sport, simply hitting a rock could unbalance the chariot. Mahu and Meri-Bes were experienced and, hitting the ground, immediately rolled to lessen the impact. They came to a stop, bruised but otherwise uninjured.
The King pulled up and jumped down to run to the side of his fallen friends. The other chariots also stopped and the soldiers, breaking into a run soon caught up and formed a protective ring around the King.
‘They knew we were coming,’ shouted Mahu. ‘They wouldn’t be this far up the valley if they didn’t know.’
A scream came from the ridge above them. Then another. The bodies of two black-skinned bowmen fell from the ridge. Above, the four soldiers and bowman from the western approach had arrived, just too late to stop the arrows let fly at Mahu’s chariot. They killed the two bowmen as soon as they arrived. They didn’t stop and wait, they couldn’t be sure how many other bowmen there were and they quickly made their way towards the head of the valley.
The King stood facing Mahu and Meri-Bes with Maiherpri slightly to the front and side. Above
, seen only by one of the King’s soldiers on the ridge, an archer was standing, drawing his bow string, taking careful aim. The soldier halted, drew back his spear. It takes longer for a man to stop, position himself, move the spear into a throwing grip and draw back his arm than it does for an experienced bowman to draw back the string and take aim. The spear left the hand of the soldier just as the arrow left the bow. Each aim was true and each would reach its target. The soldier and his comrades let out a shriek of warning and the King and his group looked up.
What happened next no-one would ever be able to explain.
Did Maiherpri see the arrow coming through the air?
Not possible.
Was it just reaction? Chance?
Who knew? What they did know, was that Maiherpri threw himself in the air, across and in front of the King, and he hit the ground. The King first looked up. The speared bowman fell as his two comrades before him had done. He looked down at Maiherpri, was about to tell him to get up when he saw the blood. It was gushing out with such speed and in such amount it took a while to see the arrow head protruding from the young fan-bearer’s neck.
At this point, Yuya and Merymose arrived at high speed on their chariot. The soldier had managed to reach the tomb just as Yuya was arriving, he told them quickly what had happened and Yuya sped his chariot to warn the King. Too late. Not for the King, but for the young man lying on the ground, blood still flowing from the arterial wound, soaking into the sand around his head.
Merymose froze. His other two sons, ignoring their prisoner, leapt from their chariot and ran towards their stricken brother.
Haqwaset looked at Mahu. Guilt and anger were written across the King’s face. There were tears in his eyes. Through gritted teeth, he spoke to his chief of security.
‘Mahu, I want them dead. Not a single one left alive. There is a debt to pay and by the gods I will see it paid. Bring me the priest.’
All faces turned towards where the chariot had been with Nahkt on board. It had moved, and was moving, away. The two brothers jumped onto the King’s chariot without asking permission and sped after the fleeing priest. He was no charioteer and unless they caught him soon he might kill himself. He didn’t even get to the valley entrance. One of the two brothers jumped onto the horse pulling Nahkt’s chariot. He took the reins near to the horse’s head and pulled hard, bringing the animal to a standstill. The second brother jumped down as the two chariots stopped and stepped behind Nahkt, grabbing him around the neck.
‘Don’t kill him,’ yelled his brother. ‘The King wants him for himself.’
Above the valley floor, on the ridge, there were few sounds. The King’s bowmen had found their vantage points and were despatching the robbers’ bowmen with comparative ease.
Killing with a bow was efficient and silent. Only the cry of the dying man, as he was hit, could be heard, sometimes not even that. Little sound filtered down to the group on the valley floor. There, all stood in stunned silence. It was Mahu who broke the stillness. Shouting orders to the soldiers, they obeyed immediately but quietly. Merymose was on his knees beside the body of his dead, youngest son, crying inconsolably. Yuya knelt beside him, arm around his shoulders. The King too was kneeling.
‘Merymose,’ he said, ‘take your son. Bring him to my tomb. Ask the workmen to prepare a stretcher to carry him. Wait for me there; I’ll come as soon as we finish here. We’ll bring him home a hero.’
‘I’ll come with you Merymose,’ it was Yuya who spoke, ‘then I must warn Tiye and the others.’
‘Merkare, Merkare,’ wailed Merymose, repeating his wife’s name over and over. ‘This will kill her. How can I tell her?’
‘Don’t fret my friend,’ said Yuya. ‘We’ll break it to her in the best way we can.’
‘Take your other sons too, Merymose,’ Haqwaset said. The two tall Nubians arrived, dragging the squirming, snivelling priest behind them, tied with what looked like the reins from a chariot.
‘We left the horses, Majesty,’ one of the brothers said, ‘the priest here indicated he would prefer to walk, so we obliged.’
‘Thank you,’ responded Haqwaset. ‘Now go with your father and your brother.’
‘No. Please Majesty; please let us see this through. Time enough to grieve for our brother. Let us bring this to an end.’
Haqwaset grabbed the cords holding Nahkt and pulled him to his feet.
‘Look at this, look what your greed and scheming has done. This boy is my brother’s son, which makes him of my blood. My blood, do you understand? You see it flowing and congealing? It’s as if it were my blood spilled on the ground, and believe me, when I’m finished with you, it will be your dying wish that it had been my blood. This brave boy, this lion-hearted son of my brother, died saving me. He took the arrow meant for me and paid with his life. I guarantee you will understand the meaning of pain before you finally die. I promise your suffering will be the greatest imaginable.’
He looked at the two brothers. His expression quickly changing from anger to compassion.
‘I can’t risk the lives of any more of Merkare’s children. The sacrifice of this one is already too much.’
‘But Majesty, please don’t deprive us of our need for revenge. It’s our brother who is lying there. We must avenge him. Please don’t stop us.’
Haqwaset looked at Merymose, who nodded.
‘Mahu, let’s march to the head of valley and hope your soldiers above are doing their job.’
The King and the soldiers moved off. Maiherpri was lifted onto Yuya’s chariot by his two brothers before they walked beside their King, at the head of his troops. Nahkt was being escorted by two soldiers. Perhaps not so much escorted, as held upright and dragged.
Above them the two Commanders were indeed doing their jobs. The, almost identical, plans they had arrived at separately, had worked. At least twenty-five bowmen had been killed and now the foot soldiers were marching down towards the robbers. Their bravado seemed to desert them with the sight of seventy or more spears heading their way and they fell to their knees, begging for mercy. It was a worthless plea. A King stood on the valley floor below, determined to have his revenge. Mercy was a word which had been removed from his vocabulary.
*
At the Royal Palace, two hunting dogs were howling incessantly, desperately trying to break free from the leashes that tied them. The Palace was filled with the noise and all who heard it were filled with a feeling of dread.
chapter twenty-seven
There had been thirteen robbers and thirty bowmen. Now, at the crossroads leading down to the valleys, forty-three sightless heads languished on carefully positioned poles. Most of the citizens of Waset would pass this place. Each would see the heads and the simple stone inscription:
‘For those who take the gold of my blood and those who take the blood of my blood.’
The meaning was clear. No formal opening passages, stating the message was from the King, no long list of names given to him, or taken by him, setting out his birth right or position. A simple message, bearing a significance obvious to all. This scene would remain for at least a year. Long after the birds had pecked out the eyes and eaten the muscle and tissue. Long after there was nothing left on the poles but fleshless skulls. In the valley, along the eastern side, headless corpses hung from cliff sides at intervals along the full length. Nahkt was forced to watch each man being slowly tortured to death.
As the first was dying, Nahkt was reminded by Haqwaset. ‘Their pain is as nothing, compared to that which you will endure.’
Nahkt vomited until his stomach was empty and burning. His robes, filthy from having been dragged along the dirt, were now coated in vomit. He retched, his throat felt on fire. He begged for water but none was offered.
Haqwaset no longer had any relish for the slaughter. It had to be done but, unlike Nahkt, he didn’t have to endure it. He was still shak
en by the loss of Maiherpri, his nephew and friend.
Haqwaset walked with Maiherpri’s brothers. Together with Mahu and Meri-Bes, they joined Merymose and Yuya at the King’s own tomb-in-waiting in the western valley. He shivered as he walked past the still blood-stained patch of ground where Maiherpri had fallen. He needed to be near Maiherpri, needed to apologise for being the cause of his death. He was determined to ensure his young nephew, who had sacrificed his life for his King, would be remembered and honoured. Not for him a burial in a secondary place. He died beside his King; he must lie in eternity beside kings. This was the least he could do.
*
At the Palace, Amunitore endeavoured to quieten the two dogs, but they continued to howl and pull on their leashes. Guards tried cajoling them, attempted offering food; nothing would calm them.
A stern faced Yuya came into the Palace on his chariot. His face, covered in dust and grime, streaked from tears. He pulled up close to the two leashed dogs. The hounds stopped howling, looked at the old man with heads tilted to one side. They sniffed the air. They seemed to notice the blood stains on his gown. He told the guards to release them, which they did, very reluctantly. The dogs ran to Yuya, smelled his gown, then went to the chariot, still stained with the blood of their master. They lay down, whimpering softly, no longer howling.
The sound of the Yuya’s arrival, and the sudden stopping of the howling, had brought several members of the household out to see. Amongst them were Merkare, Amunitore and Tiye. They each looked quizzically at Yuya, the look on his face, the blood on his robes. All sank to their knees.
‘No, no, no,’ cried Merkare.
Tiye looked questioningly at her father, trying to read his expression but could not.
‘Is the King…?’ she stuttered and couldn’t finish the sentence.
The Awakening Aten Page 32