The Amarnan Kings, Book 4: Scarab - Ay

by Overton, Max

  "There must be something you can do. Subjugate the Land of Sin where the copper mines are? West to Libya?"

  "Nebmaetre might have done so, or even Akhenaten, had he been a warrior king, but the land is tired, the armies too indolent--Kemet is just not strong enough now."

  Nakhtmin got up and walked over to the pond. He picked up a stick and poked at the lily pads, revealing murky water beneath. Over in the reeds a frog croaked and above a kite whistled high in its airy realm. He looked up and searched for the speck circling high above, and then dropped his gaze to the ibis searching for food. A smile crept onto his face and he looked about him, noting the dung beetle, the sun, growing things, and feeling the air on his face, the breeze rustling the tamarind pods. He walked back to Ay and stood looking down at him, oblivious to all protocol.

  "There is one thing you could do, father. A task that would take many years but would earn you the praise of the nobles, the army and the people. A task that would mean your name would be remembered for as long as men lived in Kemet."

  "And it does not involve waging an expensive war with anyone?"

  Nakhtmin laughed. "No."

  "So tell me."

  "Father, you remember the last thirty years and three kings, so tell me please, what was Akhenaten's heresy and how did it manifest itself in Kemet?"

  Ay stared up at his son. "You know as well as me. What is this? And sit down; you're giving me a crick in the neck."

  Nakhtmin squatted in the dust. "Bear with me, father. How was the heresy manifested?"

  "Akhenaten fostered his god the Aten to the exclusion of all the other gods."

  "Which meant what? In real terms, to the priests and people."

  "All the wealth of the kingdoms went to the temples of the Aten and their priests. The other gods got nothing. From that, nothing flowed down to the people. I may not be religious myself but I can appreciate how the common herd needs the comfort of thinking the gods care."

  "Did this change when Smenkhkare became king?"

  Ay looked slightly uncomfortable, not meeting Nakhtmin's gaze. "He tried to reverse Akhenaten's policy but I opposed him behind the scenes, to destabilise his reign."

  "And it worked, from what you've told me. What happened when Tutankhamen became king? Did he follow his predecessor's example? Did you oppose him too?"

  "What are you getting at, Nakhtmin? Yes, the boy continued to bring back the old gods to Kemet and no, I did not oppose him as he was easy to manipulate."

  "Then there is your answer, father. Continue the work of the last two kings but accelerate it, magnify it. Build temples to all the gods of our nation. Share the wealth that formerly belonged solely to the Aten."

  "You're mad. Why should I spend all my wealth on the gods when I don't even believe in them?"

  "What does it matter whether you believe in them or not? If the gods actually exist, they will be pleased with you. If they don't, then the people, and especially the priests, will praise you for your piety."

  "Why should I care what the people think of me?"

  "Your name will be on every temple you cause to be built. Think of it, my lord, a hundred temples spread through the length and breadth of Kemet, and each one praising the deeds of King Kheperkheperure Irimaat Ay. Your name will be remembered through all of history, not merely as a manipulating Tjaty but as a king that honoured the gods and cared for his people."

  Ay scowled. "Tutankhamen built temples," he grumbled. "He spent hours designing them and following all the details of their construction. He made me join in a few times. It was extremely boring."

  "Tutankhamen only built a few temples. He wanted to have a hand in creating each one, to bring it to fruition as a potter casting an earthenware jug. You would have teams of architects and builders to do all that for you. You need not be concerned about any of the details. Where the boy king built five temples, you will build fifty."

  Ay leaned back against the rough bark of the tamarind tree and closed his eyes. With his vision taken out of his worldview, his other senses became more acute. He noticed for the first time since his arrival under the tree, the sweet-acid tang of fallen fruit, the wash of the gentle breeze through the fine foliage, and the feather-light touch of an insect on his upper arm. Without conscious decision, he brushed at the creature walking over him. Could Nakhtmin be right? Is this the answer? It seems ridiculous that I, who have never believed in the gods--not really--could now seek to make a lasting name for myself by pandering to them . He heard Nakhtmin shift, his sandals scraping in the dust. He is a good man, loyal and trustworthy. I chose well there. I know he desires the throne for all he says he does not want it, but he will have to wait. I have given up too much to attain this goal . I could have years yet if I can but find a purpose . A purpose, yes. This is a purpose--if I make it mine . Ay smiled, recognising the irony. The gods will help me after all . He opened his eyes and looked down at his adopted son.

  "Gather me the foremost architects of the kingdoms, bring together masons and painters, and have Maya prepare a report on the financial status of the Treasury. I am going to build temples to all the gods of Kemet. A thousand temples and shrines to bear witness to my greatness."

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  Chapter Fifteen

  Months had passed since Scarab had been thrown out of the walled city of Zarw. Judge Seti believed she had taken his warnings to heart and had given up seeking to be reunited with her young son, but in fact, she had gone no further than the tents of the Khabiru. She sought out Jeheshua in the Street of the Goldsmiths and he had taken her to meet with Meryam, her husband Chemosh, and her brother Eli.

  The young Khabiru woman was torn between her joy at seeing Scarab again, anger at the Judge's actions, and horror at what had been visited upon Scarab's face. Her reaction to the stone eye was even more extreme than Jeheshua's, and Chemosh, who did not know Scarab, called her a witch and would have called for her to be stoned had not the old jeweller forbidden it. As it was, they had to talk to him for half the evening before he grudgingly allowed that if the Lord allowed her within the camp, she could not be a pawn of the adversary.

  "Well, thank the Lord, that is settled," Eli murmured. "You are welcome to stay with me, Scarab."

  "She'll do no such thing," Meryam said indignantly. "For shame, offering to guest a woman in a man's tent. She will stay in our tent."

  Chemosh looked unhappy but said nothing.

  Eli grinned at Meryam's temper. "What will you do?" he asked Scarab.

  "Try and see my son," Scarab replied. "I refuse to give up on him."

  "Well, of course, but I meant how will you support yourself?" Eli blushed with embarrassment. "We'll do what we can but..."

  "Eli is right," Jeheshua added. "We will naturally extend our hospitality but you will need to find some way of contributing to the community."

  Scarab now flushed. "I...I'm not sure what I can do that would be useful. I never learned a trade and all I have really ever been is a warrior. I don't suppose you've got much use for a warrior."

  "Fighting is man's work," Chemosh said primly. "I suppose Meryam could teach you how to cook and sew. Maybe in time we could find a husband to support you."

  "Thank you," Scarab said tightly. "But I do not have the temperament for women's work. I have a fair hand and a good education. Perhaps I could be a scribe or a teacher."

  "I'm sure you could," Meryam said, "But there isn't much call for Kemetu writing or learning among the Khabiru."

  "You can come and work for me," Jeheshua said. "For a time, until you can find something else or you decide what you are going to do with the rest of your life."

  The next morning, just after dawn when the Khabiru had sung a hymn of praise to their Lord, Scarab accompanied Jeheshua to his stall by the gates of Zarw. Meryam had worked on her the night before and used vegetable juices to turn her hair a muddy brown. She took a gaily-coloured scarf and knotted it over her head in such a way that it hung down and
partially obscured her right eye.

  "There. You look just like an ordinary Khabiru woman," Meryam had said. "Now, if you can learn not to hold yourself so proudly..."

  Scarab did her best. She accompanied Jeheshua through the camp, following slightly behind and to one side as became her status, her head down rather than looking all around in her usual way. The old jeweller sat her at a bench behind the one on which he did business and set her to polishing tiny beads of wood, bone and ivory. He showed her how to grind sand into a fine dust, mix it with a few drops of olive oil and rub it gently over the beads.

  "Try this to start with. As soon as people get used to you here, we'll see what you are good at." People from surrounding stalls called out greetings and even the guards on the gates showed some interest in the young woman sitting with Jeheshua.

  "My sister's youngest daughter," Jeheshua explained. "Her father died and I am looking after her until her betrothed arrives."

  "Why did you make up a husband for me?" Scarab asked sourly. "Can't a woman look after herself among the Khabiru?"

  "Not usually. However, in this case I did it so young men would not pester you. Nobody will interfere with a betrothed woman."

  After a few days, Jeheshua gave Scarab other work. "Gold wire is essential for my work as a jeweller. You will make me a few cubits of it." He took a small nugget of gold from his purse and showed her how to hammer it into a thick cylinder with a bronze plate and hammer. Then he flattened it into a very thin sheet and cut out a strip with a sharp knife. "That is the easy part. Now you must fold the strip lengthwise and hammer it until the two edges merge. Fold and hammer again, and then again. Gradually it will become thinner and stronger." He demonstrated with a small piece. "I don't expect you will be able to produce fine wire, but see what you can do."

  Scarab took this as a challenge and set to with her hammer, industriously tapping away, bending, folding, and tapping some more. Towards the end of the day, Jeheshua sat down with her and asked to see her work. Scarab downed her tools and proudly passed her piece of wire across.

  Jeheshua examined it carefully, running it between his thumb and finger to feel its irregularities, and then holding it up to the light. "Not bad for a beginner. Can you thread beads on it?" He gave her a dozen assorted beads and watched as she pushed the end of the wire into the hole in the first bead. It slipped on easily and Scarab grinned with triumph. The second bead had a smaller opening and the wire caught in it. She tugged and the wire snapped. Her look of disappointment was so great the old man leaned across and patted her arm. He opened a small box and lifted out a coil of fine gold wire.

  "This is what it should look like." He undid a length and laid it out beside Scarab's effort. The difference was immediately obvious, the thin even thread from Jeheshua's box so different from the bulging and thinning wire that Scarab had so painstakingly made.

  "I hope you've got something else for me to do tomorrow. I don't seem to be any good at this."

  "And were you any good at writing, the first time you picked up a pen and papyrus? If you are going to help me as a jeweller's apprentice, you must know how to make good wire. You will keep doing it until you can match me."

  Her apprenticeship was not the only thing that occupied Scarab's days. Mindful of the fact that her son lived within a few hundred paces of where she worked, Jeheshua allowed her ample time to observe him. Meryam and others had worked out the boy's routine and knew on which days and at what hour his nurse brought him out into the city accompanied by a male slave. The nurse would walk down to the markets and haggle for fruit and vegetables, or with the boy watch the jugglers and acrobats entertain the crowds. Scarab would follow behind, hiding her face if the nurse should turn in her direction, feasting on the delight in the face of the little boy, fixing every feature in her memory when no one was looking. She loved it when he laughed at the antics of the monkey that turned somersaults and then scampered around the audience collecting copper rings from an appreciative audience before delivering them with a grimace and a scream to its huge Nubian master. When he cried, she felt as if her heart was breaking and had to restrain herself from running to him, snatching him up and kissing away the tears.

  "I will have you for my very own one day, my son," she vowed, praying to the Nine.

  On other days, his tutor would bring him into the city and they would visit the temples, bringing a cockerel or a pigeon as a sacrifice to the priests. Scarab was pleased to see that they often visited the temple dedicated to Set, the forbidding god of the desert, and her son's namesake. As he was one of the gods of Iunu, she felt it only proper that her son worship there. Usually, they would visit the larger, brighter temples dedicated to Amun, the Hidden One, to golden Re of the sun, to Heru of the Ascending Light, to Djehuti of learning and wisdom, and to Auset to pray for love and family.

  On the days that her son did not come into the city, Scarab worked hard at perfecting the craft of wire making. Despite her feelings of inadequacy, she learned rapidly and after a month was producing gold thread almost as fine and regular as that of the old jeweller. She found herself slipping into a seven-day routine that revolved around the religious life of her Khabiru hosts. Unlike Kemetu, who worked every day except for religious holidays, the followers of the nameless Lord worked hard for six days and on the seventh, devoted the hours from dawn to dusk in praise of their deity.

  Scarab tried to join in a few times but the rituals were detailed and hard to follow. If one of the Khabiru priests started a ritual and made a mistake, or if someone made a wrong response, the whole thing had to start again. After a few repetitions, stress levels would rise and more mistakes were made, so she learned to excuse herself early on. She explained herself to Meryam after dusk one day.

  "It's not that I don't want to attend, Meryam. It is just that I am Kemetu and dedicated to my own gods. I am more than happy to serve your Lord as well, but he asks too much of me. At least, his priests do," she added with a wry smile. "I'm forever holding up the ritual."

  "I hope you will give up your Kemetu gods in time and embrace the Lord. He is a jealous god and does not like anyone having other gods."

  "That sounds like something my brother Akhenaten would say. He believed his Aten, like your Adon or Lord, was the only god, despite the fact he was brought up with our many gods."

  Meryam smiled. "Yes, he was a son of Tiye and was raised here in Zarw. It is no wonder he came to the truth."

  "And I am a daughter of Tiye. Are you saying I live a lie?"

  "Of course not," Meryam protested. "But really, knowing us now as you do, and our beliefs, how can you still follow all those many little gods of yours when you could, like your brother, just follow one big one."

  Scarab counselled herself to remain calm. It would serve no purpose to get angry, yet she wanted to puncture Meryam's smugness. "Have you even seen your God? What does he look like?"

  "No man can see him," the Khabiru woman responded.

  "How then do you know he exists? I, at least, have seen the gods I worship. In the desert, as I lay dying, all nine of the gods of Iunu appeared to me. They spoke, and gave me gifts, which is a lot more than..."

  "You never said anything about gifts. What did they give you?"

  Scarab hesitated, wondering if she had gone too far. She tried to recall if the gods had said anything about keeping their gifts secret. Then she remembered Geb's gift, her stone eye, and how many people knew of that. "My eye you know about," she said slowly. "Atum gave me a scarab beetle made of gold." She sketched out with her fingers its size.

  Meryam's eyes widened. "That is a great treasure. May I see this gift?"

  Scarab pulled the carving out from her innermost garment where she always carried it, and held it out, cupped in one hand. The flickering torchlight glinted off the mellow tones of the metal, showing off the details of the carving.

  Meryam made no move to touch it but frowned deeply, glancing from her friend's face to her hand and back again. "Are you maki
ng fun of me?" she whispered, her face slowly darkening with anger. "This is no golden scarab beetle."

  Now Scarab frowned in turn. "What are you talking about?" She drew the carving to her and regarded it in some perplexity. "It is gold. What else could it be?"

  "It is nothing more than a rock on which someone has scratched some lines. Why are you...?" Meryam's voice trailed off as she recognised the look of bafflement on her friend's face. "Oh, Scarab, my dear, what happened to you out there in the desert?"

  "I told you what happened..."

  "So you did, so you did. But this...Now, Scarab, put away your lovely carving before someone else sees it and decides to steal it. It is nearly time for bed, so you go and get ready. I have to have a quick word with my brother." Meryam hurried off, leaving Scarab staring after her.

  * * * * *

  Meryam found her brother in his tent making his own preparations for bed. "Eli, Scarab is much sicker than I realised. I must talk to Jeheshua in the morning."

  "Sick? In what way? A fever? She looked well enough this morning."

  "Not that sort of sickness--a sickness in her head. Eli, she showed me a stone that she thinks is a gold carving from one of her gods."

  Eli thought about this for a few moments. "Well, obviously no good can come of believing in false gods, but are you sure she really thought it was gold? Not just a gold-coloured stone perhaps."

  "She said it was gold and got upset when I told her it was an ordinary stone with lines drawn on it."

  "Hmm, perhaps you should not have done that. If she has gone mad, she could be dangerous. I will have a word with Jeheshua in the morning and see what must be done. Do you want me to have a guard placed on her tonight?"

  "No, I don't think...no, definitely not. She is my friend. I cannot betray her in such a way."

  "Then sleep with a knife under your pillow. Just in case."

  The next day, Jeheshua listened patiently to first Eli and then Meryam. "I will talk to her," he said.