The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  Smenkhkare offered the few survivors a choice--their lives in return for an oath of loyalty. By the light of newly lit torches, a Leader of Fifty, his left arm broken and useless, stepped forward toward Menkure and replied on behalf of his men.

  "We do not recognise the authority of the man named Son of Sobek, who calls himself Smenkhkare. We are loyal to kings Akhenaten and Tutankhaten."

  Menkure shrugged. "It is your choice." He turned away and signaled to his men. "Kill them."

  Scarab ran to where the king stood watching the proceedings. "Brother, you cannot allow this. These are Kemetu, your people, doing their duty. You cannot kill them for this."

  Behind her, Menkure raised his hand, halting his men as they stepped forward with drawn swords. He turned quizzical eyes toward his king.

  Smenkhkare kept his face expressionless. "Sister, you forget yourself," he said quietly. "Much as I love you, I will not allow you to question my orders. You may offer advice but when I give an order it is to be obeyed instantly. Do you understand?" The king gave a small nod and Menkure's arm dropped, releasing his soldiers. The prisoners died where they stood.

  Next came their own soldiers. A dozen had died in the ambush and another eight were so badly wounded that they could not be taken further. Menkure gave them a choice also.

  "We can leave you here to take your chances when the fort guards come out tomorrow, or we can dispatch you swiftly."

  Two with grievous stomach wounds opted for death at the hands of their comrades, while the others chose to risk all on the mercy of their enemy. Scarab again pleaded for the lives of the wounded, but more quietly, knowing that confrontation with her brother would gain her nothing.

  "Brother, every man you have is valuable to you. Can you afford to throw away these six lives?"

  "Probably not," Smenkhkare agreed. "But we cannot transport them and if we carried them they would slow us down. Would you have me risk a hundred for the sake of six?"

  "Then let me stay with them. Only one is unlikely to survive. The others will recover with a little time and attention. I will take them up into the hills and we can hide out until they get better. Then you will have at least five more men for your army."

  "My lord king," Menkure murmured. "We should be moving on."

  Smenkhkare nodded before addressing Scarab once more. "More likely you would die with them, sister. You do not know the land or how to survive in it, let alone how to take care of wounded men." Smenkhkare snorted derisively. "Your upbringing has been less than useful in this way of life."

  "So let me be useful this way. If I fail, you lose six men you were abandoning anyway, and a sister who is otherwise useless to you. If I succeed however..."

  "You are not useless to me, sister," Smenkhkare said softly. "You know I would have you for my wife and queen."

  "But you do not need me for that. You will retake your throne by force of arms and find another wife. I can be useful in other ways."

  "You are a princess of Kemet; I cannot leave you with six men in the wilderness."

  "Khu will stay with me, and Nebhotep to care for the men. I would trust them with my life."

  Smenkhkare nodded. "As would I, but I cannot spare Nebhotep. He is our only physician."

  "My lord, may I speak?" Nebhotep's voice came from the shadows. "My assistant Min..." he dragged a young Nubian into the light of the flickering torches. "...is progressing well in the healing arts. He is quite capable of dealing with everyday ailments. We would only be a month behind you..."

  "Even if I let you stay, how would any of you find us again? We intend to lose ourselves in the Nubian wilderness."

  "My lord, with respect," Menkure said. "Two of the wounded men, Huni and Sepi, are Nubians enlisted from the town of Barkal. They know the area and could guide them there--if they survive."

  Smenkhkare turned away and looked out on the western hills beyond the river, where the last glow of the setting sun still stained the sky purple. He weighed advantages and disadvantages, aware of a growing impatience among his men. "Very well." He turned and strode back to his Scarab. "You may take Khu and Nebhotep to help you with your six wounded. I will give you a donkey-load of food and water as well. Take the trail on the right an hour from here and take refuge in the mountains. When the men can travel again, head south and be at the Kurgus boundary stelae at sunset of the new or full moon. I will have men waiting there on those nights for three months."

  "Thank you, brother," Scarab said, smiling. "You will not regret your merciful decision."

  Smenkhkare grunted. "Do not disappoint me. Oh, Nebhotep, as an incentive to keep my sister and these men alive, not least yourself, I'll give a deben of gold for every person you bring back to me."

  "I am a physician, my lord, and your loyal subject. I do not need a reward for doing my duty."

  "Nevertheless, it pleases me to do so. Will you deny your king?"

  "No, my lord." Nebhotep bowed. He waited by the wounded men lying beside the road while the rest of the troops prepared to set out.

  Khu sidled up beside the physician and cleared his throat. "I have a brother named Min," he said.

  "Indeed?" Nebhotep glanced at the pale bronzed skin of the ex-farm lad beside him. "Well, this Min is Nubian, lad. I doubt you'll mix them up."

  Scarab watched her brother march off with his men, the tramp of feet sounding in the still air long after they disappeared into the darkness. She turned to the dim forms of Khu and Nebhotep standing beside her, glad the night hid her expression. "I hadn't thought this through. What do we do now?"

  "We get off this road for a start."

  "The lad's right, Scarab. We have to find at least a temporary refuge by dawn or we'll have enemy soldiers swarming all over us."

  "But where? In case you hadn't noticed, it's pitch black out there. How are we going to find our way?"

  Nebhotep quietly invoked the name of the god of healing, Imhotep, and turned away to see to the six wounded men.

  "We go up the road a ways, Scarab," Khu said patiently. "Didn't you hear the king? About an hour from here is a trail on the right that leads up into the mountains. We can camp anywhere once we are off the main gold road. Tomorrow when it's light we can find a cave or something."

  Scarab could hear the reproach and disappointment in Khu's voice even though she could not see his face. She felt ashamed that she had lost her nerve where Khu had kept his. "I...er, thank you, Khu. Where would I be without your steady head and brave heart?"

  "That's alright, Scarab." The pleasure in his voice was obvious and, safely hidden by the darkness, Scarab grinned.

  It was closer to three hours later that they found the narrow trail snaking off into the mountains. By then, the moon had risen, still close to full but waning, shedding a pearly glow over the stark and rocky crags. They left the main gold road and headed westward into the hills, following the narrow trail. Their shadows lurched before them as they made their painfully slow progress, the pace limited by the slowest of them. The moon was close to its zenith when they found a shadowed cleft in the hillside and sought its shelter to wait out the rest of the night.

  "We should go further," Khu urged. "It has taken us half the night but we are still not far from the road. We could be seen come sunrise."

  "The wounded men cannot go on, lad. One or two are close to death and unless we allow them rest and food..." Nebhotep shrugged, his gesture only dimly discerned in the shadow of the cleft.

  "It will suffice," Scarab said calmly. "We must make the best of our situation and pray to the gods for their help."

  The gibbous moon faded into the morning sky as the sun rose over the great stony desert. The warmth was apparent even at an early hour, welcome then to dispel the chill of the night, but heralding another scorching day. The wounded men lay in the shade of the cleft, with Nebhotep and Scarab tending to them as best they could. The physician had his leather chest of medicines which he dispensed in tiny amounts. Unguents and powders were applied to wounds,
or mixed with a mouthful of wine swallowed gratefully by groaning soldiers. One man was dying, despite the physician's efforts. His stomach wound festered in the heat, his flesh turning dull purple and stinking. Luckily the other men's wounds were less serious, incapacitating rather than life-threatening. Though they would have slowed an escaping army, a few days would find them reasonably mobile once more.

  Khu kept watch at the mouth of the cleft, sitting in shadow and staring toward the point where the trail and the gold road met. Presently, he saw a thin plume of dust and a little later could make out a squad of perhaps twenty men moving cautiously up the road. They passed the trail and continued out of sight toward the southeast, evidently following the tracks made by Smenkhkare's troops. A little later they returned, in no great hurry, and disappeared in the direction of the fort and the river.

  Scarab joined Khu at the cleft opening. "Any sign of pursuit?"

  Khu shook his head. "They passed right by the trail. I suppose the tracks of a few men and a donkey look more like traders or farmers than soldiers."

  "They could be back though."

  "Yes, which is why we need to find somewhere more secure today." He got to his feet and dusted down his knees. "You and Nebhotep stay with the men. I'll scout out the trail a bit further and see if I can find a cave or something."

  "You shouldn't go alone. I'll come with you."

  Khu smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that."

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  Chapter Two

  A chariot raced along the broad road that ran past the great funerary temples of the west bank. A plume of dust rose behind it, obscuring and choking the armed men in the following chariots. The sole occupant of the lead vehicle turned and grinned back at his floundering escort, urging his horses to greater efforts. The driver was a slightly-built youth of thirteen, his legs braced on the wicker baseboard of the bucking chariot, the reins to the two white stallions wrapped tightly around his wrists.

  Travelers on the road scattered in front of the charging horses, scrambling into the dusty canals bordering the wide road, or kneeling in the fields with bent heads until the chariot and its occupant passed by. Ahead lay the palace gates, still closed, but the youth paid them no heed, urging his horses to greater efforts. Now the lookout on the walls yelled the warning and the guards hurled themselves at the great cedar slabs, wrestling them apart as the chariot raced toward them. The gap was too narrow, barely wide enough for the two horses as, ears flat back and foam covered nostrils flaring, they leaped forward. The chariot followed a moment later, the gates swinging a breath wider. With a thud and a shudder, the bronze axle cap on the right wheel caught the edge of the door, sending splinters of bright wood flying. The chariot lurched and the driver screamed with excitement, throwing his meager weight to the side as the right wheel left the ground. Only an adamantine control kept the horses steady as the vehicle behind them yawed and groaned. The palace itself loomed and the charioteer pulled back on the reins, checking the horses' mad rush. Expertly, waiting until the last moment, he swung the chariot round in a tight curve, forcing the stallions' rumps down as they pulled up in a shower of dust and gravel.

  The youth threw the reins to a waiting groom and jumped down lightly, standing with hands on hips as he looked toward the gate where the chariots of his escort were only just entering the palace grounds.

  "Slow, Ahmes, very slow," the youth called out as the first of the chariots pulled up nearby.

  "You take unnecessary chances, my lord," Ahmes replied carefully.

  The youth frowned momentarily. "Chances? There is no chance involved, Ahmes. I know my horses and the gods watch over me."

  "Even so, my lord, I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you while in my charge."

  "I am not in your charge, Ahmes. Do not forget who is king here and who is only captain of the guard."

  "Then behave like a king." The words snapped around the youth's ears and he stiffened abruptly before his shoulders slumped and he turned reluctantly to face the old man walking slowly toward him. The old man gestured impatiently and the groom hurriedly led the chariot away, the gathered servants evaporating like a morning mist in the hot sun. Ahmes stayed a moment longer, saluting his king and the Tjaty before easing his chariot away.

  "I was only hunting ducks in the reed beds, uncle," the youth said sulkily. "You said I could do that."

  "So I did, providing you kept your guard close to you."

  "Ahmes is an old woman. He would have me trail behind him and let his men flush the ducks toward me."

  "Ahmes was acting under my orders, Nebkheperure. If harm had come to you, he would have paid for it with his life. Do you understand?"

  A shrug. "Yes, uncle."

  "A king protects his people and seeks their welfare at all times. He is mindful of his own safety and listens to the advice of his councilors. By disobeying me and risking your life in such a foolish way, you have shown yourself to be no more than a boy still." Tjaty Ay stared impassively at the slender youth before him, noting the pouting lips and the delicate shoulders slumped in defeat. He smiled inwardly. "I had thought to let you ride to war against the Hittites, Nebkheperure. Perhaps I should wait until you are capable of self-control."

  The boy's head came up and his eyes widened. "War? With the Hittites? Why wasn't I told? When do we leave?"

  "War is not a game and I do not think you have yet mastered your desire for games. I think I will make you sit at home for this one."

  "No. Please, uncle," the boy took a few steps forward and clutched at the old man's robe, staring upward with pleading eyes. "I am king of Kemet. I should be there with my troops, leading them to glorious victory."

  "How can I be sure you would obey the general? If anything happened to you it would be a disaster for Kemet."

  "I will obey him, uncle. You know I can. Please."

  "Prove to me you have the self control of a king of Kemet and I will allow you to go to war."

  "Yes, yes!" Nebkheperure leaped into the air and let out a whoop of delight. His grin slowly faded and he cocked his shaved head on one side. "How? How do I prove it?"

  "You were to listen to the Mycenaean bard in the Great Hall tonight, were you not? You will not go. Instead, you will dine alone in your bed chamber on bread and fruit and water."

  "But I promised Ankhe I'd sit with her and afterward we were going to..."

  "Queen Ankhesenamen will understand, I am sure. Tell her..." Ay's lips twitched, "...you have a headache." He paused, making sure he had the boy's full attention. "You will under no circumstance lead her to believe this was my idea."

  "She'll know anyway, uncle. Ankhe's smart."

  "Yes she is, but you will lead her away from these thoughts, do you understand?"

  "And you'll let me go to war with the Hittites?"

  "Yes, after you dedicate the new temple of Amun at Men-nefer."

  Nebkheperure nodded solemnly. "It is nearly finished and it will be magnificent. The artists are even now carving my name on the entrance stelae."

  "Not quite. I have ordered them to change the inscription slightly."

  The boy stared at Ay uncomprehendingly. "What do you mean, you have changed it?"

  "You are no longer known as Nebkheperure Tutankhaten. Your name will become Nebkheperure Tutankhamen, the name with which you were crowned."

  "Oh, that. I don't see why that is so important."

  Ay sighed and rubbed his forehead. "It did not matter while your brother Akhenaten was alive. In fact, it was politic to keep the Aten name even as you brought back the old gods. Since your brother walked into the desert to his death, it is proper that you continue the work of raising Amun to his former pre-eminent position. Part of that is removing the '-aten' from your nomen and replacing it with the '-amen'".

  "And building new and more beautiful temples to the gods."

  "That too," Ay agreed. "Now I suggest you find the queen and tell her you can't be at the fe
ast tonight."

  Tutankhamen turned to go, automatically reacting to his uncle's suggestion, then stopped. "The cook has a new recipe for goose and a dozen jars of Cretan wine have arrived. Couldn't I just leave before the singing starts?" Ay kept silent and the boy withdrew to a fall-back position. "How about if I have some supper sent up to my chambers?"

  "Of course, it is up to you, my lord. If you do not desire to show your kingly self-control, then you may act as you wish. If on the other hand you desire the rewards that flow from demonstrated strength..."

  "Oh, alright." Tutankhamen made a face not at all suited to a king and ran off into the palace, looking for his queen and wife Ankhesenamen.

  The queen was in her chambers. A wide verandah bordered the queen's wing of the palace, with broad stone steps leading down to a private, walled garden. Designed for a small harem of the king's most favoured wives and concubines, the rooms had seen little use since the grand days of old Nebmaetre Amenhotep over thirty years before. When the old king died and his heretic son moved to the new city of Akhet-Aten, the lesser wives and concubines had stayed behind, steadily growing fatter and more spiteful as their looks faded and no man came near them save for the eunuchs of the harem. When the boy-king and his young queen moved in, there was a spark of interest, quickly quenched when they saw that 'boy' literally meant 'boy'. Even the youngest among them was more like a mother, but young queen Ankhesenpaaten took no chances that her tenuous hold on the king would be weakened. She packed the ladies of the harem off to lesser palaces around the Two Kingdoms, making sure that they were well guarded and well fed.

  Now the many rooms and courtyards of the queen's wing echoed in relative silence as the sole occupant busied herself with the pastimes of a lady of leisure. Not even in the days when she reigned in her father's City of the Sun had she so little to occupy her mind and her hands. Her first husband had been her own father, Akhenaten, but with his preoccupation with his god, the running of the city was largely in her hands. She learned fast and with a bevy of nobles vying for her attention and interest, she governed passably well. Then came the dark days of her pregnancy, the pains of childbirth and the pangs of loss as her daughter's ka fled to the tombs in the eastern cliffs. Akhenaten withdrew still further, and as political power turned toward Waset and hateful Smenkhkare, she started looking for another avenue to control.