by Overton, Max
"Horemheb is undoubtedly the best and most powerful. If the king and his family were to die suddenly, he would be the only one worthy of taking up the double crown. Er, saving you, of course, Tjaty Ay."
"I would not want it," Ay said calmly. "My only concern is a peaceful land. Go on."
"Then there is Paramessu. Young, but learning fast. Loyal, but more so to Horemheb than to the king, I think. Djedhor is older, more cautious, and less hungry for power. Utterly loyal. Psenamy is old school, like Horemheb, but lacking his ability. Hungry for power but incompetent. I would not allow him access to unsupervised power."
"You have left out yourself, Nakhtmin. Tell me of your capabilities."
Nakhtmin drank deeply and picked up the fig from the table again. He looked at it for a moment before biting into it, the sweet juice trickling down his chin. "I am the youngest of Kemet's generals, and the only one without a command. I am ambitious but I know I have a lot to learn. Not just about soldiering, which I have had some experience of, but about the politics of command. That I hope to learn from you, Lord Ay. In return I offer undivided loyalty and complete obedience."
Ay nodded thoughtfully. "You shall have it and I will expect it." He walked over to the table and picked up the wine pitcher, pouring them both a cup and adding a splash of water. "Let me put a hypothetical question to you. The king dies without an heir--who becomes king?"
Despite them being alone in Ay's chambers, Nakhtmin looked round nervously. He licked his lips before replying. "You, my lord. You rule in all but name now."
Ay shook his head, his white hair waving. "I've said it before, I'm prepared to serve a king, not be one. Who else?"
"Then Horemheb. There is no-one else with the ability or the loyalty of the army."
"What of yourself?"
"I?" Nakhtmin laughed out loud. "I would be like a pig at a wedding feast. Nobody would accept me, the army least of all."
"You are too hard on yourself," Ay said quietly.
"No, I'm a realist. I have no false illusions about my present capabilities." A trace of a smile crossed Nakhtmin's face. "In ten years though, if I had the proper training. The tutelage of a master..."
The rap of a spear shaft on the cedar doors of the suite cut across his words and both men fell silent. "My lord?" called a voice from the vestibule beyond. "You sent for me?"
"Mentopher," Ay murmured. "He is safe enough but say nothing of this to anyone. Come!" he called out.
The doors swung open and a powerfully built man entered, muscles rippling under his bronzed skin. He crossed swiftly to the Tjaty before dropping to one knee and saluting. As his arm went up the faded white scar of the hawk brand moved on the side of his chest.
"Get up Mentopher. This..." Ay gestured toward the other man, "...is General Nakhtmin. He has my full confidence."
Mentopher nodded toward Nakhtmin. "My lord." He turned back to Ay. "You wanted to see me, my lord?"
"Yes. You are to put together a unit of about fifty men, household servants and guards for a special duty. They must all be trustworthy, have been in my service for a long time, and have families in Waset."
"Families in Waset?" Nakhtmin queried. "That's an odd qualification."
"It gives me a hold over them. No more than a precaution, I'm sure."
"Yes, my lord." Mentopher hesitated but took courage from the presence of the general. "May I ask what the special duty is? It may affect the men I choose."
"To guard the king."
Mentopher licked his lips and shot a quick glance at Nakhtmin. "The king? Er, does he not already have servants and guards enough, my lord?"
Ay turned away and poured himself another cup of wine. "I am considering sending him north to gain some war experience against the Hittites."
"Ah, then the rumours are true..."
"Rumours?" Ay looked round sharply. "What rumours?"
"It's all over the palace. The king apparently called a conference and announced to a gathering of nobles that he was going to war against the Hittites. He has vowed to bring the enemy general to battle and defeat him."
Ay stared at his steward. "He called a conference on his own initiative? No...this smacks of my grand-daughter. Well, I will not allow it..."
"But, my lord, isn't that your plan? You just said..."
"Mentopher! Never interrupt me." Ay glared at his steward and the man visibly quailed, bowing his head.
"Forgive me, lord," he muttered.
"As I was saying, I will not allow the boy to make his own decisions. I will chop him down over this and send him up in a few months--at a time of my choosing, and against a foe that I pick. Mentopher, you will still put together a household for him."
"I...I'm not sure you can stop him, my lord."
A long pause ensued, during which Ay examined his steward and the man paled but said nothing. "How so?" Ay asked softly after a few minutes.
"The High Priest of Amun was present, as well as priests of Wepwawet, Djehuti and...and others. They blessed the announcement and the king."
"That is a seal of approval on the business," Nakhtmin murmured. "You cannot deny him now."
"I am well aware of what it means," Ay said crisply. "Confound the boy--and that scheming bitch, my grand-daughter." He drained his cup of wine and threw it down on the table before walking to a window. Putting his hands on the sill, he stared out at the green fields bordering the river, willing his heart to cease its hammering. "Very well, we must make the best of it. The king will go to war, but I will provide his personal household and guards." The Tjaty turned to face the two men again. "I will also make sure he does not come up against the Hittite general. That is madness; I will not risk the king's life."
"Forgive me, Lord Ay, but how will you manage that last one, unless you mean to follow him onto the battlefield?" Nakhtmin spoke quietly. "The king's word is Law in your absence."
"Then, General Nakhtmin, you will have to act for me." Ay smiled coldly. "I put the safety of young Tutankhamen in your hands. You will accompany the king to Zarw and from there to where the army is camped and assist him in the campaign. You will ensure that no harm comes to him."
"Exactly how do I do that? I do not have the authority to command the king, nor do I have his ear that I might persuade him."
Ay ignored Nakhtmin and addressed his steward. "You have a month, Mentopher, but have a list of names ready for me in three days; I will want to examine your choices." He waved him away dismissively and waited until the man had left the room and the doors closed behind him.
"I will have a document drawn up," Ay continued. "I will give you the rank of Protector of the King's Body, maybe even Fan Bearer on his Right Hand. As general you will have equal rank with Paramessu and with this document you will be superior to him in matters concerning the king. Present it to him as soon as you get up there, and in private. If you will take my advice you will make him see that your only concern is the king's safety and that you have no interest in his command."
"In theory I have equal rank with Paramessu, but he is general of the Northern Army while I am just a visiting one. What if he does not recognise my authority?"
Ay stared at Nakhtmin with ice in his eyes. "If you are not up to the task, tell me and I will find someone else."
"I can do it, my lord," Nakhtmin replied. "I just don't want nasty surprises when I get there."
"So learn to cope with them. You cannot plan everything. You must learn to expect the unexpected."
"And if Horemheb is there?"
"He won't be; I have another task for him."
"Can you be certain? He is due to return to his station on the northern borders and he...well, he does not love you, my lord Ay."
Ay barked a short laugh. "We have an understanding, Horemheb and I. He will support me as long as Kemet is stable and prosperous. I need hardly remind you that stability depends on the young king remaining in good health."
Nakhtmin nodded. "I shall keep him out of harm's way."
&n
bsp; "Just don't be too obvious about it. If the king suspects, he may find a way to circumvent his keepers."
Nakhtmin wandered over to the window and breathed in the cooling air of evening. The scents of the gardens mingled with the dust and the delicious aromas arising from the kitchens. The chatter of thousands of tiny birds returning to roost in the great palm trees outside the soaring palace walls, and the shadowed light of early evening lent an air of peace that jibed with the talk of war and politics. "Where will Horemheb be, my lord? You said you had a task for him."
"How does that concern you? You have your own task."
"If you do not trust me..."
"Trust has nothing to do with it."
Nakhtmin's hands clenched on the windowsill and the muscles of his shoulders tightened. He turned with his face calm, though his eyes betrayed a certain tension. "If you do not trust me, then perhaps you should send Psenamy instead."
"Psenamy is a fool."
"He is one of your trusted men though. He has been with you since before Smenkhkare...died."
"He is still a fool but I needed someone of his rank until..."
"Until you found me."
"Do not succumb to arrogance, Nakhtmin. You may be the one I need. I will know after the expedition to the north."
The young general laughed. "Very well, but I'll not disappoint you. Now tell me about Horemheb."
"Where lies the danger to Kemet?"
"Where does it not? The Hittites, a boy king, the lack of an heir, ambitious generals, Smenkhkare."
"And which of these would suit Horemheb best?"
"He can do nothing directly for the king...unless you had him bed the queen and get a son on her." Nakhtmin laughed. "He is an ambitious general, but keep him busy enough and he won't have time to plot. Smenkhkare is beaten and broken. That leaves the Hittites, but you say he will not be in the north. Have I missed a danger?"
"No, just underestimated one--Smenkhkare."
"But Horemheb smashed his army at Waset. I saw it myself. By now he will have vanished into the southern wilderness and won't be troubling us again."
"Perhaps. Two things worry me though. The Governor of Sehotep-Neteru sent word--the messenger arrived today, that's why I was in the city--that Smenkhkare has been seen heading south with about a hundred men. Not just a rabble, you understand, but an armed body of soldiers."
"And the other thing?"
"Where did he raise that army in the first place? From the wilds of Nubia. If he did it once, he can do it again."
"So you'll send Horemheb after him?"
"He left today with a hundred men of his own and some from the city. He'll raise more troops from the forts along the way, travel fast and crush Smenkhkare before he can do any more damage."
Nakhtmin considered the idea. "Can you be sure of his loyalty?"
"Oh yes. I told you Horemheb wants stability. He sees Smenkhkare as destabilising and will hunt him down to his death." Ay laughed briefly. "Smenkhkare also made the mistake of lying to Horemheb. Our worthy general takes the oaths made between king and subject very seriously. In his eyes, the oath of loyalty he took depended on Smenkhkare behaving in a kingly manner. By his lie and the fact that he warred against his own subjects, Horemheb believes the oath of loyalty to be shattered. He will hunt down our fugitive and those that fled with him and kill them all. He has given me his word on it."
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Chapter Four
Horemheb stared morosely at the bleak landscape of the province of Wawat as it crept past the barge. Aided by a strong north wind and stalwart rowers, his warship had made better time against the current than he had thought possible. Already well above the first cataract, Horemheb and his small but well-trained army was following the trail of the rebel Smenkhkare. No matter that his quarry traveled by land and he by water, whenever they put into the eastern shore there was always someone willing to come forward with a tale of woe or depredation. The trail of the surviving rebels was easy to follow; it was one of death and destruction.
"And he calls himself king of Kemet," Horemheb snarled, smacking his hand down hard on the side of the barge.
"Sorry sir?"
Horemheb glanced at the man standing a pace or two away. "What did you say, Mose?"
"Er, nothing, sir. I was just...er, nothing." Mose grinned sheepishly, revealing a mouth full of chipped and rotting teeth. "I thought you said something about the king, sir."
"Only about someone who calls himself king." Horemheb shook his head and stretched, pushing his shoulders back until he winced with pain. "We'll pull in at the twin forts of Ikkur and Kubban. The Kubban side, naturally. Inform the sailing master, Mose. I need a piss."
Without a backward glance, Horemheb wandered up to the prow of the barge and selected the side protected slightly from the stern-wind. He stepped behind the low woven reed screen and stood facing the water. A few feet away, two sailors sat with their kilts around their waists on a pair of wooden chairs built out over the flowing water. He caught the eye of one and nodded a greeting as the man showed his recognition of the general. The sailors returned to their conversation and Horemheb flipped his own kilt aside and directed a strong stream out into the water. Shaking himself, he muttered a quick prayer to Hapy, the god of the river, asking for the god's understanding before adjusting his clothing and returning to his spot by the railing.
Mose rejoined his general a few minutes later. "The sailing master says we'll get to Kubban about mid-afternoon, sir."
Horemheb squinted up into the sun, judging its position. "It's mid-afternoon now."
"Then we'll be there soon, sir," Mose grinned.
"How did you get to be troop commander?" Horemheb asked, a grimace curling his mouth.
"My father, sir. He was troop commander before me."
"So it runs in the family?"
Mose's grin faltered. "Er, what, sir?"
"Never mind. There," he pointed upriver to where tiny motions showed above a low hill. "Those are military pennants from the forts."
The barge pulled in to the dock at the mouth of the small dry river that cut south-eastward into the mountains. Kubban straddled the main dirt road that ran along the river's edge, just south of where a road branched off into the dry valley.
"There has been fighting," Horemheb muttered. "But who lies dead?"
"How can you tell sir? There's nobody about."
"Look at the vultures, man. They are drawn to death."
Vultures, the sacred bird of Nekhbet, wheeled and soared above the fort of Kubban and the inland road.
"I have never seen so many," Mose said, his mouth hanging open as he scanned the sky.
"Then you have never been in serious combat," Horemheb commented dryly. "Stick with me and you'll see many more."
Horemheb disembarked his men and formed them up in battle array before advancing on the fort. The gates were open and a handful of soldiers within scrambled to attention as the banner of the General of All Kemet's Armies proclaimed the presence of the legendary Horemheb. The general questioned a stammering young officer and learned that the deputy commander was even now pursuing a band of rebels into the interior.
"Let me speak to the commander then. Come on, man."
"Er...the...the commander is dead, sir. He went...and then..."
Horemheb cut the man off impatiently. "How many men did the rebels have? Did you see?"
"About...a hundred, sir. I think."
Horemheb turned away from the young officer with a look of disgust. "Mose, we are going up that road there. I want three small groups of mobile scouts sent out, one to either side of the road, perhaps a hundred paces away, and the other ahead of us."
Minutes later, Horemheb's little force set off at a run, the scouts scrambling over the rough ground to keep ahead. The men ran in silence, eyes wide for any sign of trouble, weapons at the ready. Their commander, though nearly sixty, ran like a man half his age. His soldiers, mostly veterans fro
m his army, vied with one another in their efforts to keep up, to show their devotion to their beloved general.
A runner raced back from the forward scouts with news of a body of men on the road ahead. Horemheb quickened his pace and as his scouts came into view, arrayed defensively on the road, his men swung out into a broad formation, weapons drawn and ready. Fifty paces further on milled a group of ill-disciplined soldiers.
"That is not Smenkhkare," Horemheb muttered with a scowl. Motioning his troops to halt, he strode out into the open ground in front of them and bellowed at the unknown soldiers. "In the name of King Nebkheperure, identify yourselves."
A rather flustered looking man wearing the insignia of deputy commander, walked out from among his men and called back. "I am Besenmut, deputy commander of Kubban and wielder of the King's authority in these parts. Who are you to so freely use the King's name? If you have no authority, be sure the King will hear of it."
A murmur of anger swelled from the ranks behind him and Horemheb chopped down with one hand, quelling the disturbance instantly. He advanced on the deputy commander and spoke more quietly, so that only he could hear.
"I am Horemheb; do you not recognise my banners? I have authority over all the armies of Kemet, including your rabble."
"My...my lord, I did not recognise you. My apologies..." Besenmut dropped to his knees in the dust and when Horemheb said nothing, the man groaned and prostrated himself.
Horemheb let the deputy commander lie in subjection for a minute, during which time the soldiers of Kubban fort knelt with bowed heads. "All right, get up Besenmut." When the man had risen and tentatively brushed himself off, the general spoke conversationally. "Be brief and to the point. What has happened here?"
Besenmut took a deep breath and fell back on his training. He saluted and came to attention, staring fixedly past Horemheb's shoulder. "My lord General, at sunset yesterday, a sentry reported a body of men running toward the fort flying banners that proclaimed them to be men of Djeserkheperu..." The deputy commander faltered, his eyes darting across the general's, seeking signs of anger at the use of the throne name of the rebel. Finding none, he went on. "They ran past Kubban and up the trail to the gold mines--this road. Commander Rudamon took a hundred men and went in pursuit. When he did not return by dawn today, I took half of the remaining men, fifty, and came looking for him."