The Amarnan Kings, Book 3: Scarab - Tutankhamen

by Overton, Max

  "My lord king, why have you ordered such a thing? I have always been your loyal servant." Ay shook his head, his mind racing, wondering how he could possibly get hold of that letter. "I mean, I would not want to survive your majesty's demise, but to order such a thing? I have thought only of your well-being all these years."

  "I am not going to argue, Ay. As of this moment you cease to be Tjaty of Ta Shemau--that is irrevocable, but if I am alive this evening I will have Horemheb's letter destroyed and you will go into retirement on your estates."

  Ay saw his future disintegrating around him but knew that while life remained there was hope. Why might the king not survive ? "Your majesty, you say 'if you are alive'?"

  Tutankhamen remained silent for a long time, contemplating the heat-rippled air above the baking, wilting garden. He saw a servant totter out with a pot of liquid and empty it in one of the flower beds, then another. A faint stench of urine carried on the gentle breeze. The king sighed deeply and faced his Tjaty again.

  "I am to fight my brother Smenkhkare in single combat at noon. The prize is Kemet."

  Ay stared, his mouth open. "Are you mad?" he breathed, forgetting to utter any honourifics. "He is a grown man and a seasoned fighter. He will kill you without a thought."

  "Your concern touches me Ay. Would it have something to do with your own soon-to-follow death?"

  "If you are determined to die, why take me with you? Alive, I can avenge your death."

  "What if I do not want vengeance? Ay, you may not understand this, but the death of my little daughters has shown me the sorrow that all parents must feel when their children die. I do not want to be responsible for inflicting such sorrow on any more of my subjects."

  "So you seek death? This is your answer? You would just give up? Why do you not just wait for Horemheb at sunset and let him take charge? He will smash the enemy and nobody else need die."

  "The enemy soldiers are my people too. They come from Wawat and Kush, provinces of Kemet. No, my mind is made up, Ay. I will fight my brother alone for the right to rule."

  "Why do you tell me all this?" Bitterness crept into the old man's voice. "Is it just that you want to gloat over my impending death?"

  Tutankhamen smiled sadly. "No, it is because I have no friends in Waset and you will have to do. I need a companion when I fight, someone to hold my weapons, to encourage me, and if I die, to carry my body off the field and deliver it to the embalmers."

  "And I am that one? Majesty, frankly you amaze me. If I am indeed your enemy like you say, why would I want to do any of these things?"

  "Yes, you are my enemy, great-uncle Ay, and I know you hate me, but I also know you hate my brother more. Hate and fear him. If I live, you live; whereas if I die, Smenkhkare will certainly send you after me. If not Smenkhkare, then Horemheb once he reads my letter. That is a good reason to support and encourage me, don't you think?"

  "I should just refuse. Would you try to compel me?"

  "No," Tutankhamen said simply. "But Smenkhkare will let you leave the field with my body. We have an agreement."

  Ay turned away, shaking his head. "I will do it, but on one condition. If you live, you rescind the order to Horemheb and you delay my dismissal by a month. If I cannot prove to you in a month that you need me, I will step down willingly."

  "I do not need you to willingly step down, if I want you gone, you are gone."

  "Then call it a fee, majesty. Come, a month is not too high a price for my companionship, is it? Besides," Ay said with a mirthless smile, "You may yet cheat me by dying."

  Tutankhamen stared at his Tjaty for a moment before bursting into laughter. "You have yourself a reprieve, uncle, for one month. Now, have you any words of advice for me? You need to keep me alive."

  Ay thought hard. "What weapons have been agreed upon?"

  "It was not discussed. I am best with the bow."

  "That will not be allowed. You will probably be limited to spear, sword and dagger."

  "My brother has the look of a swordsman."

  "Then we should try and avoid that. I think the spear and shield to start with, and daggers. However, Smenkhkare is a strong man so you should avoid contests based on strength alone. Use you abilities. You are a young man, quick and brave. Use your speed."

  Tutankhamen nodded and for nearly an hour the two men discussed techniques and tactics. As the sun neared noon, the king sighed and looked away.

  "It is time."

  Ay bowed and turned toward the door. "I will meet you at the stables, majesty. There is something I must see to first."

  The sun stood at its zenith when Ay hurried from the palace and found his king waiting impatiently in his chariot. He was dressed in a simple kilt and no jewelry. The only sign of kingly authority was the blue leather war bonnet on his head with its painted uraeus. His fingers were wrapped in the reins of his fresh horses and he fidgeted, shifting his weight repeatedly on the wicker floor of the light war chariot. His agitation fed the restlessness of his horses and they stamped and blew, fighting the grooms holding their bridles.

  "Where have you been?" the young king snapped. "We are late."

  Ay held up a spear and round shield, a sword and a dagger. "I brought you weapons."

  "I have my own."

  "Majesty, it would really be better if you used mine." Ay mounted the chariot and leaned close to his king. "It is in my interests to have you win, so I have provided the weapons that will secure you victory."

  Tutankhamen frowned, and then glanced at the position of the sun. "It is time to go." He cracked the reins and tugged, pulling the horses' heads around and whipping them into a gallop, with Ay holding on grimly beside him. They raced through the palace gates, along the short stretch of road to the South Gate, the guards scrambling to open the ponderous wooden slabs when they caught sight of the flying chariot.

  They burst out onto the Theban plain enveloped in a cloud of acrid dust, the hot breeze from the eastern desert like a furnace in their faces and the sweat sprang out on their bodies in an instant. Ahead of them, the Nubian army had drawn back a thousand paces and was seated on the hard-packed earth in a vast semicircle, at the centre of which, two figures waited, one in the blue leather war crown of a king. Tutankhamen aimed his chariot at the figures and whipped his horse, sending them like an arrow at its target. At the last moment, he jerked on the reins, pulling them round fast and hard, the spokes of the wheels straining at the seams and dirt showering up in a great storm.

  The young king jumped down from the still-moving chariot and strode across to the two figures, his eyebrows lifting in surprise as he recognised Scarab.

  "What are you doing here, sister? This is men's work."

  "You handled that chariot well, brother," Smenkhkare observed. "My guess is you prefer to fight from it with the bow. Too bad you will not have the opportunity."

  Tutankhamen shrugged. "Shall we begin?"

  "As you wish. Call up your man and...Ay!" Smenkhkare's hand flashed to his sword and it was half drawn before Scarab grabbed his arm.

  "Hold your hand, brother. Tutankhamen, why have you brought this man? Such an action is an insult to us both."

  "I did not mean it as an insult, but I have need of him here today."

  Smenkhkare shook free of his sister's hand and shoved his sword back into his belt. "Explain that," he snapped. "How could you possibly benefit from his presence?"

  The young king explained the deal he had made with his Tjaty and the death sentence that hung over him.

  Smenkhkare laughed. "Then I promise you Ay, if Horemheb does not dispatch you first, I will hunt you down and feed you to the crocodiles. They missed out on their feast with me."

  Ay snarled and directed a hate-filled look at Scarab too. "How is it that a great king like Nebmaetre produced such a litter of brats? Whores and fools all. There has not been one king worth the title since..."

  "I would say no more, uncle," Tutankhamen said calmly. The point of his spear touched Ay's arm light
ly and he leaped back, paling, and grasped his arm, searching it for a wound.

  Smenkhkare raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Losing your nerve, Ay? Or has righteous fear eaten away at your soul completely."

  "He is close to death, brother," Scarab said softly, "And he fears the weighing of his heart."

  Ay shot a venomous look at Scarab. "I will have you yet."

  Tutankhamen scanned the distant semicircle of men. "Where is Menkure? I thought he would be your companion, not Scarab."

  "He has the army in his hand. If I fall, he will march the army away and trouble you no more. If I win, he is ready to strike should your men not abide by the agreement.

  "Then let us start."

  "What weapons?"

  "Spear, sword and dagger."

  "All of them?" Smenkhkare shrugged. "As you wish. Do you have weapons or shall I..."

  "I have them, thank you."

  "Do you desire any special rules?"

  "What rules? This is to the death."

  "Very well," Smenkhkare said grimly. "Companions will retire fifty paces and will only interfere if both parties agree or one of us is dead." Not waiting for Scarab and Ay to move back, Smenkhkare grabbed a shield and long spear, spun on his heel and stalked away. After a moment's hesitation, Tutankhamen took up Ay's weapons and followed.

  When Smenkhkare stopped and turned, Tutankhamen slowed and waited for his brother's direction. He looked uncertain, suddenly unsure of himself. "You will not give up this enterprise, brother?" the young king asked. "Take your army and return to Nubia. I could give you the provinces of Wawat and Kush as your own kingdom."

  "Or you could retire to Men-nefer and not stir from there for the rest of your life," Smenkhkare sneered. "What do you think?"

  "I think we fight." Tutankhamen raised his spear and shield and stared at his elder brother, waiting for the first move. It came fast, almost taking him off guard and ending the fight within seconds. Even as Smenkhkare raised his spear he cast it, the muscles of his arm hurling the heavy spear toward the younger man's chest. Tutankhamen ducked instinctively and threw up his shield and the spear slashed between upraised arm and chest, striking him a glancing blow as it passed. Hard in the wake of the throw, Smenkhkare charged, knocking the lighter man aside and racing past to retrieve his spear, whirling as he picked it up. Tutankhamen recovered his balance and ran a dozen paces, taking up a defensive pose again.

  Ay stood near the chariot and watched the initial stages of the fight with a smile on his lips. Scarab glanced at the two brothers and then back at Ay with a frown. She walked over slowly and watched the fight progress a few paces from the old man.

  Tutankhamen jabbed with his spear, dancing back as the older king moved his shield to block or lifted his own spear. He smiled, feeling the blood pounding in his temples, and feinted. Smenkhkare followed, limping slightly, jumped to avoid a blow that never fell and thrust hard in turn, sending the younger king stumbling to avoid his sharp bronze.

  "Why do you smile, old man?" Scarab asked Ay. "Your king is plainly outclassed and when he dies, you death will follow quickly."

  "You think so? Smenkhkare faces a youth at the peak of his strength, while he is withered and fading. Look--he limps already."

  Smenkhkare had seen that his brother was fitter and had slowed to a walk, following the young man as he back-pedaled, moving light-footed over the sandy soil. He stopped and waited until Tutankhamen stopped. "Why do you avoid me? Come and try out my arms."

  Tutankhamen lowered his guard slightly as he sought to reply and Smenkhkare saw his chance, lifting and throwing the heavy spear in a single smooth movement. The shaft sped toward the younger man and he threw up his small, round shield in a desperate attempt to deflect the missile. The tip of the blade caught the leather rim of the shield and sliced through it like a hawk through the summer air. The tip stopped short of Tutankhamen and the shaft tangled in the ripped hide. He hurriedly tossed the shield and spear aside and tried to bring his own spear round as the older king followed through with another charge. The younger man dodged and tripped but he swung his lighter, more supple spear shaft and flicked the tip across Smenkhkare's calves, drawing a thin line of blood across one of them.

  "Yes, a wound," Ay cried, his eyes sparkling.

  "A scratch, nothing more," Scarab retorted. "Why so elated, uncle?"

  Smenkhkare had failed to shake the shield from his heavy spear and with the younger man's own spear seeking his life; he turned and fled several paces before facing Tutankhamen. Armed only with his shield, Smenkhkare drew his sword--a long, curved blade of polished bronze. Tutankhamen trod lightly, holding his spear in both hands and jabbing at his brother, probing his defenses. For several minutes, the younger king forced the older one back until Smenkhkare, beating the spear away with his blade, caught it from the side, just behind the bronze tip and sheared it through. Abruptly, the advantage swung to the older man.

  Tutankhamen now retreated, casting a desperate look at his shield still pinned by the heavy spear. Smenkhkare did not give him time to recover, advancing steadily, shield in place and curved khopesh sword swinging. The young king drew his own sword but did not relinquish the spear shaft, still probing with it, attempting to keep his brother at bay. The older king swung his blade and leaped forward, pushing the shaft aside with his shield, but Tutankhamen blocked the sword with his own, the metal ringing discordantly with the force of the impact. Smenkhkare slashed again, driving his younger brother back, overwhelming him with his strength. Tutankhamen started to sweat, the muscles of his arms shaking as shaft and sword frantically blocked the slashing bronze of his opponent.

  "Don't fight his strength," Ay called. "Use your speed. Wait him out. It won't take long."

  Scarab stared at her uncle in disbelief. "How badly you have misjudged my brother," she said. "He could fight at that pace for hours."

  "He does not have hours," Ay muttered, his eyes locked on the two brothers. "Only minutes."

  Tutankhamen heard his Tjaty and threw himself to one side, scrambling to his feet and running to put a little distance between them. He sidled sideways as Smenkhkare advanced again, his eyes locked on his brother's implacable ones, but aware of the position of his shield and the fallen spear. Smenkhkare lunged and the youth danced away, out of reach again and moving in a great circle. Now the young king moved so that the shield and spear lay between them. Abruptly, he dropped his khopesh sword, transferred the shaft of his broken spear to his right hand and cast it directly at his brother's face. As he threw, he leaped forward for the fallen spear and shield.

  Smenkhkare flinched, though he knew the shaft had no point and swept his shield up to block it, feeling the wooden staff clatter against his bull's hide protector. Unsighted for only a second, he was appalled to see his heavy spear, with the shield impaled half way down its length, now in the hands of his enemy. He hesitated and the younger king pressed his new advantage, advancing with leveled spear. Now it was Smenkhkare's turn to retreat, but he did so reluctantly, knowing the young man would be hampered by the weight of the spear and by the shield swinging from its shaft. He watched for the opportunity of moving in close, within the spear's length, when Tutankhamen made an attempt to free the shield.

  "Keep your distance," Ay yelled. "Wait him out, do not try anything rash."

  Scarab grabbed Ay's shoulder and swung the small old man round to face her. "A defense cannot win. Why do you counsel him to wait? What do you know?"

  Ay grinned, gap-toothed, and shook himself free. "I know your brother is doomed."

  "How? What have you done?"

  Ay only cackled and stared across the hot and dusty ground to the two fighters and the semicircle of waiting Nubians beyond.

  Tutankhamen turned and ran, outdistancing his older brother. He quickly freed the shield and fitted it to his left arm and wielded the heavy spear again, waiting as his brother closed in. The young king stabbed, keeping his older brother well out of reach of his short curved sword. He move
d forward again, confident, pushing his brother back. Smenkhkare worked hard, slashing at the spear, hoping to decapitate it as he had the previous one, but this shaft was made of the hard dense wood of the 'kinak' tree and his blade, though scoring it, failed to cut through. He fell back again and almost stumbled over Tutankhamen's sword where he had dropped it.

  The young king ran forward, driving his brother off the sword and straddled it. Smenkhkare waited, watchful, for his young brother to stoop and retrieve it, ready to launch another attack, but instead, the youth drew the heavy spear back and cast it, following through the movement to snatch his blade from the ground. The spear was heavier than the slim youth could manage and instead of flying straight to be deflected by the older man's shield, it dropped and scored a bloody path along the outside of Smenkhkare's left thigh.

  Smenkhkare cried out and clapped a hand to the wound, feeling the blood spurt between his fingers. With a cry of pain and rage he threw himself forward again, hacking and slashing at his younger brother, determined to end this as quickly as possible. Blood streamed down his left leg as he marched resolutely forward, raining down a series of blows that thumped onto Tutankhamen's shield or clashed discordantly against his bronze khopesh sword, slowly but surely bludgeoning his way through the younger man's defense. Abruptly, he stumbled and the youth saw his chance, knocking aside Smenkhkare's sword and stabbing, scoring a long, shallow wound on the man's chest as he tried to twist away. Blood gushed again and the older king retreated a few steps, his right leg wobbling under him.

  "What's wrong?" Scarab cried. "It is his left leg that is injured."

  Beside her, Ay crowed in triumph. "Finish him, majesty," he yelled.

  The two kings stood and exchanged a flurry of blows, but despite Smenkhkare's reputation with the sword, he showed a lacklustre display, doing little except block the energetic blows raining down on him. He staggered again and his right leg collapsed, pitching him to the ground. Tutankhamen uttered a cry of triumph and slashed down, missing as the other man rolled. Smenkhkare managed to get his left leg to function, despite the blood pouring from it and raised his sword and shield once more. But now his arms seemed heavy and his head rocked from side to side. The younger man moved closer and knocked the shield away, slashing with his sword and catching his older brother under his left arm, ripping through the flesh of his chest, just as Smenkhkare swung his own weapon across in a low blow, catching the youth's leg just above the left knee.