“You’re speaking to the general of Egypt’s army, and I’m well aware of the treaty. Your father broke it when he murdered our Egyptian princess, Lupita.”
“So you’re Horemheb. My father has informed me of our country’s history. He didn’t know that Lupita was an Egyptian princess. Our country was at war with Mitanni, and because she was dressed as a Mitannian and escorted by a Mitanni convoy, our soldiers naturally assumed she was lying about being an Egyptian princess. I ask that you forgive our country’s mistake, it wasn’t intentional,” said Zenanza.
Horemheb smirked. “There has never been and will never be a marriage between an Egyptian queen and a Hittite. Suppiluliumas will pay blood-for-blood for the murder of Lupita,” replied Horemheb.
The conviction in Horemheb’s decree convinced Zenanza that it was the end of his journey. He had taken an enormous gamble and lost. As Horemheb and his men unsheathed their swords, he thought about how he could save his own life, or at the very least, the lives of his men.
“I’ll concede blood-for-blood, general, but I ask that you consider that I am a prince, the son of a king and, at the least, should be granted a chance at an honorable redemption,” said Zenanza.
“In what way?”
“A one-on-one fight to the death.”
Horemheb smiled at the Hittite. “Now why would I agree to that?”
“I sense that you’re an honorable man, General Horemheb, and you would agree to what is indeed honorable,” said Zenanza.
“Is that really what you prefer? A tortuous battle in lieu of instant death? It could get painfully messy.”
“Yet, it’s the honorable way. Is it not?”
“There was no honor in the way you people slaughtered our princess. I have no obligation to grant you honor,” Horemheb replied.
“True, but if your judgment is that I should pay the price for something my people have done, then wouldn’t it be lawful that I be allowed to stand on my own to make a defense, whether I choose a verbal defense or a physical one? Is it not written in your law?”
Zenanza knew that it was. Besides being well versed in his own kingdom’s laws, he was also proficient in the law of the Egyptians, the Mitannians, and the Assyrians. Before his journey, Zenanza had made a genuine effort to refresh his knowledge, particularly of Egyptian law. Bound by his own devotion to the law, Horemheb gave in as Zenanza had hoped.
“Very well,” said Horemheb, returning his sword to its scabbard. “Choose which one of my warriors you would like to challenge.”
Zenanza gazed across the front line of Horemheb’s cavalry. They all appeared eager to be chosen.
“Quickly, which one will it be?” asked Horemheb.
Zenanza settled his gaze on Horemheb himself.
“The great and mighty General of Egypt . . . Horemheb!” he shouted.
Horemheb rolled with laughter. “You’re insane.”
“General, if I fall in battle, it will not be to a common soldier, but to you—the great Egyptian warrior Horemheb. I don’t fear the challenge. Do you, General?”
Horemheb’s laughter ceased. The Hittite Prince had challenged his honor, and in front of his men. He was now obligated to give Zenanza his one-on-one fight to the death. Horemheb removed his helmet.
“Give the Hittite prince a spear and a shield, the same as mine,” ordered Horemheb to one of his soldiers.
One of the Egyptian soldiers equipped Zenanza with his war gear. The prince examined the tip of the spear by touching it to his finger. A drop of his blood fell to the earth.
“I think we should set terms,” said Zenanza.
“What terms?” Horemheb mocked. “There are no ‘terms,’ in a one-on-one fight to the death.”
“I propose that we have just one.”
“You, Hittite prince, are challenging my patience,” said Horemheb. “What is this term?”
“It’s simple and fair. If I severely wound or kill you, your army must allow us safe passage to Thebes, and if you succeed in killing me, you will allow my convoy to return my body home to my father. I would do the same for you, general.”
“That’s preposterous!” shouted Horemheb’s captain, Salitas.
“I’m inquiring of the general, not his soldiers!” shouted Zenanza, glaring at Salitas.
“Why would we allow you safe passage into our kingdom and not drag your dead body back to Egypt as our trophy?” asked Salitas.
“Salitas, I make the decisions here. Don’t say another word,” Horemheb corrected, before turning back to the prince. “It is agreed,” he said.
Salitas spit and sheathed his own sword in disappointment.
“So I have your word and the word of your army,” continued Zenanza, “that if I succeed at killing you, they’ll not harm me or my convoy and will allow us to finish our journey into Egypt?”
“You have my word. And theirs,” answered Horemheb, turning to glare at Salitas, before once again facing Zenanza. “I have sealed it here in front of my army, the war god Montu and our almighty god, Amun.” he said.
CHAPTER 39
Within the hour Hani set foot back on Egyptian soil, he was apprehended and charged with treason. Ay had convinced Horemheb’s royal guards that Senpaten’s messenger had devised the plan himself to bring a Hittite prince to Egypt, and in her vulnerable state of mourning and despair of Tut’s death, she lost control of her senses and went along with it. The story was meant to keep Senpaten secure as queen until he could marry her and take his position as pharaoh.
To frighten the young queen and her sister, Mayati, further into submission, Ay had them both escorted to the prison barracks where they were forced to witness Hani’s decapitation.
Now that Horemheb was dispatched to the Ugarit valley to eliminate the Hittite prince, there stood only one obstacle in the way of Ay’s ascension to the throne of Egypt—Sia. The lector priest had become popular and wielded great influence over the citizens of Thebes. He was unanimously voted in as the sole leader of the Amun priesthood by all twelve Amun priests, and mere steps away from the throne of Egypt himself.
At dawn, before the first prayer to the Amun god was recited, Ay entered the temple dressed in a leopard skin cloak, carrying a scroll in his hand. He walked up to Sia with a conniving smile.
“Why are you dressed in a garment only fit for me, the lector priest of Amun?” Sia asked.
“Is it not a fitting garment for a pharaoh?” said Ay.
“You are not a candidate for pharaoh.”
“On the contrary, I’m the only candidate and I’m here for your support.”
Sia studied Ay. “Perhaps you’ve consumed too much of the cure yourself,” he said.
“Hardly,” replied Ay. “Do you understood what I just told you? You will withdraw your claim to the throne and support me as pharaoh. My marriage to Queen Senpaten seals my authority to rule.”
“You have lost your senses! Never would I withdraw my claim to the throne and neither would Queen Senpaten take such an old man in marriage.”
Ay handed Sia the scroll he was carrying.
“What is this?” asked Sia.
“Perhaps you should unroll it and read it,” Ay replied. “You would be very interested in its contents. Your brother, Neper, gave it to me the day before you murdered him.”
Sia looked up at Ay, startled. “What are you speaking about? I did not murder my twin.”
“Of course you did. I saw you as I stood behind a column, you were tightening the rope around his neck, and I watched you inhale his last breath into your mouth. You didn’t see me, Sia, but I certainly witnessed it along with your failed attempt to defeat Meri-Ra’s magic.”
Sia stopped voicing denials and went silent.
“It occurred to me to intervene, but how rude would that have been of me to interfere in a disagreement between brothers?” said Ay.
Sia turned his attention to the scroll and unrolled it.
“You and I have much in common, Sia,” Ay continued, “except
that you lack patience. Your need for instant gratification dooms you.”
Sia studied the scroll, taking in every word. He shook his head in disbelief at the secrets it revealed, secrets he thought were long entombed with his twin, Neper.
“Did you see where it reveals the true identity of your mother?” asked Ay, “who interestingly enough turns out not to be of Egyptian lineage at all, but Libyan—Egypt’s enemy in the west. And your father, Kerinac, was never a noble scribe of the pharaoh’s royal court as you have your fellow Amun priests believe, but a Nubian slave with barely a drop of Egyptian blood in his veins. All lies, though clever ones, but lies nonetheless that you and your brother used to attain your lofty position above the citizens and alongside the pharaoh.”
Sia rolled up the scroll and attempted to disguise his nervousness.
“Why have you stopped reading, Sia? There’s more; a list of names of every farmer you and your brother stole grain and semi-precious jewels from as taxes in the name of Amun. Hardworking men reduced to living as beggars in the street while their wives and children die of poverty. You, Sia, of Libyan descent, prospered from the deaths of native Egyptian citizens. Can you imagine the enormity of your transgression if it was ever revealed to the royal court, your fellow priests, or even General Horemheb? Surely, it’s grounds for your execution. Would you not agree?”
Sia didn’t answer. Ay wondered what exactly he was thinking in that moment. Had he fully accepted that he was defeated or was he conjuring in his mind a scheme or a spell that would reverse his predicament?
“Your brother Neper was remorseful for his part in the mass deceit and wanted to redeem himself by confessing to me his part in your depravity.”
“Enough!” Sia shouted. “It makes no difference. None of it.”
“Oh, it makes quite a difference. Once the people are made aware that you are actually a Libyan imposter, and the farmers who paid your bribes come forward and testify against you, you’ll be a disgrace to your fellow servants of Amun and be stripped of your position as lector priest. In the end, you will become like those impoverished farmers you forced into the streets begging for food, all before the day of your execution.”
Sia finally exhaled the breath that he had been holding in for so long—a sign to Ay that the priest conceded defeat. “Who else has seen this scroll?” Sia asked.
“I don’t see any reason why it needs to be shown to anyone else,” replied Ay. “Since you will now, I assume, fully support my ascension as pharaoh, it’s only fair I secure your position as head lector priest and forget the trivial things about imposters and Libyans. Feel free to keep the scroll for yourself Sia. I have your brother’s original signed and sealed version hidden away in a safe place.”
Ay was certain he had eviscerated Sia enough to gain his loyalty, but before he left the temple, he gave the priest one last warning.
“Don’t bother with your spells and incantations against me, Sia. They won’t work. Your twin taught me well on how to rebuff your illusions.”
IN THE UGARIT VALLEY, Horemheb and Zenanza circled each other, their spears poised for combat. To allot the general and the prince more space to maneuver, Horemheb’s cavalry moved their horses back fifty cubits. Zenanza’s convoy did the same, corralling the sheep and cattle to the side so the animals wouldn’t enter the battle area.
Both men stepped around each other, locking eyes as they waited for the other to make the first move. Horemheb gave a volcanic growl and charged forward, planting his head into Zenanza’s chest. The sudden pointed force knocked the prince flat on his back and the air from his diaphragm. Before Horemheb could follow up his attack, the prince recovered and rose to his feet.
They both struck at each other with their spears, back and forth, but each had only made contact with the other’s shield. Horemheb was surprised at how quick and agile Zenanza was in deflecting his brute force. It would not be a quick and easy feat to subdue the young prince as he had assumed. The hand-to-hand combat was physically taxing and Horemheb felt his age. The general now understood that experience and skill may not be enough to defeat the Hittite prince if the battle lingered on for an extended period of time. A duel of brevity and brutality would be the general’s course of attack if he wanted to be victorious over the young, and surprisingly agile, prince.
Horemheb’s apprehension aided Zenanza in finding an opening, and the prince exploited it by thrusting his spear forward and slicing through the general’s ear. Horemheb was more rattled by the prince’s ability than from the searing pain. As his blood dripped to the ground, Salitas unsheathed his dagger. Horemheb put his hand in the air, signaling his captain not to interfere.
Inside, Horemheb raged from humiliation. He would not allow himself to be defeated by an adolescent Hittite. The internal anger made him patient and out of the corner of his eye he saw Zenanza circle behind him. At the moment the prince raised his spear behind his back to attack, Horemheb turned and charged like a wild boar. He plunged the blade of his spear through Zenanza’s chest and the prince fell to the ground bleeding. The quick loss of blood made it hard for him to breathe and stand as he had done so quickly before, yet he refused to let the general see the anguish on his face.
“Get up!” shouted Horemheb.
Wheezing from the pain of a punctured chest, Zenanza got to his knees, grabbed his spear, and used it to force himself up from the ground. His strength was fading, and he could barely stay on his feet. In an effort that Horemheb thought was courageous, Zenanza had managed to face the general in a battle stance again.
“You want to go on?” asked Horemheb, recognizing the severity of Zenanza’s wound.
The prince nodded, and both men circled each other again. Horemheb charged at the prince once more and kicked his shield into his chest, knocking him back to the ground. The general then walked up to Zenanza and plunged his spear through the prince’s thigh. Zenanza squawked as Horemheb yanked the spear out, tearing the prince’s flesh on the way out.
Horemheb and his cavalry were amazed as Zenanza, suffering in immense pain, staggered, but stood up on his feet again. He could only hold onto his spear and shield for a fleeting moment before dropping them and collapsing.
“What is there to be done on the ground?” shouted Horemheb. “Get up, prince of Hatti, son of the great King Suppiluliumas. Get up!”
Zenanza tried as hard as he could to stand, but there was no strength left in his body. He collapsed once more, covering his chest with his hand to tamp the bleeding. Horemheb picked up the prince’s shield and threw it on him. It bounced off Zenanza’s body and landed on the ground. Consumed by laughter, Horemheb turned his back on his opponent and faced the Hittite convoy.
“So this is your prince? The next great king of Egypt? How insulting that his pathetic death is not worth nearly that of our Lady Lupita,” mocked Horemheb.
The general’s mockery was contagious and soon his cavalry joined him in amusing themselves in laughter at the prince’s expense. When Zenanza produced a dagger hidden beneath his belt and hurled it at Horemheb, and the blade sliced through the general’s calf muscle, the laughter ceased.
Furious, Horemheb turned and faced Zenanza. Without a flinch, he pulled the blade from his calf and tossed it aside, then walked up to the prince and stood over him as the young man lay on the ground still writhing in pain.
“Beg for your life now or I will end it at this very moment,” said Horemheb. He picked up the prince’s spear from the ground and pointed it at his face. “Beg. Now,” Horemheb repeated, “or I will take it.”
Zenanza lifted his head and looked Horemheb in the eye. “I will not dishonor my father by begging a foreigner for my life,” he said. “And yes, General Horemheb, I am the son of the great King Suppiluliumas. One day you will feel his wrath,” replied Zenanza, his voice fading.
Horemheb sneered at him before thrusting the spear through the prince’s heart, killing him instantly. The Hittite convoy gasped, afraid of what was to happen to them
next.
Horemheb ripped a piece of Zenanza’s tunic and tied the cloth around his calf to stop the bleeding, then turned and mounted his horse.
“You, chamberlain, and your convoy, return to your King Suppiluliumas and inform him that the great General Horemheb of Egypt, commanding general of the armies of Pharaoh Amenhotep and Tutankhamun, has avenged their Lady Lupita,” said Horemheb.
Berbalis smirked. “You avenged no one, general. The only thing you’ve done was murder a love-struck prince who was brave beyond his years. Neither he nor my King Suppiluliumas had anything to do with the death of your Lady Lupita. It was our General Callum who took it upon himself to kill her and her unborn child—the same Hittite general you captured in Kadesh but then foolishly released back to us.”
Berbalis’s revelation rendered Horemheb speechless. The general could tell from the euphoric look on the chamberlain’s face that he was pleased that he had alarmed him and took the opportunity to further deepen the general’s wound.
“Not to worry, our General Callum died peacefully in his sleep from the disease only days ago. So you Horemheb, the great and powerful general of Egypt, will go to your grave without your precious revenge, and every moment of your pitiful existence you glimpse the scar on your calf, you will remember our Prince Zenanza, the true courageous one who skillfully smote you as he lay wounded on the ground.”
Miffed by the chamberlain’s disrespect, Salitas aimed and released an arrow from his bow, striking Berbalis through his lung. He dropped from his horse and landed flat on his back in the sand, clutching the arrow as blood spilled from his fatal wound.
“Prince Zenanza’s death is our revenge!” shouted Salitas.
As the Egyptian cavalry roared with cheering and beating of their swords against their shields, Horemheb languished inside over an empty revenge. The realization that he had Lady Lupita’s murderer in his custody and unknowingly allowed the Hittite to return to his country alive, tortured him. Zenanza’s death meant nothing now, and the audacity of his captain Salitas to kill another Hittite for his own personal pleasure compounded his anger.
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