by Overton, Max
Aanen stopped at the entrance to the Avenue of Rams. "My priests do not go beyond this point. Release Amenemhet."
Paramessu looked around at his column, the lightly armed soldiers crowding close, eyeing the mob warily. There were hundreds more people out in the streets and more gathering. "Amenemhet comes with us until we reach the barracks."
"No." Aanen waved the priests back and they melted into the crowd, which pressed closer, a muted rumble issuing from thousands of throats. "You want bloodshed, soldier? You shall have it."
Paramessu slipped a dagger from his belt and pressed the point up under the High Priest's chin, the sharp point pricking the soft skin. "Then your First Prophet will be the first to die."
"Do nothing precipitate, Aanen," Amenemhet grated, wincing as the movement of speaking sent the knife deeper into his neck. "I will accompany them to the barracks. See that we are not followed."
Aanen scowled but obeyed, stepping aside and allowing the soldiers past. Paramessu, Paatenemheb and Amenemhet led the way at a trot, the soldiers crowding behind, their staves at the ready. Despite the priest's instructions, the crowd ran alongside, keeping pace as they passed down the Avenue of Rams, back into the depths of the city.
"I will remember your deeds this day, Paramessu," Amenemhet panted as he wiped the blood from his throat.
Paramessu smiled grimly, his hand firmly on the priest's arm, hurrying him along. "Then remember too that I refrained from killing you. I hate neither you Amenemhet, nor your god. I am a soldier; I am sworn to obey my king."
The column moved deeper into the city where the signs of violence became more common. They saw the first dead soldiers, their heads beaten in, some by their own bloody staves which lay beside them. The red stripe on their brown military kilt revealed their company colours and Paatenemheb shook his head angrily.
"Someone will pay for this."
Amenemhet laughed. "The Heretic? He is to blame."
Paramessu turned his head as they ran, sizing up the mood of the accompanying crowd. "Do we stop for the bodies, sir? It might be possible."
"Leave them. Our first duty is to preserve the legion and report to the king. We will retrieve them later."
They turned into Military Road, within sight of the barracks, small groups of soldiers with red stripes on their kilts running in ones and two ahead of them. A mob burst out of one of the side streets just behind a group of five soldiers, rapidly running them down and clubbing them to the ground. The crowd caught sight of the hundreds of soldiers bearing down on them, flanked by another mob and, after a moment's hesitation, gripped their weapons and hurled themselves forward, screaming with rage.
Paramessu yelled to his troops to form a defensive square. He pushed the priest behind him and caught a glancing blow on his shoulder from a piece of wood. He stumbled and almost fell as an evil-smelling fellow sprawled on top of him. Struggling to his knees he plunged his dagger into the man and heaved the shuddering body to one side, grabbing the man's staff as he lurched to his feet. The mob pressed the soldiers but their training was taking effect. They fell back into rough lines, their staves swinging and probing, forcing the howling citizens back. Already the ground was littered with bodies, most trying to drag themselves clear of the melee but others lying ominously still.
"Move toward the barracks."
Slowly, the body of soldiers, some four hundred strong, heaved and shuffled toward the barrack gates. Staves slashed and stabbed and ordinary citizens, trying to avoid the hard wood, or desperately parrying the strokes with whatever came to hand--furniture, pieces of wood, the occasional spear--nevertheless fell howling to the dusty ground or staggered back holding wounds. Soldiers fell too, increasingly, and their comrades hauled them inside the disintegrating square.
Paramessu saw the press of the crowd was getting the better of his poorly armed men. He leant his staff in the crook of his arm and cupped his hands. "Spear formation, Blues. On me, form." For a few moments nothing happened as the incredulous men tried to grasp what their commander wanted.
Paatenemheb put a hand on his arm. "What in Set's arsehole are you doing? This isn't a chariot regiment."
"And they're not professional troops out there. They just outnumber us." Paramessu shook off the general's arm as the square fell apart, the men closest to him trying to get into a semblance of a spearhead, never having performed the maneuver, only having seen it from a distance. He pointed his staff at the most belligerent part of the crowd. "Charge!" he yelled. "Come on you dogs!" Leaping forward with a bellow of rage and desperation, Paramessu launched himself at the mob. A breath later, four hundred men followed, smashing into the crowd, hacking and slashing with spear handles and staves, trampling men and women under foot.
Fifty, sixty, seventy paces, blood spattered Paramessu as he swung his staff, then suddenly the pressure eased and the people were running, streaming away from Military Road and the City barracks, away from these madmen with the killing rage in their eyes. Ten paces more and a space opened up in front of him. Paramessu halted, breathing in great whooping gusts. "Halt," he cried. "Halt you motherless sons of donkeys."
The onrushing tide of screaming soldiers faltered and drifted, clutching bruised and bleeding bodies but with triumphant grins starting to form. Cries of victory rose into the air.
"Back," Paramessu commanded. "Back to the barracks, men."
The soldiers streamed back inside the compound without further incident. About a hundred of the Red company had already returned and more were coming in by dribs and drabs, running the gauntlet of the streets, but so far, none of the Black company. Paatenemheb set a troop to man the gates and keep a look out for returning soldiers before ordering the rest to the army physicians and to prepare food. He told Paramessu to bring the High Priest then marched ahead into the upper room.
The general poured himself a pot of warm beer from the jug on the table and drained it, spilling rivulets down his broad chest. He belched and turned, regarding the two men standing in front of him.
"Unorthodox, Paramessu, but it worked." He dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand and addressed the priest.
"Amenemhet, I am going to talk to Akhenaten and I assure you he will give me permission to arm my soldiers. When we return to the temple we will close it and destroy the god--if we find him." He stared at the priest impassively. "I have no wish to commit sacrilege, and of course I cannot do so if I cannot find him. I would imagine I'll be leading my troops back to look for him in about three hours. Do you understand?"
The High Priest nodded slowly. "This heresy will pass and Amun will remember those who helped him." He glared at Paramessu. "And those who fought against him."
"Don't be a fool, Amenemhet. This man saved your life today." Paatenemheb shrugged. "He was a bit direct and zealous but I encourage my officers to think for themselves. Now, I should by rights hold you here until you can answer charges of inciting riot and blasphemy against the Aten and his son, but with one thing and another, you seem to have slipped off in the confusion." He turned away and poured himself another beer, waiting until the priest had gone before turning back.
"Sir, was that wise? He could be dangerous."
"Extremely dangerous, Paramessu, but this Atenism will not last forever. Sooner or later the old order will return and it pays to have friends on both sides of the fence. Now, what are we going to do?"
"What can we do? We need the king's permission to arm our men before we can try again."
"Of course, and I shall see to that myself. I think I can slip into the palace unseen. What will you do to prepare?"
Paramessu thought. "Medical first--get the injuries seen to--then food. After that, open the armory and get everybody fitted out for hunting lion."
Paatenemheb nodded. "If the streets quiet down, you might see if you can find any more of the Red and Black companies. We are going to need them."
The general left through a small door at the back of the barracks building commonly used by sla
ves when they emptied the latrines. The passageway and alley stank from spilled effluent but the same stink discouraged onlookers. He disappeared in the direction of the docks.
Paramessu opened up the store rooms and got the army physicians tending the wounded. Only a handful had sustained serious injury but many held soothing compresses to bruised and split skin before the supplies of ointments and herbs ran out. The kitchen staff organized huge pots of barley gruel and beer and soon lines of men formed up in front of them before moving off into whatever shade they could find to consume their meal.
Men from the Red and Black companies straggled in as the afternoon wore on. Djedhor arrived early on, with a hundred men and an hour later Khui turned up with nearly two hundred soldiers in kilts with black stripes. Paramessu ordered the men fed and tended, then took the commanders upstairs to talk.
"That was a fornicating pig's meal," Khui spat. "We closed down half a dozen smaller temples, Ptah, Sekmet, Tefnut and such, put the seals on the doors, and then the crowds started turning up. It was all we could do to extricate ourselves without too much bloodshed."
"Where are the rest of your men?" Paramessu asked.
"The gods only know," Khui sighed. "And yes, I say gods because this Aten of the king is certainly not going to help us. I thought there might be trouble so I sent them off in groups under my Greatest of Fifties. I hope they had the sense not to push the issue when the mobs turned up."
"And you Djedhor?"
Djedhor drank deep from his flask of wine before answering. "My orders were to send men out in tens to every street corner, so my men were spread out too thinly to be effective when the trouble started. I tell you, I won't be making that mistake again, orders or no. I lost men out there today, good men, some of them."
"What happened?"
"Pig-shit! You know what happened. We got jumped on and beaten by fornicating peasants and shopkeepers. Luckily I saw what was happening and started rounding up my men, running through the streets ahead of the mob collecting stray soldiers. With luck there will be others in soon, those that haven't run off." Djedhor poured another flask of strong wine and gulped it. "I'll flog those fornicators for desertion."
"Paatenemheb is up at the palace getting permission to arm ourselves and do this properly."
"Not before time," Khui said, looking out of the window. "Look there in the city." The other commanders joined him and saw the spiraling columns of black smoke starting up above the roof tops.
"Why is it every time there is trouble, these stupid fornicators set fire to their own city?" Djedhor raged. "Well, I'll be sorting out a few arsonists before the day is out. Hang 'em all from the walls, I say."
Paatenemheb returned an hour later, by the same route he had left by. His first action on arriving back was to wash thoroughly and change his kilt. He refused to speak until he broke his fast, helping himself to a large bowl of barley gruel from the kitchens and a huge pot of sour beer. Having eaten, he took the beer up with him to the upper room where he faced his eager commanders.
"Well?" Djedhor inquired. "Do we have permission to smash these bastards into the dust?"
Paatenemheb grimaced. "Not really. Akhenaten bleated on about how his god is a god of peace and one that hates violence and even disagreement. I pointed out that the Aten may hate these things but the supporters of Amun don't. He saw my point, albeit reluctantly."
"So we can use force to close the temples?" Paramessu asked.
"Yes and no. We can arm our men and we can display our might to intimidate the opposition, but we are not to hurt them."
"Set's breath! What's the point of that?" Djedhor slammed a fist onto the table, overturning a wine cup. Dark red wine spilled out like blood.
"Well, I did wring one concession from him. If we see any arsonists or looters, we can take any steps necessary to apprehend or stop them." Paatenemheb grinned. "What would you wager that any group that opposes us is really looting the city?"
Khui barked out a hoarse laugh. "That will do. Let's get started then."
Paatenemheb nodded, looking out at the sun and the length of the shadows. "Soon. I want to get the city tied down by nightfall if possible. How many men do we have?"
"I have four hundred Blues," Paramessu said. "Khui has about three hundred and Djedhor four hundred and fifty. Three badly under-strength companies with many still missing."
"It will have to do. Make sure every man is well-armed. Spears and swords, bows for any trained as archers. Basically the same instructions as before but this time we stay in large groups and hit hard and fast. Khui, take the temples in the eastern quarter first, then the north. Djedhor, you take the west part of the city then swing south to back me up. The Blues will take the temples of Amun again. Any opposition at all, from anyone, you treat them as looters. Drive them off if you can, kill if you have to. I want the streets clear of citizens by nightfall." Paatenemheb looked at his commanders and nodded grimly. "You have your orders, get to it."
The barrack gates swung open and hundreds of armed soldiers trotted out into the street, turning in both directions. A small crowd of onlookers gaped at the sight then melted away, disappearing down back alleys. The companies of Khui and Djedhor vanished toward east and west respectively, and Paramessu's Blues started back down the Avenue of Rams toward the Amun temple complex. The avenue was deserted and silent but for the heavy tramp of four hundred men.
As the temple gates hove into view, people started appearing from side streets, pushing forward in front of the gates and blocking the way. Several white-robed priests appeared and moved through the crowd, haranguing the people. Paramessu stopped his force fifty paces short of the crowd and stepped out in front.
"Men of Waset," he cried. "By order of King Akhenaten, this temple of Amun is to be closed. Disperse and go to your homes."
A jeering laugh rose from the mob. "Go home yourselves," somebody yelled. "Or you'll get worse than you got last time."
"Do not be mistaken," Paramessu called back. "If you do not lay down your weapons and disperse, you will be judged rebels and looters and dealt with accordingly."
"Go fornicate with that god of yours!" A brick smashed into the dirt beside him, followed by a barrage of missiles. One struck Paramessu on the arm and another narrowly missed his head.
"Blue Company! Archers--a single volley left and right." Bows twanged in unison, arrows plummeting into the crowd. "Blue Company, spears down, forward one hundred paces, count off." With a yell, the men of the Blues leveled their spears and leapt forward, counting off the paces as they ran.
The crowd, already thrown into chaos by the arrows snuffing the life from so many, wilted, falling back so it was seventy paces before the first spears bit deep. Screams and shouts rent the air as men fell beneath the onslaught, trampled under foot as the count continued. One hundred paces and the soldiers stopped as one, their spears still leveled and ready. People streamed back toward the temple gates, clutching wounds but leaving the dead and bleeding behind them.
Paramessu stepped over the corpses with a grim expression. "Archers. Take aim center."
The mob howled and ran, some into the temple precinct, others down the Avenue then vanishing into the side streets.
Paramessu looked around at the street, now deserted except for some twenty dead and maybe three times that wounded. "Close ranks," he ordered. "Move into the temple. Meny, take your Fifty and secure the gates."
Paramessu led the bulk of his men at a trot up to the main temple steps, sending another hundred over to the smaller Amun temple. "Search it," he said. "Find the statue of the god." Soldiers disappeared inside and after a while reappeared.
"Can't find it, sir. The shrine be there but no god in it."
"We dids find a priest though," said another soldier. He dragged a white-robed man forward. "You wants me to kill him, sir?"
Paramessu frowned. "What is your name, priest? Where is the statue of Amun?"
The priest drew himself up, shaking off the hand of t
he soldier. "I am Haremakhet, Fourth Prophet of Amun. You would be wise to pay the proper respect for my position."
"Your god is overthrown, priest, so you have no position. I repeat, where is Amun?"
Haremakhet smiled. "Gone. When word came of the approach of men of violence, the god Amun walked out of the temple and disappeared. You will not find him."
The soldiers within earshot cringed, their mouths open in amazement. They made protective signs against strong magic and edged away from the priest.
"Stand fast, you fools," Paramessu snapped. "All that happened is that the priests moved the statue." He looked back at Haremakhet. "So Amenemhet took advantage of the delay, did he? But why are you here, instead of with your god?"
"I am here to warn you, Paramessu, son of Seti." Haremakhet moved closer, lowering his voice. "You would do well to remember Amun. The days of the Heretic are numbered and Amun has a long memory."
"I am loyal to my king. I took an oath to obey him and as long as he is king, I will do so."
"Your loyalty is commendable, Paramessu. Just be careful you do not follow Waenre Akhenaten into oblivion." He stepped back with a smile. "May I go now?"
Paramessu nodded and watched as the priest sauntered off toward the gate. He saw Paatenemheb hurrying toward him.
"You have the temples secure? Did you find the statue of Amun?"
"Yes, and no. Fourth Prophet Haremakhet was here. He says the god left."
"I saw the priest. Well, nothing to be done about it then. Chain the temple doors, then withdraw and seal the gates. I've just come from Djedhor in the western city. There's trouble starting. I'll need you as backup."
Paramessu saw to the chaining and sealing of the temples without further incident before leading his troops away down the Avenue of Rams, then westward toward the docks. He found Djedhor and the Reds fighting their way slowly along the river, from street to street and house to house. The hovels in this, the poorer quarter of the city, gave scant protection to their owners as the howling troops ran from home to home, harassing the citizens. Many lay dead and dying on the streets or in doorways of their homes as the trained soldiers beat down the opposition. Every now and then a fresh wave of people would erupt from a street, brandishing whatever weapons they could find. The fighting would intensify, then the mob would break up and run, leaving more dead and wounded behind. Fires broke out as cooking fires were scattered, or as arsonists took advantage of the disorder to sow a little extra mayhem.