Murder in the Palace: A Nikolas of Kydonia Mystery

by Iain Campbell

  Pharaoh’s army set up camp outside the town, quickly put up their tents and lit cooking fires. Food was brought up from the supply boats – beans, dried fish and flour for bread. Fresh fruit and vegetables were bought at the town market, the quartermaster buying all available foodstuffs. Kahun brought Pamose to the quarters General Minnakht had now taken at the fort. When Nikolas and Kiya drifted in unnoticed Pamose was standing by a table which had a large map of the area spread out.

  “We’ve been here just under three weeks now and I’ve made contact with the local nomads. With a bit of encouragement and a few bribes they’ve told me that there’s a large force camped outside Aniba, as we’d thought. Mainly Nubians, so the nomads don’t like them and favour us, but also quite a few Egyptians. I sent a small patrol down that way a week ago, coming in from the desert. It’s about twenty miles, so they should’ve been back three days ago but we haven’t seen them, which indicates that something’s going on down there.”

  Nikolas left and arranged a room at a local inn. This was likely to be the last night for some time that he and Kiya could share some time in privacy and comfort.

  T T T T

  The army, now including Pamose and his men, embarked early next day and after a short river journey of about twelve miles disembarked at the town of Afia, half way to Aniba. They arrived a little before midday but unloading took most of the rest of the day. This time the army was marching to war and Minnakht didn’t intend to leave anything behind on the boats that may be needed.

  The large number of ships and men had frightened away most of the wildlife. Apart from a few larger birds and some crocodiles that could be seen in the middle-distance, the fertile river valley was unusually lacking in movement. Even the local villagers seemed to have gone into hiding and disappeared together with their animals, presumably as a result of having had past experiences with an army on the march. Nikolas found it quite eerie to see deserted fields, already ploughed and sown, small fishing boats tied up at the water’s edge, date-palm plantations, and vegetable plots all seemingly awaiting the hands of the villagers, but with only a few sick and elderly people still in residence.

  Next morning they had another early start. Scouts had been sent ahead, carried by chariot and dropped off two miles ahead of the army. The road south, a track of hard-beaten earth five paces wide, mainly hugged the barren hills at the edge of the fertile land on the west bank of the river, passing from time to time through the desolate hills for a few miles before returning to the river valley as the river wound back and forth. A twenty-strong squadron of chariots acted as the vanguard, being a mile behind the scouts and a mile ahead of the main body of the army. The other four squadrons of chariots moved like sharks alongside the long snaking column of troops who were marching four abreast and moving steadily south.

  The army was quiet, save for the beat of the drums in each regiment marking the marching time; the regimental drums were slightly out of synchronization, which caused some confusion amongst the men marching at the tail of each regiment. Regimental standards were carried proudly before each regiment of five hundred men. The column of men stretched for over a mile along the road and dust from the unpaved road rose in the air from the tramp of thousands of feet and the wheels of the chariots.

  Wagons carrying water, a few tents and medical supplies followed at the rear, slowly falling behind as the oxen drawing the wagons couldn’t move at the speed of men on the march. The oxen bellowed occasionally as they were goaded by their drivers. Most of the food supplies were still on the boats, which would follow along and be at the village of Karanog at sunset. The army carried rations and water for two days.

  Pamose was leader of the first squadron of chariots proceeding ahead of the army with Nikolas as his driver. Kiya rode on a wagon at the rear of the column with Umtau as her protector and with Pepi running happily alongside. Kiya sat on a sack of bandages on the back of the covered wagon – designed to carry men who had been wounded in battle – glad of the shade cast by the heavy canvas over the top. Umtau sat on the bench alongside the driver with his sickle-shaped cutting-sword near at hand in case of need. Feeling apprehensive about the coming day Kiya chattered nervously with Umtau.

  “Have you been in battle before?” she asked.

  After a pause Umtau replied slowly in his heavily-accented Egyptian, “Several times, my lady. When I was in the army I was stationed on the Canaan border with the Hittites. There were many bandits that had to be caught.”

  “And what was it like?”

  “It’s an experience I could well do without having again.” Again Umtau paused to collect his thoughts and then continued, “The first time is easiest, because you don’t know what will come and you’re too stupid to be afraid – full of stories that you’ve heard of glorious battles and heroism. When the fighting starts you don’t have time to be afraid. Either they or you charge, and then you’re too busy to think about anything other than how to kill the man in front of you. Battles, even small fights with a group of perhaps a hundred bandits, aren’t glorious. There’s blood and death. Guts spilled out and men screaming as they try to stuff their entrails back in place. Killing your own friends because they’ve been wounded too severely to survive - a mercy to save them hours of agonizing death under the blistering sun. Fear as the enemy comes at you; relief at the end that you’ve survived and guilt that some of your friends have not.

  “The nobles stand in their chariots with their helmets and body-armour, while the soldiers stand in line with just a loincloth, shield and a spear or sword. You Egyptians fear death in battle more than we Nubians; if the battle is lost the dead aren’t buried and their bodies are torn by the scavengers. In the aftermath of a battle you have the crows standing on the corpses and even on the badly wounded, ripping out their eyes, and the vultures ripping out their guts. If the battle is won, if they’ve died they’re buried in a common grave with maybe hundreds of others, many miles from their home and with nobody to perform the rites of the dead for them. If those badly wounded survive, they’re carried home to spend the rest of their lives as cripples sitting in the doorway of the hovel they call home, with a miserably small pension. No, war isn’t glorious and soldiers know it.”

  Kiya looked pensive and somewhat disillusioned and lapsed into silence with her thoughts.

  Up ahead Nikolas concentrated his attention on the ground in front of the chariot, carefully skirting the rocks scattered across the ground near the roadside. Pamose stood tall next to him, looking heroic as the sun glinted on his helmet and the overlapping bronze scales of the armour that covered him from neck to thigh. Nikolas wore similar armour. Chariots were the battleships of the battlefield and the charioteers had the best protection available.

  Pamose was telling jokes about the backwardness and isolation of Amada.

  “…And the whore said to the priest…what is that?” It took Nikolas several moments to realize that Pamose’s last words were referring to the puffs of dust that could be seen in the distance, rather than to his sex story. Pamose raised his right fist, pumped the air and the pace of the chariot squadron increased from a walk to a trot. They quickly came up to a scout hurrying back towards the army.

  Pamose raised his hand for the chariots to stop, and reined in as they reached the scout, then unslung a water-skin before handing it to the panting soldier. After quickly refreshing himself the scout gasped urgently, “Many soldiers marching just north of Karanog, heading north.”

  “How many?” demanded Pamose.

  The scout shrugged. He could barely count to ten; he looked at the army marching behind Pamose. “More than we have. Perhaps half as many again.”

  Pamose pursed his lips and sent the scout back in a chariot to report to General Minnakht. He gestured to the adjoining chariot to join him, ordered the others to remain where they were and said to Nikolas, “Quick as you can! Stop just short of the crest of the next rise.” Nikolas flicked the reins, giving the horses their heads and they reache
d the next hill quickly. They dismounted, ran the short distance to the top of the rise and threw themselves flat to crawl the last few paces, their heads barely visible over the top of the hill.

  There they saw the land slowly slope away before a slight rise in the distance and, just a little over a mile distant, the vanguard of an army marching north; the spears in their hands rose and fell slightly as they marched. Just beyond the enemy troops was the village of Karanog.

  A quick look behind them showed that Minnakht had ordered a general advance, the Egyptian troops trotting quickly forward.

  Pamose gestured backwards. “Come on!” he said as he quickly crawled down the hillside until below the crest, then he and Nikolas sprinted back to the chariot. Nikolas seized the reins and with a quick flick of the wrists had the horses under way.

  Within a couple of minutes they were back with General Minnakht, pulled off slightly to one side of the road as the troops trotted past. Pamose told Minnakht what the scout had reported and what they had seen.

  “By Isis’ tits!” roared Minnakht. “Outnumbered and nearly outmanoeuvred!” After a brief pause for thought he continued. “Pamose, you get the chariots up ahead and chose a suitable place for us to stand and fight. You know the sort of place – a hill with some cover on both flanks if you can manage it. Kahun, get the men moving double-time up to wherever Pamose selects.”

  With the enemy located, at Pamose’s command the chariot squadrons ceased screening the column of troops and moved ahead, stopping short of the top of the rise, where they then deployed into line. The column of troops had moved to a jog, pushing on to take the hill overlooking the village before the enemy became aware of their presence. As they ascended the low slope the regiments passed through the gaps left between the groups of chariots and then angled off to form a line on the reverse slope, out of sight of the approaching enemy troops. Minnakht and a handful of his senior commanders including Kahun had their chariots driven towards the top of the rise, dismounted and walked stooped over as they reached the apex of the hill, there kneeling to remain unseen. Minnakht gave orders adjusting the positioning of his troops and had the chariots move to the flanks. Three squadrons moved to the left and two to the right.

  By now it had become obvious to the rebel army that there was something on the other side of the hill, from the amount of dust being raised by Pharaoh’s army and drifting low in the slight westerly breeze. The rebels began to deploy from column into line about a thousand paces from where Minnakht crouched on one knee. There was another lower rise in the ground at that point and the enemy commanders grouped together there as their troops deployed ahead of them.

  Minnakht could see the enemy army forming up. Beyond in the distance was the village of Karanog, a cluster of houses with smoke apparently from cooking fires drifting into the sky. It was hard to tell exactly, with the rear of the enemy column shrouded in dust, but Minnakht estimated that the rebel army numbered perhaps four thousand infantry; no chariots could be seen. Minnakht looked back over his shoulder at his two thousand troops and one hundred chariots moving into place. They were badly outnumbered but had the advantage of terrain and the shock effect of using chariots.

  Minnakht stood and barked commands to the runners standing nearby. “The first three regiments will advance and take up positions thirty paces on the front slope of hill. Let’s show this rebel scum the fist of Pharaoh!” he said to Kahun.

  The chosen regiments, led by their crescent-shaped bronze regimental standards, moved over the crest of the hill and took up position as instructed thirty paces below the apex of the rise. One regiment remained in reserve, out of sight on the reverse slope. Two ranks of spearmen with their large shields stood to the fore; behind was a rank of soldiers armed with bronze swords, some with the old-fashioned khopesh sickle-shaped short cutting swords and others with the new-style longer pointed short-swords which could both stab and slash, copied from the attacks of the Sea-Peoples on Egypt’s northern coast and Canaan over the last century. Other troops were armed with single-handed battleaxes or stone-headed maces. About half the swordsmen had square shields, smaller and handier than those of the spearmen.

  While the one regiment of spearmen and swordsmen remained in reserve out of sight on the reverse slope, archers of that regiment joined with those of the other regiments – 400 in all standing along the crest of the hill. Each archer carried two quivers each with twelve arrows, and had been given three spare bundles of arrows with each bundle tied together with string. The bowmen strung their weapons, usually either a short straight-bow or a larger decurved-bow, placing one end on the ground and pressing on the top to compress the bow to allow the string to be put in place. A few, usually the best marksmen, had more powerful and more expensive laminated recurved-bows. The bundles of arrows were untied by each archer and carefully stuck point-down in the sand by his feet, ready for use. Each archer had one quiver over a shoulder and the other lying on the ground beside him.

  At this place the road had swung into the arid land just west of the fertile valley. The battlefield was almost clear of vegetation apart from a few straggly tamarisk bushes. The ground was composed of fine grey gravel with a few small rocks scattered about and several patches where soft sand had been blown into shallow depressions.

  The rebel army had by now deployed into line and moved forward at a slow walk until they were five hundred paces from the line of Pharaoh’s army, where they stopped. They began to beat their spears on shields in a loud rhythmic drumming to challenge their opponents.

  Minnakht had already spoken to each of the regimental commanders, passing on his instructions. The usual battle tactics were that each army charged towards the other, running as fast as they could and meeting halfway between the starting positions of the armies, and to then engage in a furious melee. As they were outnumbered, Minnakht had other plans for this battle, relying on leading professional troops against a largely untrained force of warriors who would fight as individuals rather than as a team.

  The Egyptian commanders went to their regiments and stood before the front rank shouting instructions. “You will stand. You will not charge. We have the advantage of terrain. They have to charge uphill and we will use this in our favour. Archers, when they are a hundred paces away you will loose on my command! You have a clear line of aim over the heads of our spearmen. Shoot low and fast and take them down. I want each bowman to have killed six of the enemy before they reach our line!

  “Spearmen, form a shield-wall! When the enemy are fifty paces away both ranks will lower their spears and you will let them impale themselves as they run on. Swordsmen and axe-men, you will cover any breach of the shield-wall. Take out any who breach the wall and protect the flanks and backs of the spearmen! Reserves, you will hold on the reverse slope until you are ordered forward to strengthen the line.”

  The small chariots, each made of a wickerwork basket set atop a pair of lightly constructed eight-spoked wooden wheels made of acacia wood, stood in short lines out of sight behind the hill. The pair of horses, attached by halters to the long central shaft, were champing at the bit and fidgeting, knowing they would soon be called to action. Handlers stood to the rear, holding the pair of spare horses for each chariot.

  The supply wagons had arrived and water jars were being stacked quickly behind the horse-lines and the infantry positions, ready to be carried forward when needed later. Tents were being set up well to the rear, where the doctors placed their tables and instruments ready to receive the casualties; Kiya and Umtau assisted with those preparations. Kiya was surprised at the number of water jars being stockpiled near the medical tents.

  Pamose spoke to his charioteers. “We’ll hold here out of sight until ordered forward. We’ll form a line five abreast. When ordered we charge, bowmen shooting as we go, then we wheel away! After the charge, we’ll wheel away, circle and recover back here. Then change horses, re-arm and prepare to charge again.” Pamose stalked to his own chariot, where Nikolas already stoo
d nervously, shifting from foot to foot and feeling dry-mouthed with apprehension. Charioteers were elite troops and most wore leather helmets and corsets of armour made from scales of hardened leather, horn or bronze sewn onto leather jerkins for protection where their bodies showed above the sides of the chariot.

  Unfortunately, in the increasing heat of the day the padded under-garments and leather were already soaked with sweat and the sun would soon be cruelly turning the armour into virtual cooking pots.

  Nikolas quickly checked the binding at the back of Pamose’s armour corset, gave him a buffet on the shoulder and turned to be checked in his turn. Pamose clasped Nikolas’ shoulder briefly and began to pace up and down. Their two best horses, a chestnut mare Egu and a bay stallion Zimmat were ready in the traces, tossing their heads anxiously and sniffing the air. Five quivers of arrows were tied to the front of the chariot, waiting for when Pamose needed them. Most of the chariot archers carried the short but powerful recurved-bow, better weapons than those carried by the infantry. Although some carried laminated reflex bows – extremely expensive and powerful weapons which when unstrung bent away from the bowman.

  They strung the bows with some difficulty, sitting on the floor of the chariot basket with their feet hanging out the open back of the chariot as they forced the forward-facing ends of the bows backwards. Pamose preferred his own expensive long-bow; made of imported wood. Laminated, glued and bound with electrum wire, it was nearly five feet long. It stood leaning against the inside of the chariot, already-strung and ready for action. Two spare bow-strings were coiled and placed inside of the chariot.