The Amarnan Kings, Book 5: Scarab - Horemheb

by Overton, Max

  Dani looked at her colleagues and then back to the Minister. "You must understand that we are not happy with your desire to rush off and plunder this treasure if it still exists. We are scientists and these things should be left to science."

  "My dear Dr Hanser, how you misunderstand me. I admit to a keen desire to see this treasure found, as I'm sure you do too, if you would be honest, but I desire only that the United Arab Republic keeps this treasure for itself. For too long, foreign nations, especially Britain, Dr Hanser, has plundered Egypt of its treasures. Yes, I want to find Smenkhkare's treasury and tomb, but only so it can be safeguarded for future generations in the nation where it lies hidden."

  "Very commendable," Daffyd said dryly. "So why have you not brought in some international experts to examine this account. The Egyptian authorities should be notified too."

  "These things will happen," Bashir assured them. "I am waiting only until we can verify the accuracy of this account. Then the proper authorities will conduct a formal search for the tomb in Egypt."

  "If you are so selfless, Minister, why are we being kept prisoner here and threats made against us?" Marc asked.

  "You are not prisoners, but I must insist you remain on site until the work is complete. You want to see what the account says, don't you?"

  "Why shouldn't we leave if you have nothing to hide?"

  "I am quite sure none of you would behave unprofessionally, but all it takes is an injudicious word and suddenly there are swarms of avaricious people seeking a king's treasure in Egypt. None of us want that, so until I can arrange a proper press conference to announce our findings, nobody will have a chance to talk to anyone else."

  "We wouldn't say anything," Angela said.

  "Miss Devereux, one of your number already has. If you remember, Mr Robert Burrows mentioned your find to his brother. Luckily, we have managed to contain that mistake, but we may not be so lucky next time." Bashir looked around the tent. "Where is Mr Burrows, by the way?"

  Marc shrugged. "In his tent, I suppose."

  "Please go and get him, Dr Andrews. Also, the other members of your team. They should all be reassured."

  "I'm sure that is not necessary," Dani said. "Let them sleep. We can tell them later."

  "Sleep? At this hour?" Bashir stared at the archaeologists and noted that none of them met his eyes. He turned abruptly and strode to the tent flap, calling out to an army officer.

  "Captain al-Azem, search the camp. Bring me any foreigner you find."

  Bashir went back into the tent. "Will my men find them?" he asked. Nobody said anything. A few minutes passed and the captain entered.

  "No sign of the other foreigners, Minister."

  "Thank you, captain. Please have your men on standby." Bashir waited until the captain had left before speaking to the others. "Where are they?"

  "Gone," Daffyd said. He opened his tin of tobacco and started rolling himself another cigarette.

  "Gone where?" Daffyd shrugged. "Why did you not stop them?" Bashir asked.

  "You hadn't explained so nicely why we had nothing to fear. If they thought they'd be safer away from here, who could blame them?"

  "Captain al-Azem will find them," Bashir said. "They will soon be back in custody...protective custody."

  "Not a hope," Daffyd said with a smile. He lit up and puffed blue smoke in a rush upwards. "They'll be in Damascus by now and they have their passports."

  "Thank you, Dr Rhys-Williams." Bashir turned on his heel and strode out.

  "Why the hell did you tell him that, Daffyd?" Marc said angrily. "Damascus airport is only a phone call away and they'll stop the flights until they find them."

  "What makes you think they are in Damascus?"

  "You just said...where are they then?"

  "Hopefully, over the border into Israel by now, or close to it. Damascus is the logical choice, but also the easiest to close off. Not a word now," Daffyd added as they heard Bashir returning.

  Bashir smiled as he entered the tent again. "Good. Things will soon be back to normal. In the meantime, while we are waiting for our misguided friends, I think we had better continue with the translation. Are you rested enough, Dr Hanser?"

  Dani nodded. "Let me get another cup of tea first."

  "I will have a thermos of tea brought up to the chamber. Now, if the rest of you..." he gestured toward the entrance.

  "It's my turn to stay back," Doris said. "That is, if we are keeping to the same schedule as before."

  "I am feeling magnanimous," Bashir said. "You may all attend this session. Besides, I think I want the rest of you where I can keep an eye on you."

  They all trooped up to the cave accompanied by several guards whom Bashir positioned outside the chamber entrance with strict instructions to pass no-one in or out without written permission from him. The generator was started up and electric light flooded the chambers and the air pump started freshening the air. Bashir led the way and they passed into the interior of the tomb, but when they reached the vertical shaft connecting the second and third chambers, Bashir noticed Dani was missing. They went back to find her.

  They found Dani in the first chamber, staring at the large painting on the back wall. The scene showed a young woman with her back to the viewer confronted by the nine gods of Iunu. Dani held something in her right hand and they could hear her murmuring indistinctly as they drew close.

  "Dr Hanser," Bashir said. "Are you ready to start work?"

  Dani turned and stared at them, frowning. After a few moments her expression cleared and she nodded. "Yes, sorry, of course."

  "What is that in your hand, Dr Hanser?"

  "This?" She looked down at a gleaming object in her hand. "Nothing."

  Bashir leaned forward to examine the object briefly and then turned away. "Come, it is time to start work." He stooped and shuffled into the connecting passage.

  "Did you see that?" Marc whispered. "The one bit of treasure we really have found, and he can't see it."

  "What? The golden scarab?" Angela asked. "But we can see it, plain as day."

  "Yeah, but somehow, he can't."

  "It was a gift to Scarab from Atum the creator," Dani said. "I guess he doesn't want Bashir to see it."

  "Er, these are the mythical gods of Egypt we're talking about," Marc objected. He looked around at the electric lighting and the deep shadows. "Perhaps it's just the lighting in here."

  "You believe what you want," Daffyd replied. "If Dr Hanser says it comes from Atum, that's good enough for me."

  "Yes, but it was a gift to Scarab," Angela said. "Not to Dani."

  "Well, she does look like Scarab," Doris said. "Look at her likeness in the painting."

  Marc laughed. "Are the gods that easily fooled?"

  Dani shook her head. "No. The tie is of blood."

  "You're related? How?"

  "Through Seti?" Angela exclaimed. "Are you descended from the pharaohs?"

  "My grandmother was Egyptian," Dani said. "She always claimed she had an ancestress called Scarab." She shook her head. "I never really believed her."

  "Are you coming, or do I have to send soldiers to fetch you?" Bashir's voice floated out of the tunnel from the next chamber.

  One by one, they ducked down and moved through into the second chamber. Bashir was waiting for them at the top of the vertical shaft that led down to the third chamber. When the Minister saw them, he nodded and preceded them down a wooden ladder bolted to the rock wall of the shaft. At the bottom, a sealed brick doorway had been pierced and cables carrying electric power and hoses conveying air from a compressor in the main cave, snaked through into the chamber.

  Bashir stood midway down the chamber, impatiently waiting until every man and woman of the British team was in place. "This is the place, Dr Hanser." He pointed at the tiny columns of hieroglyphs. "Please start your translation."

  Dani looked around the chamber slowly before nodding. "Alright then." She turned to examine the wall. "Where was I...let's see..." He fi
nger traced the columns of delicately-drawn symbols.

  "We entered the ancient city of Ineb Hedj in force, marching the whole Heru legion through the narrow streets to the palace. The other legions..."

  "You were a bit beyond there, Dani," Marc said. He consulted a notebook. "Somewhere around her having lost the golden scarab and her companions would need to search for..."

  "Yes, I have it...right here." Dani licked her lips and knelt by the relevant column. "It says...Twenty days have passed since Ay's death and in another fifty there will be a new king crowned in Waset. If I am to avoid the fate Horemheb has in store for me, I must escape with my companions. However, we are so closely guarded I cannot see that happening - unless the gods return their gifts to me. I lost the golden scarab of Atum between Taanach and Gubla and as I cannot think how it could return to me here, I must perforce search for it there. Rather, I must have others search in my place. The next time my companions are allowed into the city, I shall have Abrim and Gershon escape. I can give them gold and jewels to speed their journey north. I only hope that they can find Atum's golden scarab and return with it before I am made Horemheb's Queen. I once took pride in being the 'Chosen One of the Gods' but I can see now that the gods choose many men and women to do their bidding and I am but one of them. I will school myself in patience and wait the unfolding of their will. If I do not have the golden scarab then perhaps their attention is elsewhere..."

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter One

  The old man shuffled through the stony desert, his worn sandals kicking up a thin cloud of dust and his staff clattering against the rocks. A dirty, threadbare robe covered him from shoulders to toes, and his head was covered in matted hair, hanging down over his robe. A beard, a few shades lighter in colour than his red-gold hair, covered most of his face, the skin around the eyes and nose sunburnt and flaking. His lips were cracked and dry and his tongue flicked out between them as he mumbled to himself.

  "Why won't you answer? Have I not done everything you asked, given up everything for your sake? Father, answer me, for I am your son..." The man stopped abruptly and a frown creased his forehead. "Son? He is the Lord and I am the son...or...or I am...and he is the sun." He lifted his face to the molten disc of the sun blazing high in a shell-blue sky, but his eyes could not see it--he could only feel the heat on his ravaged skin.

  "How have I failed you, father?" the old man cried. "Why do you hide your glory from me?" He cocked his head as if listening, but after several minutes he shook it wearily and continued onward.

  The unseen sun rose to its zenith and shadows all but disappeared. The man felt the heat beat down on his head and sought, by touch and instinct, the thin shade that clung to tall and tilted rocks. He sat, his legs drawn up to take advantage of the marginally cooler air and leaned back against the blistering stone, staring unseen over the desert. In his mind, he saw again, scenes from far away.

  Water. A broad expanse of a river and air that was moist and cool. A city, dusty and sunbaked, filled with the scents and sounds of humanity. Large, cool rooms, servants, gold arm-bands and precious stones. People who smiled and bowed, offering food--golden barley loaves, thick slabs of beef and roasted geese dripping with fat, radishes and onions, dates and melons--water-filled and succulent . The man felt his saliva flowing and groaned softly. Fine wine, tart beer, and cool river water in abundance . He heard chanting and raised his head, searching for the source of the sound before he realised it lay within his head. O Living Aten, the originator and beginning of life! When you rise on the eastern horizon, you fill every land under the heavens with your beauty . His eyes glistened and he put his head between his hands and wept for all he had lost.

  Sound intruded again, this time sharper, with a quality to it that spoke of something external. The man lifted his head, his tears already sucked dry on his weathered cheeks. The sound came again, a soft clack of stone against stone--there, off to my left . He moved his head as though he could see the person or thing that moved quietly half a hundred paces away.

  "You are welcome, stranger, though I have nothing to offer you except my company."

  There was no reply, and the man trembled, knowing in his heart that silence was not the sign of a friend. He moved his right hand, casting about, seeking a rock to wield. He nudged a large one and his hand slipped under it. Hard, jointed legs scrabbled against his skin and then his hand was pierced by a hot needle driven into the flesh between thumb and forefinger. The man snatched his hand back, a cry of pain and anguish ripped from his throat.

  The clatter of stones came again and the yipping cry of a jackal.

  "Inpu? Have you come for my soul at last?" The old man nursed his hand, already swollen and pulsing with pain and strove to drive the confusion from his mind. Inpu is a son of Re, but neither god is true--only the Aten, only the Lord God is worthy of worship. Ah, Lord, have mercy on your son. Guide me as you once did .

  Air stirred his matted hair, hot and acrid as the breath of Set and the man prayed aloud, seeking to drive the false gods from him. "Lord God, I am your servant. Guide me."

  The answer was silence, not even the sound of the jackal. He leaned back against the rock, withdrawing into himself in misery. The pain spread slowly up his arm but he ignored it, accepting it as one more proof of his God's displeasure. Shadows slid away, and the full force of the afternoon sun bathed him in a furnace that sucked out what moisture remained in his burnt and flaking skin.

  A long time later--the man could tell that the sun had lowered in the sky though he could not see it--he stirred and rose shakily to his feet. His hand and arm ached but the pain was bearable.

  The scorpion was sent to chastise, not to kill . He took this as a sign that his god still had a purpose for him. "Behold, your servant, Lord." Silence. The man started off into the desert, forgetting his staff which remained beside the rock.

  "Father."

  "What?" The man started violently and almost fell. "Who?" He looked around blindly. "Who calls me?"

  "It is I, father," a woman said. "I have your staff."

  The man felt something tapped against his arm and he grasped it, recognising the rough texture of the wood.

  "What has happened to your hand? Let me see it." Hands brushed against his still swollen arm and he snatched it back.

  "I do not need your help. Only the Lord's."

  "As you wish, father. Do you thirst?"

  The man heard the muted sound of liquid in a goatskin flask and though his throat convulsed painfully, he made no move to take the proffered vessel.

  "It is acceptable, father. The Aten desires you to live."

  The man trembled but reached out a hand and took the flask, working the bung out with a shaking hand and lifting the water to his lips. He drank thirstily before handing the flask back to the woman.

  "Thank you, Merye, my Beloved." He turned once more to face the desert and the sinking sun. "The Lord calls me."

  The woman sighed softly. "Do as you must, father. I shall follow you."

  "Not too close, Merye. I heard you earlier."

  "It was a jackal. I saw it."

  The man shook his head. "Not too close. I must offer myself to the Lord in solitude."

  "Yes father." The woman squatted on her heels and watched as her father stumbled off into the stony waste. She waited until his diminished form rippled and danced in the shimmering air before slowly following.

  The woman had seen only a dozen summers since the water-fat days of luxury as the eldest daughter of a loving father in the palace on the Great River, yet her hair was streaked with gray and her face was lined and worn by the harsh desert air. Her robe was thin and patched and the body beneath it shrunken and angular, yet her face shone with the intensity of one who follows an ideal. Merye's attention was focused on the stumbling figure of her blind father, but she remained aware of her surroundings. A sure way to die in the desert was to ignore what lay on every side, but Merye had quickly le
arned to guide her blind father through the everyday vicissitudes the harsh climate threw their way.

  The sun swiftly plunged toward the desert sand, turning golden and then red as it shone through the dusty layers of air. Merye approached her father and guided him toward the shelter of a stand of boulders. Now that the face of his god was slipping beneath the western horizon, he became more tractable, obeying his daughter as she quickly set up their campsite. A fire was necessary as it grew chilly at night, but it must be properly hidden lest the light attract unwelcome attention. Several times in the past dozen years they had stumbled across bandits or the wandering tribesmen of the deep desert. The first time, the bandits robbed them of every possession, raped the young woman, and taunted the blind man mercilessly until he lost his temper and lashed out. He was clubbed senseless. Since then, they had had nothing worth stealing and the tribes tended to leave them alone, believing the ramblings of the old man a sign he was touched by the gods. Bandits still troubled them from time to time, but Merye's increasingly worn looks seldom attracted unwelcome attention.

  They ate sparingly of dry bread and a morsel of goat's cheese before settling down beside the fire. As the fire died down and the chill of the desert night bit deeper, they huddled together for warmth. The man's hands roamed and he left his daughter in no doubt as to what he wanted of her, but she refused him, pushing him away.

  "Why, Merye?" he whined. "We used to."

  "That was different. You were king and I was your wife then as well as your daughter. Now you are just an old man cast out by Kemet and I...well, I am just an old man's daughter."

  "I am still the son of Aten, still the Anointed One of Kemet. Those things do not change, Merye. Nor do my feelings for you. Can we not take some comfort in this wilderness?"

  "Things have changed, father. Open your eyes to our changed circumstance..." Merye grimaced. "Sorry, father, it is just a saying. But you are no longer king and I have seen precious little evidence these past years that the Aten still loves you. We wander from oasis to well, begging for food, while you pray incessantly to the sun, but he does not answer. Give it up, father. Let us find a friendly tribe or a small village where we can live out our lives in some measure of comfort."