by Overton, Max
"The T'ere'k are here before us while your Kemetu herds are like clouds on a summer day, far off and impossible to grasp."
"They are there, Kheremu, and are yours for the taking. If you deem it worth the effort, you can claim these other few cattle on your way home as you drive your huge herd before you." Menkure spoke with finality and did not give the tall chief time to formulate any further objections. "Do you know where Prince Kashtare is?"
"Where he usually is these days--with the women."
Menkure swore under his breath. "I told him...never mind. Return to your men, Kheremu. It seems I have things to do."
Kheremu saluted again and loped off. Menkure changed course, angling back through the companies of jogging men, bypassing the herds, toward the women and children. As he went, men called out to him, raising their spears high in greeting. He waved back but did not stop, feeling the anger and disappointment grow in him.
The central body of the army followed several thousand paces behind the fighting men, moving at a slow walk and the impression an outsider would get was one of a mass of villagers heading to market. The women were laden with household goods and small children clung to their skirts or ran and tumbled in the dust. The injured were here too or at least those able to walk or limp along on crutches. Any more serious wound and the victims were likely to be left behind to follow on when they could. Some begged for a swift spear thrust to end their pain, rather than face a slow and painful death from thirst or in the jaws of hyenas. These predators followed the army in packs, picking off any man or animal left behind or falling by the wayside.
Young women were present, ranging from girl-children to nubile nymphs ready for marriage, and it was among the latter that Kashtare liked to walk. He was a tall, well-built youth of fourteen, precocious and intelligent, but for the last two years had been encouraged to think of himself as heir to the kingdom of Kemet. Kashtare had never seen this fabled land, nor had training in even the rudimentary forms of governance, but he lapped up the attention lavished upon him by young women.
Menkure found Kashtare dawdling with a bevy of bare-breasted beauties who were all cooing and giggling and flirting with him. Menkure slowed his pace, composing his face, and then blocked his way. The girls all fell silent and Kashtare, who had been talking animatedly, looked up in surprise.
"Menkure. What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing, Kashtare. Your place is with the warriors, not the women."
"I prefer the company of women."
Menkure stared at the women. "Return to your duties," he told them. With backward glances and murmurings, the girls withdrew, leaving the two men alone on the dusty plain. "So you prefer the company of women, do you?"
"Yes, they are not always talking about killing and cattle. There are more things to life, Menkure."
"How would you know? You have not lived long enough to know what is important. That is why I have tutors to guide you, to tell you of the many things you need to know. And you know what they tell me, Kashtare? That you are too lazy to learn."
"They are boring. I would rather walk with the women. They tell me things too, so I am still learning."
Menkure clenched his fists but maintained a neutral expression. "I am sure they do, but you need to know more than how to seduce a woman. For one thing, you should be up with the warriors, learning how to fight. For another, how are you going to rule a kingdom without learning how to talk to men, how to make just decisions and how to control an army?"
Kashtare scowled. "That is what you are for. Do not think I do not know what you want from this invasion. You want to rule as king."
"I cannot be king. I am only a minor noble. You, however..."
"How can I be king? My mother was Q'ema and who knows who my father was."
"Your father was the rightful king of Kemet, Djeserkheperu Smenkhkare. I have told you this. Do not say otherwise, for there are many who would dispossess you for their own jealous ends. This army that marches around us is marching into Kemet for one reason only, to put you on the throne of the Two Kingdoms, which is yours by birth."
"I did not ask for this. I was content in my mother's village."
"It has not stopped you from enjoying every young woman who threw herself down for you."
Kashtare grinned sheepishly. "Well, no, but what was I to do? Refuse?"
"What you do is between the girl and you. But having accepted the rewards, you owe the duties." Menkure swung round and pointed ahead, past the dust cloud, to the north. "There are five thousand men out there willing to die for you. Do you not think you owe them something? You are eating the best food, the freshest milk, enjoying their sisters and daughters, and when hundreds of them have died protecting you, the survivors will cheer when you are raised to the kingship to live in luxury while they go back to hardship on these southern plains. Shame on you, Kashtare, if you throw their sacrifice back in their faces."
"If you put it like that..."
"I do. Now leave these girls to their work and come and do yours."
"It is tiring running so much."
"A good leader never asks more of his troops than he can do himself. Your enemy Horemheb is like that. However, I am not asking you to run all day and fight a battle at the end of it. Just be seen by your warriors. Let them cheer you and give the salute. It is what they need."
"Alright, but not too fast."
Menkure smiled and led the youth away from the womenfolk at a trot. Many of the girls called out to him as they pulled away, but Kashtare ignored them, concentrating on keeping up with the older man. Gradually, Menkure picked up their speed, pushing the youngster, testing his endurance.
They passed the spread out cattle herds and Menkure angled away to the west, passing into country where only armed men had run. He eased the pace, giving the youth a chance to recover. Slower when we are out of sight and let him show his strength in front of others .
Menkure saw men further to the west, in a cluster, and saw a pall of dust above them in the still air. "What are they up to?" he muttered, gesturing toward them. "Shall we take a look?"
The men stood in a broad circle, facing inward, their ox-hide shields high and spears raised. Menkure and Kashtare approached slowly, trying to work out what was happening before committing themselves. A man glanced round and saw them, calling out to his fellows. The officer backed out of the circle and loped across to the newcomers. He saluted Menkure, and after a moment's hesitation, the boy too.
"What is going on?" Menkure asked.
"A lion. We were on it in the long grass before we saw it. Two men dead but it is wounded. We were just about to draw lots for the honour of finishing it off." The officer grinned broadly. "Now that you are here, we defer to the young lord." He called back to his men to wait, to take no action, for the young lord Kashtare claimed the kill.
"Me?" Kashtare squeaked. "I cannot kill a lion. I do not know how."
Menkure drew the youth to one side. "You must," he murmured, keeping his voice low. "If you retreat now, the men will never follow you."
"But I do not know how. I have never done this."
"It is not so hard. Just remember that you must not run, even if your bowels turn to water. Believe me, lad, there are worse things than death."
"I...I am afraid."
"I will come in to face the lion with you."
"Then you will kill it?" Kashtare asked, hope showing in his expression.
"You must kill it, but I will be with you to lend you my strength and my advice."
"Come sirs," the officer called. "The lion awaits his death. It is not mannerly to keep him waiting." He measured Kashtare with his gaze. "You are close to my size. I would be honoured if you used my shield and spears." He handed them over and watched as the youth wielded them, feeling their weight and balance. Another warrior gave up his weapons to Menkure and they walked slowly into the circle.
A few paces in, Menkure halted and searched the grass for sign of the lio
n. A thorn tree cast a patch of shade and in the light shadow; he saw a flicker of movement. "There." He gestured with his stabbing spear. "His ears. See them?"
"No. I...yes."
"The officer said he is wounded in the left front leg, so he will favour that side. Remember that when he charges."
"Wh...what must I do, Menkure?"
"Approach him from the side. He will have to rise to his feet to turn and face you. When he does, cast your throwing spear. Then he will charge. Face him down without moving, then as he gathers himself to leap, drop to one knee and cover yourself with your shield. Look for an opening and stab with your short spear with all your strength."
Kashtare trembled but mastered his fear, advancing half a dozen paces. He stopped, waiting for the lion's response, and when there was none, went forward again.
The lion rumbled its displeasure and the head came up, framed by a dark mane. Yellow eyes fixed the advancing man with a baleful glare. A moment later it rose to its feet and started to turn.
Kashtare ran forward another few paces and threw his long spear. The shaft flew high and the point grazed the animal's flank, eliciting a roar of anger and pain. The lion bit at the wound and then turned to face its tormentor, letting loose a shattering roar. It launched itself forward, stumbling as its weight first came on its left front leg. Kashtare took a step back and then rallied, waiting for the onrushing beast.
Menkure inched forward as Kashtare threw his spear, his own raised and ready. He found himself in an agony of indecision. Hold back and I risk his life. Without him we cannot succeed, but if I help him too much, the men will hold him in contempt and we likewise cannot succeed . The lion erupted toward Kashtare and Menkure pushed forward in support. Gods of Kemet and Nubia, help him now .
The lion bunched its muscles and sprang, favouring its injured leg. Kashtare crouched low and the beast passed over him, though a flying paw knocked him off balance in passing. His short stabbing blade swept up, its razor edge slitting the fabric of the lion's belly. The beast roared its agony and charged again while Kashtare still sprawled on the ground.
Menkure threw his spear. It missed but distracted the lion for an instant, allowing Kashtare to swing his shield across his body. Claws raked the ox-hide, shattering its wooden frame, but the youth stabbed again with his short spear even as the shield fell apart and the lion's claws scored his chest. The lion roared, saliva spraying hot in Kashtare's face, its blood mixing with his. Kashtare stabbed upward again, the blade finding its way between two ribs and into the beast's heart. It collapsed on top of the youth, and vomited a great gout of hot blood into his face.
Menkure rushed forward, pulling the lion off Kashtare, yelling with excitement and concern as the young man crawled away and climbed shakily to his feet. The officer and tribesmen gathered round, shouting and cheering, and some of the young men started to dance, leaping high, stamping on the bare earth and drumming their short spears on their ox-hide shields.
"I see a man," the officer declared. He gathered water from his men and washed the young man's wounds, binding them with strips of cloth cut from their loincloths. While he supervised this, other warriors skinned the lion, rolling up its wet hide to carry with them. They hoisted Kashtare on willing shoulders and ran off toward the other men of the army, shouting the praises of Kashtare son of Smenkhkare, lion killer.
Menkure followed along, grinning. A gamble had paid off and the young man would find it hard to return to his indolent ways now that the warriors' expectations of him were so high. They will follow him anywhere now .
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Chapter Fourteen
Djedhor's Northern Army was in an uproar. Four days before, the General's attack on the Fort of the Gulls had failed--not just failed, but had been thrown back in disarray. The Heru and Re legions had acquitted themselves well, but the Khent-Abt, drawn from the sepat of that name, had failed miserably, breaking and running from the Amorite counterattack and losing their standard to the enemy. The remnants of the three legions were drawn up in a square, Heru and Re each forming two halves, and the survivors of the Khent-Abt at attention in the middle.
Each man of the failed legion felt the contempt of his fellows and they stood in shame, their leader Djeserkare fighting to maintain his equanimity among them. A small dais had been erected near the Heru and Re standards and Djedhor stood here, grimly surveying the assembled men. With him on the dais were Mose, Commander of the Re legion, and Seti son of Paramessu, Djedhor's aide.
Djedhor, as General of the Northern Army, had been speaking for a long time, his anger slowly building, as he described the long and glorious history of the northern legions. He glossed over the recent defeat by Jebu's army when the legions were commanded by Paramessu, as his own Heru legion had been absent that day and he had fought under another standard. He dealt instead with the debacle four days previously.
"The Heru legion displayed the courage and determination for which it is known. I could name names, recount the officers and men who fought bravely that day..." He proceeded to do so, recalling not only the names of many men, but also their deeds. "The Re legion, likewise. They upheld the proud tradition of the northern legions and it gives me great pleasure to confirm Mose as legion commander. He has been acting commander, as you know, but his zeal and his ability recommends him to me." He brought Mose forward to stand beside him and receive the acclaim of the legions.
"Now we pass to an unpleasant duty. Defeat can be borne, failure can be supported in the face of a strong enemy, but cowardice never, because a coward endangers more than himself. He endangers every man who relies on him standing firm, every man who expects him to do his duty, every man who waits for him to obey the orders of his commander. When a man runs away, he shames himself and he shames his legion. When a legion runs away, it shames everyone. So, I ask you, men of the Heru and Re legions, what am I to do with the Khent-Abt legion who failed so miserably? What is the penalty for losing your standard to the enemy in the field?"
"Death!" roared the assembled legions. Some, who had friends among the survivors, shook their heads and looked away, but no-one called for leniency. Mercy was condoning the action and next time, they might be the ones who died. No, death was the only option.
"Do you have anything to say?" Djedhor demanded of Djeserkare, the Khent-Abt commander. "What can you say in mitigation of your sentence?"
Djeserkare lifted his head and stared back at the man who a few short months before had been a fellow commander. "For myself I ask nothing," he declared. "But I ask mercy for my men. They merely obeyed my orders and if they ran it was because my training and discipline had been insufficiently rigorous."
"Well said, but it is not enough. If men think they can escape their duty without penalty, no-one will fight and Kemet will be delivered to the barbarians."
"Then let us die in the service of Kemet."
"Die you shall..." Djedhor paused as Seti leaned over and murmured something. His slim youthful body contrasted with the thick-set bulk of his general. Djedhor replied, and Seti spoke again at length. The General considered the words spoken and came to a decision.
"The Khent-Abt legion will have the chance to redeem itself..." A sigh swept over the assembled legions. "The Amorite menace must be crushed and the Khent-Abt will be given the place of honour in the attack. Acquit yourselves well and you will be allowed to resume your place among the legions of the Northern Army; fail once more and not one of you will live. Do you accept?"
Djeserkare spoke for his men. "We accept, General Djedhor, and we will conquer the enemy or die trying."
The legions were dismissed and their commanders marched them off to their stations. Djedhor retired to his tent, with Seti attending to his needs, bringing him food and drink.
"The Khent-Abt gets another chance because of you," Djedhor said, "But I am not sure we have not done the Heru and Re a disservice. If they flee again, they will put us all at risk."
"
Have you decided how we are going to defeat the Amorites, sir?"
"We'll have to engage them in battle again, obviously, but in a place and time of our choosing. The trouble is, that bastard Jebu is confident now and ready to deal us a killing blow."
"A confident man may also over-reach himself," Seti replied.
Djedhor grunted and accepted a cup of wine from his aide. "You're full of ideas, lad. Where do you get them all? You're scarcely old enough to know anything about killing and confidence."
"I pay attention when my father speaks. And you, sir."
"Fair enough. Your father is a great general and second only to Lord Horemheb. You could do a lot worse than modelling yourself on either man."
Seti smiled. "My father said to look to you."
"He is kind, but I fear deluded if he thinks me his equal."
"Perhaps you would allow me to hold both of you as my ideal?"
Djedhor laughed. "You are a diplomat, and will go far, my lad. Now, apply yourself to this problem. How do we defeat Jebu and recapture the Fort of the Gulls?"
"Achieve the one and the other must follow, sir."
"Eh? How? Explain yourself."
"Well sir, we saw that our assault on the fort would have succeeded if Jebu had not attacked us while we were distracted. Taking the fort would not mean the defeat of Jebu, but the defeat of Jebu would mean we could retake the fort anytime we wanted. Thus we really only have one problem--how to defeat Jebu."
"And have you any bright ideas on how to do that?"
"No sir."
"Thank the gods for that. I had visions of you being made general of the Northern Army in my place." Djedhor laughed and drained his cup, holding it out for Seti to refill. "Do you know what a map is, Seti?"
"I think I understand the principle, sir. My father said it is like the god Re looking down on the world and seeing all the mountains and rivers and cities. We can look down on a sheet of papyrus and see the same thing if somebody has drawn them in their proper places."
"Not bad. Could you make a map for me?"