The Amarnan Kings, Book 5: Scarab - Horemheb

by Overton, Max

  "Well, er, no-one doubts Nebmaetre Amenhotep was a strong king but things sort of fell apart under his son Akhenaten. Smenkhkare might have improved things but never got the chance, and then Tutankhamen and Ay finished the heretic's job. If we had had a strong king like you immediately after Nebmaetre died, Kemet would still be a strong and stable country."

  "I have been having similar thoughts." Horemheb started pacing, slapping his fist into his palm as he walked. "If Nebmaetre had known what was to befall his beloved Kemet after his death, he would never have allowed his degenerate offspring to become king. He would have looked for a strong man, a warrior, to guide the country, even if such a man came from outside his family. He had marriageable daughters, after all. If he had had no sons, he might well have chosen a man like me--he may well have chosen me."

  Paramessu nodded sagely. "It was a tragedy for Kemet that it did not happen that way."

  "What if it did?"

  Paramessu frowned. "What are you saying?"

  Horemheb hesitated. "I'm not really certain...but if there was no record of the heretic, of the boy and Ay, then it would look as if one strong king died and another strong king--me--took his place."

  "But there are records. On documents, on temple walls, on statues, in tombs. Their names and their deeds are there for all to see."

  "I suppose you are right, but how many are there? I know that god-cursed heretic had many inscriptions carved honouring him and his god, but they are mostly in his capital city now sinking back into the sand. What of the other kings?"

  "Inscriptions are just one thing. Smenkhkare has no more than a handful, here and in Akhet-Aten. Tutankhamen has many--he built a lot of temples. Ay has quite a few temples dedicated by him too. Documents are harder to estimate--hundreds maybe."

  "Let us take the heretic as an example. No-one except a few die-hard Atenists would miss him, would they? If I had a team of masons go to Akhet-Aten and obliterate every inscription, every mention of his name, it would be as if he never existed. Another generation and even the memory of him would disappear like water in desert sand."

  "It might be done. What of the others?"

  "You said it yourself. Smenkhkare will vanish with a mere flick of my hand. The boy will take more effort, as will Ay, but I think it can be done. I'll destroy that man's tomb too," Horemheb added grimly.

  Paramessu considered his king's words for a few moments. "It could be done," he conceded, "But is it really necessary? Their reigns were short and insignificant, and will soon be forgotten anyway. Why not just leave them to fade into history?"

  "Because they offend me. A king of Kemet is semi-divine, a man-god halfway between the gods and the mortal realm of men. Being a king brings with it responsibilities and those four kings forgot that or openly disregarded their duties. They do not deserve to be thought of as kings and they should be chiselled from memory as well as temple walls. I am determined, Paramessu. Do not try and dissuade me."

  "I would not even attempt it, sir. I merely try to understand." Paramessu fell silent again. "Er, there will be a gap in the records, then. Between Nebmaetre's death and your accession."

  Horemheb now stood silent for several minutes before saying, "There is no gap. I became king on the seventieth day after Nebmaetre died, as custom dictates." He smiled at the other man. "That means that I have been king for..." he made some swift calculations, "...close on twenty years."

  "Congratulations, sir. May you be king for another million."

  "Well, another twenty maybe. I am rising sixty years now, though I'm nearly as fit as I was when I was forty. I could live to be eighty, could I not?"

  "Easily, sir. I shall pray the gods give you strength."

  "I do not see why they should not. I am a god too now."

  "Does it...well, does it feel different? Being a god?"

  Horemheb considered his answer. "Not really. I feel tired, but it has been a long day. I feel exhilarated, but how often does one become king, with the power to do whatever one likes?"

  "Perhaps you will notice a difference when you have been one a little longer."

  Horemheb looked sharply at his General, wondering if he detected sarcasm in his friend's voice. "Moving along, what are you doing about the stability of the city?"

  "I have only had a day, sir, but aside from General Psenamy and the worst parts of the Amun legion, Waset is remarkably loyal."

  "Why remarkably?"

  "The city has been the centre of power of Ay and Nakhtmin. They ruined the Amun legion between them but I have that in hand. The Sobek is absorbing the better parts and I intend to reconstitute the Amuns from fresh recruits. The Medjay police are well governed--Userhet, son of Usermontju is commander..."

  "Usermontju was one of Ay's men wasn't he?"

  "Yes, but not the son. I have heard only good things about him."

  "The priests of Amun?"

  "Bakt is Hem-Netjer and an Ay appointee. I'd say replace him, except you can't. Only the god can do that."

  "I'll have a word with him," Horemheb said sourly. "Go on."

  "Amentep is Second Prophet and Nebamen..." Paramessu saw Horemheb's questioning look and shook his head. "No, no relation to the nobleman...Nebamen is Third Prophet. Both holy men by all accounts."

  "And that, I suppose, brings us to our aborted coup?"

  "Yes sir. How do you want to handle it?"

  "I have a choice? He rebelled against his king."

  "Technically, he did not. You were only another nobleman trying to take power. He could say the same of himself. Now that you have ascended the throne it is a different matter, but he does nothing--just cowers in his house with his family."

  "Is he a threat?"

  "No. He is little more than a puffed-up frog. The real power behind the rebellion was Meryamun. I believe he organised it and knew the assassin."

  "I suppose I shall have to execute him then."

  "Or you could use him, sir."

  "How?"

  "A known danger can be watched, guarded against, but if we remove him, who is to say where the danger will come from next time."

  Horemheb smiled wryly. "There will be a next time?"

  "Of course. Power attracts wicked men as well as good. If Meryamun remains as a focus of disaffection, others will show their hands by association."

  "You have a devious mind, Paramessu."

  "Thank you, sir. There is also the problem of Menkure."

  "How much of a problem is he?"

  "I did not manage to meet him in the field before you called me back, but my scouts think he has about five thousand tribesmen. I doubt they are as well trained as four years ago and we smashed them then, so...no real problem, more of a nuisance."

  "Still, you'll need a legion to take care of them."

  "That is still to be my task?"

  "Of course. I will be busy with other duties. As soon as you think the new Amun legion is ready to guard Waset, take the Sobeks down and get rid of him once and for all. That Kashtare too, whether or not he is who Menkure says he is."

  Paramessu chuckled. "It is apt that the Sobek legion should kill him as it was a crocodile sent by the god Sobek that started this whole affair."

  "What else is there?"

  "There are a variety of land disputes up and down the river. Friends of Nakhtmin have benefitted from some dubious decisions in the courts these last few years."

  "Straightforward enough, I suppose?"

  "For the most part. I will submit a list of the more difficult cases, but the governors of the sepats can deal with the others once they have your general instructions."

  "See to it, Tjaty. You know my thinking on this."

  "Yes sir. There are a number of temples under construction. I can provide a list of about twenty. Do you want to continue with these?"

  "Yes. Substitute my name on them and make sure every reference to Ay is chiselled out."

  "Plans have been drawn up for another thirteen."

  "Look them over
and consult with Maya. If the treasury can stand it, approve them. Same conditions as the existing ones. What else?" Horemheb yawned and stretched.

  "Scarab, sir."

  Horemheb scowled. "What about her?"

  "Forgive me, sir, but as your Tjaty I must ask. Do you mean to make her queen? There was some surprise in the city today when she was not crowned."

  The king regarded his first minister coldly. "Is this my Tjaty speaking or a man who cannot let go of an infatuation?"

  "Sir, I have never hidden my relationship with Scarab. She is the mother of my son Seti, but I have put her away and she means nothing to me. What happens to her is none of my business..."

  "You have that right, Tjaty. She is my wife and her fate is in my hands alone."

  "Yes, sir...but may I ask your intention toward her?" When Horemheb did not answer, Paramessu went on. "Waset is in a delicate state, sir, following the reign of Ay. Uncertainty over a woman who is highly regarded by the common people could further destabilise the situation."

  "I will not be dictated to by the common people."

  "No sir...but your intention?"

  Horemheb glowered at his Tjaty. "By Amun's hoary phallus, Paramessu, were you always this annoying or is this because you are Tjaty? I can always change that, you know."

  "I am sorry, sir, but if I am to rule in your name, I must have the answers to questions like this."

  "Then, curse it, you shall have your answer. If anyone asks, you can tell them I hold the Lady Beketaten or Khepra or whatever she calls herself, in high regard. You may tell them that when I feel Kemet is stable, I will take a queen and you may hint, if you wish, that your Scarab will be that queen."

  "Thank you, sir. And your private intention?"

  Horemheb's face darkened and his hands curled into fists. "For your ears only, Tjaty. Scarab will remain in my household until I say otherwise. She will be allowed her women and even her friends Khu and Nebhotep, but she will be confined to the palace. She will be discreet and behave with modesty and decorum at all times, and if I decide she has been otherwise, I will put her away or send her to join the rest of her family. You will endeavour to make sure she does not escape, for if she does, your head will leap from your shoulders that same day. Satisfied?"

  "Yes, sir." Paramessu sighed and forced down the fear that suddenly gripped him. "With your permission, I shall..."

  He was interrupted by a soft tapping on the door. After a few moments, it opened and an officer of the guard stepped in. He saluted and then, suddenly realising that his general had become his king, dropped to his knees and stretched out his arms.

  "What is it, Mene?" Horemheb asked.

  "A messenger from the north, my lord king. He says it is urgent."

  "Send him in...and get up. A salute is sufficient."

  "Yes my lord, thank you my lord." Mene scrambled to his feet, saluted and backed out, returning a few moments later with a dirt-caked, exhausted trooper who stank of sweat and horses.

  The messenger dropped to his knees instantly and proffered a sealed leather bag. Horemheb took it and examined the seal, ensuring it was intact.

  "Who sent you?" he asked.

  "General Djedhor, your majesty."

  "Do you know the contents of this pouch?"

  "No, your majesty...that is, I was there but...no, your majesty."

  "How long since you were with Djedhor?"

  The messenger hesitated, and his lips and fingers moved as he counted back the days. "Ten days, your majesty...or twelve. I can't remember."

  "You have done well. Mene, take this man and feed him. Get him cleaned up." Horemheb waited until the men had left before breaking the seal on the pouch. Dust fell in an acrid cloud from the worn leather. He unfolded the stained papyrus within it and scanned the contents.

  "He must have ridden like the north wind itself to get here so fast," Paramessu commented. "Is it anything imp..."

  "That cursed fool!" Horemheb roared. "He has lost Kemet."

  "What? Who?"

  "That fornicating Amorite, Jebu, has rolled up the northern army like a reed mat and thrown it aside. Djedhor has lost four forts and had his men scattered. Ta Mehu is open to the enemy. Here..." he thrust the papyrus at Paramessu. "Read it for yourself."

  Paramessu grabbed the sheet and read it, his lips moving. He trembled when he had finished and looked up at his king with tears in his eyes. "It says nothing about Seti," he said shakily.

  "Seti? Why would it...? Ah, yes, your son is with Djedhor. I had forgotten. I am sorry, my friend, but I am sure he will be alright. Djedhor still lived as of ten or twelve days ago, and Seti will be with him."

  "I must go to him."

  "No, you will stay here as Tjaty and get the city in order. I will go."

  "Seti is my son, sir."

  "Gods, man, this is about more than your son. For all we know, Zarw has fallen and the towns and farmlands of Ta Mehu are ablaze. I will not gamble the fate of Kemet on anyone but myself. I sail north in the morning. Oh, and Scarab is to follow on the barge. See to it, Tjaty Paramessu."

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  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Yahmose had little to occupy his days and nights except sitting and contemplating the glory of his god Yah, or praying fervently to him for understanding. This was perhaps just as well, because Yahmose's body, already thin from years of deprivation, was now spiralling down to starvation and death. There was little to eat in the desert of Midian and less to drink, and Yahmose often went days without either. He grew light-headed, was subject to fainting spells and heard noises in the night. He even had visual hallucinations despite the damage his eyes had suffered. On occasions like this he would pray.

  "Help me, Great Yah. Give me of your strength that I may hear your voice alone, see your glory alone, and reach an understanding of your holy truths."

  The noises in the night resolved into voices and Yahmose willed himself to resist them for they whispered defeat from the high stony slopes and gibbered nonsense into his ears as he sat cross-legged in the mouth of the tiny cave he called home.

  "Give up," they whispered. "Go home. Go back to your wife and daughter. You are a sad old fool who sees a god where there is only the sun." A rank odour drifted across the hillside with the voices and sometimes he thought he saw a man shaped like a goat sitting on a rocky outcrop and mocking him.

  "Fool, fool, fool, your Aten is a he-donkey and the gods merely imaginings of demented minds," they gibbered. "Ta Shemau sits in sand and Ta Mehu in the water, but you stand on rock. Where are you going, Amenhotep? Who is this Amun in your name? Where have you been, Akhenaten? Why is the Aten in your name? Where are you now, Yahmose? How is this Yah in your name? Fool, fool, fool." Shapes flitted across in front of him, horrible shapes that capered and cavorted, horny hands slapped his face and thick, broken claws snagged in his hair.

  "Go away," he screamed. For days Yahmose would weep and turn away when the apparitions appeared, clutching the cold rock as if it could help him. On the days when he had found a few roots or a scuttling insect or lizard, he felt faint stirrings of strength within his limbs and dredged up the will to resist his almost unseen tormentors. After a while, he found that his god offered succour if he prayed hard enough.

  "The name of my god is a fortified city," he said. "Into it I will walk. My god gives me food and drink and lifts up my spirit. I will fear nothing while he is beside me, for the strength of god is greater than any foe. Hear me, O Yah. Help me to resist the torments of my accusers. Lead me in the paths of your righteousness, for you are the only god." The whispers died away into the voice of the wind and the gibbering into the plaintive cries of crows.

  The rains came and the thin desert soil brought forth a relative abundance. For the first time since Yahmose had left Serabit, he found enough to eat. It was not much, scarcely enough to assuage hunger, but he felt his strength returning, and with it his determination. His daily wanderings increased in length and fre
quency and he found that while Yah had not answered his prayers to restore his sight, he could at least make out vague shapes before his eyes grew tired. He wept with gratitude and what vision he had vanished as his eyes blurred over with tears. One day, several months after leaving Serabit, he was clambering cautiously in the mountains on an overcast day when he heard a voice again.

  "Yahmose."

  He stopped and listened, but there was nothing but the sound of the gentle wind, and the far-off shrill of a hawk. Shaking his head, he moved on.

  "Yahmose."

  "Who is it?" he cried out. "I have nothing but my staff, sandals and robe. Go away."

  "Yahmose." The voice was soft but commanding, and he found himself trembling.

  "Are...are you a demon come to torment me again?" Thunder rumbled in the distance as he waited fearfully for an answer.

  "I am your god."

  Yahmose fell to his knees on the stony ground, his staff clattering unheeded. "And I am your servant, Great Yah. Command me."

  "Come to me."

  Yahmose peered into the gloom that enveloped him, looked all around, and thought he saw a glimmer of light. He felt around for his staff and pushed himself to his feet. "I am coming, Great Yah." He stumbled in the direction of the light, climbing farther up the rocky slope. Thunder rolled again, closer.

  He climbed for some time, the gradient getting steeper as he went, and at times found himself edging along narrow ledges in a rock face, where the wind whistled and plucked at his robes. Yahmose could not see the emptiness beneath him, so did not quail at the prospect of a fall, but he sensed the emptiness and moved with caution. And still he saw the distant glimmer and followed it.

  He came at last to a ridge between two mountains and felt the land fall away in front of him. The light was brighter, stronger, and he thought he could see a rocky bowl at his feet. The formation was perhaps twenty paces deep and a hundred across, and was devoid of loose rock, sand, or living things.

  "Great Yah? Where must I go?"

  "Come to me," said the voice again, this time from the bottom of the bowl.

  Yahmose started downward, his sandals slipping under him until he reached the flatter ground near the bottom. The light was brighter here, though it threw no shadows. He rubbed his eyes in wonder as he saw his surroundings, not clearly, but better than he had seen for years. Ahead, he saw a tangled mass of black twigs and recognised it as a bare and leafless bush. Thunder crashed again and Yahmose felt his hair stand on end and a prickle run across his body.