by Overton, Max
I journeyed east, into the desert, with my daughter and my four faithful men, and we kept to ourselves for several years, attracting as little attention as possible. Listening to tales around the camp fires of the various tribes we encountered, we found that the woman known as 'Scarab' had become larger than life, performing deeds impossible for a normal woman, and righting wrongs wherever they occurred. In some places she was almost worshipped, and revered in others, but twenty 'Scarabs' could not have done all she was credited with doing. Meanwhile, the real Scarab had slipped from view, and if I kept my right eye shut or grew my reddish hair over my face, nobody thought me anything more than an ordinary Khabiru woman.
Irauset grew into a happy and boisterous young girl with five doting and loving parents. I taught my daughter scribing skills and the history of Kemet, while Khu showed her elements of the healing arts and Nebhotep told her to question everything and reason on the evidence. Terrik and Salom taught her to handle a dagger and to wrestle, and the women of the tribes we stayed with instructed her in womanly skills such as cooking and weaving and the care of children.
As I knew he would, Horemheb swiftly forgot me, and busied himself with the governance of his Kingdoms. He was certainly a capable leader, and had already, in the short time he had been on the throne, strengthened the government. He shook up the treasury and made taxes fairer, he built temples up and down the river, and he fostered the worship of all the gods, but especially Amun and Heru. Horemheb took his duties as king seriously and made a real effort to be a father to his people. Every day, he sat in the Hall of Justice in Ineb Hedj, listening to petitions and grievances, dispensing even-handed judgments. Several times as year he journeyed out to the towns and cities in both Kingdoms, critically examining the workings of government in each area, holding court and listening to the people. I suppose that being a commoner himself, he was more inclined to hear their voices. I only ever knew one man more loved by the common people--my brother Smenkhkare--but his reign was all too short and now people are starting to forget him.
That is perhaps the only real fault I find in King Horemheb. He hates the memory of my brother Waenre Akhenaten and seeks to destroy all his works. No doubt Akhenaten was wrong to worship one god above all others, but much more so to seek to eliminate the other gods. The kings that came after him began the task of restoring the gods to their former glory, especially Amun, the god of my family, but Horemheb carried this restoration to an unhealthy extreme.
He descended on what was left of Akhet-Aten, City of the Sun, and systematically destroyed the worship of the Aten in that place, removing all instances of Akhenaten's name. If any sculptures or paintings survive with my brother's likeness, it is because his followers hid what they could, burying them against a more relaxed rule. Horemheb did not stop there. Every instance of Akhenaten's reign was removed from the record; my brother's cartouche was chiselled out of the rock and Horemheb's own name substituted. Slowly, all sight of Akhenaten faded from documents and fell in fragments from temple walls, his name and his deeds surviving only in men's minds.
I could live with my eldest brother's slow destruction for he had brought this fate on himself by ignoring our gods, but then Horemheb took it too far. My brother Smenkhkare was the next king to fade into oblivion as his name was chopped out of the records, and then my youngest brother Tutankhamen bore the brunt of his enmity. I sorrowed, but could not see any way to halt or even slow this rewriting of recent history. The only part I fully agreed with was Horemheb's removal of Ay from the public record. A few years after this reorganisation of history started, Horemheb made his final pronouncement. He was, he said, the legitimate successor to my father Nebmaetre Amenhotep and had ascended the throne upon the old king's death. The current year was thus Year 27 of King Horemheb's reign, not Year 7. Except in people's fleeting memories, the reigns of four kings had ceased to be.
Horemheb stayed in the north for the most part, living in Ineb Hedj where he was closer to the northern borders and the restless foreign nations. The Amorites and Hittites have been quiet these last few years, ever since King Aziru died at the hands of their famous general, Jebu of the Golden Hand. Jebu has disappeared, and no-one knows if he is dead or alive. Certainly, with him gone, the Amorites are no longer a potent force and the new king Abi-Hadad is content to live in peace.
The governance of the southern Kingdom is in the hands of Paramessu, operating out of Waset. Horemheb has given him virtually a free hand and Paramessu is all but king in Ta Shemau, the land of reeds. He rules well, by all accounts.
Our son Seti is growing up. He married Tuya the daughter of Raia, Lieutenant of Chariotry and had a son of his own that he called Ramesisu. The army is in Seti's blood and although young, he is rising through the ranks quickly, thanks in equal part to his natural ability and to the patronage of his father the Tjaty. He will make a strong king one day--ah, did I not mention that?
Horemheb's Queen, Mutnedjmet, produced two stillborn daughters and then died giving birth to a third. He will die childless, so must look elsewhere for an heir. Luckily, he had a competent administrator in the form of Paramessu and a few months after Queen Mutnedjmet's funeral, Horemheb announced that Paramessu was to be made Crown Prince. If all goes according to plan, he will be king after Horemheb and Seti after him. The new dynasty is vigorous, producing sons, and Kemet's future looks bright.
Menkure lives still in Nubia, and rumour says he has a son, or else the lad is the son of Smenkhkare. None know for sure and he exploits that uncertainty, appealing to disaffected elements in the southern Kingdom. Paramessu, and more lately Seti, have made efforts to find him, but Menkure knows the area well, and erupts from the Nubian wilderness, executes a quick raid on a town or farms, and disappears again before a legion can be mobilised. One of these days they will have to mount a serious expedition to rid the Kingdoms of this nuisance.
During one of my visits to my Khabiru friends I heard about a desert holy man, a wild-eyed bearded apparition that walked in from the wilderness, preached for a few days and disappeared again as if the sands had swallowed him. I thought little of it when first I heard the tale, for a people oppressed are always looking for wonders, but the more I heard the more my interest was piqued. I left word that a message was to be sent to me when he next appeared, and this duly arrived from the Khabiru workforce at a town called Hatwaret, a place where the 'heqa khasewet' or foreign rulers had had their capital before my ancestors threw them out of Kemet. Horemheb had decided to rebuild the fortifications and brought many Khabiru in to do the work.
I arrived in Hatwaret just in time, and met the holy man on his way out of the town. He was accompanied by a younger woman, though both of them looked worn and old.
"Peace be upon you," I said politely.
"And on you daughter," the man replied.
"I have heard you preach to the captive Khabiru. Which god sent you?"
"There is only one--'I am' sent me. He is the Lord and the God of the Khabiru and he bids me take his people out from the land of affliction."
I looked closely at this dirty, unkempt man, and something tugged at my mind. Perhaps it was the way he pronounced the word 'Adon' in Khabiru that was so similar to 'Aten', or perhaps it was the way he held his head, but recognition and wonder flooded over me. "Waenre?"
"Ah." The man cocked his head and looked at me, and the young woman whispered something in his ear. "I was once this man but I am reborn as Yahmose, for I have been born of Yah. Merye tells me I knew you."
"If you are...were Waenre Akhenaten, then you gave me my name when I was a child in my father's house in Waset."
"And what is your name, daughter?"
"Scarab. You named me for the beetle that rolls the dung."
His brow furrowed. "I seem to remember...something...you are Beketaten, my sister!"
I smiled at my brother, returned from the dead. "I was once, but I too have been reborn. I am now Scarab again."
"I have heard stories of a Scara
b."
"Do not believe everything you hear."
"Does the God Yah speak to you also, sister?"
"The Voice of God may be heard in many places, Yahmose. Who is to say that your god and my god are not one and the same?"
"Have you come to join me in my preaching? The Khabiru listen but they do not act."
"How can they act? They are captive. If you want them freed you will need to ask Horemheb in Ineb Hedj."
Yahmose shook his head and looked away. "I am but one man. Why would the king listen to me?"
"Why would he not? Does not God speak through you?"
"Yet I am afraid. Even his soldiers hit me when I preach."
I thought of how I could help my brother without getting involved in his task. "I will send you a helper."
I sent him Jesua, and I think Jesua was glad to be doing something after all these years. I think he was more inclined to follow a madman than a woman. He and a few other members of the Pillar served as an unobtrusive bodyguard for Yahmose when he preached in the towns. Yahmose grew in confidence and after a time, decided he would petition Horemheb face to face.
At about this time, the flood failed. Kemet relies on the annual flood, the waters spreading over the fields and depositing a new layer of silt. Until I went to Nubia and experienced the cataracts of water that fell from the heavens, I thought that the god Hapy somehow swelled the water until it overflowed its banks, but I now know the cause of the flood is of a more natural, though no less miraculous, origin. Anyway, the flood failed, and then again the next year, and suddenly the granaries were empty and starvation reared its grinning skull over the Two Kingdoms.
Whispers started, saying the gods were displeased, and into a court rife with rumour walked Yahmose and Jesua, demanding that Horemheb release the Khabiru from their bondage. They could not have picked a worse time, and the king had Yahmose and his daughter Merye thrown into prison, but contented himself with ordering Jesua beaten and thrown out of the city. Jesua came to me, hot with anger, and demanded I help him.
I told him I would ask of the Nine, and their answer was unequivocal. I was to go to Horemheb and secure the freedom of Yahmose. Then I was to render him such assistance as he needed.
I sighed. It seemed my years of peace were over. In Year 13 of Horemheb's reign, or Year 33 as he likes to style it, I went to see him.
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Chapter Thirty-Four
Ineb Hedj had changed little in the intervening years. The population had grown a little bit, the streets were more crowded and the temples more numerous. An air of prosperity pervaded the city despite the famine that was starting to bite in the countryside. The king made sure that adequate food supplies reached his capital city, even at the expense of other places.
One thing that brought a smile to Scarab's lips was the new, more robust slabs of wood installed at the North Gate. Nobody troubled the trio as they entered and made their way slowly through the crowded streets toward the palace. Scarab had only brought two companions to the city as she had taken two years before. Khu was one of them as no force on earth short of death would prise him from her side, and Salom was the other, determined after all this time to fulfil his protective duties to the 'Eye of Geb' and her chosen companion. Nebhotep had chosen to stay behind, and Terrik with him.
"I don't know if you have noticed, Scarab," Nebhotep had said. "But I am not as active as I once was. I don't think I could survive a journey like that, and even if I did, I'd hold you back."
"Are you sick? Let me heal you, dear friend."
"Not even you can heal old age."
Scarab took lodgings in the city and the three of them shared a pot of beer and a plate of bread and vegetables while they decided on a plan of action.
"I don't even know where the prisons are," Khu said gloomily. "Without even considering how we break him out."
"The 'Eye' can do anything," Salom said. "No man can stand against the gods."
"We are not going to help him escape," Scarab said. "Even if we wanted to, I'm not sure we could. The power does not work like that."
"So what are we going to do?"
"I think we are just going to have to ask the king nicely."
Salom grimaced, and Khu snorted.
The next morning, they presented themselves at the Hall of Justice. The scribe in charge eyed the woman and two men askance and smirked. "A marital dispute, eh? No? Why should I care? Do you have someone to speak for you, or will you argue your own case? The latter?" He shrugged. "Take your place in the queue. With luck, you'll get to see him by noon."
The disputes ahead of them dragged on, but just before noon, as the king was starting to look toward the door that led to a private dining chamber, the scribe signalled them forward.
"Advance to the marked place, kneel and extend your arms in supplication. Wait until you are given permission to speak."
Scarab smiled and turned her hood back, revealing her long red hair. She strode forward to the mark but did not kneel or lower her gaze. Salom and Khu stood on either side of her, though they did not look directly at the throne.
"Kneel," hissed the scribe. "On your knees."
Horemheb looked up from a document on his lap and his forehead knotted at the sight of the three standing people. "I have not given you permission to stand in my presence," he said coldly. "Resume your position or I will have you taken out and manners beaten into you."
"I will not kneel before you, King Horemheb. You have done my family an injury and I am here to seek redress."
The court gasped collectively and the guards behind the throne started forward, drawing their swords. Horemheb waved them back. "Who are you that you dare insult me in my own court?"
"Do you not recognise me?" Scarab opened her right eye.
Horemheb's eyes opened wide. "You? What...?" The king fell silent for a few moments, and then called the scribe in charge over and whispered to him.
"The King's Justice is ended for today," the scribe announced loudly. "All are to leave the Hall of Justice save the three petitioners. The king will hear them in private."
The Hall took many minutes to clear, people jostling and dragging their feet as they sought a last glimpse of the daring red-headed woman. The guards were sent in to clear the hall and they crossed spears and shoved the last people out unceremoniously. At last, they closed the doors and stood to attention by them, blocking any thought of escape by the three persons standing in front of the throne.
"What do you want, Scarab?" Horemheb asked. "I thought you had decided to leave the running of Kemet to me. Have I not lived up to your expectations or something?"
"No, you have ruled well for the most part. I can forgive you an occasional misstep, like removing all mention of my brothers from temple walls and steles, but now you have gone too far, though I imagine it was through oversight rather than intention."
"You are very kind," the king said dryly. "Tell me how I have offended you."
"You have locked up my brother for no reason other than he annoyed you. Even the meanest of your subjects in entitled to a trial before sentencing."
"Your brother?" Horemheb frowned. "You have no living brothers."
"I have one still--Waenre Akhenaten. He did not die when Ay sent him out into the desert. He survived and still lives."
"Merciful gods, Akhenaten is still alive?" The colour slowly mounted in the king's face as he considered Scarab's words. "He thinks to mount the throne again, does he? Well, we shall see about that."
"Be easy, Horemheb, he has no such ambition. He would as soon forget he was once king of Kemet. His thoughts lie elsewhere."
"He is in my prison, you say? I think I would know if the king...a former king was in prison. Has he changed much...?"
"In nearly thirty years? Of course. Oh, and you locked up his daughter too--Meryetaten."
"I think I remember. There was a bearded fool and a woman, and a rather rude man. I had the fool and his wife t
hrown in a cell, and the rude man beaten."
"I apologise if my comrade forgot who he spoke to and was rude, but I sent him to protect and guide my brother."
"Then he failed in his mission. And he was no ruder than you are being, Scarab," Horemheb said with a touch of asperity clinging to his voice. "Have you forgotten I am king of the Two Kingdoms?"
"Have you forgotten I was crowned king long before you took power with your armies? I also have royal blood, Horemheb, born of a legitimate king and his reigning Queen, so let us not talk of rudeness and who has the higher rank."
Horemheb ground his teeth but otherwise controlled his temper. "Why are you here?"
"To have my brother and niece released from prison."
"And if I choose not to?"
"Then I will call on the gods to aid me."
The king looked at Scarab and her companions for a long time, weighing her words. "Commander Ikeni swore you used magic to escape," he said. "I thought your gods had forsaken you."
"They renewed their covenant."
"Well, I will not test their powers. Did you really raise those men from the dead in Khmun a year ago and still that storm in Per-Wadjet?"
Scarab smiled but did not reply. Circumstances being what they were, no answer was more valuable than denying such fanciful tales.
"Is this what I have to look forward to?" Horemheb asked. "You mean to oppose me again?"
"I have no interest in opposing you--except in one regard. Free my brother Akhenaten and my niece Meryetaten."
"And if I do not, you will plague me and make my old age a misery. If you were anyone else, I would just remove you. You could not trouble me dead." Horemheb drummed the fingers of his right hand on the armrest of the throne. "The protection the gods offer you must have limits. After all, I am divine too, as Per-Aa, consecrated in Amun's name. Would they really kill me to protect you if I ordered those guards over there to kill you?"
"I cannot answer that, Horemheb, but even if you lived, many others would die--and for what? For your pride? It is only a little thing I ask. Free my brother."