The Amarnan Kings, Book 5: Scarab - Horemheb Page 12

  Jebu stared hard at the Shechite, tumbling the scarab carving idly in his hand. "You talk as if this carving had the power, not the witch. How can that be?"

  "Scarab always claimed her power came from her gods."

  "Then if she has the power, why does she not walk out of the White City? Horemheb and all his legions could not stop her."

  "For the same reason she did not walk out of your camp, General. Horemheb has friends close to her heart in his power. She will not risk their lives."

  "So how would this carving help her?" Jebu asked. He looked more closely at it, running his fingers gently over its lines and ridges.

  "It...er, would put her mind at ease. As I said, it was her mother's."

  "I do not believe you. A bauble is insignificant. It could not mean that much. And this..." Jebu tossed the carving high and caught it again. "This is worthless." He threw it into a corner of the tent, where it lay unobtrusively and almost invisibly in the dust. "Take this man out to the perimeter and let him go."

  "Please, General, let me take it with me."

  "No, if for no other reason that it means something to you. Tell the witch she may have it if she likes, but I want good gold for it. Now, get out of here before I change my mind and send your head back to her with the message."

  The guards hauled Abrim to his feet and hustled him out of the General's tent. When he was alone, Jebu went over to the carving and picked it up. He blew the dust off it and rubbed its carved features absently as he considered the possibility that the witch woman had something to add to the political and military situation. Several minutes later, he sighed and tucked the carving away in his clothes chest.

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  Chapter Eleven

  Lord Raweret wanted nothing more than to return to his estates over the river and immerse himself once more in the belief that he was the worthy son of an illustrious father, but his half-brother Lord Nebamen would not allow him this escape. He ushered him into a side room along with two of the lesser nobles who had accompanied them from the reception hall.

  "You are a fool if you think you can just return to your pleasures as if nothing has happened," Nebamen said. "We have shown our hand to that toad Paramessu, and unless we do something about it, Horemheb will have us executed when he arrives in Waset for his coronation."

  "Perhaps if we retire to our estates, he will forget about us," Raweret said hopefully.

  "Little chance of that. We must act."

  Raweret looked frightened and started edging toward the door. Nebamen strode across to him and gripped his arm tightly, causing the weaker man to cry out.

  "We are in this together," Nebamen snarled. "Betray me and if Horemheb does not kill you, I will."

  "Wh...what can I...we do?"

  One of the lesser nobles, a young man who had evidently been born with good looks but had softened his hard edges with good living, watched the interplay anxiously. "It is a fair question, Lord Nebamen. Tjaty Paramessu is in a strong position."

  "Do not call him that, Lord Meryamun. He may have a piece of papyrus naming him to that high office, but only the king can create a Tjaty."

  "Horemheb is king in all but name," said the other young man, Lord Sephotep. "In a month, he will be, and then resistance is futile unless you have an army at your back."

  "If you both feel that way, why did you throw in your lot with me?" Nebamen asked.

  "You are one of us," Meryamun said. "You have lived your life in Waset and in the palace and know how things should be. The last thing we need is some coarse soldier bringing his peasant ways into the city."

  "Indeed," Sephotep agreed. "That would destroy the very fabric of civilized society."

  "So I repeat Lord Raweret's question, Lord Nebamen," Meryamun said. "What can we do to prevent this?"

  "There is only one thing we can do. We must rise up and remove Paramessu. Then I will be crowned king and Horemheb will kneel before me or die."

  The other lords looked around anxiously, worried that a servant might overhear them. "You talk treason," Sephotep whispered. "Our heads will fall if this gets back to Paramessu's ears."

  "Then we must make sure that his ears first hear it after his head has been removed," Nebamen said. "But you are right to be concerned. We could easily be overheard here. There are always enemies in the palace. Come to my palace on the west bank tonight. We can talk then."

  The four men left the room together but quickly separated, each man dealing with his own affairs within the city. Nebamen crossed the river in the afternoon, on his private barge, Raweret accompanying him. The lesser nobles followed after dusk, dressing plainly and taking only a few men with them as bodyguards. They met at Nebamen's residence--which was small compared to the royal palaces, but sumptuously constructed and decorated.

  Lord Nebamen greeted his guests and ordered wine, leading them in inconsequential chatter until the servants had left the room and the doors were locked behind them.

  "We can talk now, without being overheard."

  "You are sure?" Sephotep asked nervously.

  "Yes. I have Libyan guards stationed outside--men who do not understand Kemetu."

  "Awkward," Meryamun remarked. "How do you give them orders?"

  "I have an interpreter of course." Nebamen waved a hand dismissively. "Now, to business. I am sure Paramessu will tighten his control of the city very soon, so we must act now or not at all."

  "Agreed, but how? Paramessu has the Sobek legion at his disposal. The Amun legion too, by all accounts. Are you going to use a handful of household retainers to defeat them?"

  Nebamen smiled. "We are not without resources ourselves. All we lack is the will to act."

  Meryamun shrugged and sipped at his wine. "I have the will, my lord, but I need a target, as do we all. Lead us, and you will find us loyal."

  "Then let me enumerate our strengths and weaknesses. Paramessu has the Sobek legion, some sixteen hundred strong. Nominally, he commands the Amun legion too, badly under strength--say, seven hundred. Now I say nominally, because those men are all Waset men and are all loyal to Amun's city and Amun first of all. I am the eldest scion of Nebmaetre, dedicated to Amun..."

  "Er, actually I am eldest," Raweret interrupted.

  Nebamen scowled. "Only by two years, and my mother was one of Nebmaetre's wives..."

  "A lesser wife."

  "But a wife nonetheless," Nebamen continued. "Your mother was a servant, no more than a concubine. Of course my lineage takes precedence. Do you dispute it?"

  "No, I suppose not," Raweret mumbled.

  "Then where was I? Ah, yes...the Amun legion knows who is the true successor in the house of Amun. Psenamy will obey me."

  "General Psenamy is under house arrest," Sephotep observed. "Paramessu will no doubt retire him and appoint another man, one of his cronies."

  "We will release Psenamy from his captors. Then he will command the Amun legion to rise up."

  "We are still outnumbered two to one."

  "How many men in your household can bear arms, Sephotep? And you, Meryamun? Raweret?"

  "One hundred, perhaps."

  "Eighty."

  "About the same."

  "And I have a hundred too," Nebamen said.

  Sephotep counted on his fingers, his lips moving quickly. "A thousand, maybe a few more. We are still outnumbered."

  "Add in the Medjay. They are loyal to the city."

  "Twelve hundred."

  "How many slaves have you got?"

  "You would arm slaves?" Meryamun looked shocked.

  "If necessary. How many?"

  Meryamun looked at the other lords. "If we were to take such a drastic step, another thousand between us."

  "Then the odds now favour us," Nebamen said.

  Meryamun drained his wine and poured himself another. He looked troubled. "So we have two thousand men, but we face experienced battle-hardened troops under a proven general. We need something else if we are to ac
hieve success."

  "I will not give up on this," Nebamen declared. "I am the eldest son of Nebmaetre Amenhotep..." He flashed a challenging stare at Raweret, but the other man said nothing. "...And I should be the next king. I will announce my intentions to the city and they will flock to my banner. You will see, faced with a popular uprising, there will be nothing Horemheb can do."

  "What if he has himself anointed king?" Sephotep asked. "And if he marries this Lady Beketaten, he has a good claim. Will we have to wage civil war?"

  "We must strike first," Nebamen said. "I will announce myself at dawn tomorrow."

  "And Paramessu will arrest you an hour later," Meryamun said. "We must indeed strike first, but in a way to neutralise the opposition."

  "How?"

  "I do not know. I will need to think on it."

  "Then please do so. In the meantime, I think a little supper?" Nebamen led his guests into a dining chamber where his servants had prepared a light supper--golden bread, hot from the ovens, rich yellow butter, fat-marbled slabs of beef, water fowl, broiled fish, fresh lettuce, radishes and onions, figs, lemons and melons, with beer, milk and wine to drink.

  Servants were present throughout the meal, so the four lords talked of inconsequential things while they steadily ate their way through the repast. Meryamun ate less than the others and seldom spoke because he was thinking about how they could thwart Horemheb's ambitions.

  The night was warm, so after the meal, Nebamen led his guests to a flat rooftop where an ornate chair and cushions had been arranged. They waited while the servants brought out fresh wine and cool river water, and then retired, leaving the rooftop vacant except for the four lords. A single torch burned near the stairs and two impassive Libyan guards tended the sole access.

  The heavenly body of the goddess Nut blazed above them, her splendour only slightly diminished by the fires in the temples nearby. Nebamen sat on the chair, automatically raising himself above the other lords who had to make themselves comfortable on cushions.

  "Lord Meryamun, have you considered our course of action?"

  "I have, Lord Nebamen, though it calls for strength and determination..."

  "Which we have," Sephotep interjected.

  Meryamun grimaced. "If we do not, we shall fail and our lives will be forfeit. My plan calls for the elimination of Horemheb, Paramessu and Lady Beketaten and the immediate anointing of Lord Nebamen as king. Remove Horemheb and there is no other candidate for the throne; kill Paramessu and no-one can successfully oppose us in Waset; execute Lady Beketaten and no-one can marry her; crown Lord Nebamen and the legions must perforce give their allegiance to him."

  The other three men stared at Meryamun in varying degrees of horror. Raweret visibly quaked at the thought of violence, while Sephotep quailed at the prospect of personal involvement in such a risky venture. Nebamen considered the plan, amazed at its audacity, but at last nodded.

  "It might work."

  "It will work," Meryamun said. "Providing we plan it well."

  "Have you given thought to that too?"

  "In outline only. The difficulty will be finding an assassin prepared to lose his own life carrying out the executions."

  "I have plenty of slaves who will do as they are ordered," Nebamen said.

  "I would not want to risk failure by using a slave. I have found them useful as long as they are supervised, but likely to run off if not. The assassins of Horemheb and Lady Beketaten must journey to Ineb Hedj to carry out their tasks."

  "Could we not wait for them to come to Waset?" Sephotep asked. "They are coming here anyway."

  "The longer we wait, the more secure our enemy becomes. As it is, it will take ten days downriver to get to Ineb Hedj. They would have to leave immediately to get there before they come upriver."

  "If you do not want to use a slave, then who?" Nebamen asked. "What fool will you find to throw away his life?"

  "A criminal. One who is under sentence of death."

  Sephotep laughed. "He will just run away."

  "Not if he has a family. You would offer a reward to his family if the job was carried out. Select the right man and he would carry it through for the sake of his loved ones."

  "Hmm." Nebamen thought for several minutes. "But can you find three such men, and quickly?"

  "I do not know," Meryamun admitted.

  "Do we have to kill Lady Beketaten?" Raweret asked. "She is no real threat in herself. Her only value is in marriage. If we did not kill her, we only have to find two assassins."

  "I could marry her myself," Nebamen mused.

  "Unless she looks like Heqet the frog," Raweret laughed.

  "Even so, I could bed her for the sake of the people and put her away afterward."

  "We might be able to kill Paramessu without using an assassin too," Meryamun said. "He is relatively unguarded, so a small body of soldiers could take him."

  "If so, we only need one criminal. That does not sound too hard."

  "We do not have long," Meryamun cautioned. "We must find that criminal and send him on his way within the next few days. Once he has gone, I will organise the force that kills Paramessu. Sephotep, you have a nephew in the temple of Amun. Can you arrange a meeting with Hem-Netjer Bakt? Even if the Horemheb assassin fails, I want Nebamen crowned before Horemheb gets here."

  One of the stars in Nut's body slipped and fell across the sky in a flash of light. The men gasped and turned to follow the streak as it plunged into the eastern desert.

  "A sign," Meryamun said. "Our venture is blessed by the gods." He turned to face Lord Nebamen and sank to his knees on the cushions, holding out his arms. "May you live a million years, King Nebamen."

  After a moment's hesitation, the other two men joined Meryamun on the cushions, offering up praise to their fellow nobleman, addressing him as the next king of Kemet.

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  Chapter Twelve

  Scarab had not realised just how much reliance she had placed on the members of the Pillar finding her golden scarab until they returned empty-handed. She had been able to bear the slow binding of the nation in bands of bronze as Horemheb grasped the reins of power, and the preparations made for her own marriage just prior to the coronation, because she had thought that neither would take place. Dreams of rebellion and escape had filled her thoughts, but those depended on her having the favour of the gods, and Atum's golden scarab, in her hands once more.

  Abrim and Dahvin returned to Ineb Hedj only days before the fleet carrying Ay's body was due to sail upriver to the burial valley. Horemheb would accompany the coffined body and Scarab would sail in another barge with her ladies-in-waiting and guards. The arrival of the two men, one grievously wounded, was like a splash of cold water on her dreaming state.

  "I am sorry, my lady," Abrim declared, his face an agony of despair. "We had it and we lost it."

  "I cannot pretend I am not disappointed," Scarab said. "But such things are in the hands of the gods. Where is it now? Do you know?"

  "The Amorite general has it--the one with the golden right hand. I forget his name."

  "Jebu," Khu said. "I remember him, though he only had a bronze spike on his right hand then. The golden hand must be new."

  "Yes, it was Jebu. I do not know what he will do with it, but he saw it only as a carved rock. Of course, he may just throw it away."

  "We must trust in the gods," Scarab said. "What of Dahvin? Is he badly hurt?"

  "I think he will survive," Khu said. "Nebhotep and I examined him and cleaned out his wounds."

  Abrim shook his head wonderingly. "I saw that. Binding up a wound I can understand, but cleaning it? It just makes it bleed again. And then smothering it in honey...if I did not know and trust these men, I would doubt their sanity."

  Khu grinned. "A clean wound heals better, and a honeyed one does not rot. Do not ask me why, but Nebhotep says it works and I have seen it."

  "I am glad Dahvin will live by a physician's art, seeing as I can
not heal him," Scarab said, "But I grieve for the loss of Gershon and Hakkan. The Pillar will miss them."

  "What now then, my lady?" Abrim asked. "Shall I raise the Pillar in strength and wrest back the golden scarab from the Amorites?"

  Scarab shook her head. "Djedhor and his legions failed to defeat Jebu less than a month back. I doubt a hundred or so men will succeed where he failed."

  "We must do something."

  "I will think on it." Scarab sighed and turned away. "You have leave to go Abrim...you too, Khu. I do not feel like company."

  The two men bowed and left her quarters, Abrim worried and Khu scowling. They kept their silence until after they passed the guard post and had their names written down by the captain of security.

  "Once she would have asked after the dead and wounded first," Khu growled, kicking a stone down the dusty street. "She has changed; got harder."

  "She is the Eye of Geb," Abrim declared. "I would not presume to judge her."

  "I have known her for twenty years. When I first saw her she was a naked child in a servant's kilt, lost and afraid. She was very different back then, more caring."

  "We all change, Khu. Remember she is royal and chosen of the gods. The burdens she bears would unman any of us."

  "Yes, I understand that, but to think of a thing before she thinks of a man--and men who gave their lives for her."

  "Gershon and Hakkan knew the risks, as did Dahvin and I. I would willingly die for her, should she ask it of me."

  "So would I," Khu said quickly.

  "I know. You are privileged among the Pillar, knowing her that long, loving her that purely. Do not let resentment or anger fill your heart, Khu. She will need you in the days ahead."

  The two men walked through the streets of the city, down toward the markets, where Abrim and Dahvin had taken lodgings. They shared a room, a mud brick lean-to shelter attached to a small house with a courtyard. A fisherman owned the house and lived there with his wife and five small children. It was anything but quiet, day and night rent with the cries of the older children, the screams of the younger and the yowling of neighbourhood cats as they contested for fish scraps. The place smelled of fish, both from the nets hung out to dry in the courtyard, and from the ever-present aromas of grilling food. Flies swarmed and droned around a wooden block where the fisherman's wife, Rea, gutted and prepared her husband's catch for sale and consumption.