The Amarnan Kings, Book 1: Scarab - Akhenaten Read online

  A small naked boy, ribs showing through his cracked and blemished skin, sat to one side working a leather bellows with slow automatic movements, his eyes unfocused and staring. The blast of air from the nozzle pushed through a reed tube to a charred brick block set into the wall of the kiln. The air made the coals glow yellow-white in irregular pulses. Ahhotep pitched a small pebble at the boy, hitting him on the shoulder. The boy jumped; his pressure on the bellows faltering as he swung his head round.

  "Pay attention, Djer. Keep a steady flow of air." Ahhotep watched as the boy redoubled his efforts, pumping a steady stream of air into the kiln. The coals became hotter.

  Did I put enough alum in ? He lifted his eyes to where his apprentice sat in the shade of the courtyard wall, idly tossing a pebble from hand to hand. "Nakht!" he called. "Get over here."

  Nakht got up slowly and wandered across the courtyard, his bare feet scuffing up the dry, powdery sand. "Yes, Ahhotep?"

  "The alum, Nakht. Fetch me the bag."

  "Which one?"

  "The one from the Dakhla Oasis, the pink alum."

  Nakht turned away and disappeared into a lean-to wooden structure at the far end of the courtyard. He reappeared a few minutes later dragging a sack behind him. Pulling it across to where Ahhotep sat, the youth dropped it. He stood back, dusting his hands. "That's the one, master. See, the merchant's mark." Nakht pointed at a series of faint symbols scorched into the sacking.

  Ahhotep opened the sack and dug his hand into the contents, letting the fine pinkish grains sift through his fingers. He stared at the fine dusting of powder on his hand then abruptly reached a decision. "We add more," he muttered.

  Lifting the bronze cup gently from its bed of coals, he set it carefully on a low shelf of charred and cracked bricks. He beckoned the apprentice closer. "See, Nakht. The glass is blue but it lacks that deep colour so loved by the nobles. We must add more alum."

  Nakht screwed up his face, glancing from the sack of alum to the bronze cup shimmering on the bricks. "But the alum is pink, master."

  "Just so, Nakht, just so. Yet by the intervention of the gods, pink turns to blue in the heat of the kiln." Ahhotep smiled and pointed at the molten blue glass still bubbling in the cup. "Ten parts of alum to a hundred of fine sand produced that. I think I must add more." He considered for a moment. "Twenty parts to start with." Taking up a wooden measure he dug it into the sack of alum, and then started sprinkling it onto the heated glass in the cup.

  The dry alum crackled and spat as it hit the molten surface, sending Nakht leaping back to avoid the hot particles. Ahhotep stirred the mixture with a long bronze rod, carefully mixing in the powder, nodding with satisfaction. He withdrew the rod, bringing with it a glistening blue tear that cracked and popped in the relatively cool air of the courtyard. The blue tear fell into the dust near the small naked boy, who grabbed at it, yelping in pain as it seared his fingers.

  "Patience, boy," Ahhotep growled. He pushed the bronze cup back into the coals and watched as Djer pumped a stream of air through the cracked leather bellows.

  Nakht sat down cross-legged beside his master and peered into the depths of the kiln. "Why do you seek such a deep blue glass, master? Your paler colours sell well enough."

  Ahhotep nodded. "True enough, but the demand is there. Mitanni traders bring in a deep blue glass from the north, but nobody knows how they make it. The Guild of Glass Makers seeks to imitate it. I have tried often enough, and I can make deep blue glass with the Dakhla alum but the glass is brittle. Something is missing, some ingredient known only to the Mitanni glass-makers. If I can find out what it is, I will make my fortune."

  Nakht grinned. "I shall enjoy working for a rich man. There are always plenty of opportunities for advancement."

  Ahhotep scowled and cuffed his apprentice, though softly enough not to cause any real pain. "You keep your light-fingered hands to yourself," he growled. "Did you think I was unaware of your petty thieving?"

  Nakht's grin slipped for a moment and he eased himself out of range of his master's calloused hands. "No, master, but I have to eat, as does my family."

  Ahhotep shrugged. "Just do not get greedy, Nakht. I have it in mind to adopt you. I have no son of my own and I want to leave my business in good hands when I cross the river and journey into the twilight."

  "Not for many years yet, master." Nakht grinned again. "And when the time comes I shall make dutiful offerings at your tomb, as a good son should...if I should happen to be a son."

  Ahhotep smiled. "Then act like a good son and fetch me some water." He watched as Nakht crossed the courtyard and disappeared into the mud brick hovel that served as a home for himself, his wife Abana, the boy Djer, and an assortment of animals. Glancing toward the small naked boy working the bellows assiduously, he picked up the now cool droplet of blue glass from the dust. He spat on it and rubbed it on his apron before holding it up to the light. A pale, clear blue, it was flawed with darker blue inclusions of imperfectly melted alum particles. A crack ran across the bead, indicative of the brittle nature of the product. Ahhotep sighed and dropped the bead into the dust.

  Nakht returned with a cup of tepid water which he offered to his master deferentially. Ahhotep drank deep, then noticing Djer looking at him, offered the last of the water to the boy.

  "Why do you want to create this deep blue glass, master, if it is so hard to make? Surely it would be more productive to make what you know?"

  "Times are changing, Nakht. The young prince from the north is an artist and loves beautiful things. Now that he is king there will be a big demand for beauty in his court. If I can make the prized dark blue glass, I will become rich...we will become rich."

  Nakht laughed. "Then we must get to work, master. I would like to be rich."

  ***

  The northern Anatolian summer was also hot and dry, though the parched countryside surrounding the Hittite capital of Hattusas still showed signs of the late spring rains. Crops ripened in the fields and the incessant rasp and whirr of insects filled the dusty air that hung over olive groves and yellowing fields of grain.

  Within the city, in a squat stone palace that in Kemet would be considered an insult to the governor of one of the poorer sepati, the Hittite king Shubbiluliuma, held court. Despite the lack of furnishings and the bare stone walls, the king himself was dressed in fine wool and linen robes, threaded with gold; and bedecked with jewelry. Before him, on the cool dimly-illuminated flagstones of the great hall, a minor taxation official groveled, accused of embezzling a small sum from the taxes gathered in his region. Pale, and drenched with cold sweat, the official babbled out a long and involved story, pleading his innocence and begging for mercy. Around him stood courtiers and soldiers, their faces held in stiff neutrality as they waited for the king's decision. The king ignored the official, leaning slightly to one side on his carved wooden throne as he listened to the murmured comments of the young man standing beside him.

  "I must have gold, Great King," the young man stated. "I have raised an army and wait only for your word to drive the Kemetu out of Syria."

  Shubbiluliuma nodded. "Patience, Aziru, you shall have it, but my treasury is not limitless."

  "It could be. Kemet is a land of gold just waiting for a strong man to take it."

  "Kemet is an ally, Aziru. Amenhotep is a friend who has promised me much gold. Should I strike at the hand that offers me gold?"

  "And where is this promised gold, Great King?" Aziru looked around the bare stone hall as if searching for overlooked riches. "It is many months since the king promised you gold, yet we have not seen it. Now there is news that the king has been struck down by his gods and his weakling son named as regent." The young man lowered his voice to a whisper. "Men are saying that Kemet will send you no more gifts of friendship, my lord, no more gold. Is this an act of friendship?"

  Shubbiluliuma beckoned to a man in rich robes not many degrees less fine than those of the Great King himself. "Mutaril, you have heard the arguments
of Prince Aziru the Amorite. What think you?"

  Mutaril bowed low. "Prince Aziru speaks words of wisdom, Great King." He straightened and, turning toward the Amorite prince, bowed again, though limiting the honour given by inclining only his head. Aziru glared but said nothing.

  "Yet he is a young man," Mutaril went on. "And young men, however wise, are not noted for their patience. Perhaps another letter to the old king, my lord? And one to the new regent also, reminding him that you keep the peace on the borders of Kemet, not the Kemetu army."

  Shubbiluliuma inclined his head in agreement. "Have letters drawn up, Mutaril. Be friendly, but firm. Remind the old king that he promised me two statues of solid gold over a year ago." He turned and regarded the young prince thoughtfully. "Tell him also we have received word that Aziru the son of Abdiashirta of Amori is raising an army. Tell him I will need gold if I am to remove this threat to his realms."

  Aziru stepped forward angrily. "Great King, I do this on your command ..."

  Shubbiluliuma raised a hand, stopping the prince in his tracks. "Do not be a fool," he said coldly. "You may be a warrior but you have a lot to learn about diplomacy and the ways of kings. Amenhotep will pay, especially if he thinks the threat is grave. When he pays, you will have your gold and your army."

  Shubbiluliuma waved Mutaril away and turned toward the still-babbling official on the flagstones of the great hall. "Silence him."

  A guard stepped forward and slammed the haft of his spear into the prostrate man's side. The official cried out in pain and half-curled his body, whimpering slightly.

  "You are guilty of theft from your king," Shubbiluliuma said coldly. "Can you repay the money and mitigate your sentence?"

  The official forced himself to his knees and, gripping his bruised ribs with one hand, stretched out the other toward the throne. "Great King, I beg for mercy. Give me time and I shall repay everything, and more."

  "So I am to wait for my money? If I allowed this, every official would do the same and my kingdom would be bankrupted." He gestured toward a captain of the guard. "Go to this man's house and confiscate his goods. Take his wife and children and sell them into household slavery. Then kill him."

  The captain bowed, ignoring the howls of anguish from the tax official. "It shall be done, my lord." He hesitated a moment. "My lord, his daughter Agippa is a comely girl, some fourteen summers and ..."

  "You wish her for yourself, captain?"

  "No, my lord, but the army brothels would pay handsomely for her."

  The king nodded dismissively. "Do so. And get that sniveling creature out of my sight." He watched impassively as the guards removed the former official, his mind already turned toward the on-going problems of Kemet, the kingdom of the Amorites and gold.

  ***

  Pa-it raised his head in the pre-dawn darkness and stared toward the eastern horizon where Khepri, the Reborn Light already paled the stars above the cliffs on the far side of the river. He dropped his mattock onto the black earth between the rows of onions and lettuce, raising his arms in a silent prayer to the rising sun. To his left, closer to the river, he could hear the cockerels of his tiny village of Akhet-Re--the horizon of Re, welcoming the new day in their special way. Named for the notch in the eastern cliffs through which the sun emerged on its daily journey across the skies, the village had always felt a special kinship with the god. Farmers like Pa-it, who for generations had plowed and harvested Kemet, the rich black soil of the river valley, knew and revered the many gods of the Two Lands, but held three in special regard. Geb, as god of the earth, gave them all growing things; and Hapinou, spirit of the Great River, gave the water and the rich flood of annual silt on which all life depended; but above all there was the sun god in his several aspects; Khepri of the dawn light, Heru of the ascending light, Re of the hot sun of mid-day, and Atum of the unified light when the great boat of the sun sank below the western horizon. Complicating matters, the disk of the sun itself was the Aten, a minor aspect of the godhead, but one which had assumed greater importance in the reign of Amenhotep.

  Pa-it did not pretend to understand the subtle distinctions between the aspects of the sun--that was the job of the priests--but he had his favorite--Khepri, the Reborn Light, sun of the dawn, the gentle aspect of a fierce god. Breaking his silence, Pa-it raised his voice in a song of praise, welcoming the new day.

  The disk of the sun rose above the eastern cliffs, the shadows racing toward the river, shortening even as Pa-it watched. Voices rose in the still morning air, happy voices on the road from the village. Pa-it picked up his mattock and walked down the rows of crops in his little field toward the small group on the road, his hand lifted in greeting.

  Asenath, his wife, led the small group, carrying a basket of provisions for the noon meal. Behind her trouped their children, two daughters, Enehy and Imiu; and three small naked sons, Min, Khu and baby Pa-it. The elder Pa-it smiled fondly and embraced his wife, leading her over to the shade of a tamarind tree that bordered on their land. Although still cool, the air was heating rapidly and shade would be at a premium before much longer. Already other families were on the road, coming out to meet husbands and fathers in the fields.

  Pa-it's wife took charge at once, leaving Imiu in charge of the baby under the tamarind tree, she directed Enehy to start watering the rows of cucumber vines. She picked up a heavy wooden bucket and walked off toward the irrigation canal. The two boys, Min and Khu were set to work pulling weeds and searching the plants for any chewing insects. These would be separated out carefully; any large grasshoppers placed in a wicker basket for later consumption, the softer and smaller caterpillars and bugs placed in a linen bag. At day's end, these would be released in the pastures near the river. Animals, insects included, could be killed for food or to protect one's family, but never wantonly. Life came from the gods; it was not for man to assume the rights of the gods.

  Pa-it shouldered his bronze mattock, a prized possession, and marched out to the rows with Asenath. She carried an old wooden hoe, hardly more than a pointed stick with a crosspiece a hand's length from the tip to allow the weight of the wielder to pierce the black soil. They bent to their task, working slowly down adjacent rows, side by side, loosening the thick loam, allowing the plants to breathe and the water laboriously carried from the irrigation canal by Enehy, to reach the roots.

  Heru the sun rose higher, the air starting to ripple as waves of heat beat off the ground. Sweat poured from Pa-it, running into his eyes, the salt stinging them. He stopped Enehy and drank from the bucket, beckoning Asenath over to share the tepid liquid.

  "You have earned a rest, daughter. Go look after the baby and send Imiu to the canal for a while."

  His daughter smiled and murmured her thanks, picking up the bucket and heading back to the tamarind tree. Pa-it watched her go, her hips swinging beneath the tiny linen kilt she wore. He frowned and turned to his wife. "You must talk to her, Asenath. Provocative behavior like that will not please the village elders."

  Asenath smiled. "She is a woman, husband. What do you expect? We should be looking to find her a mate."

  "But she is only twelve."

  "As was I when I married." Asenath turned away, bending over her hoe once more.

  Pa-it stood and stared at his wife, thinking back over the past thirteen years to his marriage, suddenly seeing Asenath not as the firm-breasted girl he married but as the careworn, thin and shrunken woman she had become. His eyes moistened and he stepped over the row of cucumbers and put his arms around his wife, kissing her tenderly.

  "What is that for?" Asenath queried. "Get away with you, husband. We have work to do."

  Pa-it smiled and with a brush of his fingertips against her arm, returned to his mattock.

  Re, the noon-day sun took up his aspect and blazed forth his radiance over the baking fields. Pa-it and his family retired to the shade of the tamarind tree for their midday meal of onions and flat baked cakes of unleavened bread. Min and Khu kindled a tiny fire and roa
sted a few large grasshoppers, their wings and legs curling and charring in the flames; their bodies crunchy with a soft center tasting of herbs.

  After the frugal meal they lay on the bare soil and dozed in the shade, waiting for the worst of the early afternoon heat to pass. Scattered over the patchwork of fields, other families could be seen taking advantage of other trees, tamarinds, palms and acacias. The buzz of cicadas soothed his tired family and they lay back, dozing in the hot, still air. Pa-it and Asenath talked awhile, of domestic affairs, of the business of the village, and the burden of taxes. He stroked her bare breasts comfortingly, neither of them aroused.

  "It is always thus," Pa-it said. "Any special event that involves the nobles means extra taxes for us. The coronation of the prince just more so."

  "I heard a rumor that the prince is not, well...not handsome like his father."

  "Oh? Who said this?"

  "Herer."

  Pa-it snorted. "How would she know?" He glanced over at his two young sons and smiled, gesturing toward them. Min and Khu had removed two large green caterpillars from the soft linen bag and were attempting to make them race along a branch.

  Asenath sat up, a worried expression on her face. "Be careful, boys. Those things have a spine on their backs." She turned to Pa-it. "Will they sting?"

  Min laughed and nudged his brother. "No, mama. Look." He prodded one caterpillar on its spine and it fell off the branch.

  "They are harmless," Pa-it said reassuringly. "Or rather, they would only hurt our crops." He fell silent for a moment before turning back to the subject of Herer. "How could she know, wife? She has never set foot out of Akhet-Re."

  "No, but her husband's cousin went upriver to Waset two months past and he says he saw the prince during the coronation procession. He said he was, well...strange looking. Not like his father at all. Either he takes after his mother or ..."