Chapter 9
By the time Meren reached the palace precinct, the king had already finished his sacred duties and was at one of the practice areas near the royal quay on the west bank of the river. As he dismounted from his chariot, Meren surveyed the temporary encampment of the king's war band. Shields set into the earth formed a perimeter patrolled by the royal bodyguard. The fourth side of the rectangular enclosure was formed by the riverbank. Within the enclosure, grooms had unhitched horses from their chariots and tethered them to munch from feed baskets. An open tent had been erected where the king's campstool, armor, and extra weapons lay.
Near a stand of palms, two of the younger officers wrestled to the taunts and jeers of their fellows while others from the Valiant Bows regiment embedded five copper targets in the earth at the opposite end of the camp. Meren glanced over the riverbank. One of the royal warships had anchored offshore. Sailors stood watch on its deck for crocodiles and hippos, as did dozens of others in skiffs that formed a ring around one bearing the king.
Tutankhamun was standing between two older officers. He saw Meren, shouted, and waved the staff he was holding. Meren bowed to the king, then handed the reins of his chariot to a groom and walked to the riverbank to join Horemheb and Tanefer, who were among the king's advisers in attendance. Charioteers of the king's war band lined the bank on either side of this group to watch the coming contest.
Cheers rose from the group surrounding the wrestlers. One of the men had been pinned to the ground. Meren glanced at them as he greeted his friends. Horemheb nudged him with an elbow and nodded in the direction of three priests hovering at the edge of the water. Meren recognized the first prophets of the gods Ra, the sun falcon; Montu, god of war; and Set, who ruled chaos and the desert. The priests watched the king, their bodies arching out from the riverbank, noses almost twitching with unrest.
'Fools,' Horemheb said under his breath. 'Every time the king engages, they fall to praying as if they'll be blamed for each cut and bruise. They've already performed their sacrifices. What else is needful? The gods will watch over his majesty without their hovering.'
On the water, a second skiff approached that of the king. Two men used poles to maneuver their craft in a charge at the king while a third attacked with a staff. The attacker was only a little over the height and weight of the king. Tutankhamun raised his own staff and blocked an overhead blow, then brought his weapon underneath to rap his opponent on the thigh.
The opponent swept his staff in an arc, aiming for the king's chest, but Tutankhamun used the momentum from his last blow; his staff swung up and cracked against the other. At the same time, the king leaned back, lifted his leg, and rammed his foot into his opponent's chest. The man overbalanced. His arms flailed, knocking one of his comrades with his staff as he lost footing and plummeted into the water. A cheer went up from the charioteers.
Meren smiled as the king waved his staff at them. The victory had been real. It would do the boy no good to allow him false accomplishments. Indeed, to flatter him unnecessarily would ruin any chance of his developing into a warrior who could lead the army and the kingdom. While the king's skiff headed for shore, the royal charioteers broke into groups for archery practice.
Meren turned back to Horemheb and Tanefer. 'His majesty seems more cheerful than he has been of late.'
'Ha!' Tanefer slapped Horemheb on the shoulder. 'That's because we persuaded Ay to sit in judgment of Prince Hunefer's suit this morn instead of the king. His majesty hasn't seen a dispatch or treasury report or a foreign emissary since midday yesterday.'
'Good,' Meren said.
Horemheb grunted and sliced at reeds with his riding whip. 'Enough of these pleasantries. I've let you be long enough, Meren, and you know why the king's majesty sent for you.'
'Your mood is as foul as that of a wounded ox,' Meren said.
Tanefer chuckled. 'He's unaccustomed to someone disagreeing with him. He spends all day with soldiers who do nothing but agree and all night with a wife who sees nothing but perfection in him.'
Meren held up a hand before Horemheb could retort.
'I know my fortnight is up, old friend.' He glanced at the river to see that the king's skiff was almost with them. 'Where is Maya?'
This time Horemheb snorted like one of the chariot horses. 'Hiding. You know how he dislikes proper argument. He sent word that the burdens of harvest recording would keep him away from the council for a few days.'
Meren forbore from mentioning that Maya had invited him to his house for the afternoon meal. He was accustomed to the treasurer's wriggling out of situations in which he would have to directly confront more forceful characters than himself. And Horemheb was by far the most forceful of the king's councillors, emphasizing his points and views with growls, shouts, and hammerings of any object within his reach. Yes, Maya disliked such violent manners. If Horemheb was losing his temper frequently, Maya would bolt into a hole until the warrior calmed a bit.
As the general opened his mouth to question Meren again, the king's skiff came aground. Councillors, priests, and officers bowed, but Tutankhamun ignored them, leaped ashore regardless of water and mud, and stomped toward the group that included Meren. As he reached them, he signaled to Meren and kept walking.
'Lord Meren will attend my majesty. Tiglith, water.'
The king's Syrian body slave darted forward with a golden cup. Tutankhamun snatched the cup and kept walking. Meren gave Tanefer and Horemheb an inquiring glance, but they shook their heads. He followed the king to the shade of a palm tree, wishing he was with Kysen inquiring into a simple priest's death.
'Well?' Tutankhamun said as soon as he reached the tree.
'What is thy will, O golden one?'
'Don't pretend you don't understand what I'm asking, Meren.'
The king emptied the cup of water down his throat, and Meren took the cup from him.
'Very well, majesty.'
'Then what's your answer? Do we campaign next year?'
'It is necessary, divine one.'
He saw the spark that glinted in the boy's eyes and inhaled deeply. 'However, I can't recommend that the golden one lead the campaign without first giving him at least some prior experience.'
That spark fanned into a fire, and the king's jaw began to work.
'And just how does the golden one obtain battle experience without going into battle?'
'Indeed, majesty, thy heart guides thee to the crux of the question.' Meren rushed on as Tutankhamun began to swear under his breath. 'Therefore I recommend that thy majesty begin to attend small campaigns against the bandits and renegades that plague our villages from time to time, and perhaps the greater ones conducted against the barbarian tribes of Kush that threaten our southern forts.'
The king burst into smiles, then laughed and clapped Meren on the back. 'I knew you would change your opinion.'
Meren held up his hand. 'A moment, majesty. There is more.'
'What is it?'
'If thy majesty excels in these maneuvers and encounters, all will be according to thy wish. But if not…'
The king made a rude gesture such as all boys make. 'By my ka, Meren, you're a worrying grandmother. I'll do excellent well.'
Meren felt a twinge of remorse for the way he closed in on the boy, but he did it anyway. 'Then the divine one will deign to give me his word that, should ill befall him in these skirmishes, he will abide by my decision to keep him from battle for another year?'
The smile vanished. 'You tricked me.'
'No, majesty,' Meren said. 'Consider this a wager between the two of us. Against a year's delay, you wager that you'll gain the skill necessary to lead the army by the end of Inundation next year.'
'Horemheb, Tanefer!' the king shouted.
The two men ran over to them while the king began to stomp back and forth in front of Meren. When they arrived, he pointed at Meren and glared.
'He's tricked me. I must practice at war on thieves and barbarians.'
