People of the Inner Sea (The Age of Bronze) (37 page)

Siptáha leaned over the edge of the balcony and repeated Mirniptáha's commands, adding one of his own.  "Put the Libúwan king before me, in addition."

Amun-musís frowned, but he was prepared.  "The evil, defeated Mirurí passed through my fingers under the cloak of night," he called up to his imperial father.  "The dog is a coward, despised by his own people.  All Libúwa curses his name and his family's, to the end of time.  They will appoint one of his brothers to rule their blighted Red Land, in his place.  But never again will any desert chief dare to cross the boundary of your nation, O Great House, Mirniptáha, may eternal life, wondrous prosperity, and glorious health be yours, forever and ever!"

"He escaped, did he?" Siptáha asked scornfully.  "You will answer for it, if he leads a second invasion of Mízriya."

Officers entered the palace of the citadel, as the two royal brothers exchanged words.  The written reports on the booty were soon in the king's unsteady hands.  "Read the lists, Siptáha," the old man ordered, handing the rolls of papyrus to his tall son and interrupting the man's argument with the governor below.

Siptáha dutifully read the counts aloud, over six thousand tokens indicating those slain on the battlefield, and nearly three thousand prisoners taken.  Although horses were few, the captured cattle numbered more than a thousand.  Three thousand and more sea vessels of various kinds and materials had been collected, and well over a hundred thousand weapons, counting swords, the bronze points of spears, and arrows.  Mirniptáha was roused to unusual enthusiasm by these accounts, although his royal son often stopped in his reading to frown at the heaps of treasure below the balcony, squinting in disbelief.

Each time Siptáha paused, the assembled nobility bowed at the waist, raising both hands in praise of their monarch.  "Not one of the traditional enemies of Mízriya dares hold up his head," declared a hefty official during one particularly lengthy hesitation, feeling the need to fill the silence.  "You have trampled all Nine Bows beneath your glorious sandals, O son of Ra, shining on your throne, may life, prosperity, and health be yours for millions and millions of years!"

"Libúwa is utterly and completely destroyed, all because of you, O glorious and noble sovereign!" called another.

"Náshiya is plundered of everything of value, at your brave hands, O savior of the holy Black Land!" sang out a third.

"All the lands have been pacified under your beneficent reign," cried a fourth, "to the very ends of the earth!"  In a great clamor of voices, the high-born strove to outdo each other in praise of their ruler.  The noise and the glittering metal below the balcony pierced the veil of age and illness that had gripped Mirniptáha for so long.  A bit of color returned to his cheeks and his bony frame straightened, despite the weight of his ornate collar and crown.

"It is time for the allotment of royal gifts," the king announced in a voice that was deeper and filled with more vigor than the officers and nobles had heard from him in several years.  Libúwans and northerners were quickly apportioned among the high-born Mízriyans, Odushéyu falling to Siptáha's ownership, Idómeneyu's son to Amun-musís.  Horses, goats, and weapons, the lesser prizes of war, went to the foreign officers of the armed forces, leaving the more valuable women and cattle to the native troop leaders.

"The rest that still live will fill the temples of my divine father, Amún, along with all the vessels of stone and precious metal," the king announced, rapidly losing interest and energy.  "Brand the prisoners with my name, so that all who see them will remember my generosity to Amún-Ra, who sired me.  Have them driven south, to work the gold mines of the god in Kaush."

The priests of Amún came forward at a trot, bowing and praising the Great King's generosity.  Over the pile of riches allotted to their divine lord, they prayed and sang magic incantations, dedicating the vessels to the deity with the head of a ram.

Kneeling in the courtyard, their arms still pinioned at the elbows, the captives moaned at the thought of their fates.  "Mining is the worst kind of work," Tushrátta's men told each other.  Idómeneyu's followers agreed, when they understood what lay ahead.  "We will all be dead within the year."

"May Amún now accept the sacrifices," the oldest holy man sang out, at the close of the religious ceremony.  His assistants dragged the bound leaders of the defeated enemy to the edge of the courtyard.  As the priests resumed their chanting, their hands rising toward the Ak'áyan and Assúwan lawagétas, Bikurnár's men bound the high-ranked prisoners to the pillars of the royal house so that they could not move.  Idómeneyu trembled.  Odushéyu's former qasiléyu begged for mercy.  The Lúkiyan, Tróyan, and Kanaqániyan leaders silently hung their heads uncertain of what was to come, but dreading it all the same.

Mirniptáha descended the stairs of his palace and approached the pinioned lawagétas.  Without emotion, the old man lifted his royal mace.  Grasping the first prisoner's hair as the man cried out in fear, the king swung his stone-headed scepter and cracked the captive's skull.  Residents of Manufrí and Mízriyan soldiers cheered, as blood and brain matter spilled over the It'ákan's bare shoulders.  The other prisoners groaned and shook with fear, watching their companion collapse.  In the retinue of Amun-musís, Idómeneyu's son began to wail, as he realized what his father faced.

Odushéyu whispered a relieved prayer of thanksgiving that it had been his subordinate and not himself who had just expired. "Owái," the exile gasped, "Lady At'ána, spare me from such a fate and I will never kill another man who begs me for mercy, I swear!"

When done with this act of war, Mirniptáha let his bloodied weapon fall to the hard ground, his gnarled hands trembling.  The mace clattered to the courtyard pavement, scattering crimson drops.  Siptáha caught the heavy implement of war and handed it to the shorter but stronger governor, Amun-musís.  His forehead furrowed with concern, the tall Siptáha moved closer to the king, his hand at the aged monarch's elbow.

The Great House now lifted a gleaming sword, with some difficulty, preparing to dispatch the second foreign leader, a kinsman of Ainyáh's from Kanaqán.  "Salám, Great King," the prisoner called out in desperation, "peace!  My men and I are not your enemies.  We are mercenaries only.  We bear no malice toward Mízriya.  Surely the wondrous and divine offspring of the sun's disk, the Great House of the Two Lands, may long life, endless prosperity, and health be yours forever and ever through all eternity, surely you will pay more for our services than these wretched, miserable, slavish Ak'áyans."

Mirniptáha stood on unsteady feet, holding the bronze weapon over his shoulder.  His toothless mouth opened and closed, but only the sound of rapid panting came from his bloodless lips.  Siptáha silently moved behind the monarch to help support the sacrificial weapon as Mirniptáha hesitated.

At the other side of the Great House, Amun-musís encouraged Mirniptáha to accept the Kanaqániyan's offer.  "Libúwans from the west and these eastern sea traders are familiar enemies to us.  That is to say, their kinsmen are nearly as common in your own army as Káushans.  We know how to deal with them."

Mirniptáha nodded.

"Release the Kanaqániyan and place him and his kinsmen in the army," Amun-musís called out.  Bikurnár hastened to carry out the order.  The prisoner threw himself at the Mízriyan monarch's feet, loudly swearing his loyalty to the Black Land.

Bikurnár dragged the captive to his wobbly feet and Mirniptáha passed on to the next captive officer.  Tushrátta raised his head at the monarch's step, saying, "Great King Mirniptáha, are you not bound to my overlord by treaty?"

The aged, southern emperor stumbled backward and Siptáha had to support the monarch's bony arms to keep him from falling.  Mirniptáha's face remained as pale as death, his limbs shuddering.  Despite the heat, he no longer perspired.  "Treaty?" the Mízriyan sovereign repeated, without comprehension.  He coughed weakly, putting a hand to his sunken chest.

"His overlord is your brother Great King, Tudqáliya of Náshiya," Siptáha explained quietly.  "Your divine father, may he rest in Ra's horizon, signed a treaty with Náshiya, long ago, agreeing to exchange any prisoners taken on land or sea.  You cannot kill this man, O golden Harú, life, prosperity, and health be yours for millions of years."

But Amun-musís disagreed vehemently.  "Náshiyan men openly fought against us in the delta," he pointed out.  "They were the ones who violated the old treaty, not us.  It is clearly no longer in force or else Tudqáliya himself is a treaty-breaker."

"Release the prisoner," Siptáha called out, nevertheless, and the aging sovereign nodded his assent.  "Let the Tróyan go, as well.  Have their countrymen rounded up and imprisoned in the store-houses for now.  We will deport them later, after we have negotiated with Tudqáliya for a payment to make up for our losses."

Bikurnár scowled as he obeyed the tall official's order.  As he half-led, half-dragged the Lúkiyan and Tróyan from the courtyard, he warned them, "You have only delayed your fate, not escaped it.  Emperor Tudqáliya will have your household goods confiscated when you return to him.  Your wives and children will be sold into slavery, your parents killed.  You two will face a dreadful penalty for making war without your Great King's approval.  Your eyes may be burned out with red hot pokers.  Or your hands and feet may be cut off, so that you will die slow and agonizing deaths from the rotting wounds.  If you survive, you will live the rest of your days in poverty and misery, as beggars."  As the chastened Assúwans were dragged away to be held in a separate camp, they groaned.  Bikurnár was probably right, they knew.  They could expect nothing better, in those evil days.

The Mízriyan king stepped forward once more, urged on by Amun-musís, who now presented a spear to the monarch.  Mirniptáha drew back the lance to deal the death blow to the final captive.  Idómeneyu shouted in desperation, "Great King, I am not an Ak'áyan.  I lied before.  I am a Lúkiyan, a Náshiyan, I swear by Tarqún!"

The Kep'túriyan's son, prevented from going to his father's side by other captives, shed copious tears, repeating Idómeneyu's words.  "We are Lúkiyans."

Mirniptáha had not hesitated in his pronouncements for the others, though he repeatedly pressed a hand over his heart, his eyes rolling back in his head.  Now, leaning heavily on Siptáha, the Great House was silent, staring in bewilderment at the frightened man before him.  Mirniptáha did not know what to make of this barbarian.  "Our ancestors never used such a northerly people as mercenaries, Siptáha," the old man said quietly.  "Advise me, my son.  What can it mean, that Mízriya has added a new name to the traditional list of enemies?  Is this a sign of disfavor from the gods, to their own son?"

Unnerved, Siptáha suggested in a whisper, "Leave this captive bound and staked until the high priests can attend you in a consultation with Ptáha and Amún.  The gods themselves should be consulted on this matter."

Mirniptáha closed his eyes a moment, deep in thought.  Opening them, he said weakly, "Have the prisoner…"

But Amun-musís interrupted impatiently.  "O Great King – life, prosperity, and health – let me point out that Ptáha promised his imperial son victory in the battle, and, in fact, the god kept his vow.  There can be no question, therefore, of divine support for the Great House."  With a respectful bow, he continued, "I suggest that this leader of the sea people be enlisted in my regiment, as a test of his fighting abilities."  The ailing sovereign listened gravely and nodded ever so slightly.

But the taller Mízriyan prince, Siptáha, poured contempt on such a notion.  "Our army's strength has always been in its archers and charioteers," he argued.  "Most of these sea people are only spearmen.  We have no need for more of those!  The Sharudín are quite sufficient."

"What do you say to that, Bikurnár?" Amun-musís asked, seeing that the mercenary commander frowned.  "Are your numbers so plentiful and your enemies so few that you have no need of reinforcements, even in these unsettled times?"

Bikurnár bowed respectfully to each of the imperial officials and to the feeble Great House.  "I suggest that the Ak'áyans be shipped to Assúwa along with their allies, the Lúkiyans and Tróyans.  Tudqáliya can probably be induced to pay for the whole lot, especially if not informed too precisely of its makeup.  In any case, no one will suspect anything until the whole shipment lands in Náshiya.  After all, these pale foreigners all look alike.  If Tudqáliya does object, when he discovers this flock among his returned subjects," he shrugged and smiled, "well, he has far too many problems inside his own borders to come across the sea, later, to trouble Mízriya about such a petty issue."