The Cobra and Scarab: A Novel of Ancient Egypt

by Glenn Starkey

Overview

Hidden for centuries by the shifting sands of the desert, scrolls are unearthed by an archeologist who believes his dream of discovering riches has finally come true. But his hopes of returning to England in glory are shattered when a Bedouin reveals that the ancient text does not hold monetary value, but instead shares the unknown truths of the beautiful Egyptian queen Hatshepsut, the treacheries of nobility, and the two men destined from birth to clash with her.

The ambitious Hatshepsut is willing to become Pharaoh at any cost, even when the price must be paid with her body and with murder. Tetimas, rightful heir to the throne, is forced from childhood to watch his kingship stolen from him by Hatshepsut and her sadistic lover, Ashwan. Yet, despite his fears, Tetimas's fate and Egypt's power are destined to become one. Haunted by tragedy, Tetimas seeks solace in war, but is willing to risk everything to save his half-brother, the true king.

In this gripping, classic historical tale, the hatred between two strong-willed leaders is about to boil to the surface. As a nation waits for the victor in a momentous struggle for the throne, a hidden history is at last revealed.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781458200693
Publisher:	Abbott Press
Publication date:	09/27/2011
Pages:	360
Product dimensions:	6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.80(d)

Read an Excerpt

THE COBRA AND SCARAB

A Novel of Ancient Egypt

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By GLENN STARKEY

abbott press

Copyright © 2011 Glenn Starkey
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4582-0069-3

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Chapter One

The second most powerful man in Egypt's government stood on the palace rooftop relishing the cool morning air. He leaned on the waist-high wall and let his gaze roam the horizon of city buildings. Within the hour the sun would be well into the sky and another day's chaotic pace of appointments and conferences would begin. But for the moment, the pre-dawn solitude provided solace.

The aging vizier felt more tired this morning than on any other. He realized, though, that his days were numbered, and before long, the burdens of office would be lifted. Pharaoh's health steadily declined, and when he died, the newly appointed king would select his own prime minister.

With a sigh of relief the vizier found himself smiling at the expectation of leaving office. My family has suffered enough these last ten years because I have been Pharaoh's right hand. I will be glad when it is over.

Unintentionally, the nobleman's gaze wandered to the enormous temples sprawled along the southern end of the city. Dawn's light was a pink hue, and he knew that by now the priests had opened the shrine housing the divine statue of Amon-Ra, the great state god, the king of gods.

The daily ritual was the same. Before dawn, the Supreme Magus Dhahab and his entourage of select priests and priestesses entered the holy of holies sanctuary to awaken the god. The sacred statue was bathed, clothed, and offered food as incense burned and prayers were read. On special occasions, Pharaoh himself would be present to make offerings at the service. But those times were few and the magus always resented Pharaoh replacing him as the order's religious leader. Commoners were not allowed to enter even the temple gateways, yet the king, as Chief Priest and Justice of the Land, bore unrestricted access to the holy of holies.

A wry grin crossed the vizier's face. Dhahab's petty jealousies were so evident whenever Pharaoh officiated the ceremony. The vizier shook his head in bewilderment and thought aloud, "We feed them, allow them to own vast estates, and exempt them from taxes, and still they are never satisfied."

"Pardon me?"

Before ever looking back, the vizier recognized the deep, booming voice of his old friend Ben-Tadji, chancellor of Lower Egypt. Turning, he brushed dirt from his forearms where he had been leaning and waited for the burly man to come nearer.

"I thought I would find you hiding up here," the chancellor said, extending an open hand.

The Vizier Zanimah took it with a firm grip, giving him a hearty shake. "No, I was not hiding. I often come here to enjoy the tranquility before being forced to sit in my office all day," he replied, swinging his free hand in a wide sweep across the horizon. After a glance over his friend, the vizier playfully slapped him on the shoulder and grinned. "You never age, do you? You look no different than when we last met."

The chancellor beamed and glanced at his stomach. "By the gods, I wish I did look the same." He paused to study the vizier. "But you look as if you have been dragged behind a chariot."

Zanimah chuckled and returned to the rooftop's short wall. He leaned against it. "No one ever accused you of being diplomatic, did they?"

"No, and no one ever accused me of stealing before, either," Ben-Tadji answered, his expression growing somber.

The vizier's smile melted. He knew what Ben was implying. It momentarily angered, and insulted him, that his friend would make such a remark.

In all of Egypt the two largest and best producing agricultural districts, the Fayum and Delta regions, were located in the lands Ben-Tadji governed. Under his direct rule were twenty nomarchs, district officials, and he in turn reported only to the vizier and Pharaoh. But a nomarch, recently convicted of stealing from Pharaoh, had been one of Ben's officials, and the cloak of suspicion cast on the chancellor's reputation had set him on the defensive.

"That was uncalled for, and you know it. You are not on the battlefield anymore where you can say what you want. No one here has accused you of stealing," Zanimah retorted.

Moving to stand beside the vizier, Ben-Tadji leaned on the wall and gazed out over the city. He inhaled hard with self-anger and then let his breath out slowly, lowering his head as he did. A tense silence passed between the two men.

"You are right," said the chancellor, head still hung down. "It was uncalled for. Ever since that damned catamite was caught forcing his scribe to falsify official records I have had everyone implying I was party to it as well. When you ordered me here, I assumed the troubles still followed me."

Standing straight, Ben-Tadji stared into his friend's eyes. "I apologize for my loose tongue. The habits of an old soldier are difficult to break. And the older I get, the less patience I have. This entire mess has set me on edge."

Observing Ben-Tadji's humbled expression made the vizier's anger fade. They had been friends too long to allow sharp remarks to drive them apart now. A piecemeal grin formed.

"You never had any patience to begin with," the vizier said. "But you were an excellent general, and Pharaoh believes you are his best chancellor of the two."

The comparison to Ben's counterpart, the chancellor of Upper Egypt, made his jaw muscles tighten. Eyes squinted, head shaking, the chancellor of Lower Egypt tried to muffle his laughter as he spoke. "By the gods, I would hope Pharaoh thinks I am better than that moronic piece of dung."

"Ben!" Zanimah's guarded look told his friend he agreed, but could not allow any more to be said.

"You know, there are times when I wish I was back in the field with my division," the chancellor remarked, turning to walk along the rooftop.

Zanimah watched him, noting the strength and vitality the ex-soldier's body retained at fifty years of age.

"By the gods, I loved it when we were on expedition to Mesopotamia, fighting our way through Syria and across the desert. When we reached the banks of the Euphrates and Tigris, I wanted to keep going, but Pharaoh held his hand aloft and said we had traveled far enough." The chancellor's voice tapered off. His face displayed the joy of reliving the memories. "I was there with Thutmose I when he erected two stelae's near the Euphrates to mark the limits of our conquests, and to show the bastards it was now Egyptian territory." He sighed tiredly. "Oh, how I remember the battles we fought, and the hands we counted to get there!"

A shudder ran through Zanimah as he recalled the counting. To this day he vividly remembered the mounds of severed enemy hands piled higher than a man. As King Thutmose I's personal aide it had been Zanimah's duty to oversee the accounting of enemy killed, and the chopped off hands were the age-old practice of doing so.

The vizier nodded. "Your RA-Division were true fighters, no one will ever dispute that fact. They always had mountains of hands everywhere after a battle. Damn it all, that was one of the worst assignments I ever had, seeing that those stinking, fly-drawing, bloody hands were counted. Did I ever tell you what those whoring dogs in your division did to my scribes?" he asked, shaking a finger at Ben-Tadji in mock anger.

"No, what did they do?" An impish grin appeared on the former general's lips.

"Your soldiers cut off the enemies' manhoods, and tied them into the hands so it looked like the poor bastards were taking a piss or playing with themselves when they were killed. It was bad enough we had to count the hands one by one, but to reach over and grab what you think is a hand, then discover what you were really holding, was sickening!"

Like a weakened dam breaking under the strain of torrential flood waters, a roar of laughter burst from the chancellor. He turned his face away.

The vizier's eyes narrowed. "You are a sorry jackal, Ben-Tadji!" He said in a loathsome voice as he placed his hands on his hips. "You ordered your men to do that!"

"No. Yes. Well, we may have discussed such a thing," stammered the chancellor, trying to stifle his laughter and talk at the same time. "I did not order them to do it, but I knew of it. My men would hide those little surprises throughout the piles, and then stand and wait for a scribe to grab one. We, I mean my men, used to get a good chuckle whenever the scribes lifted one and retched as they raced to the river!"

Zanimah shook his head in disgust.

"I remember seeing you turn green in the gills a few times too," Ben stated, eyes wet from laughing so hard.

Vizier Zanimah crossed his arms over his chest and waited for his friend to regain his composure. He found no humor in the excessive mutilations, then or now.

Observing Zanimah's stern face, Ben-Tadji took on a formal posture and cleared his throat. "I know you have always been against that sort of thing. But those were difficult times. You never saw the remains of my men after the enemy butchered them." His face grew somber at the recollection of painful memories. Years of anguish glistened in his eyes.

"My son was one of those men," Ben said, voice trailing to silence as he averted his gaze. A stoic look masked his face, and he stared out into the sleeping city. "I lost his mother shortly after his death. She never recovered from the pain of losing him. She died the same year."

"I am sorry, Ben. I had forgotten." Zanimah laid a consoling hand on his friend's shoulder and moved away, allowing him a private moment.

Noise from the streets filtered through the morning air as the sun rose over the horizon. Traders bartering for the highest price, onagers baying, and cattle bawling created a bedlam of organized confusion.

The vizier watched two boys playfully chase another in the street below.

"I wish our lives were as simple as theirs," Ben said, seeing the children that had captured Zanimah's attention. Envy carried in his voice as he stood beside his friend and watched the peasant children.

"It would be nice. Wake up each morning and your only problem for the day is to decide what game to play with friends," Zanimah replied. His gaze followed the boys until they disappeared behind a market stall.

Ben-Tadji chuckled and looked at the vizier. "Then we grow older and awaken to play political games with people who are not our friends." He shook his head lightly. "What an ironic life we live."

"Well," Zanimah said, turning his back to the street, "I asked you to come here to help me with a political game, and I consider you a trusted friend." He paused to study Ben-Tadji's face. "Pharaoh asked me to talk with you."

"Pharaoh?"

"Before we talk though, I must have your pledge of secrecy."

Confusion etched lines about Ben's eyes. His lips curled inward, eyebrows drawing into a single taut line. "Of course you have it."

"Excuse me." The vizier walked to the stairwell leading down into the palace. He clapped his hands and spoke quickly to the servant who appeared.

The servant left, but returned with slaves carrying ornately-made chairs and a tray with two silver cups of wine. As the chairs were set in place by the rooftop wall, Zanimah took the cups from the tray and gave one to his friend. A slight wave of the hand dismissed the slaves.

Waiting a moment longer, Zanimah walked to the stairwell to ensure the slaves had left. He found no one and returned. "Please," he said, gesturing with his wine cup to one of the chairs. "We should be comfortable while we talk."

The chancellor of Upper Egypt nervously took a seat and sipped his wine, all the while staring at Zanimah.

"When you return to Giza, Prince Tehutmes will be accompanying you," the vizier stated, lifting his cup to drink.

"The prince? Why?"

"Officially, to inspect the Fayum and the Delta and provide Pharaoh with a recommendation of whomever you both believe should be appointed the new nomarch of the Seventh Nome."

"And unofficially?"

"Unofficially, there are numerous reasons. Pharaoh wants you both to become better acquainted. You were a soldier and Prince Tehutmes leans more toward military affairs than political administration. Pharaoh believes he may learn faster from you." The vizier's voice held undertones of unsaid meanings.

"To learn what faster?"

"Learn how to rule as a Pharaoh." Zanimah paused, unsure of how to bring out the full truth. "Under the guise of this nomarch affair, you are to prepare Prince Tehutmes for becoming Pharaoh within one year. You shall be his personal tutor."

Ben's bottom jaw lowered, eyes steadily flaring. "You want me to tutor him, within one year, to be Pharaoh? What is Thutmose going to do, step down and make his son Pharaoh?"

"King Thutmose I is dying. Prince Tehutmes will rightfully become Pharaoh on his own soon enough," the vizier stated bluntly.

"Dying?" The chancellor spilled wine as he lurched forward in his chair. "I have not heard any mention of our king's health being bad. When did all this come about?"

"It has been well-guarded for the last year. Only his physicians and a few priests know. They have strict orders to maintain the secret or die within the hour should they ever let it slip. I do not understand all of the medical particulars, but Pharaoh suffers from attacks that weaken his body and will soon kill him."

The chancellor took a deep swig of his wine and glanced about the rooftop, searching himself for answers to his thousand questions. "Is it the dream sickness as Salitis had?"

Since the days when the Pharaoh Salitis suffered from violent rages and fell into spasmodic states of dreaming, Egyptian nobility feared it would return one day to infect another of their kings. No cure for the illness was ever found, but Salitis' vizier, Joseph, had been able to interpret the king's dreams, and by that help calm him enough to ease the effects of the disease.

"No," Zanimah replied quickly, "it has to do with his heart. It is failing him and one day will completely."

Relieved it was not the dream sickness, Ben-Tadji emptied his cup with a long gulp.

Zanimah watched the brawny man, noting how small the silver cup looked in Ben's paw-like hand.

"I can understand the need for secrecy. If such news were leaked, there could be revolts, possibly war with some of those bordering bastards. But I do not understand what I am supposed to teach a seventeen-year-old young man that he could not learn here at the palace?" Ben-Tadji set his cup on the rooftop wall.

"Suspicions will be aroused if everyone suddenly sees the prince constantly with Pharaoh. Such as the other day at court, Tehutmes sat beside his father and from that act alone questions were raised in certain circles about shifts in authority. But you can teach Tehutmes firsthand about who can and cannot be trusted, and how we oversee the nomes and the taxation. Everything you encounter politically on a daily basis, and from your military experiences, you can teach him how to best defend our country while maintaining the present control we have over our enemies. Prince Tehutmes has trained as a soldier all his life. That aspect of his tutoring should be quite easy."

"Pharaoh honors me with such a task, but frankly, I would not know where to begin," Ben-Tadji said, shifting his weight further back in his chair. "It will be difficult to correct the young man if he does wrong; especially knowing he is to shortly be our Pharaoh." The chancellor rolled his eyes then let his gaze return to the vizier.

Zanimah chuckled at his friend's apprehension. "I understand your concerns, but that has been addressed by the king. He ordered the prince to listen to you as if you were his father. Pharaoh also instructed me to tell you to treat Prince Tehutmes as if he were your own son. Do whatever is necessary in the amount of time you will have to prepare him for being the Lord of the Two Worlds."

"Treat him as if he were my own son?" Ben-Tadji asked softly. A fragment of a smile broke in the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, as if he were your son," Zanimah repeated warmly.

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from THE COBRA AND SCARAB by GLENN STARKEY Copyright © 2011 by Glenn Starkey. Excerpted by permission of abbott press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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