Tears of the Pharaoh

                                     Tears of the Pharaoh







This is the land of the Pharaohs, and it is not all desolate and barren. For this is the cradle of civilization, and the birthplace of empires.

But this is not a tale of the rise of Egypt. No this is a tale of war and the courage of the human spirit.



His heart pounded ferociously in his breast, like a feral beast trying to smash free of its confinement. His breath came raggedly as the arid air sears at his lungs, drying the perspiration that had drenched his entire body. The adrenalin coursed through his veins, making his hands tremble as he gripped his khopesh sword in his fist.

When he had left with Phath division from Pi-Ramesses the blade had felt nearly weightless and as he had felt invincible, for he belonged to the Pharaohs army and that the Gods watched over them.

But now he stands on upon the theatre of war, holding a sword that he can be barely raise. His shield, which sat upon his other arm, hung limply by his side, and he feared he could not lift it even if King Muwatalli himself stood before him.

“Forward!”

The captain yelled, and the sea of humanity around him surged forward. Without thought he began running on numb legs. The training taking over, as his mind began to assimilate the situation happening around him. Plus the flow of his countrymen rushing around him carried him onward.

As they came to the crest of the dune, the field below them was still not in view, the dagger in its gilded scabbard bounced against his thigh.

Dashing uphill through the sand felt as if he was wading through the Nile River at low tide. Once more his heart begins pulsating, though not from the excursion, but from the anticipation of mortal combat. The pit of his belly begins to feel hollow as it drops downward as his groin crawled upwards. His mouth had gone dry from the lurking sense of fear and thrill.

The blistering airstreams raced against his face, bringing with it small particles of sand into his eyes. Rapidly blinking those, trying to clear it, the back of his hand came away damp from the tears that ran from them.

He crests the apex of the dune.

His heart ceases to beat in mid impel as his flesh pimples shockingly as the vista below him immobilizes him. His mouth falls open as his eyes broaden in utter disbelief. He austerely stands there staring down.

Below him, were nearly fifty thousand men who were cutting each other apart brutally, as nearly thirty thousand chariots smashed into each other or into massive loops as they fired nearly continuous volleys of arrows. He had to squint against the reflective light off the weapons and armor of all the men below.

His mind froze at the sight before him.

“Hathor, Mut and Mentu protect me!” He whispered breathlessly.

Suddenly his reverie was shattered by the cry to his left.

“Heads up, incoming arrows barrage!” The voice shouted.

Rasui, for that was his name, his head snapped upward and stared for a moment at the giant shadowy cloud overhead. Out of the corner of his eyes he watched the shadow of it sweep over the landscape.

He could feel the heat of the sun beating down upon his shaved head, when his veins froze in terror. The shrieks of the battlefield washed over him like a tidal wave, staggering him back quite a few steps. The screams of the dying give the impression to fill the atmosphere with their anguish. The ringing notes of metal against metal or metal against flesh strangles the afternoon air. The thundering of the horses hooves shudder the earth as they storm transversely the sands and banks.

The most disturbing of all was the absolute silence of the dead.

He was shaken awake by the dreadfulness ahead of him and without thought dropped to his knees as he raised his gravestone shaped shield above his head and held his breath.

From beneath his covering, he looked around as saw most of his comrades kneeling like himself, but then saw others either running forward to out run the attack or fleeing away from the battle in stark terror. For either, it mattered little. 

Against his shield, it felt like someone was standing over him and taking a hammer against the flat of it.

Initially there was one thud, then two, then three. After that, they all came at once and faster then he could count. His arm shook as the adrenaline surged through him again as his arm befalls to the numbness from all the mauling of the arrows.

All around him small explosions in the sand erupted as thousands of arrows struck the ground.

The men who had run were cut down mercilessly. Most had died outright, but the ones who had not writhed and crawled screaming over and over for help.

To his right the warrior next to him fell to the ground as several arrows ripped through his shield and tore into him. Dark, brick colored blood poured from his wounds as he fell soundlessly to the ground.

He watched as the blood was almost immediately consumed by the ever thirsty desert sands.

“Forward, for the glory of Ramesses!”

He heard his captain scream out. Somehow his voice carried over the din of anguish that milieu him.

Once more, Rasui was up and with his sword knocking the protruding arrows from his shield before racing forward again. His white skirts whipped out around and behind his legs as he began to descend down the dune.

He sweated heavily under the leather armor his father had given him. His father had fought with Ramesses’ father King Seti I.

Once more the call of arrows came. He skidded to a halt coming to his knees as his shield came up over his head. He nearly screamed when he looked down and saw a man lying before him. His mouth was open in a silent scream as his sightless eyes stared up at him. The tail feathers of the arrow stuck out of his left eye. His face was covered in nearly black ooze with rivulets of white, like the yoke of a cracked egg.

He turned his head away as he began to shiver violently and closed his eyes. The images of his father came to him. Of the days when he would stand in the fields and stare off at nothing as his hands shook. Or the days when he thought he was alone and would simply sit down and weep softly to himself as he rocked. Then there were the nights when in the middle of the night he woke up screaming and crawled on the floor looking for his weapons.

He was beginning to understand that now.

The shower of arrows rained down upon him once more. He put his head down, grunting from every strike against his shield. He could feel the spray of sand against his face as arrows struck the ground near him.

Once the screams and howls of the arrows had passed his captain screamed for them to move again.

Rasui leapt to his feet, avoided looking down at the corpse and began sprinting forward. As he ran he looked out before him. Where he was, was still desert sands, but ahead of him was the beginnings of the plains of Kadesh, where not to far from where he was, is the great temple of Amon at Al Karnack and the rock-hewn temple of Abu Simbel, of which Ramesses himself had built. The reason they were all here was this temple, for the Hittites had for years now been trying to these lands.

In the center of the battlefield was a massive stone outcropping. To the left of it was the River Orontes and to the right the River Euphrates. Between these ancient rivers this bloody holocaust raged.

Into the wizened grass he ran, his shield held slightly before him his sword just behind him. As he ran, his breathing sounded hollow in his ears.

His black eyes scanning before him, looking, looking for his living God, the reason they had turned and were charging straight into the front ranks of the Hittites. For on their march, Ramesses had gotten word that the Hittite army was further away then it was and his division had pulled away from the main body. That was the last they had heard of them, till now. It was said that he and his men had been ambushed by the Enemy and had been cut off. And so a battalion broke off from the Phath division, and was driving into the ranks of Hittites to try and found their lord and living god.

Up the hill he was running now. His comrades surrounding him as he ran, their cries of battle echoed around him. His was heart thudding like thunder in his ears.

Suddenly before them, as they crest the hill, the first ranks of Hittites infantry stood before them. Their dark skin was a contrast to the shinning armor that encased them.

As he closed the distance between him and the enemy forces, he studied the men before him. These men stood before him, staring back at them. Most of them gripping their weapons, nervously, as they watched the Egyptian forces closing in on them.

It struck him suddenly, that most of them were as scared and nervous for the promised violence of combat. He saw that several of the men eyes were mostly white, as he was sure that his own eyes were. It made him made him pause as he realized how very human they were. He wondered if any of them were artistes, like him. Before he was here, he had painted the eyes of the Gods for the temples of Thebes.

He wondered if he would ever see the temples of Thebes once more.

The Hittites were covered in bronze armor, which came from their shoulders and wrapped around to their knees. As he drew closer he saw that their armor was made up of what looked like small scales, like the overlapping scales of fish. Upon their long curly black hair were helmets that encased the wrapped the head and curled up and over the top like a snail’s shell. They held spears and swords that looked like they were fashioned after the Greek Xiphos.

Cries rang out from behind the Hittite lines and the men crouched slightly preparing for impact as their archers raced back away from the imminent danger zone.

Rasui looks up at sky, and watches as black winged shapes glide and wing in wide lazy circles overhead. Their calls can barely be heard over the death throes and violence and chaos that had engulfed him.

He looked back and wondered how easily within in all of this his mind seems to keep wondering, yet everything around him seems as clear the morning air at the beginning of spring.

All around him cries and screams erupted as they closed in on the Hittites. Their voices focusing their anger fear and rage out and to encourage those that fight with them.

He brings his shield up as he begins to scream with wrath.

Within the blink of an eye he smashes into the first rank of men, and feels the impact of the man before him smashes into his shield. The impact stings his arms and jars his teeth. He hears the man before him screams as he moves his shield to the side and slashes nearly blindly ahead of him. Then he feels something warm and wet on his hand and forearm, and looks down to see in astonishment that they are covered in dark stains of blood that run from his arm to the earth below him.

In his shock he nearly lets go of his khopesh, his eyes snap up to the man before and sees him holding the side of his neck as blood squirts and pours from between his hands and fingers. His eyes wide in terror and horror as his mouth open and closes. The only sound he produces is a gurgling sound, though the sound of rushing air comes from between his fingers. His eyes look to the Egyptian as if beseeching help from him, even though he had giving him his mortal wound.

He reaches out with a blood soaked hand, laying it on the front Rasui’ leather armor, and then it slides down the front as he falls to the ground, leaving a trail gore behind it.

He stares downwards at the dying man, as he begins to shake violently, and before he can stop it bends over and vomits upon the man on the ground. His head swims and he feels as if the world had turned upside down.

But he had no more time.

Another Hittite began to scream in hatred as his eyes burned in absolute anger. The ferociousness of the naked hatred startled the Egyptian Artist as the man screamed and hurled his spear at him. He barely got his shield up deflecting the projectile away from him. His heart leapt up into his throat as his hands began to shake wildly.

A massive strike smashed against his shield, then again and again it came. The raw power lashing out at him struck a cord of fear he had never known before. He had utterly forgotten about the sword he had in his hand as strike after strike landed against his shield.

All around him were sound, the screams of hatred and anger, the cries of the wounded and the laments of fear and terror as well as the sounds of metal against metal. The heat of the day beat down on him as did the smells of the battlefield.

Those smells were of sweat, of blood, of urine, and fear.

No longer was this a battle, for it had become a free for all as the lines broke down to nearly a thousand men cut into each other with only the thoughts of murder and survival on their hearts and minds.

His foot slips on the blood soaked grass and he falls, barely missing the swing of the Hittite warrior had delivered. His face came down into the fresh wound of the man whose throat he had cut. The blood ran into his mouth and covered his face. Its warmth felt as if it where poison, for in his mind it was burning his flesh.

At that moment, something broke within him. For it was something old and nearly forgotten to the civilized soul. His body trembled as he shout riotously, swallowing the blood that was in mouth, his eyes gone nearly white in his blind terror. He leapt to his feet, still screaming as he violently shuddered.

He heard something and looked to his left and saw the man who had been attacking him. Instantaneously he stopped screaming and all his rage and fear centered upon this man, and he became like ice. His soul froze and his heart breathe its last breath.

The Hittite lunged at him his sword coming across the air for his head. Rasui leaned back and ducked the attack and then leapt forward and smashed his shield at the man who had not expected a counter strike suddenly.

He felt the crunch of bone and flesh beneath his shield then he pushed with all of his might pushing the Hittite backwards. Before the other man could recover, he moved his shield away and saw that the others face was covered in wild torrents of blood from his lips and nose, which ran down the bronze scales of the armor that he wore.  He whirled around with the curved sickle part of his sword and took the head off the other man. The headless body silently fell to the ground as if it was a puppet and someone cut the strings. He lost sight of the head as it fell into the throng of humanity. 

A burst of pain shattered all semblance of reality on him. He turned his head to look at his side and saw the shaft of a spear sticking out of his side. He watched in removed fascination as his blood began to flow freely around the iron shaft. With a mighty swing of his sword he severed the shaft and turned on the man.

But the other man was quicker, and leapt bare handed upon him. His elbow smashed down on his nose. His world seemed to burst completely white as his head swam. He began to blink as multicolored flashed mushroomed before his eyes. He felt as his shield was ripped from his arm.

His eyes focused and he looked up as the man pulled out a long curved dagger. The Egyptian pulled his legs up and kicked the Hittite as powerfully as he could in his chest flinging him backwards for several yards. He leapt to his feet and sprinted the few yards to where he had fallen and slashed wildly at the prone man. The first slash harmlessly cut across the chest of his armor as he rolled away.

The Hittite rolled to the left and twisted quickly and kicked out and knocked the sword from his hand. He rose slowly from the ground, his eyes burning with murder as the two men, now weaponless circled one another.

Rasui looked at the other man, all thoughts of remorse and humanity gone from his mind as he stared at the man across from. His only thoughts were how to kill this man.

The man charged in, coming lower towards his torso. Without though but relying on the training the Egyptian army gave him, crouched and wrapped his arms around the chest of the other man pinning him in place and twisted bringing his knee up into the nose and mouth of the other man. Again and again he did it as the other struggled to pull free of his grip.

The Hittite brought his elbow up into the groin of the Egypt and as soon as he was released he pushed the man away and kicked him in the face as the Egyptian bend over in pain.

Rasui staggered backwards as the kick was landed. His arms flailed out around trying to maintain his balance. He finally gained and looked for the Hittite and saw the man had running for his lost dagger.

At once he launched himself after the other man and throws himself on his back knocking both of them to the ground with enough force that the Hittites helm fell of his head.

The Hittite reached as far as his arm would go, his fingertips beginning to touch the hilt of the dagger. He screamed and next thing it was in his hand. He twisted like a viper and rounded on the Egyptian on top of him and lunged wildly as the throat of the other man.

Rasui leapt off the man as he saw the twinkle of sunlight on the blade as it drives in for him. He felt the rush of air next to his cheek as he rolled away. As he came to a stop his hand came on something cold and hard. He looked over and saw the helm of the Hittite soldier and picked it up.

He heard the rushing of feet and turned, bringing up the helmet like a shield before him. The tip of the dagger slammed into the thick coil of metal on top of the helmet and the blade shattered.

Both men stared at the flying pieces of the dagger for a moment, then slowly their eyes came together and they stared at one another.

That moment was all that Rasui needed, he leapt up and forward and slammed the helmet into the face of the soldier. The other mans head snapped backwards with a sickening crunching sound. His momentum carried him forward and he hit against the man and both men fell to the ground.

Rasui sat up on top of the man as the other man moaned and shook his head from side to side. Without hesitation he brought the helmet over his head with both hand and with a scream like a wild animal brought it down upon the face of his enemy.

Again and again he did it, again and again he screamed as tears ran free from his eyes. All his anger raged through him and he bite deeply into his own lips making them bleed but you would never be able to tell. Gore stained his face. It dripped down from it. Fragments of bone and brains stuck to his face, arms and chest. But still he smashed the helmet down over and over. A blind rage held him tightly like a lovers embrace as he wept.

Nothing of the world remained to him. Nothing of the Gods remained to him. Not even the battle remained him, only the constant smashing he was doing to the face below. He couldn’t stop; he no longer held sway over his own body. It was as if the horror of everything possessed his body and it lashed out blind and feral.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he screamed and fell to the ground bringing the helmet up before as he stared wild eyed up at the man standing over him. His shadow engulfed him.

“It is alright my friend, it is over now.”

A voice told him in Egyptian, it was soft and soothing. He blinked several times trying to focus on the man before him. His tears burned his eyes as did the blood that was in them. He didn’t reply, it was as if he had forgotten how to speak.

“Come, give me the helmet, it is done.”

He watched as the shadow moved over him. The sun burned brightly over head making it hard to see the features of the man. But as he leaned in to take the helmet his body blocking the sun, we saw who was before him.

He simply dropped the helmet to the ground and gasped.

King Ramesses himself stood before him. His powerful frame blocked the sunlight behind him. His hard chiseled face was before his own. He had hard but warm eyes that looked into his own. Half of his face was covered in blood. His linked metal armor seemed to dance with light. His hand was held out before him.

Rasui felt his body shiver in awe as the living god stood before him, wanting to help him from the ground. Numbly he reached out and put his hand in his.

Ramesses easily lifted the man to his feet, then he laid both his hand on his shoulders to help steady him as he began to stumble.

Rasui felt his mouth hang open his Pharaoh rested his hands on his shoulders. He glanced behind him and saw that only severally wounded guards was all that he had with him. Before he knew it was heard himself speaking.

“We where sent to find you my lord, I am from the Phath Division, and I am afraid I failed you!” He wept as he spoke staring into the face of this man.

Ramesses smiled softly and studied the man before him, then nodded.

“You have saved me, when you and your men attacked it turned the attention of the Hittites away from me and we were able to fight our way out, so be reassured that you have done your duty!”

He looked around and noticed that there was nothing but corpses around them. For as far as he could see where bodies cut to pieces both Egyptian and Hittite. He looked back to his King.

“What happened?” He asked dazed.

“The assault was brutal, back and forth it raged but finally our soldiers cut down the last of the Hittite resistance here.  The few remaining men of our infantry here were then cut down by the Hittite archers before they fled to another division. You my new friend are all that is left.”

A shiver raced through him at the news.

“Come, I must reach the main body of the army and take control of it” Ramesses said gently and patted the man on the back.

“Yes my lord.” Rasui said as he bowed to him.

Ramesses smiled and began to walk past him, when Rasui heard a noise and looked up and saw behind them from the ground a Hittite archer half rise from the ground and pulled back on his bow and released his bolt at them.

“My lord, look out!”

He shouted as he leapt into the path of the arrow. His eyes went wide as he what felt like a fist hitting him in the chest. The wind was gone from his lungs and he became hard for him to catch his breath. He looked out to where the archer was to watch him die from his own wounds.

He felt two arms grab him and turned him. Like a child he simply allowed himself to be moved and looked up. Ramesses looked down at him, and had an expression of sadness that haunted his features.

Ramesses laid his hand delicately and tenderly against the side of Rasui’ as a tear ran from his eye.

Rasui then knew that his fate had been sealed. That soon he would stand before Ma’at to be judged and look upon Ammit and waited his fate. Through the nine gates he would travel and face the demons that guard them. But this he would face proudly, for he was in the army of the Pharaoh who held him as his life force fled him.

He reached up and gripped Ramesses hand tightly in his own.

“What is your name soldier?” The Pharaoh asked.

“Rasui, of Thebes. I was a painter of eyes in the sacred temples.”

“Rasui of Thebes, for your sacrifice today, your family shall never go hungry ever again, and to Pi-Ramesses I will move them for that way, I can call on them and tell them of your bravery.”  Ramesses said proudly and fiercely.

Rasui looked up and wept as the Pharaoh told him and weakly brought his kings hand to his bloodstained lips and kissed it. He felt so tired, and so, so cold.

He closed his eyes and never opened them again.

Ramesses kissed the man’s forehead and whispered to the gods to take this soul personally to the otherworld.

He stood and nodded to his guards and together they headed back the way Rasui had begun.