At the dawn of Egypt’s pyramid age, innovation met ambition–and history was carved into stone.

The Pyramid Builders series explores the lives of the pharaohs who oversaw the earliest monumental tombs, beginning with Djoser and the revolutionary Step Pyramid at Saqqara. Set during a period of rapid advancement in architecture and statecraft, these books trace the evolution of pyramid construction and the political, religious, and personal forces behind it.

But this is no dry chronicle of engineering. With a focus on the rulers, architects, and advisors who risked everything to shape a legacy of permanence, the series brings to life the human drama at the heart of Ancient Egypt’s golden age. From court intrigue and dynastic struggles to the breakthroughs that allowed stone to defy gravity, each book is grounded in what historians know of the time–presented with compelling, character-driven storytelling.

The Pyramid Builders is historical fiction rooted in reality–an immersive journey into the minds and motivations of the people who raised the world’s first pyramids.

 

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Chapter 1

 

Dust rose high in the cloudless blue sky of northern Kemet as the Amurran army marched southwest along the desert road. To their left was the barren, unforgiving desert that the local inhabitants termed deshret, and to their right the verdant, well-watered lands of black soil called kemet. Bauefre had never seen the land to which his father laid claim, but he felt a surge of belonging as he walked beside the weary soldiers of the north. His father, Baka, was up ahead somewhere, urging on the soldiers under the Amurran general, Tahuri, to make greater haste. The information gleaned from a captive told of an indecisive King Menkaure still cowering in the capital city of Inebu-hedj, afraid to venture out to meet them. Baka had resolved to confront the Kemetu king outside the city and by doing so encourage a popular uprising against his tyrannical rule. Tahuri was more cautious, but Baka had overruled him.

Bauefre called over a junior officer who was the son of one of the original soldiers that accompanied Baka when he fled the usurper Khafre. The son, Ramesse, had never set foot in Kemet before, but Bauefre believed he probably knew more than he did.

“How far is it to Inebu-hedj, Ramesse?” he asked.

“Hard to say, sir. From what my father has told me, about three days march. Only a day to Iunu, though.”

“What is Iunu?”

“City of the Sun God, sir. It has a holy mount with temples to all the gods. My father said it was the place where the world was created, millions of years ago.”

“How would they know? Who was around then to see it?”

Ramesse shrugged. “I only know what my father said, sir.”

Bauefre lost interest, looking along the rough column of men stretching out as far as he could see. “What are Kemetu soldiers like?” he asked.

“We are the best in the world, sir,” Ramesse said proudly.

“And Amurrans?”

Ramesse looked around to see if anyone was close enough to overhear them. “Not so good, sir,” he said quietly.

“So we are pitting a hundred good soldiers, backed up by a thousand not so good ones, against at least that number of the best soldiers in the world?”

Ramesse shrugged again. “Rumour has it that Menkaure’s army does not want to fight us, sir. They say that they will desert to us when we show up.”

“Let us pray that is the case,” Bauefre said, “but I think it is a mistake to be advancing so quickly, just on the word of one captive. We have not even sent out scouts.”

“I could not say, sir,” said the junior officer. “I just obey orders.”

As if to underline his comment, a senior officer, an Amurran, yelled to the men to pick up the pace. Ramesse nodded to Bauefre and hurried off.

Bauefre continued on his way, and after a bit heard shouting at the head of the scattered column. Breaking into a run, he found his father and General Tahuri cursing and yelling at their soldiers who were engaged in a melee with a Kemetu defensive position. Clouds of dust obscured what was happening, but his father spared him a few choice thoughts.

“That son of a whore lied to me,” Baka snarled. “Menkaure is not cowering in his capital, but has marched out to meet us.”

“Is there going to be a battle?” Bauefre asked eagerly.

“What do you think that is?” Baka growled, pointing at the dust cloud.

“What is happening?”

“Menkaure has picked a choice defensive position between broken ground in the east and marshy ground in the west. We have to meet him head-on on the road.”

“Can…can we break through, father?”

Baka nodded. “Tahuri has his troops in hand now and more are arriving by the minute. He thinks Menkaure only has about six hundred men, so we have the numbers. It will all be over by nightfall.”

Baka was wrong. When night fell, the Kemetu were still holding the road, though they had lost many men. The Amurrans withdrew a hundred paces and made camp, though Tahuri made sure a strong force kept guard overnight.

The next morning, as the first of the sun’s rays warmed the waking men; Baka stretched and grinned at his son.

“Today, we will be in Inebu-hedj and I will officially take my throne back.”

Tahuri barked commands, and his officers formed their men up on the road. Ahead of them stood some five hundred Kemetu soldiers bearing axes and spears, and as the Amurrans started to advance, they shuffled backward. Bauefre thought that Ramesse had been mistaken about the fighting worth of Kemetu, and stepped forward with a smile. Then he heard the shouting behind them.

Baka and Bauefre pushed their way to the rear and saw ships on the river with hundreds of men streaming toward them from the riverbank, forming up a scant hundred paces from the Amurran ranks.

“They must have sailed past in the night,” Baka yelled. “Turn to meet them.”

The rear ranks of the Amurrans were slow to turn, waiting to hear the same commands from their own officers, while Baka sent a Kemetu runner to find General Tahuri and apprise him of the new threat.

“They are archers,” Bauefre said.

As he spoke, two hundred Kushite bowmen drew back and loosed a ragged volley of arrows. A score of men fell, others milling about in confusion as cries of pain and fear rose from the Amurran army. Another volley followed, adding to the confusion.

“Attack them!” Baka yelled, urging the officers to control their men. “Trample them underfoot.”

Bauefre saw the Amurrans surge forward even as another shower of arrows struck down more men. He heard the sounds of battle behind him, and realised that General Tahuri must be attacking the Kemetu soldiers on the road. Yelling with excitement, the young prince ran to catch up with his father, eager to kill the enemy, knowing that victory was theirs. A man loomed in front of him, a dark-skinned man with a bow, and he swung his axe at him, missing as the man turned and stumbled away. Bauefre followed, shouting encouragement to the Amurran soldiers, but instead of sweeping forward, they hung back, looking over their shoulders.

The Amurran army that had been assaulting the Kemetu in the road streamed away from the battleground, and Bauefre was horrified to see the banners of Menkaure flying above the dust cloud. He pushed his was through to where his father was trying to rally his nearby soldiers.

“Tahuri has failed me,” Baka said bitterly. “Menkaure has broken through on the road, and his fornicating archers are cutting us to pieces.”

“What can we do, father?”

“Retreat. Fall back to the border and try to rally what is left of our army.”

The Amurrans retreated in confusion, many of them throwing down their weapons and running, but groups of men, centred on Baka, Tahuri, and their loyal senior officers, maintained some discipline, fighting the onrushing Kemetu. Their sacrifice enabled the bulk of the Amurrans to fall back to the northern border town and fort of Per-Hapi, but the Kemetu followed hard on their heels.

“We cannot stand against them,” General Tahuri said. “We must retreat back to Amurru.”

“What was the point of all this then?” Baka snarled. “You said you had the measure of Menkaure’s army.”

Tahuri shrugged. “We lost the element of surprise, and we were misled by that captive.”

“Yes, curse him. Have him executed.”

“You rewarded him and let him go. I said you should not trust his word…if you remember.”

“That is not my recollection,” Baka said.

“But what do we do now?” Bauefre asked. “Could we defend the fort?”

“We would be starved out within days,” Tahuri said. “I counsel immediate withdrawal.”

Baka turned to look out across the arm of the river and the rich farmland beyond, his expression one of longing.

“This is my kingdom,” he said. “How can I just leave it?”

“If you stay, you will die,” Tahuri said bluntly.

“I am the true king of Kemet, the heir of my father Djedefre. I was crowned twenty-five years ago.”

“As a child,” Tahuri pointed out. “You are a man now, and you must put aside such childish delusions. Fall back to Amurru and gather another army. Then, perhaps, you can make a valid claim to the throne.”

“I have a valid claim now,” Baka said sharply. He frowned and nodded. “I shall demonstrate to Menkaure that though his army might defeat mine today, I am still the legitimate king of these kingdoms. Summon whatever priests you can find.”

“What are you going to do, father?”

“I am going to be crowned again, and I will take a new throne name.”

“You had better be quick about it,” Tahuri grumbled. “Menkaure’s army will be here in less than a day.”

The priests gathered from Per-Hapi were a sorry lot, and there was only one senior priest among them; the rest having fled as the armies approached. Baka informed them of their role and pushed through an abbreviated ceremony with none of the prescribed paraphernalia. A makeshift crown was placed on his head, and he took the name Bakare, affirming his position as the Son of Re. He also reaffirmed Bauefre’s position as his official heir to the throne of Kemet.

Bauefre felt a blush of shame at the proceedings. In his view, the ceremony smacked of failure and a desire to bolster up a flagging claim in the face of defeat. He saw the sneering look on the faces of Tahuri and the senior Amurran officers, but still led the cheering of his father’s coronation. Then, as the Kemetu army drew close, King Bakare led his soldiers out of Per-Hapi, and turned his face north to Retjenu and Amurru.

 

 

The population of Kadesh turned out to watch in silence as the defeated army returned. General Tahuri reported to King Martunabil immediately, while Bakare and Bauefre took time to greet Queen Hetepheres before resting. Martunabil requested their presence soon enough, but the Kemetu king delayed just enough to demonstrate his independence.

“Your venture did not go well, it seems,” Martunabil said. “What went wrong?”

“We were fed false information, and Menkaure’s army was waiting for us.”

“Whose fault was that?”

Bakare shrugged. “I could have claimed victory if it had not been for Tahuri countering my orders.”

“So, it was Tahuri’s fault you failed?”

“I believe so.”

Martunabil nodded slowly. “I cannot abide failure in my commanders, so I have removed him from office…life, too, come to that.” He sighed. “I have enough worries without dealing with who to raise up as General of the Army.”

“I paid for this army,” Bakare said. “Let me be truly in command of it.”

Martunabil’s eyebrows rose. “You intend to try again?”

“Of course. I am the rightful King of Kemet.”

“Hmm…well…why not? We both stand to gain by your conquest of Kemet, so take command, my dear Baka. Organise the army as you desire.”

“My name is now Bakare.”

“Ah, yes. Tahuri mentioned something about that. You thought it necessary to be crowned again?”

“It has been twenty-five years since I was raised to my father’s throne. I deemed it worth reminding the people of Kemet just who was their rightful king.”

“So I should just ignore missives from Menkaure, styling himself King of Kemet?”

“Has he done so?”

“Not yet, but it is surely just a matter of time.”

“There is only one true king in Kemet,” Bakare said haughtily. “Menkaure is a usurper, and he will kneel before my feet, begging for mercy, before I have done with him.”

 

 

Martunabil had few qualms about relinquishing control of his army to the Kemetu king. Both men had agreed to share the spoils of the southern kingdoms, and the Amurran king was confident that the army would not be used for any other purpose, given Bakare’s obsession with claiming his father’s throne. The army was expensive, and he liked it that Bakare was now responsible for the provisioning of so many men. If there was ever any dispute between Bakare and him, Martunabil knew that the bulk of the army, the Amurran component, would side with him.

In the meantime, Martunabil had other concerns. He had reached the ripe age of fifty without getting married and fathering an heir. That was not to say he did not have children–there were at least ten sons and countless daughters that had sprung from his energetic loins over the years–but none of them were suitable as heirs. He needed a quality wife on whom to father a son acceptable to the Amurran nobles. To leave it any longer was to risk civil war if his health should falter.

There were some possibilities; young, healthy women of good family in Amurran society, and it were time he considered one of them.

 

 

Menkaure and General Menhotep arrived in Per-Hapi only hours after the Amurrans had left the town. Briefly, he considered pursuing them, but they appeared a beaten force, so turned back to the town and the fort. He discovered a score of wounded Amurrans unable to travel with their retreating army, so had them swiftly executed. Wounded men within his own army were more deserving of the few physicians available, and he owed nothing to enemy prisoners. Three of the executed prisoners were Kemetu, so Menkaure ordered that they should be embalmed and given a simple burial, whereas the Amurran corpses were thrown on a midden heap.

Leaving General Menhotep to guard the north, Menkaure took a ship upriver to the capital to set in motion the ceremonies that would see his father’s body interred in his finished mer, and his own coronation. The burial was a grand affair, and Menkaure spared no expense in honouring his father. Elaborate ceremonies took place at the Valley and Mortuary temples, as well as at the great statue now bearing the likeness of Khafre’s head. The burial chamber was sealed, the procession of priests and masons retreating to the outside, where the entrance to the huge mer was filled in and the wooden scaffolding removed.

Now, with the last king’s reign officially over, the coronation ceremonies that would start Menkaure’s reign took place. Already approaching middle age, Menkaure was not as spry as he had once been, and had to be helped in his bodily purification at the temples of Ptah and Re. He passed through the complex rituals that turned him from a man to a semi-divine being, a son of the sun-god, sat on a throne erected in the forecourt of the Ptah temple, and had the double crown of Ta Mehu and Ta Shemau placed upon his head.

The Hem-netjers of Ptah and Re called out in unison: Life! Health! Prosperity! Let all draw near and recognise Netjer-bik-nebu, the Divine Golden Falcon; Ka-Nebty, Bull of the Two Ladies; Hor-Kakhet, Bull of the Divine Company; Menkaure, His Ka-soul will endure like Re.”

Menkaure spent much of the day moving among his subjects, walking the streets of Inebu-hedj, where he was cheered by the populace. Their enthusiasm for his coronation may have had something to do with the beef, beer and bread he supplied to the crowds, but undoubtedly owed something to the removal of the threat of civil war. Few people supported Baka, remembering him only as a cruel child, and no one really wanted his return. The battle in the north had sent him scuttling back home, and people looked forward to a peaceful life under the new king.

As the sun started down the blur dome of the sky, Menkaure made his way back to the palace, where he dismissed the guard of soldiers that had accompanied him. He washed the dust and sweat from his body, dressed once more in clean linen, and went to see his wife, Queen Khamerernebty.

“That went well, I think,” he said.

“It might have been better if you had our son beside you,” Khamerernebty said. “You could have used the occasion to make him the Crown Prince.”

“Shepseskaf is already my heir, and he will be Crown Prince in time. He can hardly be the heir to the throne before his father is king.”

“We should have another son before I get too old to have children.”

Menkaure smiled. “We must try harder then. However, there is something else I wanted you to know.”

Khamerernebty grimaced. “You are taking another wife, I suppose. Who is she?”

“My sister Rekhetre. Do not be upset; you know a king must have more than one wife and many sons.”

“I am not upset. When have I ever been upset at you ploughing other women?”

Menkaure nodded. “Know that Shepseskaf will not be supplanted by any of the sons I sow in Rekhetre.”

“That is all I care about,” Khamerernebty said. She smiled and moved closer to her husband, slipping her hand through the folds of his kilt, and daring to lay hands upon the king’s person. “There is something else I care about,” she murmured.

Khamerernebty’s body was starting to show the effects of age, but it still had the ability to stir Menkaure to action. He signed to the servants to leave them, and guided his queen to the bed.