The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle Read online

  The people themselves seemed creatures from a fevered nightmare. With grotesquely bulging thighs and abdomens, they were nevertheless monstrously attenuated, with long, bulbous chins and narrow, reptilian eyes.

  Could it be Akhenaten and his family? Khonsu gazed without comprehension at the blue war crown worn by the king. Was this, then, the descendant of the conqueror, Thutmose III? Khonsu found his mind irresistibly circling the notion of spiders and lizards. Dizzy from the attempt to grasp and understand something utterly alien to him, he turned to find Mersu frowning and tracing a name cut into the boulder’s upper face.

  “This is it. And here's my name. Hmm… my draftsmanship's improved.”

  Khonsu looked at the formal hieroglyphs, shook his head and turned back to frown at the carvings. The sense of strangeness rose within him once more. “This is a terrible place!”

  Mersu slid down from the boulder and dusted his hands off against his kilt. “Do you mean that it's evil, or that it's ugly?” he asked.

  “I'm not sure,” Khonsu admitted.

  “You're honest,” Mersu said. “Too many people decide something's evil because it's an eyesore. If that were the case, Thebes in its entirety would be evil beyond help… Come to that… I'm not sure whether Thebes is evil, after all. I should ask His Grace... Or Perineb.” His long mouth twitched. “Anyhow, by that way of thinking everything beautiful would be good. It isn't, you know, look at me.”

  Khonsu eyed the reptilian figures again. “But why do they show him like this?”

  “As to that, His Late Majesty came from a gifted family. Thutmose the Great designed vases for the temple. Akhenaten's father, Amenhotep III, was an architect. So was Akhenaten: he planned this city, and everyone would agree that it's beautifully conceived and executed. Akhenaten also wanted to be thought of as an artist, like his ancestors, but from his drawings nothing could've been farther from the truth.. I know he spoke with Bak, the chief sculptor, and Bak came out of the interview bug-eyed and white. Next thing we knew, we were drawing the king and his family as though they looked like Hapy the Nile god. Or Taweret. Fat thighs, hanging breasts, a belly that'd do credit to a woman nine months gone.”

  Mersu paused to think. “I recall he had some notion 'To reflect in their persons the bounty and largesse of the Aten.' It was all symbolic. Symbols should be pleasing to the eye, I think, or folks'll gag and move on.”

  “Then he didn't really look like that?” Khonsu asked.

  “How could anyone look like that and live?”

  Khonsu thought fleetingly of some amazingly ugly people he knew. “But how did he look, then?”

  Mersu smoothed a blank expanse of wall, took a piece of charcoal from the pouch slung over his shoulder and quickly sketched a face, starting with the lines of the skull and then filling in the features. He surveyed the results. “The eyes were dark and set on something of a slant, like this,” he heightened the sketch a little. “The mouth was a little on the full side, but well-shaped. He was always smiling: see the lines to either side? He and Prince Thutmose were full brothers. They looked alike, and His Highness is a fine-looking man.”

  Khonsu was frowning. “This could almost be His Grace.” he said.

  Mersu shrugged. “That's hardly surprising.” And then he blinked, stared at the drawing, and put the charcoal away. He squinted up over his shoulder at the cliffs beyond them. “Well, Commander,” he said, reducing the drawing to a smudge with a swipe of his hand. “We'd best tell His Grace the landslide was caused by a muscular ghost, familiar with the layout of this city, with knowledge of stone working.” He added with a grim smile, “I wonder what Nehesi has found.”

  XIV

  “Mayor Huni thanked Your Grace for the gifts,” Paser reported in the audience hall. “He sent me back on his private ship.”

  Nebamun nodded. “Did he send a response to my message?”

  Paser's expression had been oddly reserved since his return. Now he gazed beyond Nebamun's shoulder toward the sun-disk on the wall behind him as though estimating the weight of its gold overlay. He altered the look to a respectful smile when Nebamun frowned at him. “He said Your Grace is famed as a man of subtlety and wisdom and he hopes to meet Your Grace one day.”

  “That could be interesting…” Nebamun’s eyes met Mersu's before lowering again to Paser. “Well done, Paser. I am pleased with you.”

  Paser bowed silently. He had returned from Khebet bearing a gift of freshly caught fish for Nebamun's table and delivered Mayor Huni's response in a soldierly fashion, but now seemed withdrawn and unusually inclined to efface himself.

  “Get some rest,” Nebamun inclined his head with his usual courtesy. “Nehesi and Mersu, I'd like a report of your findings. The rest of you are dismissed.”

  Paser's voice came after what seemed to Khonsu's ears to be a deliberate pause. “Your Grace.”

  Nebamun turned back. “What is it, Paser?” His quiet voice held an edge of annoyance.

  “Your Grace, I beg your forgiveness.” Paser lowered his head and opened his hands. “I heard something else, which I thought I should bring to Your Grace's attention, since it bears directly on the safety of this encampment.”

  Khonsu stared. In his mere three days at Akhet-Aten, Paser had shown himself to be a troublemaker with a vicious streak. He showed no respect to Khonsu or any of his officers and men, and was such a nuisance that if he had not taken Paser on as a favor to Nebamun, Khonsu would have requested the man be sent back to Memphis.

  Nebamun's brows drew together. “A matter of our communal safety, Paser, is the proper concern of Commander Khonsu or Captain Ptahemhat.”

  “But—forgive my persistence—I'm not certain it's best left with them.”

  “What?” Ptahemhat took a step forward, his fists doubled.

  Khonsu had stiffened and was staring narrow-eyed at Paser. “Yes, I want to know what you mean by that, Paser.”

  “I question the security of this encampment.” Paser looked straight at the Second Prophet. “A driver and a team of horses circled the city to the north on several occasions. He wasn't challenged.”

  Ptahemhat's eyes grew enormous. “That's a lie!”

  Khonsu folded his arms and frowned at Paser. Neb-Iry's words from the day before sounded in his ears. Someone had been taking horses from the stables...

  Nebamun spared them an amused glance. “Explain yourself, Paser. You have slandered two men.”

  “He was north of the city, during the darkest part of the night, Your Grace.”

  “Were you wakeful then?” Ptahemhat demanded furiously. “Liar! If you saw them, then a phantom was snoring in your bed: people complained about the racket over breakfast this morning!”

  “I didn't see him, Your Grace.”

  “See?” Ptahemhat began. “He's a lying, troublemaking—”

  “Ptahu.”

  Ptahemhat subsided.

  Nebamun turned his suddenly cold stare to Paser. “You didn't see this driver. Nor, by their reports, did any of the sentries positioned by Commander Khonsu at the perimeter of the city. My personal guard, set at their posts by Ptahemhat, reported nothing, and I have heard of no intruders from General Seti. The odds are thirty to one against the existence of this driver. It is time you told us all how you came to learn of him.”

  Paser lowered his eyes. “Huni spoke of him. He tells me the driver is seen every night.”

  “Huni spoke of him,” Khonsu repeated in a voice of silk. “Was Huni at our borders last night?”

  “Or is he trying, for reasons I can't begin to guess, to spread fear and disorder among my force?” Nebamun added.

  Paser moistened his lips. “The man was sincere, Your Grace. He told me—”

  “Huni has been spreading nonsense!” Nebamun snapped. “Until someone actually sees this intruder and reports him to Commander Khonsu, Captain Ptahemhat or General Seti, we shall regard him as a figment of Mayor Huni's imagination. You are all dismissed. I wish to speak with Mersu and Nehesi.�
�

  ** ** **

  “I'll bet my best team of horses against a broken-down jackass that Mayor Huni didn't comment so admiringly on His Grace's wisdom after having an armful of bloody hyena pelts flung down at his feet, and being told that any future ghosts to haunt Akhet-Aten would receive just such a treatment!” Seti remarked as he and Khonsu made their way to the barracks.

  They were both thinking of that morning's message:

  “Nebamun of Memphis, Second Prophet of Ptah, presents his compliments to Mayor Huni and the city of Khebet. In token of his gratitude for the kind warnings about the ghosts haunting Akhet-Aten, he presents this gift of a bushel of fresh pelts from ‘ghosts’ killed by His Grace personally, along with his solemn assurance to the city of Khebet and its mayor that by his command all future ghosts encountered by his force shall meet the same end.”

  “It'd be in keeping with what I observed of the man. His Grace's message was pointed.”

  Seti folded his arms. “His Grace is a master of clothing threats in fair words. You saw how he dealt with me last night! Smiling the whole time!”

  Khonsu smiled. “He certainly left them in no doubt of his suspicions. I should be angry at Paser’s slur, but His Grace demolished him so neatly, I can't complain.”

  Seti paused to frown back toward the palace. “The suggestion was ridiculous.”

  “I'm not so sure, General. My stablemaster reported this morning someone appears to be taking horses out before dawn and returning them. I hadn't thought setting guards at the stable necessary before.” Khonsu said. “My patrols ring the city fairly well, and they're all in chariots, and good shots. I'm going to keep a tighter watch on the horses, especially after what Paser said, damn the man!”

  “He's a troublemaker,” Seti said. “I wonder why he hates that young hothead so.”

  “He's got a reason. A stupid one,” Khonsu said, disgusted. “I’ll commandeer a team of horses and see what I can read in the sand and dust of the northern approaches. I'll ask the stable-master to alert me if the horse-stealer returns. Akhet-Aten has a lot of things to steal. An abandoned city with treasure lying unclaimed either due to fear of reprisals or the death of the owners. We're dealing with looters.”

  “You think they have made contacts in this group?”

  “Not exactly. Think of that priest, Seneb.”

  “I don't know when I have been so amused!”

  “He certainly got what he deserved for his stupidity,” Khonsu said. “I admit I laughed, but consider why he did what he did. If Lord Nebamun had not cut him off, he might have thrown this mission into an uproar, it would have been abandoned, and his 'friends' would be able to plunder the place.”

  Seti nodded. “I watched him leave this morning. He kept trying to apologize but His Grace would have none of it.”

  Khonsu settled his knife at his belt. “It got me thinking. Seneb accompanied Father Perineb when we went ashore at Khebet. I saw him speaking urgently with Mayor Huni. His Reverence noticed pieces of stonework from this city in Khebet right around then. And Huni's furnishings were fine, even allowing for the fact that he's the mayor.”

  “Seneb faked the fit. It was obvious.”

  “I wonder what he was offered. It must have been something valuable to balance the risk. I would be reluctant to cross His Grace.”

  “At the least he'll make you a laughingstock,” Seti chuckled. “…And so neatly. But what about the horse thief?”

  Khonsu frowned at the driving whip in his hands. “I have some suspicions… I think I'll lay for our mysterious fellow and see where he's going and what he's doing. Better to lock the door before the horse bolts.”

  “Take me with you, Commander. It could be entertaining.”

  ** ** **

  Khonsu looked away from the line of horses with a frown. “Tell me again, Neb-Iry.”

  “Kestrel and Lapwing were taken out last night,” the stable-master repeated. “Nebamun—the guardsman Nebamun, that is—was assigned to groom them. He'll support me: they'd been exercised late last night.”

  “All right, keep a watch on the stables tonight. But don't disturb the fellow. I don't want him to know we're on to him.” Khonsu tipped him a smile. “Do we have any horses here that can carry a man on their backs?”

  “Blackwing,” said the Stable Master. “You've commented on him before. I got him through the remount service for the Nome. It was a fluke: they didn't know what they had, and by the time they did, he was ours.”

  Khonsu's frown lightened. The stallion was about fifteen hands and capable of carrying a man for most of the day without tiring. “Good, keep him aside. I may wish to ride him if our chariot thief comes back.”

  “You there!”

  Khonsu turned. A messenger astride a restive blue roan, was opening the leather message cylinder he wore slung over one shoulder. He easily controlled his sidling, dancing horse with the pressure of his knees.

  “I've a message for Commander Khonsu!” the man called. “They said he was here somewhere.”

  “You have found him.”

  “Ah!” The messenger came over, the horse carefully picking its way through the scattered stones. He took out a packet of papyrus, folded, tied with string, and sealed with a pinch of mud. The faience plaque about the man's neck bore the names of Pharaoh: he was a royal messenger.

  Khonsu frowned at the beautiful writing on the papyrus. The work of the Scribe Thutnakht, maybe? His heart was pounding in his ears, but he managed to speak calmly. “Is this from Count Tothotep?”

  The messenger was engaged in settling the cover of the leather message tube securely on its base. He looked up as he slid the strap over his shoulder.

  “Tothotep? No, Commander. It's from a little girl.”

  Khonsu broke the seal with shaking hands, untied the string, and unfolded the message. The words jumped out at him:

  Sherit greets her father Khonsu in life, prosperity and health. The daughter of Khonsu, Sherit, sends her love and respect to her father and asks, how are you? How are you in your heart? Behold, I flourish!

  It was written the day before. “Who sent this?”

  “A little girl, Commander. It was written by one of the senior scribes at the temple of Thoth in Khemnu.”

  “But who commanded that you carry the message?”

  “Orders,” the courier said again, settling himself securely on his leather saddle pad. “That's all I can tell you. I'm just concerned with obeying them. It isn't too hard to do in the case of your daughter. A winsome little lass, that one. Reminds me of my own.” He gathered his reins. “My orders are to make inquiries at Khemnu when I have arrived there, get answers and a report, then bring the report to you. Two others are doing the same thing, so you'll be getting word each day.”

  He eyed Khonsu sympathetically. “She looked just a little peaked. She told me she'd been sick, and then she started chattering about what she was doing now that she was well. Entertained me and His Reverence, and your lady sister all in a flutter and offering us refreshments!”

  “His Reverence?”

  “Thutnakht the Chief Scribe. Funny dried-out old stick of a fellow. You'd never guess he had six of his own and a passel of grandchildren.”

  “But who gave the orders? You're a royal messenger.”

  “I'm not allowed to say. I don't think I could get away with disobeying him, although, if you want to send a letter back, just say the word. This is on my regular circuit, though I don't like the tales of ghosts and such. I've got to head a little farther south to Mir, a one-time thing, then I can swing back and pick up your message in a day. She'd love to hear from you.”

  “Why, certainly,” Khonsu stammered. “But the cost—”

  “I've been paid,” the courier nudged the horse forward. “And my name's Rahu.” He waved at Khonsu and set off at a spanking trot.

  “Well!” said Neb-Iry. “A royal messenger at your beck and call!”

  Sherit reported that she was feeling much stronger,
and her aunt was allowing her to venture out into the streets to be with the other children. She had also acquired another cat, a gift from Thutnakht, who said she reminded him of his youngest granddaughter.

  “You want me to harness a team, Chief?” Neb-Iry asked.

  Khonsu was rereading the message. He looked up with an unsteady smile. “Yes.”

  XV

  Khonsu forgot all speculation about the identity of his benefactor as he searched for tracks. He found them along the path to Akhet-Aten's northern reaches: chariot tracks and hoof prints. He had been expecting them, since Seti had accompanied Master Nehesi with a sizeable escort to inspect the evidence of the cave-in. But he followed the tracks up to the base of the Northern Sentinels and then paused to frown up at the pillars of stone.

  The northern approaches lay beyond the gateway, at the top of a pass that climbed behind them, leading to a warren of trails threading through and between the steep-cut canyons and arroyos that formed their backdrop. Rich tombs were carved into that honeycomb of cliffs, dug out of the rock by master craftsmen brought from Deir el Medineh, near Thebes, just for that purpose. If that were true, then a solitary traveler might have good reason to prowl the northern valleys by night.

  He reined the team in with some difficulty. The horses, culled from the last of the province's remounts, were hard-mouthed and poorly trained. He frowned north and east, and saw what he had expected: crossed by the deep, chaotic marks of Nehesi and his escort, he could see tracks, older and thinned by the motion of the restless wind, turning east, away from the quarries.

  He gathered his reins with a nod, clucked to his horses, and urged them to a trot, his eyes fixed on the ground, his mind racing with possibilities. Chariot tracks, a team of horses, rich burials rumored to be nearby. It had to be tomb robbers! If the bones of Akhet-Aten were so rich still, how much more must be her tombs! And if that were so…