The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle (17 page)

Khonsu lifted the mask and turned it over to read the notation on the underside. “'Pa-Aten-em-Heb',” he read.

“Oh yes,” said Mersu. “Under Akhenaten he changed the “Horus' in his name to “Pa-Aten', and then when Akhenaten died he changed it back. But there're others. Look: the queen's brother, who ruled for a year. He was vizier after Nakht.”

Khonsu frowned at the long, aristocratically disdainful face with a practiced eye and shook his head. “An unpleasant-looking fellow,” he said. “He looks as though he had problems with indigestion.”

Mersu looked up from his rapt contemplation of the bust of the queen. “Oh,” he said. “Aye, you're right, I suppose. He has the look, and he was a rare sourpuss. But the King and his lady were too absorbed in their own dealings to notice. It was almost as though they moved together through a dream, and all that touched them turned to joy. They were armored in their love and contentment. Nothing could harm them.' His voice lowered. “And then...”

When he remained silent, Khonsu said, “And then?”

“And then the deaths started,” Mersu said. “I remember the first one. It was as though the sun had fallen from the king's sky. As though, while all else was brightness and joy, for the king the sun had died. He was frantic with grief. Maybe he thought that his prayers could make Turn-face ferry his son and daughter back across the dark river. But they did not, and he awoke from the dream. And then the deaths kept coming. One after another, with scarcely enough time to embalm and bury each.”

Khonsu remembered the ravages of grief that he had seen depicted on the walls of the king's tomb. “Poor man,” he said. “It happens. We're all so frail, and every one of us dies.”

“That's true,” said Mersu. “Well. He awoke from his grief finally, and looked around to find a land sunk into disorder, the priesthoods aligned against him, the justice system a shambles, and our foes clamoring at the door. I think he understood, then, the mistakes that he had made.”

“He left here,” Khonsu said.

“Yes,” said Mersu. “He left everything behind. This beautiful city, the monuments to his love, the temples of his god. He was like a man who draws a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and steps forward with his fists doubled.”

Khonsu looked back at the bust of the queen. “Did they ever return?” he asked.

Mersu shrugged. “He came back here to die,” he said. “It was as quiet a death as falling asleep. Prince Thutmose and Prince Nakht were with him at the last, and they buried him.”

“Here?” Khonsu asked, thinking of the empty, desecrated tomb, the splintered sarcophagi.

“Here,” said Mersu. He lowered his voice. “They moved him. No one knows where but Prince Thutmose and a few trusted friends. I hear it's a rich burial, but I've heard nothing more.”

They were silent for a time. Mersu collected himself finally and looked at the faces ranged about him. “Well,” he sighed. “Best to put these away. His Grace'll be looking for us, no doubt.' But his eyes lingered on the queen. “Ah gods,” he sighed. “She was so fair and so gracious...”

“I'll wrap her carefully,” said Khonsu. “Are there more masks in there?”

“Plenty more,” said Mersu. “All those she knew and loved here. She won't lack for company.”

“But no depiction of him?” asked Khonsu.

“This city's his monument,” said Mersu. “Whether it lasts a decade or a millennium. It's enough, I suppose.”

“And Neb-Aten?”

“There's one of him,” Mersu said. “I took the cast of his face. He was laughing as I did so. He was a merry companion, the best of good fellows.”

“His Grace has nothing good to say about the man,” Khonsu said.

“That sounds like His Grace,” Mersu said. “He keeps telling everyone here what a pain in the ass Neb-Aten was, but I liked the fellow. He was good-hearted, if a bit rash, but he was young, and that's the sort of flaw that improves with age.”

“Let's see him, then' Khonsu said. “If I'm to find his tomb, at least I should see what he looks like.”

“It's getting late,” Mersu said. “And there are a lot of masks in there. I'll get it out for you another time. For now, let's put these away and go.' He eyed Khonsu's expression and added with a smile. “And if you're trying to find the tomb, I can help. I took a sub-apprenticeship with the workmen from Deir el Medineh, who were brought in to work under Master Djehutymose in carving tombs for the nobles. Prince Nakht commissioned Neb-Aten's tomb; I was one of the sculptors who carved it.”

XXVI

“Is His Grace here, Thut-Nakht?” Khonsu asked the guard who stood at the main entrance to the palace. He and Mersu had walked back to the central quarter and parted moments before.

“Yes, Commander. He's in the throne room.” The man grimaced. “Spent a busy day, I can tell you!”

“What do you mean?”

“That officer fellow from Memphis, the nasty piece of work with the sticky fingers that was in our group for a while before he got busted back down to ground-pounder in His Grace's guard yesterday.”

“Paser,” said Khonsu with a sense of foreboding.

“Yes, Commander. Paser. The snarly fellow. He got some sort of message when the supply boats came back from Khebet, and it went to his head. Anyhow, what does he do but up and go just outside here and start talking about hauntings and saying this isn't a healthy place to be?”

“Thoth's beak!” Khonsu exclaimed.

“Aye. You should've heard him! Curses and demons and some ghostly bugaboo or other named Neb-Aten, that waylays people and shrieks at them! Sounded silly to me, but then I have a strong stomach.”

“What stopped him?”

“General Seti came by,” said Thut-Nakht with a grin. “Treated him to the nicest bit of abuse I've heard this side of Thebes, and the fool gaping at him like a gigged crocodile. Haled him back here and brought him before His Grace and Father Perineb. There's been a rare dust-up between and among them, and I don't even know the half of it. It was like he was trying to get sacked!” He thought for a moment and then added, “The man's a rare pain in the ass, from what I see.”

“Yes,” Khonsu said. “And, Thoth protect me, he was supposed to be kept under observation, so some of this is my fault! Well, I'll mend what I may. Let me in, Thut-Nakht. I'd best see His Grace at once.”

**   **   **

Khonsu's gaze was drawn to the glinting sun disk that hovered above the dais, flashing light downward upon the king's throne. But though the huge, gilded form seemed to draw all color into itself, its very brilliance had the quality of a memory. As it glittered and flashed, shadows gathered in the corners of the audience hall, quivering just at the edges of vision.

Khonsu's gaze lowered from the disk to the throne in the center of the dais, catching the flash of the Aten and flinging it back in a thousand colors. Lord Nebamun's elbows were propped on his knees, his chin cupped in his hands as he looked sightlessly down at the beautifully frescoed floors. He wore a courtier's garments of finely pleated, crisply starched linen, and a broad collar of multicolored stones set in gold cloisons circled his throat. Heavy, matching armlets glinted in the light, and his sandals were of finely worked and gilded leather.

For an eerie moment Khonsu wondered who he was and where he had seen him before. And then Nebamun spoke quietly. “Ah, Father,” he sighed.

The sound of the voice came like the jolt Khonsu had sometimes felt as a child when, trying to finish a puzzle, he had shaken the pieces and felt them come clicking together. “Your Grace?” he said.

Nebamun raised his head and gazed at and through Khonsu for a moment without recognition. And then he blinked like one clearing tears from his sight and smiled. “Ah, you're back, Commander,” he said. “General Seti told me that you had found nothing.”

“That isn't exactly true, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “But he left before that happened.” He paused and then said, “I heard about Paser's latest piece of mischief. I apologize.. He was under observation from a distance, but I should have kept closer watch on him.”

Nebamun dismissed the comment with a grim smile. “He isn't your concern any more. I'll deal with him.” He looked at Khonsu. “You must be tired, Commander,” he said. “Come sit down.”

“Thank you,” Khonsu said, and took the vizier's chair.

“You told me you found something,” Nebamun said. “Where? In the valleys?”

“No, Your Grace. The hills may be riddled with tombs, but none were open that I saw.”

Nebamun nodded. “I see,” he said. He did not seem surprised.

“I chanced to meet Mersu as I was returning,” Khonsu said. When Nebamun lifted his eyebrows, he continued, “He tells me that he knows where Neb-Aten's tomb is. He had been one of the ones to carve it. He remembers it well.”

“The man has a phenomenal memory,” Nebamun said. “He must have carved it nearly thirty years ago.”

“I'm beginning to think that he does,” Khonsu said. “He's in no doubt of the location, and he says he'll lead me there tomorrow.”

Nebamun's brows drove together in a frown. “And then what will you do?”

“Clear it, I suppose,” Khonsu said. “Move the body immediately for safekeeping, then inventory the items and present the accounting to his half-sister.”

Nebamun sat back in the throne, his fingers blindly seeking the Udjat amulet on its worn gold chain. “Isn't it best to leave the dead alone?” he asked.

“Not always. If it's a question of dishonor or murder, we owe it to the dead to clear the innocent and punish the guilty.”

“And if the dead wish to be left alone?”

“For all that Your Grace has called him wastrel and fool, Neb-Aten was Commander of One Thousand and a prince. I think such a man, ghost or not, would understand justice and honor and allow me to proceed.”

Nebamun was silent for a moment. His voice was quiet when he spoke, but his tone was strangely forceful and the room seemed to quiver with tension. “And if I told you, Commander, as one who knew him well, that Neb-Aten would prefer to be left alone in his despoiled tomb, would you let matters lie?”

Khonsu lowered his eyes. “I'm sorry, Your Grace,” he said. The words stirred the shadows that filled the quivering air. “But crime goes beyond its victims and injures society. It's my duty to right any wrong I encounter, and in this matter I can't honor what you feel may have been his wishes.” He smiled then and added with an attempt at lightness, “Shall I go in fear of encountering his ghost, then, some dark night along the northern path?”

Nebamun was gazing abstractedly before him with his hands folded. He looked. “Of all men in this city, Commander Khonsu, you have nothing whatever to fear from Neb-Aten, alive or dead.”

The words seemed to hang and shimmer in the air. Khonsu drew breath to break the echoes when another voice spoke.

“Your Grace, supper's being prepared, and I set the wine jars out to cool just as you ordered,” said a servant, hovering respectfully in the doorway. He seemed to have caught the undercurrents in the room, and was just on the edge of flight. “Will you taste the wine and tell me if it is satisfactory?”

Nebamun looked thoughtful. “I'll come presently. I must speak with Master Sennefer first. As for you, Commander,” he said with a smile, turning back to Khonsu. “It would be best to narrow our patrols in the evening. Paser's done his worst, and while he didn't succeed in causing a mutiny or a stampede northward, he did sow some fear and that's bad enough. The men are nervous about ghosts, and I am chiefly concerned with the safety of the force. You and General Seti will ring the city securely with guards, but no one is to patrol farther than its outer perimeter.”

“But any violated tombs—”

“If they haven't been rifled yet, they aren't likely to be, this night,” Nebamun said. “They have gone this long without our protection. They can continue a few more days or weeks until I am satisfied that our group is truly at ease. Please convey my request to General Seti.”

Khonsu acknowledged the command beneath Nebamun's courteous words. “At once, Your Grace,” he said.

“And then return with General Seti and Captain Karoya,” Nebamun added. “I have ordered a feast tonight. I would be pleased if you would sit at my table.”

“I am the one who would be honored, Your Grace,” Khonsu said.”

Nebamun acknowledged the compliment with a smile and watched Khonsu turn and go toward the door. “And Commander...” he said in a soft and somehow dangerous voice that Khonsu had not heard before.

“Your Grace?”

“Would you be good enough to send someone to find Master Mersu and tell him I wish to speak with him at once?”

XXVII

“I can't understand why Your Grace is allowing that criminal to be here,” Sennefer said that evening as he extended his cup to be filled again. “He was found with stolen goods, he's disruptive and quarrelsome, and he's in disgrace!”

He drank and then set down his cup, his gaze straying to Paser, who sat among the lesser officers and the men-at-arms, surrounded by Seti's men and scornfully ignoring them. He no longer wore a badge of rank; the skin that had once been hidden beneath the bronze plaque shone lighter than the rest of him.

“I want him where I can keep my eye on him,” Lord Nebamun said.

“I have heard the things he's been telling everyone since yesterday,” Khonsu said.

“He's striking back at something he sees as an injustice,” Seti said with contempt. “He's too big a fool to see that he brought it on himself!”

“There are plenty lots of fools around,” muttered Mersu, draining his cup. He seemed somehow subdued, and even a little afraid, but he had eaten his share of the beautifully prepared meal without any trouble, washing them down with liberal pulls at his cup, which was kept well filled.

Khonsu raised his own cup and drank. It was the best wine he had tasted in years, finer even than what had been served at his wedding feast, lightly sweetened with strong honey and made aromatic with spices.

He paused in surprise. For the first time in months he had remembered his marriage with nothing more than regret that it was ended. He lifted his cup secretly to Nebamun and drank, gazing out over the throng of feasters, his eyes settling again on Paser.

He felt a twinge of sympathy for the man. He deserved all that had happened to him, but Khonsu could understand how a man like Paser might feel that he had been wronged. Realizing that his youth had left him. Pushed aside in favor of a younger man, made to serve under a younger man whom he probably considered his junior in ability. Caught in a theft of shameful pettiness and publicly stripped of his rank. And now, virtually a prisoner, being forced to watch those he hated as they ate and drank around him.

Poor foolish man
, Khonsu thought.

A sudden stir jolted him from his thoughts. Paser was on his feet with a knife in his hand.

Khonsu did not hear what Ptahemhat was saying, but he saw the twist of Paser's expression as his blade came sweeping upward. Ptahemhat yanked his own knife from its sheath and arched away from the stroke. The men around them scattered, though Ruia, hovering nearby, looked as though he were trying to find a way to separate them.

“Clear away from them!” someone shouted, and the circle about the two men widened. Paser was twenty years older than his adversary, and he had put on extra flesh, but he was powerful with the madness of jealousy. He feinted again.

Perineb was on his feet. “Put that knife away, Paser!” he commanded.

“It'll be your turn next, eunuch!” Paser spat.

Bronze clashed against bronze above the thud of feet upon the stone floor and the rasp of quickened breathing.

Nebamun had risen with the rest. Plucking Seti's dagger from his belt, he descended the dais of the table in a leap and moved between the two combatants with well-trained ease.

Paser's reddened eyes, wrenched away from his opponent, saw Nebamun and blazed into fury. “Ah!” he purred and redoubled his attack.

Ptahemhat, blocked, stepped back as Nebamun's dagger flashed and darted in a parry that broke the force of Paser's lunge, deflected it to the side, and sent the man stumbling to his knees. In an instant Nebamun's knife point was digging into Paser's throat; Paser, staring up at him along the line of glinting bronze, subsided against the ground with a curse.

The flurry of motion had passed. The diners slowly relaxed from their shock-rigid poses. A hastily emptied wine cup clicked against a table. A drawn dagger was sheathed with a sigh of metal against wood.

“I don't permit brawling in my household,” Nebamun said coldly. “Drop the knife!”

Paser obeyed.

“Now stand up like a man and take yourself out of my sight! You're too foul for killing!”

Paser picked himself up. “Doing it too brown, Your Grace!” he snarled. “You've given me orders for the last time! There's no justice with you! I'm through with you and all of yours!”

“You brought your fate upon your own head,” Nebamun retorted. “Be glad that your punishment has been so light!”

“A pretty speech!” Paser spat. “It's easy to talk when you have goons to do your dirty work for you!”

Two of Nebamun's personal guard shifted and muttered.

“He just beat you to your knees with no help from anyone else!” Ptahemhat flared.

Paser flung him a look of scorn. “He had precious little help from you, Mama's boy!”

“Mama's boy!” Ptahemhat yelled. “You fat, old—”

“Hold your tongue, Ptahemhat!” Nebamun commanded. “And you, Paser, had better keep—”

“Better keep what?” Paser sneered. “What more can you do to me than you and your pretty boy between you have already done?”

Ptahemhat's eyes were blazing. “'Pretty boy'!”, he repeated.

“I mean 'catamite'!” Paser hissed through his teeth. “Do you want me to explain it to you in detail? The way you fondled yourself into favor!”

“I'll
kill
you!” Ptahemhat choked, surging forward.

Lord Nebamun nodded to two of his guards, who seized the younger man and held him fast while he cursed and tried to shake them off. Nebamun waited until Ptahemhat had subsided before he spoke again with cold incisiveness. “You, Ptahemhat son of Kaya son of Kenamun, will go to your quarters and reflect on learning not to react to every insult scraped together and flung at you by a beaten enemy!”

He watched as Ptahemhat obeyed and then turned to Paser. “And now for you,” he said. “You listened to an insult from someone who had nothing to do with you. You took it to heart and let it fester. You chose to listen to your own demon of jealousy and take a minor assignment given to one of your subordinates as an offense. You could have lived your life out in peace, prosperity and honor at Memphis and died beloved by all, but you forced your way into this expedition and wasted no time in spreading discord and hatred. For the sake of the love I once bore you, and which I still have for the family that you have grieved and harmed by your evildoing, I put up with your envy and anger far longer than I should have. Now it is time to make an end. You will be escorted to your quarters and left under guard so that honest men may enjoy their wine and meat.”

“I've served you well, though you've forgotten it!” Paser interrupted furiously. “If you were any part of a man you'd pay me off and let me leave!”

“His Grace has just put you under arrest!” Seti cried.

“His Grace heard me,” Paser said, turning to the Second Prophet. “If he has any honesty in him, he'll admit I've got a point.”

All eyes turned to Nebamun, who had hooked a thumb at his belt and was looking Paser over in a cool, appraising manner. “So be it,” he said at last. “I won't have it said that I withhold a man's just desserts. I'll pay you off, Paser. I'll make sure you get everything you have earned.”

He looked around the room until he located the expedition's scribe. “Take three guards with you, Hormin, and go with Paser to the storehouses. Measure out a generous supply of provisions. Give him, as well, a bar of gold in payment for the years he was a good commander, before he allowed jealousy of an imagined enemy to poison his mind. Provide bedding and a pack donkey, and then see him to his quarters. You, Paser, will be put upon the road north in the morning. I warn you: it'll go hard for you if you are found anywhere within this province after tomorrow.”

“I pass no more nights beneath your roof, Temple-Rat!” Paser spat. “I leave tonight.”

Nebamun eyed him ironically. “What?” he said. “And brave the ghost that haunts the passes at night?”

Paser curled his lip. “Neb-Aten doesn't frighten me!”

Nebamun lifted an eyebrow. “I wonder if you're being wise,” he said.

“Puzzle it out as you please!” Paser sneered. “You're nothing to me now!”

One of Khonsu's guardsmen standing beside the door shifted his stance and glared at Paser. “Just say the word, Your Grace,” he growled. “He can't talk to you like that! We'll clap him in shackles! That'll shut his foul mouth!”

Nebamun was gazing thoughtfully at Paser, Seti's dagger still gripped in one hand. His mouth tipped in an unwilling smile, but he finally shook his head. “Thank you, Harwa,” he said. “But Paser can leave us this night and follow his own path to hell. The consequences will be on his own head.”

He mounted the dais again and gave back Seti's knife with a word of thanks. He nodded to the rest. “Go now,” he said. “And follow your orders.” When Khonsu would have risen he said, “No, Commander. Stay here. The night is young, and we have plenty of wine.”

Khonsu bowed, but he caught Ruia's eye and nodded toward the door. Ruia smiled and inclined his head, and then left quickly.

**   **   **

Khonsu sighed in his sleep and turned his head more comfortably upon his curved head-rest. The wine had been sweet and pleasant, and he had felt sleep stealing over him as the feast went on into the night. Delicious wine, soothing away all sad memories, all pain, all that grated on the soul and dulled the spirit...

Somehow he had gotten to his bed, but through the warm, comfortable haze that seemed to envelop him he could remember, dimly, Nebamun's and Mersu's voices speaking with the ease and humor of old friends.

...you'd best get to bed, Mersu. Ptah's beard! What a sot you are! You were never like this when we were boys together!

And Mersu's voice had said,
I had no reason to be like this.

He remembered Lord Nebamun's voice saying,
You have no reason now.

No reason
, Khonsu thought, his mouth stretching in a smile. Except
that wine is so pleasant
. He wondered how Paser was. The warmth retreated a little with the thought.

Aie, Nebti, how did we get from where we were then to where we are now?

And the memory of Lord Nebamun's voice once again.
On our own two feet, Mersu, and by our own folly
.

**   **   **

By our own folly.
The words circled drowsily in Khonsu's mind, and he did not know if he had dreamed them. And then, as he fell more deeply into sleep, a web of memories spun into a bright and terrible dream. He saw the flash of weapons, the glint of sun upon flesh, heard the clash of metal upon metal.

**   **   **

Two forms towering over the earth, their shoulders piercing the sky, their swords more terrible than lightning, circled with a movement as slow as time itself, as swift as thought. It seemed as though the combat contained within itself the essence of strife.

He looked up and up past the thunder and clash of the blades, up into the shadowed, inhuman faces.

Papa, I'm afraid.

He could hear Sherit's voice in his ear, feel the light, hot clasp of her hand in his, as it had been on the morning of his departure from Khemnu, even as he caught a sudden, dreadful glimpse of the combatants and understood that what he was witnessing was not a play battle fought with weapons of reed, but a conflict as old as time and dire as destiny.

Falcon-headed Horus lifted his glittering sword and closed with black-hearted Set. The weapons clashed together in a shower of red sparks.

Don't be afraid, Sweetheart,
Khonsu whispered as he had that morning.
It is Horus the Avenger fighting Set, who murdered his father.

But will he win?
Sherit's dream voice asked softly.
Will he win?

He could see Horus moving with the elegant skill of Nebamun in the audience hall, could see the glitter of his sword parrying Set's circling stroke.

Yes, Sweetheart
, he heard himself saying with the absolute certainty that he had felt in Khemnu on that morning that seemed so long ago as the other combatant went crashing to his knees with the sound of falling mountains.
Horus always wins.