The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle (30 page)

XLIX

The city of Akhet-Aten was engulfed in blackest night now and then split with the glare of light as red and thick as blood as sword flashed against sword with the thunderous din of a desert storm.

The combat was lit by fitful red flashes that seemed to pulse from ruined Akhet-Aten's stones, as though the city's blood was coloring the battle. Hot red edged the flashing swords. The intent, ominous faces were shadowed in flame. What had before seemed to be a majestic, eternal dance of avenger and murderer had become earnest and deadly, leading to a suddenly uncertain conclusion.

Away below the combatants, sheltered behind a broken, tumbled colossus of the Heretic King, Khonsu watched the clash and hiss of their swords while the air about him crackled with danger. The blades met, hissing and spattering light like a cataract, but Khonsu, turning from the light, saw the fell glint of a thin blade as it slowly came into being in the dark, cruel hand.

Treachery! he cried as the dagger swung upward.

And now Horus' hawk-eyes, wide with the echo of Khonsu's shout, turned away from the face of his foe and saw the rising point of the knife too late to stop it. The eyes turned from the coming death to meet Khonsu's. The lips parted, he heard the swift intake of breath just before the dagger drove into the flesh below the ribs—

**   **   **

“Commander...”

Khonsu opened his eyes and sat up with a gasp. The red glare of the battle had faded into golden warmth, but his heart still thundered in his ears.

“Are you all right, Commander?”

He turned wide eyes toward the voice. Rai was bending over him, one hand on his knife.

“You were having a nightmare,” the man said. “I heard you cry out.”

A nightmare, Khonsu thought confusedly. His heart was steadying now, slowing, and the terror was fading.

It was all a dream. The eternal truth was untouched by his fears. Horus always won.

He made himself smile. “It was a nightmare,” he agreed. “A bad one, too. But it's gone now, thanks to all the gods! I'll never again drink warm beer before I go to sleep.”

Rai's amusement was genuine, though a little preoccupied. “That's wise, Commander,” he said.

Khonsu pushed his hair out of his eyes and squinted toward the window grille. The light filtering through it was pale; it was still fairly early. “Did you require me for anything, Rai?” he asked.

“His Grace is asking for you,” Rai said. “He's in the throne room. Can you come to him now?”

Khonsu blinked the sleep from his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Tell His Grace I'll be there directly.”

**   **   **

The throne room, flooded with early morning light, nevertheless seemed dark and still. The disk of the Aten, blurred by the hammer strokes that had stripped it of its gold, was no more than an echo of past pageantry. To Khonsu's eyes it seemed like a grieving presence crouching at the top of the wall, its rays reaching helplessly for someone who would never come back. Gazing around at the stripped walls and the defaced carvings, Khonsu felt as though he were glimpsing the shape of a memory through a mist. Only Lord Nebamun, seated in Akhenaten's golden chair of state, the Eye-of-Horus glinting at his breast, seemed real and solid.

The Second Prophet eyed him with concern. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said. “Rai told me you were sick.”

Khonsu straightened and smiled. “I was having a nightmare,” he said. “I drank with Mersu last night, and I paid for it in my sleep.”

Nebamun's brows drew together fractionally, but his voice was quiet and level. “Mersu, Nehesi and their escort camped near the quarry last night,” he said. “They are making certain the galleries are destroyed as I had commanded.”

Khonsu lowered his eyes.

Nebamun leaned forward in the chair. “Is all well with you, my son?” he asked quietly.

“I will be fine, My lord,” Khonsu said. “I have been troubled by dreams since we came here. Dreams of Horus and Set battling. Each time it's as though I'm watching them, and the dreams are somber but good. But this last one—”

He looked up and saw that Nebamun had sat back and was watching him with blank, expressionless eyes.

“This time I dreamed of treachery, Your Grace, and in the dream it seemed Horus would die. It was terribly wrong.”

Nebamun's expression had warmed somewhat from its chill blankness. “We dream sometimes of what we most fear,” he said, his hand seeking and closing about the Udjat amulet at his breast. “But you must know that Horus does not challenge Set because he is assured of victory, but because it is the right thing to do. He fights because it is wrong to hold back for fear of the cost. If he knew at this moment he might fall through treachery, he would face Set nevertheless for the sake of honor and of justice.”

The words seemed to ring in the room, though Nebamun had spoken quietly. He frowned and said more lightly, “But since you tell me all is well, I am content. I called you here because you once spoke of your gratitude for some trifling kindness I showed you. You said you would be at my service if I ever had need of you.”

“I remember, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “The 'kindness' was not 'trifling'.”

Nebamun did not comment on the correction. “It was a generous offer,” he said. “Ordinarily I would be content with your friendship, but I need you now.”

“Your Grace has only to ask,” Khonsu said. “Tell me what you need.”

Nebamun took out an arrow with a rolled, sealed message tied to its shaft and held it up for him to see. The arrow was like the ones he had shot the night of the ghost. The papyrus was old and yellowed, the edges frayed. “I want you to take this to Khebet, Commander, and give it personally to Mayor Huni,” he said. “A boat is ready and waiting for you. I want you to deliver the message before mid-afternoon and return directly.”

“This is the repayment you ask for all you have done for me?” Khonsu demanded, staring at the worn papyrus. “Is there nothing more?”

“I promise, it is enough,” said Nebamun. He raised his hand when Khonsu would have spoken. “But there's one thing more,” he said. “You are to tell Huni it was sent into the midst of your men this morning. Tell him you are angry and it must stop.”

Khonsu looked down at the arrow and its message. The arrowhead was whole and gleaming, the papyrus was falling to pieces, the string tying it was worn and frayed, and the seal on the pinch of clay that closed the knot—

“Huni said he was receiving messages from a ghost,” Khonsu said. “And this looks—” He looked up and saw that Nebamun was smiling at him.

“Don't ask questions I am not permitted to answer, Commander,” the Second Prophet said quietly.

Khonsu frowned at the message. “And if Huni questions me,” he said, “what does Your Grace want me to say to him?”

Nebamun gazed ahead of him for the space of time it took to draw a slow, deep breath. Then he looked over at Khonsu. “Explain it as you please,” he said. “But at all costs come straight away from there. Under no circumstances must you linger after you have fulfilled your task.”

“I will do so, Your Grace,” Khonsu said.

Nebamun nodded. “And after you leave Khebet—and be careful, for your life may well be in danger—I want you to swing south and east and rejoin this force, which will have evacuated the city.”

“I will, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “And yourself?”

Nebamun rose. “Thank you, Khonsu,” he said. “I will always be grateful to you for this.”

“And yourself?” Khonsu asked again, fighting a disquieting sense of desperation.

Nebamun shook his head. “Don't ask questions I can't answer,” he said. “Now go in peace and come again free.” He considered and added softly, “And remember that Nebamun son of Nakht son of Ahmose sent you forth with his friendship.”

**   **   **

The sense of unease lingered as Khonsu gave some instructions to Karoya, who had taken the late watch and was returning to his bed. Once that was done, he hurried toward the quays.

It was not long past dawn, but the docks were already bustling. Soldiers poured from the holds of the cargo ships in a steady stream, bent double from the weight of heavy jars.

Perineb was standing by one of the ships and gazing thoughtfully at the jars piled on the dock. He looked up and smiled as Khonsu approached him. “You're up early, Commander,” he said.

“I could say the same of Your Reverence,” Khonsu said with a smile. “The morning ceremonies aren't for some time yet.”

Perineb raised his face to the growing light of the emerging sun. “This is the time of day when I feel closest to God,” he said. “Perhaps I'm selfish to go apart, but it's a time I love.” He lifted his eyebrows at the arrow. “You're going to Huni,” he said. It was not a question.

“Yes, Your Reverence,” Khonsu replied.

Perineb nodded. “It has come, then,” he said. “I knew it would, but it saddens me nonetheless. It was so beautiful, once.”

“Your Reverence?” Khonsu said.

Perineb shook his head. “Others have said it better.:

“Tremble for the houses of joy in the joyous city,

Lament for the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vine.

The palaces shall be forsaken,

The multitude of the city shall be left,

The forts and towers shall be dens for lions and hyenas,

Until judgment shall once more dwell in the wilderness

And righteousness once more reign in the fruitful field.”

He looked at Khonsu. “You must do what must be done,” he said. “Go with my prayers and my blessings.” And he turned and walked swiftly away before Khonsu could say anything else.

Seti had been standing at the top of the nearest ship's gangplank and watching them. He raised a hand in greeting as Khonsu turned.

Khonsu nodded to the captain of Nebamun's ship and went over to Seti. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking over at the piled supplies.

“Unloading this cargo,” Seti said. “It appears we'll be needing it today, though what we'll be needing it for escapes me. We're going to be evacuating the city at some point, so I'd think it would make sense to keep this on the ships. But His Grace has ordered otherwise, and he was insistent, for all he's generally willing to listen to suggestions.”

“What is this cargo?” Khonsu asked.

“That's what I'd like to know,” Seti said. “I'm as curious as my son, Nakhtamun. His excuse is that he's twelve; I have none.” He eyed Khonsu's attire and said, “But where are you off to?”

“I'm taking a message to Huni at Khebet,” Khonsu said.

“This is after His Grace has been dodging him all these weeks?” Seti said. “Interesting. And so is the fact that he's doing this when we're about to evacuate the city and head southeast.”

“There are many things about this message that interest me,” Khonsu said. “Starting with the message itself.” He took out the folded and sealed papyrus and the arrow.

Seti turned them over in his hands and frowned at Khonsu. “This looks like the sort of message Huni told Perineb about,” he said. “Did His Grace—” He broke off and resumed with a wry smile. “No, don't tell me. ‘Don't ask questions I can't answer.’ Am I right?”

Khonsu took back the message and the arrow and went to his ship. “Right down to the inflection,” he said. He put a foot on the gangplank, turned and said, “But His Grace orders and I must obey. I'll tell you Huni's reaction when I get back.”

The ship was cast off from the dock. Seti cupped his hands around his mouth and called something back that Khonsu did not quite catch, but he grinned and waved.

But watching the devastated city slipping past him as the current bore his ship north, Khonsu seemed once again to see the sullen glow of the fire from his dream and hear the clash of swords.

L

“The cargo from Memphis has been unloaded, Your Grace,” Seti said. “It's piled and waiting by the roadside.”

“Very good,” said Nebamun. He was sitting alone on the terrace of the palace and gazing out over the scattered wreckage of Akhet-Aten. The morning light seemed to emphasize the huddled shapes of the great buildings that had been stripped down to their brick cores. To the north, the white limestone pylon gateway of the temple of the Aten still reared proudly above the street, echoed to the south by the Chapel Royal's three matching gateways. Everything else was gone.

Seti bowed and turned to leave. The Second Prophet's voice behind him made him stop.

“The evacuation measures,” Nebamun said thoughtfully. “Are they nearly completed?”

“They are more than that, Your Grace,” Seti replied. “We can march at a moment's notice.”

“Excellent,” said Nebamun. “Have the men put their belongings by the southeastern gateway, and set a guard over them. That done, the containers you just unloaded will be divided evenly into four parts and taken to each of the four temples in this city under the eye of your three top officers. Captain Karoya will command the group at the great temple. They will open the jars, take brushes, which were also sent from Memphis, and proceed to cover the structures.”

“Your Grace?” Seti said.

“The shipment contains pitch,” Nebamun said. “You will gather all the combustible materials we have. They will be piled against the walls and smeared with pitch, as well. This must be done at once.”

Seti was puzzled, but he did not quibble. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said.

Nebamun looked up at the sky. “Noon,” he said quietly. “He is there by now, and speaking with...”

“I beg Your Grace's pardon,” Seti said. “I didn't hear you.”

Nebamun blinked, frowned, and slowly looked toward Seti. His expression was cold and bleak, but his voice was even as he said, “I have commanded that the temples to the Aten by destroyed by fire. We'll set the blaze this afternoon.” And he turned his gaze back over the city.

**   **   **

Khonsu did not remember Huni as being so restless, but the man had been fidgeting constantly since Khonsu had been escorted into his presence. His hands had fluttered to his robe, to his belt, fingered his short, pointed beard even as his eyes wandered throughout the room, fixing upon his personal guard, who flanked him, upon the room's furnishings, upon his heavy bracelet, upon everything but Khonsu's face.

Khonsu took a deep breath, held it for a few seconds, then strode forward, executed a perfunctory bow, and offered the arrow and the message. “Your correspondent is persistent,” he said without preamble. “But he must have become confused or drunk.”

“My correspondent?” Huni repeated. “What do you mean, Commander?”

“I mean this,” Khonsu said, taking out the arrow and message and smacking them against his palm. “This was sent into the midst of my men this morning. It narrowly missed one of them by the grace of the gods. You see it has your name on it. I brought it straight to you. Now tell me truthfully: who is this fellow?”

Huni took the arrow and the message from Khonsu and broke the message open. He grew white as he read. “Horus protect me! Now they both are following…” He broke off and rounded on Khonsu. “How did this come to you?” he demanded.

“As I told you, Mayor Huni!” Khonsu replied. “It was lashed to the arrow and shot into the midst of my men from a clear sky!”

“After all this time!” Huni said. “Why must he trouble me? Surely he can see—”

“I don't know what you're talking about!” Khonsu said scornfully. “But if you know who the sender is, I suggest you clap him into prison and leave him there to rot!”

“I don't think a prison would hold him,” Huni said. “I don't think he can be stopped. He has turned my life into hell, he has made my age a time of fear and dismay, and he even reached out and struck my son, sending him back to me with blood on his lips and an arrow like this in his side! He had harmed no one! He was trying to frighten you away- And for something that happened so long ago no one remembers! The gods protect me! What more will he do?”

“Your son?” Khonsu said, remembering the night he had followed the 'ghost' and witnessed the confrontation between the young man and Lord Nebamun. He raised his head and scowled at Huni. “I led a scouting patrol recently, as is my habit.” he said. “It was north of the city. I was looking for that ghost you told Paser about the day before. My patrol found a wrecked chariot and a dead horse. The chariot was obviously a piece of tomb equipment and there was blood on it: someone had been hurt. Later, we were able to identify the chariot as having come from the tomb of Neb-Aten. If the injured driver was your son, I want to know what your son was doing in possession of tomb goods and trying to impede the work of a royal commission!”

Huni shook his head. “My son was almost killed,” he said. “And Paser was killed, and it was all that ghost. I never thought—” He broke off and looked at Khonsu. “Why are you staring at me?”

Things had begun to fit together in Khonsu's mind. Paser's death, the supposed haunting, the words Nebamun had spoken to Huni's son that strange, frightening night. But though he could almost grasp the truth behind the facts, there was much he did not yet understand. All he did know at the moment was that Nebamun was, as he had said, playing a deep, dire game for high stakes. And someone could get killed.

“All this talk of ghosts is foolish!” he said. “I have no patience with it! And I want no other such incident! Warn your men! And now I must return to my post.” He turned to leave.

Huni was frowning at the shaft of the arrow. His eyes were narrow as he looked up. “Wait just one moment, noble commander,” he said. “Tell me once more: how did this arrow come to you?”

“It was shot into the midst of my men just this morning,” Khonsu replied.

Huni's lips bent into an odd smile that made Khonsu wonder why he ever judged the man to be negligible. “I see,” he said. “But the point isn't blunted, nor the fletching damaged in any way.”

“You keep saying it's a ghost's arrow,” Khonsu said. “Would such a one be damaged like others shot by mortal men?”

Huni lifted a small copper bell and rang it. “You have just told me, Commander, that this talk of ghosts is foolish,” he said in a voice of silk as the door opened behind Khonsu. “And yes, the other arrows were damaged. How odd to think that they, carrying a message from the dead, suffered the fate of normal, mortal arrows, while this one, brought north from the Heretic's city by a living man, is intact. I wonder which is the lie and which the truth? And whether I may have been mistaken about the one who's summoning me. Maybe I'd best turn my thoughts to other possibilities.”

“Think of them another time,” Khonsu said. “I must return to my command at once.” He turned to leave and found his way blocked by a group of men with drawn swords. He was not surprised by this development, but it was not welcome. He turned back to Huni.

“The noble commander is weary,” Huni said with an odd smile. “Take him somewhere where he can rest. The prison in the barracks will do. And then tell my butler I'll be boarding my boat and sailing south. It's time I met this elusive Nebamun and got some answers.” He looked at Khonsu and smiled as he tucked Nebamun's arrow into his belt.

**   **   **

The southeastern gate of Akhet-Aten was choked with baggage wagons and men shifting on their feet and staring wide-eyed back into the heart of the city. They were awaiting the word to march south along the Nile half a day's journey toward the gap in the eastern cliffs opening to the city of Sumneh.

They had spent the day piling combustible materials, dried grasses, splintered wood, straw and dried reeds, against the walls of the four temples in the city and then daubing them and the walls with pitch. When that was completed, they were sent to the gate to await General Seti's command.

But they thought the command would not come soon. The General was still in the heart of the city with His Grace and Father Perineb. There had been no word; the wind sighed through the streets of the city and kicked tufts of sand into the air and whispered of the destruction of fine, beautiful things.

The men turned their backs on the city and gazed south along the shining river and spoke of other things until a thread of darkness, crossing the westering sun, raised a cry of surprise.

Smoke was drifting southward in a dark plume away to the north near the heart of the city. The strand of smoke was thin and fine as it trailed upward to catch the wind; it darkened into a knot of blackness and flame at the ground.

“What is it?” someone demanded.

“There's fire in the city!”

“What?” demanded a junior officer, his fist tightening on the handle of his knife.

“Look for yourself!” exclaimed one of the priests. “It's just beyond the palace!”

The officer peered and started backward with an exclamation. “There's another!” he cried.

“Where?” asked the priest.

“To the north: the desert altars!”

Wide-eyed, appalled silence fell. White-rimmed eyes were raised to watch the sky as the two dark plumes of smoke were joined by a third and then a fourth. The smoke caught the wind and tangled together to form a knotted skein spreading across the sky as the sound of a great wind seemed to rise and swell from the heart of the city itself.

The priest turned away from the sight. “He's firing the temples,” he said quietly.

**   **   **

The fire gulped in air and released it in jets of flame like earth-bound lightning. Tendrils of flame darted in red-gold streaks, racing across the stones in the courtyards, eddying about the lintels and architraves, garlanding the temple with fire and smothering it beneath a pall of black, billowing smoke that darted flashes of sullen red light.

Lord Nebamun sent his torch spinning into the inferno before him with a flick of his arm and turned away to face his officers and senior priests. “It is done. Now it is time to make an end. Go to the southeastern gate and take the men to safety, General. Perineb will lead my men from the city under your escort.”

Seti had been holding a fold of cloth over his mouth and nose. He lowered it. “Your Grace said you would be joining us!”

“I will in good time,” Nebamun said.

The pylon was completely engulfed now, the men and women on its walls cast so swiftly into alternating shade and highlight they seemed to be writhing in the heat.

Perineb watched the racing flames as they coursed along the walls with the swiftness of hunting dogs. “'Raising their hands and crying out in the flames',” he said softly to himself. “It was just as he said...” He turned back to Nebamun. “This was not necessary, Your Grace.”

Nebamun's eyes were fixed on the flames swirling around the carved disk of the Aten as though, released from the sun itself, they had come to life in its temple and were ready to engulf it. The light bathed him in flickering red. He seemed, himself, to be made of flame and shadow. The polished carnelian Udjat charm at his breast caught the glint of the fire and flung it back like a miniature sun.

“I judged it best,” he said. “He would never have wanted anyone to be drawn into error through his actions. Sooner than that, he would have destroyed this temple with his own hands. And so I do it for him.”

“But isn't Your Grace coming with us now?” Perineb demanded.

“No.” Nebamun's voice was almost swallowed by the hiss and roar of the inferno beyond him. The billowing soot had darkened his face. “I have one matter still to complete,” he said, bringing the back of his forearm across his eyes and smearing the lighter tracks scoring his cheeks.” I will join you when I can.”

“But the fires—”

“I won't go near them, you have my word. But the matter is pressing. Go now. I'll join you when I can.”

Seti started to protest, but when Nebamun said, “His Majesty has indicated his complete approval of my actions. Do you contest his wisdom, then?” there was nothing more to say.

Seti turned to look over his shoulder as he passed beneath the Window of Appearances. He saw Nebamun, framed by the carved limestone, standing like a shadow against a red-gold tapestry of flame.