The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle (5 page)

“It is only a hyena, as Your Grace said,” he said, fighting an odd urge to laugh. “A pack of those with a few owls thrown in will provide enough noise and shadows to fill a city with evil spirits. Your Grace was right, and I have been as big a fool as everyone else! We've wasted our fear on nothing: the morning will show that.”

He turned to see Nebamun, completely unmoved by the sight and the noise, fitting an arrow to his bowstring and drawing it back. The bowstring whipped back as the arrow sang through the air into the darkness. A hollow thud was immediately followed by a bitten off snarl and the disjointed scrabble of claws upon stone.

Nebamun nodded, nocked another arrow and stepped down from the chariot. “I am going to finish this 'ghost', Commander,” he said, “and then we will return to our camp. The sooner everyone knows what we are dealing with and puts these children's terrors out of their minds, the better it will be for all of us.”

And he went into the shadows, leaving Khonsu and the drivers to exchange startled glances.

The sight of the fresh hyena skin nailed to the camp's standard the next morning did much to dispel the past days' fearful whisperings of ghosts. The last lingering shadows were driven away in a burst of delighted laughter as Lord Nebamun's driver made the breakfast rounds of the camp with his account of the past night's doings, giving his story the artistic embellishments that any self-respecting raconteur would find imperative.

“Your Grace is a hero,” said the Master Physician later when they stood watching
Prince of the Winds
as she prepared to cast off and head south. The camp had been dismantled, the ships loaded once more with the heavy pieces of equipment best taken by river. The priest Seneb had pleaded ill health and asked to be permitted to travel to the city on the ships. Nebamun had directed a quizzical glance at Sennefer. When the Master Physician nodded, he had given his permission. The rest of the force had mustered on the river bank in preparation for the journey overland which would bring them to Akhet-Aten late that afternoon.

Nebamun lifted an eyebrow at Sennefer. He had seemed preoccupied and on edge all morning as he watched the camp break, but Khonsu thought he was more strained than ill-tempered. “My inability to feel a terror that's gripping everyone else, simply because I happen to know better, is not courage,” he said.

He turned to face the men ranged behind him. “We have three leagues to cover between here and Akhet-Aten,” he said. “It will be an easy day's journey beside the river, and the ships will have been unloaded and a good supper prepared by the time we arrive. Once we have dined we will go to our quarters and prepare for tomorrow's tasks.”

A murmur rose through the group.

Nebamun nodded. “We'll march behind the standard of Ptah,” he said, motioning to Ptahemhat who lifted the standard and set it in the socket at the chariot's axle. The wind caught the hyena pelt nailed to the staff and made it rustle. “We depart upon your order, Commander Khonsu.”

**   **   **

The men moved with purpose, singing and laughing under the unblinking gaze of the sun as they passed between the high, golden cliffs that crowded to the edge of the river. The shadows of the past day were banished to the realm of vague memory, to be recalled only as a jest.

“It worked,” said Mersu, the sculptor, riding beside Khonsu. He had been trudging along with the rest of the group when one of Khonsu's outriders, doubling back along the line of march, had come upon him and insisted on carrying him back to Khonsu behind him. Khonsu had made Mersu mount into his chariot.

“What worked?” Khonsu asked. They were near the end of the line of travel, encouraging stragglers. He had found the sculptor to be a man of wide experience with a wry sense of humor and a turn of phrase that made the journey one of pleasure, though some of the man's comments were non sequiturs that often defied logic.

“Killing the ghosts,” Mersu said. “And having witnesses to it. His Grace is an intelligent man. I shouldn't have been surprised.”

Khonsu frowned up at the blaze of the sun. Was it only a day since he had heard the mayor of Khebet make his disastrous comment? “We must be close to the city now,” he said. “I came this way last night, but the landmarks are changed in daylight.”

“Almost there,” Mersu said. “See that natural gateway ahead of us? Go through it, and you'll find the city.”

“You have been here before, then?” Khonsu said.

“Oh yes,” said Mersu. “I was an apprentice here. Apprenticed to the finest sculptor that ever was: Djehutymose. It was a beautiful place in its time. I'm almost afraid to see how it's changed.”

“If you knew it in its heyday,” Khonsu said, “I suspect you'll find it changed. His Grace appears to have been here before, as well. I wonder how he finds it.”

Mersu looked surprised. “His Grace?” he said. “Here? Well, as to that, he's good at reading maps.”

“ Commander! His Grace is calling for you!” cried one of the mounted messengers.

“Tell His Grace that I'm coming!” Khonsu shouted back, and urged his horses to a canter.

Mersu gripped the chariot rail and lifted his face to the wind of their travel as they passed the line of marchers. They arrived at the front, beneath the shadow of Mersu's gateway.

Nebamun's expression was set and grim, but his voice was calm as he said, “Come with me, Commander: Akhet-Aten lies through this pass. I am told this road widens to become the Royal Road. We will go with our vanguard to alert the northern sentries and then proceed to the quays.”

They passed between the high cliffs, his chariot moving along abreast of the Second Prophet's. Together they went through the shadowed gateway formed by the two high ridges of cliff, coming out on a slight rise that opened up into a fertile cup of land, green and glistening like a vision of plenty in a desert land. The river seemed to flicker at their feet, a carpet of living silver that led southwest between golden, deep-shadowed cliffs.

Khonsu caught his breath, awed, and lifted his eyes from the green abundance before him to the splendid lines of the city that was set within it. He could make out the gracious lines of broad thoroughfares flowing cleanly through clusters of buildings with the effortless motion of a river. A procession of huge, high pylons caused an eddy in the flow of the road; the great temple built by the Heretic king.

The sight was at once magnificent and desolate, for Akhet-Aten lay abandoned and decaying beneath the glinting sky, shadowed in the sunlight, white and gleaming as bleaching bones that still held the long-ago elegance of their form. Shadows seemed to fill and overflow the ruins as water from a cataract fills and overflows a cup held beneath it. Heartbreak, despair, desolation…They seemed to quiver before Khonsu, as real in the afternoon light as they had seemed at midnight. He tore his thoughts away and looked over at Nebamun, who was gazing silently down at the city, his hand clenched about the standard.

“Oh gods, how cruel!” Nebamun said, quietly as if he had not meant for Khonsu to hear. He drew a shaking breath and raised his head. “Commander,” he said more loudly.

“Your Grace?”

“We are ready to enter the city, if you will give the command.”

“It's given!” Khonsu said, and motioned the rest of the group.

**   **   **

The guards posted by Khonsu's second-in-command halted them just north of the city. Khonsu drew his team to a halt and waited as they came up.

“I am Khonsu, Commander of the Army for the Fifteenth Nome,” he said to the one-eyed, grizzled officer commanding them. “You know me by sight. Beside me is His Grace, Lord Nebamun, the Second Prophet of Ptah. Will you send word of our arrival to Captain Karoya and then pass us into the city?”

Nakht saluted, fist to heart, with a broad grin, and then sent a runner to alert Karoya. Khonsu, giving the order to go forward, saw that Ptahemhat was smiling and interested, while Paser's face was darkened with a frown. Perineb was speaking quietly with Sennefer, and Nehesi was looking around at the buildings.

The pitiless daylight removed the midnight cloak that had hidden the stripped houses, the empty holes staring where window grilles had once been in place, the bare mud brick crumbling where the outer casings had been torn away by stone thieves. Akhet-Aten's streets were choked with the city's own scattered bones.

Nebamun, riding beside Khonsu at the head of the group, cast a quick glance around at the wreckage before fixing his eyes to the south, but Khonsu had an impression that he was somehow sad. They followed the wide avenue of the past evening as it led south into the heart of the city.

The skeleton of a large palace loomed to the left, its walled expanse lined with attenuated statues that had been toppled headlong and mutilated. A jumble of square, whitewashed dwellings to their left, private houses by their appearance, clustered about the edge of a wadi visible beyond them. Near each cluster lay dome-shaped ovens, some shattered and open, others as spruce and spotless as though they had been used the day before. A cat, busily washing its face on a high, sun-flooded ledge, fixed them with an unblinking stare as they passed.

Khonsu turned to look over his shoulder at the 'Northern Sentinels' that Nebamun had pointed out the night before.

“Splendid, aren't they?” said Mersu. The sculptor was looking around with unabashed enjoyment.

Caught in the growing grip of a thought, Khonsu said, “You're well-acquainted with His Grace, Master Sculptor, aren't you?”

Mersu's bleary features contracted in a wry smile. “I know him as well as anyone does,” he said. “But that isn't saying much. I know him well enough to trust my life to him and believe anything he tells me.”

“How long have you known Lord Nebamun?” Khonsu asked, a corner of his mind remembering the past night.

Mersu considered. “Lord Nebamun?” he repeated. “Oh, I came to the temple of Ptah from Akhmin in the third year of His Majesty's reign. That was...just over ten years ago. His Grace had just been named Second Prophet. That was the first time I met Lord Nebamun.”

“I see,” said Khonsu, frowning ahead at the Second Prophet's back. “He has never been to Akhet-Aten, then.”

Mersu smiled and shrugged. “To my certain knowledge Lord Nebamun hasn't been to Akhet-Aten in this life.”

Khonsu nodded. “This life's the only one I'm concerned with,” he said.

VIII Akhet-Aten

The ships had arrived at Akhet-Aten half a day in advance of Khonsu's group, giving his second, Karoya, time to assemble his men in the central square and await the arrival of the main force. His bearing was a mixture of relief and defensiveness that deepened as Khonsu, hiding a smile, gravely presented him with the hyena pelt.

Karoya stared blankly at it. “What's this?” he demanded.

“A ghost,” Khonsu replied. “Brought down by His Grace himself last night. We saw another, as well: an owl. Did you think to look for owls, Karoya? They're good at haunting cities.”

Karoya's dark cheeks reddened. “They may explain the noise and the shadows, but I would like to see the owl and the hyena that collapsed the section of quarry and killed those men!”

“As do I, Captain Karoya,” Lord Nebamun said calmly from behind them. “Perhaps you can tell me of these ghosts while we have a quick tour of the palace before we dine.”

**   **   **

Khonsu gazed down at the frescoed marsh beneath his feet. The painting covered the floor of the antechamber to the audience hall. The reeds seemed to sway in the unseen breeze that ruffled the surface of the water. Brightly colored birds darted in and out of the sun-stippled greenery. Khonsu could almost catch the rich, heavy scent of the Lotus blossoms floating on the river. If he closed his eyes, he thought, he would hear the wind rustling through the reeds and the sigh of the Nile against its banks.

So beautiful, like the rest of the palace, resplendent with inlays of faience, with splendidly frescoed walls and floors in all the shades of the river and the marshes, built to catch the breezes and cool the glare of the sun. He could catch the last lingering echoes of a faint, almost sweet aura of peace and affection, but it all seemed to be coming from far away and somehow overpoweringly sad...

Nebamun had been fingering his Udjat amulet and gazing around almost with the bemused air of one returning home after a long absence. He asked Karoya, “Where have you been living since your arrival time at this city?”

Karoya bowed. “We stayed here in the palace until the “ghost” appeared, Your Grace,” he said. “We policed the palace buildings for you. The smaller places were wrecked. I suspect some of the intruders were looking for hoards of jewelry. A goldsmith's house in the northern sector was all but torn apart.”

Nebamun gazed at the beautifully tiled and painted walls pricked out with gold leaf. “Interesting,” he said. “Yet this palace is untouched. “

“Maybe they're afraid of the Heretic's ghost,” Karoya suggested.

“Ah yes,” Nebamun mused. “The ghost. What did you do when it appeared?”

“I moved the troop outside the city. We camped by the quays.”

“You did not believe the talk of ghosts.”.

Karoya shrugged. “Not I.”

“What had everyone frightened?” Khonsu asked, folding his arms.

“Noises, Commander,” Karoya said. “They started the second day we were here. Strange sounds, though I suspect they came from a human throat.”

Lord Nebamun folded his arms.

Karoya was frowning now. “It was as though I were a child again. Trying to frighten my younger brothers.” He remembered who he was addressing, and continued a little more austerely. “Well, children do that... I'd crouch behind a wall and make keening noises. I was good at it. I wanted to look into them more thoroughly, but things happened too quickly. It was all I could do to keep everyone under control.”

“The ghost,” said Nebamun.

“Yes, Your Grace. The noises were bad enough, coming on the heels of those stories told us at Khebet. But after two days of that, someone saw a shape and a cry. An owl, most likely. I'd posted guards earlier to catch the troublemakers, but I couldn't reason with them after the owl appeared. I had to pull the sentries back to avoid a mutiny.”

“I'd have done the same, myself,” said Nebamun. “Did the quarry collapse soon after?”

“The next day. I went in with some others. I was standing near the entrance when it went.”

Khonsu nodded. “Hutor was in a state when he arrived at the Governor's residence, for all that he's usually one of our steadier ones.”

“He bolted out of fear,” Karoya said. “I can't blame him. I stopped him and gave him the message, so he wouldn't be deserting. I see he did delivered it. I wasn't surprised he didn't return with you.”

Khonsu shrugged. “He may yet. His Grace talked some sense to him. He came to me the next day and volunteered to come back. I gave him a week off to let him calm down a little more.”

“We owe Your Grace a deal of thanks,” said Karoya.

Nebamun only smiled. “You must have matters to discuss privately. I saw a footbridge crossing the roadway not far from here. I imagine it leads to another part of the palace. You can join me at your convenience.” He nodded, and went off down one of the hallways with a purposeful stride.

**   **   **

Karoya watched him go. “Interesting, Commander,” he said. “From what you say, he single-handedly stopped a citywide panic that first night in Khemnu.”

Khonsu nodded. “He did. He takes no nonsense from anyone, and he knows how to run a tight venture. I don't think he's afraid of anything.”

“You sure can't say the same about that long faced priest Seneb who came on the ships. He's been under everyone's feet, moping about with eyes as big as ostrich eggs, muttering to himself. Temple rat! His Grace isn't at all like him!”

“He isn't a temple rat,” Khonsu returned. “He would be more understandable as an army officer. He doesn't lead his men from behind. You should've seen him last night, with the camp on edge from something that damned mayor of Khebet said and everyone whispering of evil spirits.  He dropped that hyena with one of the sweetest shots I've seen in years!”

“I wish I'd seen it,” Karoya said. “I'd like to wring Mayor Huni's fat neck for him! He caused all my troubles with his talk! He didn't do us any favors, either!”

“He said what he did deliberately.” Khonsu agreed. He considered for a moment and then added, “For all his coolness, His Grace isn't made of stone. He's on edge; I wonder why.”

Karoya gave a humorous shrug. “It isn't likely he'll tell me. Maybe it's just being away from home. You'd be unsettled, too, I'd guess, with Sherit having been so sick. Is she recovering?”

Khonsu looked down. “She's doing better now, I think. She rode with me to the quay and saw me off. But still... I asked my sister to send word as soon as she can.”

Karoya nodded. “It's hard, I'm sure.” He gestured at the beautifully painted rooms, the spare, elegant furniture that had was still in place. “I thought to house His Grace here,” he said in a different tone of voice. “He should be happy at the choice. He'll certainly be able to sleep here: the walls are stone and thick!”

“These seem to be the choicest quarters in the city,” Khonsu agreed. “A king's private home!” He shook of the thought of his daughter, summoned a smile and said, “Dinner's probably ready by now. I'll find His Grace and escort him back.”

**   **   **

Khonsu went out to the arcaded courtyard that lay outside the king's bedchambers, and found the entry to the covered footbridge across the royal road. He hurried over the bridge, pausing in the middle to gaze through the carved stone grille opening on to the street, wondering whether the heretic Pharaoh stood there to greet his ambassadors?.

He emerged into the remains of a once splendid garden, now, a brittle tangle of dusty grass clustering about what had once been a pool of water. Beyond it, private apartments opened to the north from a cloistered courtyard once edged with colossal statues, now lying tumbled and broken.

He found what he thought were private apartments and paused at the threshold, held by a sense of strangeness. “Your Grace?” he called.

Silence. He stepped into the rooms, and moved through the still, quiet air with the effort of one walking through tideless waters. It felt as though a host of listeners was thronging the shadows that edged the doorways, gazing at him and whispering.

He held his breath and almost caught the end of a sentence-

“Your Grace!” The words broke and vanished against the stone-clad walls. Silence flowed back around him. He seemed to catch the quiver of shadows in the open doorways, the half-sensed gaze of unseen eyes.

He cursed and shook himself free of the feeling with the vehemence of a man fanning smoke away from his face. He drew a shaking breath and shouted, “Your Grace? It's Khonsu! Your Grace? Where are you?”

“Over here, Commander.” Lord Nebamun's answer was so quiet that Khonsu almost missed it, but it seemed to hold a smile. The sense of eddying shadows faded.

Khonsu crossed a pillared reception hall and moved through a succession of smaller rooms adorned with paintings of running antelopes and soaring birds, the sort of bright, lively decorations that he would have expected to find in a nursery.

He thought for a confused moment,
Why, they are only the shadows of children!
He paused to gaze, thinking how Sherit would like to live in so pretty a place.

He was certain of another's presence as he stepped into the room. It was warmer, brighter... He rejected the thought of a ghost with a contemptuous snort. Lord Nebamun was settled on his knees before a low shelf, gazing at the wall beneath it. The sight of him, quiet and self-possessed, undeniably mortal and smiling to himself, made Khonsu draw a breath of relief.

Nebamun sat back on his heels with a sigh of satisfaction. His features stiffened for a moment when he saw Khonsu, but he relaxed. “Is it you, then, Commander? Come and see what I've found.”

“Why are you on the floor?” Khonsu demanded, the din of his heart in his ears causing him to forget the deference owed the Second Prophet of Ptah.

Nebamun smiled up at him. “Come and see for yourself,” he said.

Khonsu stared, collected himself, and dropped to his knees to peer beneath the shelf.

Nebamun was smiling at a painting of a battle. A soldier, driving a chariot drawn by a pair of prancing horses, was drawing his bow and aiming at an enemy. Against all conventions, the enemy was the same size as the archer, and was as richly armed and horsed. The sketch was awkward in places, but the colors were rich, strong and harmonious.

“This was a child's room,” Nebamun said. “See how bright and airy it is.  It must have been a wonderful place for him. And yet, like all children, he probably needed solitude once in a while. He probably crept under here. See, it is far from the eyes of officious adults and pesky younger children. This being the harem wing, I imagine there were plenty of them. The boy probably saw the bare patch of wall, found charcoal of a sort, and did the drawing. He came back later and embellished it. A soldier here, a chariot there, maybe over the course of years. He brought colors, later. Children can be inventive...”

Khonsu relaxed with a smile “Your Grace is obviously a father.”

“Oh yes,” said Nebamun with the hint of a chuckle. “Three lively daughters, all nearly as beautiful and charming as their mother. The eldest is married to the heir of the Governor of Memphis. I will be a grandfather shortly.” His smile faded slightly as he pushed away from the shelf and got to his feet. “Is it time to dine, Commander?” he asked, reaching down to help Khonsu stand.

“Yes, Your Grace.” Khonsu paused and added, “We thought to assign Your Grace quarters in this palace.”

Nebamun nodded. “I'd like that.. It could be like home to me.”

**   **   **

“Ghosts!” said Khonsu's driver, urging the horses to a trot. “We were idiots! The pack of hyenas back there provided enough noise for a squadron of ghosts. Doesn't anyone here have any sense?”

Khonsu laughed. “Apparently not. We'll exterminate them as soon as possible.”

“I'll volunteer, Commander!” Ruia said. He was a thin, intense looking man, impressively skilled as a tracker, but with an unexpectedly poetic turn of thought. “This is such a beautiful place!” he said with a sigh.

“Do you think so, Ruia?” Khonsu asked. They were making a sweep of the perimeter of the city before retiring. The moon was pale and dim through the rags of clouds, making the shadows in the buildings seem to shift and dance.

“Everyone thinks so, Commander,” Ruia said. “You should hear the talk in the barracks. This was beautiful once. Still is, for that matter, but I wish I could have lived here when it was alive. Even now, it feels like you're being welcomed.”

Khonsu thought of the shadows he had sensed earlier. “Well, I'm satisfied. Turn back for the stables, Ruia. The others can take over now.”

He turned to take one last look toward the northeast and stiffened. He saw, or thought he saw far in the distance, a team of horses harnessed to a chariot. But he saw nothing when he looked again.

“What is it, Commander?” Ruia asked.

Khonsu turned back to his driver.. He had sensed no threat; perhaps he had been mistaken but still-

“Northeast, Ruia. Can you see something in the distance?”

Ruia frowned, his fingers tightening on the reins as of the team started to sidle. “It's hard to say at this distance, Commander,” he said. “At first glance I'd say it looks like a chariot, but it could be just be a trick of the moonlight. Do you want to go check it out?”