City of the Dead

by T. L. Higley

  A single, slow dip of his head was his only response, and his eyes never left my own. The festival swirled around us like a river rushing around an outcropped stone.

  I raised my voice and leaned forward. “I have something for you to—”

  The music cut off in mid-note, and the tumult of voices ceased a fraction of a moment later. I let my words hang in the air and turned to the front of the hall.

  Khufu entered, trailed by his harem. He wore the double crown again tonight, as appropriate for his accession festival. In the five years since he had taken the throne, he had only solidified the unity of the Two Lands.

  A courtier announced his presence. “The god Ra walks among you,” he intoned. “The Son of Ra, Horus on Earth, Your Great Pharaoh.”

  We responded with a shout, “Life, Health, Strength!”

  I tried to control the twitch of a smile. Khufu glided through the obsequious crowd, his outstretched arms deigning to touch the hands of a chosen few, his smile falling on others. He was loving every moment of this.

  Every woman of the harem was dressed alike, I noted, like stones chiseled to match the others to perfection. They wore only short skirts, low on their hips, with ribbons wrapped about their upper bodies. Each was bejeweled with bracelets, necklets, anklets, and wreaths of flowers. They streamed behind Khufu as though he were the tip of the pyramid and they, the supporting stones.

  I stood beside a statue of the cat goddess Bastet and waited in silence for Khufu to pass, though I chafed to speak to Axum before the seating began. The procession finally reached the back of the hall. I met my friend’s eyes, and Khufu steered away from me in a pretended insult, his smile turning to a wicked grin for a moment.

  Yes, very amusing.

  The seating began at once, with courtiers eyeing each other jealously as names were called and people took their places from Pharaoh’s seat outward. Two large tables ran along the sides of the hall, with a third at the head. Each hoped to find themselves seated at the head table. I turned to give Axum his charge, but the man had disappeared. I growled. I had hoped to be free to escape this torture whenever an opportune time arose.

  Khufu’s snub was too soon erased, however. My name was called and I proceeded to the front of the room, where I would sit only a few chairs from the king. True to her word, Tamit was placed beside me. The red carnelians at her throat sparkled as she approached. She winked at me with pursed lips, and we settled into ornate wooden chairs with sloping arms and legs carved into lion’s paws.

  “I always get what I want,” she said, smoothing her dress over her thighs.

  I glanced around for Merit, but the Great Wife had chosen to wait to make her entrance.

  The seating finished and conversation resumed. People leaned past piles of colorful fruit and great loaves of bread that loaded the tables to call out to friends placed farther down, and the Great Hall soon buzzed. I searched out Axum and found him placed near the end of the table to my left. The man’s eyes were on me still, which raised the hair on the back of my neck. Our conversation would have to wait through the formalities.

  With a double somersault from the back of the room and a quick front flip, Perni the dwarf appeared at the center of the three tables, his feet splayed wide on the mosaic floor, his chubby arms upraised.

  “Perni! Perni!” someone shouted. The crowd picked up the chant, banging hands on the table in rhythm. He bowed as if to acquiesce, then began a slow dance in time with the clapping. This dance was all thrusting legs, leaps and twirls, and the crowd responded by picking up the tempo.

  Tamit leaned against me and crooned into my ear, “Only a little longer, Hemi. Then you and I can find someplace quieter.” She squeezed my arm and raised her voice over the pounding fists. “You haven’t been to see my animals in such a long time.”

  There are enough preening birds and strutting apes here to amuse me.

  The guests’ rhythm had reached an impossible pace, and the crowd roared as Perni’s feet inevitably tangled and he fell to the floor in a heap. The little man righted himself, bowed to Khufu who clapped louder than the rest of them, and skipped away.

  Serving boys and girls poured into the room, offering ointment, wreaths, and perfumes, and ladling wine from alabaster bowls. The drinking began.

  I had no desire to engage Tamit in conversation, so I chose the secondary evil, to speak to Oba on my other side. The older man needed only a small encouragement to set off on expounding the deplorable morality of the laborers, leaving me free to think of other things while nodding in agreement.

  I caught sight of Axum again, still silent and watching. The man understood that I wanted something of him, and he would not leave before we had spoken.

  It was time for the harem women to dance. I sighed and propped my elbows on the table. Already the flickering torchlight and noise had worked their way into my head. I rubbed my temples, hoping to relieve the tension.

  I did not intend to watch the women dance, but there was a symmetry to their movements I found pleasing. They began in unity, with slow steps, beating time on short sticks they held aloft. Female singers stood behind them and produced slow, clear tones that carried effortlessly through the heavy air.

  Beat, beat, beat. Twenty sticks and twenty feet sounded as one. Their measured steps brought them closer to the head table where Pharaoh was transfixed. Their unity was most satisfactory. I let my eyes roam over each one, appreciating the standards that guided Ra’henem, the superintendent of the harem.

  Tamit was at my ear again. “I take it back,” she murmured. “It is not only the women without men who have eyes for Hemiunu.”

  I leaned away but glanced at her. She inclined her head toward one of the dancers, at the edge of the group. I followed her look and found a petite girl, all wrapped with orange ribbons, breaking the symmetry to watch me. My mouth went dry and I looked away.

  Tamit laughed. “Have no fear, Hemi. She won’t be allowed to do more than look.”

  I shrugged and reached for a small loaf of bread.

  “Besides,” Tamit said, running a finger over her lips, “I should claw her eyes out if she did.”

  Turning away, I chose to scan the faces of those seated at the side tables and mentally recite each of their names. It was a game I played often, pushing myself to know everyone. I found that men felt appreciated when a superior called them by name and would therefore work harder. Most of the men’s faces were covered with sloppy grins at the sight of the harem dancers.

  I spotted Sen’s daughter, Neferet, also watching the dancers as though memorizing their fluid movements. The dance ended with some sort of flourish I missed, and the crowd erupted with shouts and claps. The women twirled out, and musicians took their place, with men singing to the accompaniment of harps and flutes.

  Already slave boys were replacing oil in lamps that had been fueled to blaze madly. I exhaled and used the back of my hand to wipe my forehead. Why must the Great Hall be kept so hot? The perfumed wigs and smoking torches were making my eyes swim.

  Finally, the servers brought the meat. After Khufu had been served, platters of geese and various game circled the room. The ever-faithful Ebo stood behind Khufu, overseeing the service with a pleasant smile but watchful eyes.

  When a boy’s ladle sloshed wine onto the table’s edge before Khufu, the pharaoh pushed back from the table, taking care not to allow the wine to drip onto his white robe. “Cursed boy! Have you just come from feeding the goats?”

  The boy bowed and disappeared, and Ebo stepped in to wipe away the spill. Khufu smacked the servant’s arm. “Where do you get these boys, Ebo?”

  Ebo’s smile never wavered. “I am sorry, Great One. I will attend you myself this evening.” The smoothness of his voice testified to many years of soothing Khufu’s tempers.

  Tamit leaned against me. “Ebo is like a loyal pet, is he not? A faithful greyhound at the foot of his master.”

  Pharaoh sighed at Ebo but returned to his seat, then raised a sm
iling face. “It is a night for laughter!” he shouted. He leaned forward, past the few that separated us. “My wife has not yet arrived,” he called down the table, too loudly. “Hemi, have you seen Merit?”

  Those between us quieted, as if the question held hidden meaning.

  I blinked several times, then scanned the room. “I too look forward to the queen’s arrival, my king. Perhaps she is taking extra care to beautify herself for you.”

  There was another moment of silent tension, then Khufu’s smile reemerged and he turned away.

  I straightened the serving pieces on the table before me, then glanced at Tamit, whose eyes flashed with something more than the wine she had imbibed.

  Merit’s absence wasn’t the only one I had noted. Somewhere at the head table there should have been a seat for Mentu. Already it had been filled by the next one eager for favor.

  As if reading my thoughts, Tamit said, “Frightful business about Mentu.”

  I nodded and studied a torch stuck in the wall.

  “But the living must go on living,” she said brightly.

  And you must go on talking. “Some of us are not so willing to forget.”

  “Oh? It seems to me that you have not missed a step in your never-ending project.”

  I turned on her, letting her feel the heat of my stare. “Mentu is not forgotten, and justice for him will be found.”

  Tamit’s smile slipped a bit, and she fingered the gold collar at her throat. Her discomfort fled a moment later, replaced by a wink and smirk. “But not tonight, my Hemi.” She lifted a gold cup of wine. “Tonight, we celebrate!”

  A storyteller appeared, an ancient little man, with hair that had been allowed to whiten and blind eyes. He lifted his voice, accompanied by a steady beat of sticks from the side of the hall.

  “In the beginning there was water, only water.” His sing-song cadence brought the room to attention. He told of the eight gods in the primordial waters, then the ninth, Atum, rising from the water on the mound, the predecessor of the pyramid. On through Atum’s children, Shu and Tefnut—air and moisture. And their children, Geb and Nut—earth and sky. As he neared the apex of the story, the room grew silent, save the beating sticks.

  “Four children issued forth from Geb and Nut. Isis and Osiris became husband and wife. Their brother Seth was evil, and Nephthys became his wife. Then Isis and Osiris came to earth to establish Egypt. But Seth plotted against them.” He told of Seth’s trickery, how he had nailed Osiris in a wooden chest and threw him into the Nile to die. Later, when Isis recovered his body, Seth hacked it into thirteen pieces and scattered it. Isis found nearly all the pieces, reassembled Osiris, and fashioned artificial parts so he would be whole. She returned him to life, the first to be resurrected and, now, god of the dead.

  “And what of Seth?” the little man asked.

  The people hissed.

  “It is left to the son of Isis and Osiris to defeat him!”

  The crowd knew their part. “Horus! Horus!”

  The storyteller bowed deep to Khufu, our Horus on Earth. “Protector of the People!” he shouted, and the crowd cheered.

  The festival continued in a blur of food and dance. I chose figs and grapes, beef and goose, jugs of beer and honey-sweet cakes as they passed by on platters. The harem danced again, and the hum of conversation rose in proportion with the wine that flowed, until the ribbons floated on a smoky haze and the music of flute and harp and lyre seemed to clash into one frenzied note.

  I needed air. I shoved away from the table, then twisted through the crowded Great Hall. Outside, I welcomed the silent chill of the desert night and moved into the shadows of the palace garden. I inhaled the cool darkness.

  The flame-red chaos of the festival seemed a far-off thing amid gnarled fig trunks and the shade of sycamores. I rubbed the sweat from my neck, let the night air cool me, and closed my eyes with relief. Festivals are for people with nothing better to fill their heads. The room had bubbled and frothed like a vegetable stew over a stoked fire, and I had felt like a chunk of basalt sunk to the bottom of the pot.

  Footsteps whispered along the garden path.

  If that woman followed me out …

  I was dangerously close to telling Tamit what I thought of her.

  But it was Axum’s white eyes that faced me on the path, and I held out an arm in grateful welcome. We were men who knew what it was to command, and I admired Axum’s strength of silence.

  His voice was low and confiding. “A task for me, Grand Vizier?”

  I nodded and drew close. Somewhere in the desert a jackal howled. “Mentu’s murder has caused a disruption in Egypt.”

  We moved back to stand under a sycamore.

  Axum scowled and his white teeth glowed. “He was a good man.”

  “Yes. Yes, he was. I want you to find out who killed him.”

  Axum leaned one shoulder against the tree. “Some things only the gods are meant to know.”

  I gripped Axum’s elbow, below the gold bands that circled his upper arm. “We must find justice. There will be disorder until we do. I—I fear that there will be other … problems … until ma’at is restored.”

  Axum looked into the distance, toward the perfect lines of the pyramid against the night. “Should not the grand vizier occupy his mind with his responsibilities?”

  I smacked my palm with a fist. “Egypt is my concern! If there is no divine order, no justice, then all that we work for is of no value.”

  “Perhaps you should find this killer yourself.”

  I threw my head back to the cold sky above us and tried to let it cool my temper. “The Horizon of Khufu demands my full attention. But I trust you. Will you find justice for Mentu?”

  I felt Axum studying me in the dark. “Does the death of one man have the power to change the world?”

  The scrape of an approach turned me to the garden entrance. Jackals did not often dare near the light of the palace, but one could never be certain.

  A slave boy trotted up the path to the palace entrance. Axum seemed to recognize him and let out a low, curious whistle. The boy stopped and whirled, then ran toward us.

  “One of my boys,” Axum said to me, with some measure of pride.

  The boy was not a Nubian, and I assumed that Axum must employ him in some manner.

  “There has been a death, my father!” The boy panted and bowed to Axum.

  I raised an eyebrow at this title of honor.

  “Another goat pulled from the flock?”

  “No.” The boy’s eyes were wide, and his narrow chest heaved. “No, a peasant woman from the village. She was murdered.”

  Axum frowned with the look of a parent who’s discovered that his children have disobeyed.

  “Her husband?” I asked the boy.

  The slave boy lifted his bony shoulders and held out his hands. “She was found at the harbor, alone, my lord. No one has yet claimed her.”

  I crossed my arms and faced Axum squarely. “You see? Ma’at has been disturbed, and now a woman has also crossed to the west.”

  Axum squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “No one knows who she is?”

  “No one has seen her face, my father.” The boy’s eyes sparked with the excitement that youth feels at any sort of intrigue. “When the body was found, her face was hidden. No one has disturbed it.”

  “Hidden?”

  The boy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Covered,” he said, “with a beautiful golden mask.”

  SIX

  At the slave’s mention of a mask, I stepped between him and the Nubian and grabbed the boy by the shoulders. Anxiety shot through me and my fingers tingled. “Where did you say this woman was found?”

  “At the harbor’s edge, my lord.” His eyes widened and his lower lip trembled. I released him. “Run back to the harbor and be certain no one touches the body. Watch for our approach.”

  The boy fled and I turned to Axum. The night around us was still. “You have heard about the mask?”


  Axum’s brow furrowed.

  I drew close to the Nubian and bent my head to his. “A mask was also found covering Mentu-hotep’s face. I took care that it not be spoken of to anyone. Have you heard people tell of it?”

  “I have heard nothing of a mask.”

  I chewed at my lip and looked north toward where the harbor lay in the distant darkness. “I must see the body.”

  Axum bowed. “I will call for a chair.”

  I waved his comment away. “No. I do not have the patience to be borne on the backs of donkeys or men tonight.”

  Axum stared at me his blank, white-eyed stare.

  “The situation dictates the impropriety,” I said. “I can get there faster on my own feet.”

  “As you wish.” I heard respect, laced with amusement, in his voice.

  I led the way along the garden path, with a glance toward the palace. I should explain my departure to Khufu. It would be an insult to the king to leave his accession festival early, without explanation.

  A tall figure appeared at the entrance, a shadow with the blaze of the Great Hall behind her. I recognized Tamit’s silhouette. She paused between the twin striding statues of Khufu.

  “There you are!” Tamit glided to me and wrapped tight fingers around my upper arm, pressing the gold armband into my flesh. “I knew you wouldn’t have left without a good-bye.” She pursed her full lips. “You haven’t even gotten drunk yet.”

  The desert and harbor called to me. “I’m afraid I need my wits tonight, Tamit. Will you tell Pharaoh I am needed in an emergency at the harbor?”

  She sniffed. “Oh, what emergency? Tell them to wait until after the party to have their foolish emergency.”

  I pried her fingers from my arm. “This cannot wait. I am sorry. You will speak to the king for me?”

  She crossed her arms in a pout. “I will tell him. But you owe me an evening of your time, Hemiunu.”

  I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Good night, Tamit.” Before I turned, I saw the dark flash of her eyes. For all her playfulness, I feared her quest for a husband was fueled by a desperation I did not understand.