City of the Dead

by T. L. Higley

  “You are Senosiris, Overseer of Constructions?” a voice called up to the litter. The Nubian. Axum. I pressed my head against the wood and fought the nausea that swept over me.

  “What brings you to me at such an evil time?” Sen answered, as though annoyed.

  “There has been some … difficulty at the royal estate,” Axum said. “The grand vizier’s presence is required. I thought perhaps you could tell me where he is.”

  Sen waved a hand. “The man does not consult with me on his schedule. And as you can see, we are not working today.” There was a long pause, until Sen said, “If you will step aside, I will continue on my way.”

  “You are visiting someone? Today?” Axum asked. “For as you say, you are not working.”

  “The holiday is for the peasants,” Sen said. “For those of us who hold the project in our hands, our work is never done. I must speak to the artists about the temple statuary.”

  “And your daughter? Where is she?” Axum’s voice had a knife-edge to it.

  He knows. He knows Neferet helped me escape. I suddenly regretted that we had left her alone. What had I been thinking?

  “She will probably be about the men’s barracks, keeping them in beer and bread on this evil day.”

  Another long pause, and I could picture the Nubian studying Sen with his black eyes, his eyebrows drawn together and lips tight.

  “You will send word if you see the grand vizier about,” Axum said, his words a command and not a request.

  “Of course. I will be certain to tell him you seek him.”

  I closed my eyes, waiting for Axum to release us. I smelled the sweat and wet wood when I inhaled, and I realized I had been holding my breath.

  The litter moved again, and Sen closed the curtain and reclined, his back touching my chest. “I am supposed to tell you the Nubian is looking for you” he said dryly.

  “I’ll be sure to pay him a visit soon.”

  The slaves proceeded slowly now, whether because of the flooded streets or because they grew weary of their double load, I could not tell. But the minutes stretched, until at last they slowed and then lowered the litter to the ground with an excessive bump.

  Sen wasted no time in exiting from the box, and I had the urge to embrace the man for the sacrifice he was making on my behalf. I waited until his hand poked through the curtain and waved me out.

  “Quickly now, quickly,” he said.

  I jumped out into the rain and dashed before him into the large estate I had visited with Neferet many nights earlier. Inside the door, we were met by Layla as though she expected us. And then from behind her stepped Neferet.

  Sen growled. “Child!”

  Layla smiled. “She is a woman now, Senosiris. With her own mind. Leave her alone.” Layla reached for me and pulled me into the house. “Let’s get you hidden, and then we can speak freely.”

  If Sen had become a father of sorts to me today, it was Layla who was my mother. She clucked and fussed all the way into the back chamber with the hidden door, fretting about my filthy, wet clothes, my injured head, and my unjust imprisonment. I surrendered myself to her care and felt that in this strange place, with people I did not understand, I had somehow finally come home.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  I stepped through the passageway into the central part of the house, where the People of the One held their meetings. Neferet followed.

  From behind me, Sen pushed forward and knocked me into the room. “How did you get here?” he said to Neferet. He looked as though he might shake her. Her dripping clothes and hair made the question unnecessary.

  “I couldn’t stay home alone, Father. Not until I knew that you were both safe.”

  He shook his head and crossed the room to speak with Hanif.

  “I’m glad you came, Neferet,” I said. “We were stopped in the road and your father was questioned. I feared they would next go to your home.”

  “You weren’t seen?”

  “No, Sen was brilliant. I’m not sure he’ll ever speak to me again, however.”

  Neferet laughed. “He never holds a grudge.”

  Layla was back, arms full of clothing and rags. “Come,” she said, “you must get out of your wet clothes.”

  She glanced at Neferet’s dress and raised her eyebrows. “And into something decent.”

  Neferet looked down at the dress she had worn for the guards, now stuck to her skin with rainwater. “A long story, Layla,” she said, smiling.

  Layla winked. “Later you tell your story. Now you get dry.”

  Neferet touched her hand to my arm. “And Hemi must rest. He has been through much.”

  “Yes. A good bed and perhaps some hot food, yes?”

  Here, the tightness flowed out of my shoulders. I allowed the women to lead me by the arm through the meeting room, across to the other side. Sen was still engaged in conversation with Layla’s husband, but he paused and glanced at our procession. Layla took us into the back of the house opposite the one we had entered. It took me only a few moments to realize that this was her home, which I had been in some days before. I had not realized at the time that it also connected to the meeting room.

  Layla deposited me in a small chamber with a wide bed, presumably hers and Hanif’s. Neferet she took elsewhere. I stripped off the wet and prison-dirtied skirt I wore. The rain had washed the dirt from me, and I used the rags to rub my skin dry, then dressed again in the clothes Layla had left, a white skirt similar in style to my own, though not as fine a cloth.

  When I had finished, I poked my head from the chamber and checked the passageway, but no one was about. Tentatively, I made my way through the house. I reached the central courtyard, but the rain still fell so I remained under the protection of the roof.

  Layla’s face appeared at the end of the passage. “You are hungry,” she said. It was not a question. “Come. Eat.”

  The kitchen steamed and bubbled with a meaty broth on the fire that looked good enough to swim in. She ladled me a bowlful, then filled another and reached past me to hand it to Neferet, who had entered the room. She now wore a simple white sheath dress. No embroidery, nothing that jangled when she walked. I smiled to think of how she must detest the simplicity.

  “You both eat, get warm, and then rest,” Layla said. Others will be here later, and then we can talk about what we are going to do for our grand vizier here.”

  I swallowed a mouthful of broth. “No, Layla. You are not responsible for me. I did not come here to burden you with my problem.”

  “Problem?” Neferet said. “You were sentenced to death!”

  “And I would not have you suffer the same fate for helping me.”

  “Children,” Layla said, with a soft hand on each of our arms. “Things will look differently after you have rested. Besides,” she said with a look at me, “you must let us do what we can. It is what the One would have us do.”

  She pushed us into chairs and brought bread and beer. After the hot and spicy broth, Layla fed us sweet and juicy watermelon, ripe and fragrant. I ate until my fingers were sticky with the juice and my belly full. The fire worked its way into my muscles, and I rested my head back against the chair.

  It seemed only a moment later that Layla shook my shoulder, but I guessed that time had passed. “Come, Hemi,” she said. I pulled myself to my feet and followed her to the chamber where I’d changed my clothes and, at her insistence, fell into the bed.

  I awoke much later, if the light was to be believed. Though it had been a strange day for light, and I could not be certain. Perhaps it was even the next morning. I was loathe to move, to arise and find out. Instead, I rolled to my side, intending to drift back to sleep.

  Neferet lay beside me.

  By the shimmering wings of Isis, she was beautiful. Had I admitted that to myself before now? I watched her lips, slightly parted in sleep.

  What was happening to me? It seemed that the death of my friend Mentu had begun a series of happenings that carried me on a strange
current, and I had no knowledge of where I would finish my journey. My life had previously been confined to order and structure, and the only thing that ever upset the careful balance was my occasional interaction with Merit.

  But now Merit was gone, the pyramid project lay unattended, and this woman beside me made me forget what order and structure even looked like.

  Neferet stirred and opened her eyes. Her smile was slow and sleepy. “How do you feel?” she asked, in the low voice I had heard her use with the prison guards.

  “Like I could stay here for another hundred years.”

  “Hmmm,” she nodded and closed her eyes.

  The house was quiet. The rainfall must have stopped. I nevertheless still felt a sense of isolation and protection here.

  “Hemi?” Neferet whispered, and a wisp of hair fell across her eyes, still closed.

  “Yes?”

  She sighed. “Wherever you go, I want to go with you.”

  I reached to brush her hair from her face. Her eyes flew open while my hand still touched her cheek, and we both knew it was the first time I had reached out to touch her. She leaned closer to me, until our bodies touched.

  “I have no answers, Neferet. No answers.”

  “I do not need answers.”

  A gentle throat clearing at the door pushed us apart. I propped myself up on an elbow. “Is anything wrong, Layla?”

  “No, my child. But the others have come and are gathered in the meeting chamber. Will you join us?”

  Neferet slid to her feet and I too climbed from the bed. “Of course.”

  We passed to the back of Layla’s house and through her own hidden door into the chamber, now lit again with a dozen lamps and filled with people. Already I felt more comfortable in this place than on my prior visit and nodded to a few familiar faces as we descended.

  I expected another meeting such as the first, but tonight’s gathering appeared to be more of a celebration. Tables around the perimeter of the room were laden with food, and people sat in small clusters, talking and laughing. I tried to remember if it were a feast day, but then realized that the People of the One perhaps had their own calendar of auspicious and holy days.

  “What do they celebrate?” I asked Neferet.

  She answered my question with a look of confusion. “It is only a meal,” she said. “We often take our meals together, to encourage and enjoy one another’s company.”

  I followed her to the food, then to a bench, now carrying a full bowl. A few heads turned my way in recognition, but I saw only smiles and warmth.

  I tasted hot lentils and thought back to the last banquet I had attended, Khufu’s festival of accession. I remembered the posturing and jealousy, each person focused on furthering his own position in court, the demand for entertainment, and coarse joking.

  By comparison this gathering was that of a large and loving family, and I marveled at the difference. Neferet must have sensed my wonder, for she leaned against me and said, “We are more than the People of the One. We are his children. And that makes us all brothers and sisters.”

  I tore at a piece of bread and chewed, my thoughts heavy.

  Several of the group came to speak to Neferet and nodded their welcome to me. Layla stopped to ensure that I was eating enough. She stood over me and took my head in her hands, rocking it back and forth to examine the gash on my head. “Huh,” was all she said, but I assumed she approved of Neferet’s doctoring.

  Later, when most had eaten and the conversation still hummed, Neferet slipped from my side and went to speak into the ear of a young man near the front. He smiled up at her and nodded. I watched his eyes, trying to gauge his interest in Neferet. But she was back to me in a moment and pulled me to my feet. “Come,” she said. So I did. She led me to the front, where the young man appeared again, this time with a seven-stringed harp in his hands.

  Neferet smiled at me, eyes sparkling. “Play for us, Hemi.”

  “Absolutely not.” I was embarrassed that she would have even asked. It was a private thing, my music.

  She drew up close. “There is no shame in beauty. It is a gift.”

  The boy with the harp approached. “I have only just begun to play,” he said. “Neferet tells me you have great talent. I would so much like to watch you. I am sure you have much to teach me.”

  I narrowed my eyes at the boy, whose smile betrayed an awareness of his skill at manipulation.

  “Please, Hemi,” Neferet said, and I found I could not deny her.

  I took the harp from the young man, sat upon a bench in the corner, and placed the instrument before me. The room still flowed with conversation, and I hoped that my quiet playing would go unnoticed. I plucked a string or two and noticed little reaction.

  I focused on the strings, my fingers ready, waiting for the music to come. My eyes drifted closed, as they often did, and my fingers began to move. I sensed Neferet draw close, and perhaps the young man, but I continued on.

  My past several days had been strange and disturbing, and the music told the story. The quiet passages with Neferet, the minor notes of standing over Ebo’s body, the discordant clash of Khufu’s sentence. I played through the rising crescendo of my escape from prison and subsequent sprint through the desert to the workmen’s village, the steady beat of the rainfall on Sen’s litter as we traveled the sloshing streets, and then the gentle rhythms of warmth and food and rest in the care of Layla. And when the music ended, sweet and tender and filled with joy and fellowship, I knew that this was here and now.

  I opened my eyes, drifting back from the far-off place I had gone. Every eye in the room was fixed upon me, and the last note floated above our heads like the wings of a dove. I saw that somehow, even in my ignorance, I had led them to a deep sense of worship. The knowledge stirred something unknown in me.

  Neferet kneeled in front of me and put her forehead on my knee. I covered her head with my hand.

  “I—I do not always understand what I play,” I said to the young man who had lent me his harp in exchange for a lesson.

  He smiled as though he understood and looked over the others in the room. “This beauty, this creativity, this freedom,” he said, “they are gifts of the One True God. He gives them to us, for us to lift up to him along with our hearts. It is always our hearts that he wants.”

  “I do not understand.”

  Sen appeared out of the shadows and stood before me. He spoke to me but loud enough for the room to hear. “From the beginning it has been thus. God walked with man, in relationship with man. This was his desire, that our hearts be one with his. But man turned his back on the One. And many followed. We made it impossible for the Perfect One to be in relationship with us.” Sen turned to face the gathering. “We condemned ourselves, with only the feeble hope of somehow earning back the lost favor with our pitiful efforts. And yet,” his voice lifted with a joy I knew he felt from deep within. “And yet, the One True God has not left us hopeless. There will be One Who Comes who will take away the sins of the world.”

  I had heard them speak before of this one to come. “When?” I dared to ask, and Neferet squeezed my knee and smiled.

  “We do not know,” Sen answered. “We know only that he is our only hope. He is our Redeemer, who will provide the way for us to be reconciled to the One True God. I have prayed that I will be allowed to see this day.”

  I pondered this God who desired reconciliation and love, unlike any god I had been taught to fear.

  Sen lifted his hands as though in blessing over the group. “And we have faith, do we not, my friends? Faith in the One Who Comes.”

  I handed the harp back to my new friend with a smile, and our eyes connected. We shared the music, but there was the beginning of something more, I realized. My smile faltered. I feared I was beginning to share more than their food.

  It would have been easy to remain there among these people, to pretend that the Scourge of Anubis did not still roam free and that my cousin and king had not sentenced me to die f
or the killer’s crimes.

  But this was not to be. For while we still soaked in the final words of Sen’s impassioned speech, there came a noise outside the chamber that caused me to instantly regret my presence here and consider the possibility that I had brought doom upon these people.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  The People of the One immediately fell silent. Outside the chamber there was angry conversation, the snap and growl of determined palace authorities. I listened, trying to distinguish words, but it was difficult to hear over the pounding in my chest.

  To whom did they speak? I scanned the room and saw Layla standing like a statue of Mut, the mother goddess, beside a table of food, her fingers twisted together in front of her ample waist.

  The stomp of feet and angry voices drew nearer. I wrapped an arm about Neferet’s shoulders. Sen noticed my movement and inched closer to us. I tried to read his expression. Not fear, not anger. Just listening, as we all were.

  Around the room, several lamps were quietly extinguished.

  Then Axum the Nubian’s voice worked its way into the chamber, and any doubt that this was about me disappeared. Once again I cursed my own stupidity for putting these people in danger.

  Others were with him, though not soldiers from the argumentative whine of their voices as they questioned Layla’s husband, Hanif.

  Priests.

  Was this a religious or criminal investigation?

  The voices came closer, as if they searched the house. Inside our underground hiding place, the utter silence of such a group seemed unearthly. Neferet trembled beneath my arm, and I could feel her skin grow damp.

  “And where is your wife?” Axum could be heard asking.

  “It takes many hours of labor to feed our family, I am afraid. Trips to the trading stalls, fetching our rations. She works hard.”

  An answer, though not a lie.

  “When is the last time you saw him, peasant?”

  A pause. “He was here earlier today.”

  I winced. Hanif had sealed his fate by admitting that I had even been here.