The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle

by Diana Wilder

  Nebamun sat up and opened his eyes at Khonsu. “I am listening said.

  “Paser is a liar and a thief,” Khonsu said. “This night's events have proven that to me. I'm convinced that he's found a cache of valuables and is planning to conceal it until he can get back and plunder it thoroughly. I'd like to find it, myself, so it can be returned to its rightful owners. If we give him the run of the city and tell him we're satisfied that, aside from taking the one item, for which he's been reduced in the ranks, he acted in good faith, he may lead us to the valuables.”

  “Have him followed...' Seti said slowly. “It may just work. I've got some good trackers in my group, and I know you do, as well. That fellow Ruia, for one. If he really had only that one fall from grace, it'll serve to exonerate him. Well, Your Grace? What do you say?”

  Nebamun's mouth had a slightly ironic twist to it, but he nodded. “Order it as the two of you see fit, General,” he said. “I won't forbid it. Who knows but what some good may come of it.' He rose and looked from Khonsu to Seti. “Or not,” he added. “And now I wish to retire. It has been a long day, and I am tired. General, thank you for your assistance. Your stewardship of this venture in my absence was exemplary.”

  Seti's color heightened as he and Khonsu bowed and started to leave.

  “And Commander-' Nebamun's quiet voice stopped them.

  Khonsu turned back.

  Nebamun was still standing beside his chair. He seemed drawn in upon himself, as though he were cold, or in pain. “You had word from your daughter today,” he said. For all the pain of his expression and his bearing, his voice was as warm and supple as always. “Is she well?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “She sent me her love and a recipe

  “That's good,” Lord Nebamun said. “When next you write to her little ladyship, tell her that Nebamun son of Nakht son of Ahmose sends his respectful greetings.”

  ** ** **

  Khonsu summoned Paser to him at his headquarters the next morning and told him that his rank had been reduced for the act of taking property rightly Pharaoh's. “But that isn't as serious a thing as the original charge,” he had concluded. “You won't be tried for theft, and when we return to Memphis, you'll come with us. His Grace has a kindness for you and your family, and he doesn't want you to suffer any more than you should.”

  “Very kind of His Grace,” Paser sneered. “And what'm I expected to do while I'm here? Enjoy the sights?”

  Khonsu refused to be drawn into a quarrel. “I won't object to you making yourself useful,” he said, turning toward Ruia, who was waiting with a report. “But you can suit yourself. By His Grace's orders, you have the run of the city.”

  Paser had seemed nonplused, but he said nothing. After a moment he moved off.

  Khonsu watched him go, then nodded to Ruia, who saluted and went softly after Paser.

  ** ** **

  “Find anything, Commander?” Mersu asked. Khonsu and Seti had encountered him by a tumble-down house in the northern quarter of the city when they returned from a fruitless search of the hills and valleys outside Akhet-Aten. He had smiled up at them and chatted pleasantly after flagging them down.

  “Nothing much,” Khonsu replied. Seti was frowning. “I'm not sure where to start looking.”

  “What are you looking for?” Mersu asked.

  Seti lifted his eyebrows. When Khonsu hesitated, he said, “It's common enough knowledge. We're trying to find the tomb of Neb-Aten. He's the one Mayor Huni says is haunting the place, and we have found some evidence that the tomb was robbed. It might help us pinpoint who the “ghost' really is.'

  “Hmm,” said Mersu. “Shouldn't you let the dead rest in peace?”

  “That's what His Grace wanted to do,” Seti said.

  “His Grace is a wise man,” said Mersu. “You could do worse than to listen to him. Well, come with me and I may be able to show you something interesting.”

  “Is it treasure, Sculptor?” Seti asked. “No? Then I can't stay. Do you wish to remain here, Commander?”

  “I think I do,” Khonsu said. “I'd enjoy a little diversion.”

  “Step down, then,” Seti said. “I'll tell His Grace what we have found. Or, rather, what we haven't found.' When Khonsu had dismounted, he shook out his reins and headed toward the palace at a spanking trot.

  “And what do you have to show me?” Khonsu asked when Seti was gone.

  “Something interesting,” Mersu said again. “Come into this house.”

  ** ** **

  “This was the house of the Master Sculptor Djehutymose,” said Mersu some moments later. “I was apprenticed here for a time. He was a master among masters, gifted beyond anyone I have ever known. If only I had a quarter of his ability, of his talent...' He saw the words of denial forming on Khonsu's lips and said, “Oh, I'm a skilled copyist. I can revive what was great twenty generations ago, but to create something new? No, that isn't my gift.”

  He lowered his voice and looked around. “Look, Commander,” he said. “You aren't a tale-bearer or a vandal like the rest. Let me show you something no one else but me knows of.”

  He went to a portion of wall that lay beneath a shelf and went down on his hands and knees. “You can see it's been hollowed here,” he said, crawling into the opening. “If it's still here...' His voice grew muffled as he went farther inside the wall.

  Khonsu looked around at the crumbling plaster with a disquieting sense of loss, of skill allowed to languish and die in the shadow of strife. Mersu's voice, raised in triumph, made him jump.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed. “Bar the door and then come here!”

  Khonsu shot the bronze-clad timber bolt through its hasp, tested it to make certain it was secure, and then went over to the wall.

  Mersu was emerging back-first in a billow of dust with a heavy, cloth-wrapped object held in his arms. He sneezed and then climbed stiffly to his feet with a grunt and began to unwind the cloth.

  “They called her beautiful,” he said, working at the dusty folds of what had once been a fine shawl. “And yet, seeing all the depictions-all that aren't wrecked, that is!-you wonder how anyone could admire such a snake-faced, bony creature. But look at this!”

  The shawl fell away to reveal a proud head poised on a long, elegant neck. Long-lidded, dark eyes gazed serenely ahead, and the full, delicately tinted lips were gathered at the corners into the beginning of a smile.

  Khonsu thought against all logic, in a moment of confusion, that the head and shoulders of a living woman were circled by the folds of dusty cloth. He had to blink his dazzled eyes twice before he could realize that he was gazing at a masterpiece of carved and painted stone.

  He stared, tallying the classic, spare bones beneath the face, the column of throat, the flash and sparkle of inlaid eyes beneath a covering of clearest rock crystal.

  Mersu was gazing with memory-misted eyes. “Ah, gods,” he sighed. “How fair she was! Fair and gracious and altogether lovely. Truly a queen! And she had borne five of her six babes when this was done.”

  “A queen?” Khonsu repeated. “Then this was-'

  “Nefertiti,” said Mersu. “'Behold! The Beautiful One has Come!' And the name was fitting.' He carefully brushed away dust and some specks of mud that soiled the necklace. “I watched her come into the audience hall on her husband's arm,” he said. “I was only a gangling, awkward stripling then. But she looked at me and smiled, and spoke. And when she came to inspect the way this was progressing, she remembered my name. A mother of five, and queen of the land, and she remembered my name!”

  He set the bust aside and dove back into the hole. “Old Djehutymose the sculptor took masks of the great and mighty. I helped to take them-and you should have seen the great and mighty with their faces smeared with grease and covered with wax to make the molds! Here they are, where they were put for safekeeping when the city was abandoned. Look: Pharaoh Horemheb himself, when he was no more than a general, like our Seti.'

  He produced a
plaster mask bearing a grim-looking face. The heavy-lidded, circled eyes and drawn-in cheeks were a younger image of the man who now occupied the two thrones.

  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?”