The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle

by Diana Wilder

  “As to that,” said Khonsu, “I have a good idea, and I know how to pursue it. It's turning toward evening: we'd best get back to the city, to the artisan's quarter. There's something I think we need to see, and quickly.”

  XLII

  “This is where we met Mersu that night Paser left the city and was killed,” Seti said, looking around at the middle-class houses with a frown.

  “Yes,” Khonsu agreed. “You went on to the palace, where you caught Paser trying to cause trouble. I went with Mersu, who showed me some things I found interesting, as I think you will, too.”

  Seti stepped down from the chariot and bent to hobble the horses. “What was here?” he asked. “And, more to the point, what has it to do with Lord Nebamun and Paser's death?”

  “You'll see,” said Khonsu. “It won't take long, if I'm right. But I want Master Sennefer to be a witness as well.”

  Seti shrugged. “What is this place?” he asked, eyeing the battered and tumbledown structure. “Certainly not connected with the palace in any way!”

  “This was the house given to the Master Sculptor Djehutymose,” Khonsu said. “He was the chief sculptor for Pharaoh Akhenaten. Mersu was his apprentice, and he told me he spent a good deal of time in his workshop, which is just behind the main part of the house.”

  “Interesting,” Seti said. “But again, what has this to do with a robbed tomb and a killing?”

  “Wait and see,” Khonsu said again. “If I'm right—and I can't imagine how I could be wrong—we'll be coming face to face with our ghost shortly.”

  Seti snorted and frowned southward toward the palace complex. His frown cleared and he straightened as the Master Physician approached.

  Sennefer was as restless and bustling as usual, and two spots of hectic color rode his thin cheekbones as he bowed to Seti and Khonsu. “You summoned me,” he said. “And I'm here. What do you want?”

  “It's about His Grace,” Khonsu said. “I want you to witness something, and I may need you to confirm something I suspect. Come on inside.”

  “In here?” Sennefer said, scowling at the holes in the roof.

  “In here,” Khonsu said. “You'll find it worth your while.” He ignored the glances traded by Seti and Sennefer and led the way into the studio.

  The place had not been disturbed since Khonsu's last visit. The dust on the shelf still bore the marks of the shawl that had wrapped the queen's sculpted head. The doorway behind the shelf had not been touched.

  “Bar the door,” Khonsu said. “And be ready to lift some heavy objects.”

  “What is it?” Seti asked as Khonsu went to his knees and opened the small, partially hidden doors.

  “This is a cache of sculptures, portraits of the great ones of Pharaoh's court,” Khonsu replied. “They're plaster casts from life for the most part, intended to be used as models for portraits. I did see one that was a finished work. Most of the ones I saw have the name of the subject written underneath. They were hidden here when Master Djehutymose left the city. I didn't get to see all of them when I was here with Mersu the first time, but that can soon be mended.”

  Seti looked over his shoulder. “Is there any room for me?” he asked.

  “Not beside me,” Khonsu said. “But you can unwrap the pieces as I hand them out.

  Seti bent down and peered into the dark recess of the cupboard. “What are we looking for?” he asked.

  “A face and a name,” Khonsu replied. “You'll know it when you find it. Here's the first one. This isn't the one we're looking for.”

  He watched as Seti drew the shawl away from the queen's face, shook his head at Seti's astonishment, and watched him put the bust to one side. Then he turned and reached farther into the cupboard.

  They worked in silence, he retrieving the unwieldy plaster heads, then pushing them toward Seti, who unwrapped them, scanned them, and then set them aside. Once or twice Sennefer lifted one of the heads with an exclamation of surprise and turned it over to scan the notation underneath, but though his expression grew more and more intent, he did not speak.

  Khonsu's shoulders were beginning to tire and he was starting to wonder if Mersu had been mistaken. He was kneeling within the closet, and he could dimly make out perhaps ten more wrapped bundles before him. He sighed, heaved another forward with a grunt, and handed it out to Seti, then sat back on his heels to drag his forearm across his brow and catch his breath.

  Seti loosened the length of cloth that had been wrapped about the head, shook it free, and then drew a long, slow breath and was silent.

  Sennefer leaned forward with a muffled exclamation and stared.

  Khonsu, hearing the sound, slid backward out of the cupboard and climbed to his feet. He stretched cramped muscles with a wide-mouthed yawn, and then turned to see what the other two were doing.

  Seti and Sennefer had set the bust on the low shelf and were bending over it.

  “Well?” said Khonsu.

  Seti moved wordlessly aside, and Khonsu found himself meeting the alert gaze of a young man of about twenty-five. The eyes were set in the hint of a slant, and the lips, cut a little on the full side but firmly chiseled, seemed to be moving into the beginnings of a smile. The straight, dark brows had been carefully painted in, as had the dark eyes. The years had not yet carved smile lines beside the mouth or left their mark about the eyes, but no one doubted who they were seeing.

  Seti turned the head over and read the inscription that had been hurriedly scrawled on the bottom. “'Neb-Aten, son of Nakht the Vizier, son of Prince Ahmose. Commander of One Thousand',” he read calmly. Then he looked up. “Neb-Aten son of Nakht son of Ahmose,” he said. “Well, Commander, you were right. We have found our ghost.”

  ** ** **

  “But I thought he was dead!” Sennefer objected. “Damn it, didn't you say you had been at his tomb?”

  “If he's dead, then he has a twin who walks the earth,” Seti said. “A twin who was assigned by Pharaoh to head this expedition, and who is second-ranking in the cult of Ptah.”

  “But there was a tomb,” Khonsu said slowly. “And there was a body. I saw it and so did you, General.”

  “Did you see it?” Sennefer repeated.

  “I saw enough of it to suit me. But I have some questions now, as I suspected I would, and I need you, Master Sennefer, to answer them for me.”

  Sennefer folded his arms. His eyes were drawn to the head once more. He cocked his head as Khonsu spoke.

  “You're a physician. I think that you, looking at a face, can see the shape of the skull beneath the flesh. I want you to look at the body in that tomb and tell me if it could be Neb-Aten after all.”

  Seti was eyeing Khonsu with respect. “Yes,” he said. “And tell us what else you can learn from it.”

  ** ** **

  Sennefer sat back on his heels and frowned at the swath of charred wrappings that still held the shape of a man. He held up the bronze bracer Khonsu had placed in the wrappings. “This had His Majesty's name on it. It can't be more than ten years old, if that much, and I seem to recall seeing one just like it on your wrist, Commander.”

  “It's the same one, Master Sennefer,” Khonsu said. “I put it there. I thought Neb-Aten could use it in the Land of the West, since his tomb had been so thoroughly plundered.” He added, “You have seen what's here: can you tell us anything about the body?”

  Sennefer lifted an eyebrow at the bracer and set it on the ground. “There's one thing I can tell you lads right away, but it'll keep. You, General: I can see a chest over there beyond the sarcophagus. Doesn't appear to have been opened. It should hold this one's innards, all nicely wrapped within their separate containers. Open it.”

  Seti nodded. He pulled the chest toward him, broke the mud seal and unwrapped the length of finely knotted string securing the two knobs locking the top. He lifted the lid of the chest to show four alabaster jars topped with the heads of the four Sons of Horus, guardians of the deceased's viscera.

  “Excellent,”
said Sennefer. “Now just open one of those jars and tell me if it's empty.”

  Seti lifted the jackal-headed stopper and looked into the jar. His brows drew together.

  “Well?” said Sennefer when he remained motionless.

  Seti looked over at him. “It isn't empty, Master Sennefer.”

  “Tip it out,” said Sennefer.

  “What?” Seti gasped.

  “A squeamish soldier!” Sennefer snorted, “Empty the jar!”

  Seti held the jar at arm's length and upended it with a distasteful grimace. A coil of rope and a wad of rags slid out and thudded to the floor. Seti stared, his elegant brows lifted almost to his hairline. He cast a glittering glance at Khonsu and Sennefer, swooped down upon the chest and opened another jar, this one with a stopper in the shape of a baboon's head. More rags fell to the ground.

  He opened the other two in turn, found the same, and then looked over at Sennefer.

  Khonsu, sitting on the edge of the sarcophagus and watching with a smile, said nothing.

  Sennefer eyed the disordered pile of rags and string. “Well, now,” he said, “I can tell both of you that the occupant of this coffin and tomb was a healthy man. He suffered no dyspepsia, his bowels were never clogged, his lungs and liver were never subject to the sort of disorders that trouble normal humans. In fact, the only problem this fellow—” He poked at the charred wrappings with a fingertip, “—had was a gait that probably was unmatched in all of Egypt or, indeed, the world.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Seti.

  “I mean that he had no leg-bones, or any other bone of any sort. The fire would have consumed any flesh—but there would at least have been a skull left to look at, and certainly some teeth.”

  Seti stared at the blackened dome half-hidden among the ashes. “But there—” he began.

  “Ah, yes,” said Sennefer. “There.” He reached both hands into the disordered pile of ashes and lifted out a common clay cooking pot wrapped in fire-charred linen. He turned the pot in his hands and then tossed it to Seti, who caught it and stood staring open-mouthed at it.

  “No man was ever born with a cook-pot for a skull,” Sennefer said scornfully. “You two surprise me, and that takes a lot of doing! You're both soldiers, not sheltered little we'eb priests! You have been in battles, and I would think you would know what is and isn't a corpse, but you were either blind or drunk the morning you came here and looked at this! And you, Commander, even had your hands in here when you set that bracer in among the wrappings. You put the thing atop what should have been the fellow's breastbone! Didn't you think there was something odd about the fact that there wasn't a breastbone to set it on? This time try looking with your eyes open: there's nothing here! No one was ever buried in this tomb! From what I have seen in the scant moments I have been here, Neb-Aten still walks beneath the sun as hale and hearty and full of mischief as ever, though all of twenty-five years older than he was when this tomb was sealed.”

  Khonsu nodded. “Neb-Aten, son of Nakht, son of Ahmose,” he said. “His mother was Merit'taui, the daughter of Pharaoh Amenhotep III.” He looked at Seti and said, “I remember now that Lord Nebamun told me his eldest daughter is named Merit'taui after his mother. An uncommon name outside the royal family. His father and grandfather were named Nakht and Ahmose, and he came to the temple of Ptah twenty-five years ago. It shows how preoccupied I was with my own problems that I didn't remember and make the connection. For that matter, he knew without being told that the cliffs collapsed above the smaller temple known as 'Maru-Aten'.”

  Seti tossed the pot aside with a grimace and watched it shatter against the floor. “You had it all figured out, didn't you? You were two steps ahead of the rest of us!”

  Khonsu was staring down at the blackened wrappings. “It wasn't a pretense at all along the track that night,” he said under his breath. “He was speaking the truth...”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Sennefer.

  Khonsu looked up.

  “The death wasn't a murder, just as he told us the day he surrendered,” Seti said slowly. “I would have thought it a matter for pride. He's protecting someone with his silence. But who?”

  Khonsu had been frowning at the carved walls of the tomb depicting Neb-Aten as a young child sitting with his father. “I know who it is,” he said. “We need to speak with his Grace again. Quickly.”

  XLIII

  A glow at the opening between the Northern Sentinels slowly resolved itself into the great, silver disk of the moon. It moved perceptibly higher into the night sky, bathing the countryside with silent light and sending a tide of silver cascading across the bare stone floor of the loggia to lap at the papyrus-shod feet of Lord Nebamun, who was seated between the two pillars and gazing eastward. The light picked out the rough texture of a closed basket lying beside him and turned the calm cast of his features to the monumental silence and immobility of a granite statue.

  Nebamun was sipping wine from a plain pottery cup. He drank deeply, closed his eyes for a moment, and raised his face to the glow of the moon before he opened his eyes once more and touched the basket with one toe, making it shift and rustle with the motion.

  The sound made his eyes open completely. “Ah, Father,” he sighed, running an unsteady fingertip around the edge of his cup. He raised his cup and sipped again, staring up at the stars through a blur of tears. “If only you could have known before you died... If only I could have told you face to face that night...”

  “All is well, Neb-Aten!” said a cheery voice behind him. “There's no need to worry! No shame will come upon anyone, least of all upon you!”

  He dropped the cup, half-rising, and started to turn. The voice was so brisk and cheerful, the message so welcome. Could it be—

  “I beg your pardon, Lord Neb-Amun!” said Seti, stepping forward from the steps and bowing. “It's been a long day, and I misspoke. Forgive me!”

  Nebamun's eyes narrowed as he sank back in his chair. He toed the shards of pottery aside and looked beyond Seti to Khonsu, who was standing just beyond him and gazing at him with eyes that suddenly seemed to see everything.

  “I'm sorry to come so late, Your Grace,” said Khonsu, his expression blooming into a warm, happy smile. “We have news about Paser's death that has some bearing on your situation.”

  “What news is that, Commander?” Nebamun asked. He was shaken: it showed in the rigidity of his posture just before he mastered himself and sat back with an ironic smile.

  Seti stepped forward. “We followed the pathway north to the tombs, Your Grace. We found some interesting things.”

  “I am happy to hear it,” said Nebamun, looking from Seti to Khonsu. “But what has this to do with Paser or with me?”

  “It has a great deal to do with Your Grace,' Khonsu said. “We have just returned from the cliff area north of the city. Ptahemhat told me Paser often went that way. General Seti and I traced his steps and we found the tomb of Nakht, who had been vizier for Pharaoh Akhenaten.”

  A hastily suppressed movement from Nebamun made Khonsu pause.

  The Second Prophet collected himself, squared his shoulders, and gazed across at Khonsu. “Please continue, Commander.”

  “We found the tomb of the Vizier Nakht, son of Prince Ahmose. In that tomb we found a depiction of Nakht along with his wife, the Princess Merit'taui and his son, Neb-Aten. Neb-Aten, son of Nakht, son of Ahmose. We also found other items that clarified a great deal confused us before.”

  Nebamun's pose was rigid once more. “This has nothing to interest me.”

  “I believe it does, Your Grace,” said Seti. “It sheds light on how Paser met his end.”

  “Ptah's beard!” Nebamun exclaimed through his teeth. “I told you I killed him! How much light do you need to illuminate what I have clearly stated?”

  “But you refused to say where, how or why,” Khonsu pointed out. “Now we have the answers you couldn't give. And they make a good deal of sense. Who can blame a dutiful son
for defending his father's burial against tomb-robbers?”

  “This has nothing to do with Paser or with me!” Nebamun repeated angrily. “You are meddling with matters that don't concern you!”

  “He was robbing your father's tomb,” Khonsu continued. “You took steps to stop him—”

  “This is pure conjecture!”

  “—he drew his knife, you fought him—”

  “Stop it!”

  “—and were wounded. If you open your tunic at this moment, we will see the marks of it.”

  Nebamun's hand was at his shoulder; it clenched and then lowered.

  “Show us, Your Grace,” Seti said. “If there's no mark, then we'll leave.”

  “Your Grace said you crushed Paser's skull with a heavy, blunt weapon,” Khonsu said. “We found just such a weapon in Prince Nakht's tomb.” He added quietly, “And there was blood on it. If Your Grace will only confirm—”

  “No,” said Nebamun. “I can confirm nothing.”

  “Your Grace—”

  “I have told you all that I am permitted to tell you,. There is nothing more to say. I surrendered myself and I asked no leniency. My testimony must stop there.”

  Khonsu traded gazes with Seti and then said gently, “Please, Your Grace: be fair to yourself. It can serve no purpose for you to ruin yourself when it's obvious to anyone who has dealt with you that you aren't a criminal. Now we know what has happened, and there's no further need to pretend.”

  Nebamun pushed himself to his feet, strode to the edge of the loggia, turned, and glared back at them. The moon, hanging behind his left shoulder like a silver shield, outlined the tense, braced set of jaw and arm, the racing pulse beating at the side of his throat. He spoke through his teeth, “I can give you no further explanation, whatever you think of me!”

  Seti had been watching with narrowed eyes. He sat back and spoke softly, each word coming, coldly, like beads being threaded onto a thin chain to form a necklace. “We don't ask for an explanation,” he said. “We know now.”