The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle

by Diana Wilder

  “For not believing you when you said all would be well,” Khonsu replied. “For intruding where Your Grace told me I was neither wanted nor needed. I entangled myself with matters that didn't concern me.”

  “But it was all done from the kindest of motives,” Nebamun said with a smile. “You hoped to clear my name and keep me from dishonor and humiliation and, possibly, death. How could I take offense at that?”

  “It was an intrusion, Your Grace,” said Khonsu. “I should have known better. I ask your pardon.”

  “Such forgiveness as you need is yours, Commander,” said Nebamun. “Though you don't use a powerful argument you could make to me if I were ungrateful enough to be angry: in investigating what you thought was Paser's murder, you were performing your duty as the officer assigned by Pharaoh to enforce His Majesty's laws here in Akhet-Aten. For me to take exception to that would be foolish at the very least.”

  “I should have listened to Your Grace,” Khonsu said.

  “Hindsight is always clear-eyed,” Nebamun said. “But really, what reason did you have to believe me? What do you know of me that would make you rely on my word above anyone else's?”

  “I know enough of you, Your Grace, to believe that you would never murder anyone.”

  Nebamun shook his head. “You were trying to clear my name,” he said. “There are few in this world who would venture so much so persistently even for a close kinsman.”

  “But I would do it, Your Grace,” Khonsu said.

  “Yes, Commander. You would.” He offered the cup of beer after pouring more from the jar. “I have only this one cup,” he said. “It should make no difference between friends.”

  “It doesn't,” said Khonsu, taking the cup. He raised it to Nebamun and drank.

  Nebamun watched him with a thoughtful frown, his fingertips drumming on his knee. “Your mind is alive with questions, Commander,” he observed at last.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “But you haven't voiced them,” Nebamun said.

  “Your Grace would only tell me that I'm asking questions you're not permitted to answer,” Khonsu said. He hesitated and then added daringly, “That, at least, is what Neb-Aten would say.”

  Nebamun's smile did not alter. “Neb-Aten passed from the light of the sun long ago, Commander,” he said. “You saw his tomb, and you rode in the chariot that was buried with him.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Khonsu replied. “I saw his tomb, and I saw what was wrapped and enclosed within his coffins and packed into his canopic jars.”

  Nebamun shook his head, smiling.

  “And, Your Grace,” Khonsu continued, “While the statue carved by Djehutymose was deliberately mutilated, so that the face could not be recognized, I suspect, I saw the plaster portrait cast made by Mersu in Master Djehutymose' studio, that was probably used as the model for that statue.”

  Nebamun sat back with a thoughtful frown. “I'd forgotten the cast,” he said.

  Khonsu sat forward. “Then I was right!” he exclaimed. “You did destroy the 'body' and the portrait statue! And you did go to your father's tomb to avenge its robbery and stop any further sacrilege against him!”

  Nebamun took the cup from Khonsu, eyed the level of the beer in it, poured more, and sipped, then handed the cup back. “You are speaking of matters I am not permitted to discuss, Commander,” he said firmly.

  “And it is Your Grace's father's death that brings you back here!”

  “You're speaking of matters that I can't discuss, Commander,” Nebamun repeated.

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “And yet—forgive me for saying it, Your Grace—I don't believe Her Ladyship has ever heard you say that to her!”

  Nebamun's expression grew at once softer and more amused. “She is my wife, Commander,” he said.

  Looking at him sitting calmly, Khonsu thought of the serene impassivity of the guardian statues in Nakht's tomb. He nodded. “I understand, Your Grace,” he said. “But—”

  Nebamun was sitting quietly in his chair with his hands folded before him, watching Khonsu with a half-smile. “'But'?” he said.

  “It's wrong for me to voice it, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “But I have a feeling Your Grace is playing a dire and deep game.”

  “Yes,” said Lord Nebamun. “I am.” He added, “But I play it with Pharaoh's full knowledge and approval, and I am a careful man. No one but me is at risk, and no one will be hurt besides myself.”

  Khonsu hesitated, conscious of a touch of shyness in speaking so openly. “But I don't want Your Grace to be hurt, either,” he said.

  Nebamun turned away from contemplating the sunset to fix a thoughtful gaze on Khonsu. “You know I can't promise that Khonsu,” he said quietly. “I must do what must be done, whatever the cost to me.”

  “And what of Her Ladyship?” Khonsu asked. “Wouldn't she suffer if Your Grace were harmed?”

  “My wife is the granddaughter of warrior kings,” Nebamun said. “She understands honor and duty. She knows I can't turn aside.” He added softly, “And Commander: if I am still alive when this is over, I'll answer any questions you have for me.”

  “I need no answers from Your Grace,” Khonsu said.

  “We'll see when the time comes,” Nebamun said. “For now, I can think of nothing better for either of us than to sit and enjoy the sunset.” He paused and added, “You have been under a great deal of strain and worry. You seem exhausted. A quiet evening watching the sunset would do you good.”

  “I wish I could, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “But I must go to His Reverence now.” He read Nebamun's quizzical expression and said, “He has asked me to accompany him to the temple this evening.”

  Nebamun raised his eyes to the sunset. “So it has come at last,” he said. “And perhaps it is time. Go with my blessing. But remember, Commander, that not all that is strange to your eyes and your ears is evil.”

  XLVI The Temple Of The Aten

  The starlight washed in a shadowless tide over the scattered stones that had once been colossal statues of the heretic pharaoh. Khonsu, gazing up at the high gateway, remembered his first sight of the temple on the night before the expedition's arrival in Akhet-Aten. So much had changed, so much was now understood that had once been only dimly sensed.

  He turned away from remembering and drew his team to a halt.

  Perineb was standing beside him and looking around with eager interest. He stepped down from the chariot once Khonsu had the team hobbled, and took one of the two torches fastened to the side of the chariot. “Now to face the shadows,” he said, raising the torch.

  Khonsu settled the quiver of arrows between his shoulders and tested the tautness of his bow. “Hyenas congregate here, Your Reverence,” he said. “We'll be ready for them.”

  A scrabbling of claws upon stone sounded as he spoke, and a misshapen shadow darted between them and into the darkness beyond the circle of their torches.

  Khonsu nocked an arrow and leveled his bow.

  Perineb set a hand on his arm. “Let them go,” he said. “I have no quarrel with another creature unless it tries to harm me. We're trespassing in their home.”

  Khonsu replaced his arrow. “As Your Reverence wishes,” he said. He paused as Perineb lifted his torch and frowned up at the carvings of the king flanking the doorway. More shadows erupted from the darkened corners and raced past him into the night. When the priest said nothing, Khonsu followed him through the pylon and into the courtyard.

  A colonnaded walkway bounded the courtyard; Perineb moved through two pillars, skirting a fallen statue of the king, and brought his torch close to the wall. Thousands of tiny people sprang into life in the golden, wavering light. Little men in white robes busily preparing a feast, cattle being led into the courts for slaughter, garlands of flowers, hosts of worshipers bearing offerings. The food was everywhere: mountains of bread, geese held wing to wing like garlands, honey cakes and huge jars of beer and wine, and glinting above all of them was the disk of the su
n. The colors were fresh and bright even in the fitful torchlight, the carvings crisp and beautifully done.

  “This was Djehutymose' work,” Perineb said. “He could bring stone to life.”

  Khonsu, remembering the lifelike masks in the sculptor's studio, did not comment. The carvings seemed to leap and sway in the flickering light of his torch. The figures were pot-bellied and spindle-shanked with bulging skulls, but the distortion no longer seemed so strange to him. It was as though the swaying bodies were moving in a dance set to music he could not hear, but whose beat was rooted in a heartbeat stronger and swifter than his own. It made him a little giddy, but it was a pleasant intoxication.

  “I can see this is beautiful, Your Reverence,” he said.

  Perineb's smile faded a little. “And yet, Commander,” he said, “we would go far astray if we took beauty as the only measure of goodness.” He moved forward to touch a carving covering four horizontal registers. It depicted four rows of prostrate officials bowing to the ground before Pharaoh, shown five times their size, according to custom. The king, wearing the red crown of Lower Egypt, was swathed in a jubilee-cloak and carrying the crook and flail of kingship. A priest bowed before him, burning incense.

  Perineb traced the hieroglyphs carved into the wall. “'The chamberlains kiss the earth before His Majesty',” he read. “'The High Priest offers incense to the Great God'.” He lifted his brows and fell silent.

  “They're offering incense to the king?” Khonsu repeated.

  “Yes,” Perineb said. “As though he were God indeed.” He turned to gaze down the processional axis through the succeeding gateways out toward the open sanctuary. The high altar had been thrown down and lay smashed upon the ground, the pieces scattered in a wide, willful fashion.

  Perineb's eyes moved to the reliefs depicting the king offering sacrifices to the sun disc, which hung, huge and brassy, at the top, just below the cornice, bathing all in light and heat.

  Khonsu could feel the light flickering about him again, dazzling in his eyes. The warmth seemed to tighten around his temples like a noose.

  Perineb's voice moved smoothly into Khonsu's thoughts. “See how open this all is,” he said. “The altar is in the very center of the courtyard, far from any shade.”

  Khonsu looked at the broken altar standing alone at the eastern end of the temple. As Perineb had said, shelter was far away. He looked back toward the carvings before him. The shimmering torchlight was growing stronger.

  “This was a temple to the sun, like the temple of Ra at Iunu,” said Perineb. “It celebrates the power of creation found in the light and heat of the sun. But this goes far beyond Iunu. It's as though we are asked to become drunken with the sun, to drown in the sun.

  “See how he showed its rays, like hands. They hold the ankh to his nostrils, giving life, they caress him and his family. But see, they touch no one else. The rest of us are pinned to the ground beneath its glare like rabbits cowering in the open beneath the glare of a leopard. There's no forgiving shade, no merciful shadows, only the pitiless, killing glare, and the men and beasts laboring beneath it. There's nowhere to turn, no shelter, no hiding place for anyone. And the king revels in this. Only look,” he said, lightly running his finger down a line of carving.

  Neferkheprure, Sole-One-of-Re,

  Your child, coming forth from your rays.

  You grant him your lifetime, your years,

  You dawn to give him eternity,

  When you set you give him infinity

  Perineb shook his head and gazed beyond Khonsu to the gilded disk on the pediment. “It is wrong. Twisted. I understand it now. I have entered the tombs that were robbed. They are filled with depictions of the tomb owners worshiping the king.” He added quietly, “And that, too, is twisted.”

  Khonsu looked around at the starlight-drenched courtyard. It did not take much imagination to picture it beneath the sun, its bright colors bleached to pastel. But now the flames of his torch were overflowing, flooding the courtyard with light.

  Khonsu remembered the tomb and the king's grief. “He was not an evil man,” he said.

  “No, not evil,” Perineb agreed. “I have read what he wrote. He was a poet, not a theologian, and he did ill to try to explain God. I remember Prince Thutmose telling me of it. I was young, and I didn't understand then...”

  He moved into the center of the courtyard, leaving Khonsu standing where he was with upraised torch. “Wait here,” he said. “Sit down and get some rest. I won't be long.”

  Khonsu looked around at the paving stones. Finding a widened crack between two stones, He wedged the torch in it and then sat down and closed his eyes.

  The light flickered and shimmered beyond Khonsu's eyelids. In his mind he could see tongues of flame licking up along the lintels of the gateways, swirling around the depictions of the Aten until it was engulfed in fire and all the folk beneath it cried out in the blistering heat.

  “It's time to go, Commander.” The quiet voice jolted Khonsu from his doze. He opened his eyes and pushed himself to his feet, bending to retrieve the torch. His legs began to tremble violently enough to make his knees start to buckle.

  Perineb took the torch from him, tossed it aside and steadied Khonsu with an arm about his shoulders. “Are you all right, Commander?” he asked.

  “I fell into a dream,” Khonsu said, shaking. “I s–saw the walls engulfed in flame, all the folk on them crying out—” He looked around, seeking the vision once more and finding only torchlit carvings dancing in the faint light. “No, it's gone.”

  Perineb was frowning with concern now. “Sit down and catch your breath, Commander. You're shivering. Was it so real, then?”

  “I have had dreams before,” Khonsu said. “But only when I was asleep. This was like a prophecy. This is a dreadful place, Your Reverence!”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “It was strange— I can't understand—” Khonsu fell silent.

  “Much in this life is incomprehensible, Commander,” Perineb said, sitting down beside him. “What would it profit us if we could understand all of it? We are here in a house built to glorify God, and you have felt the touch of His hand. I have felt it myself, and not only in a temple. It is like a wind from another land, bringing sounds and scents I would never have dreamed of, but, having once felt and savored them, could not imagine them otherwise. And yet, there's nothing to do but go on with your life, carrying what light has been granted you.”

  The strangeness had subsided before Perineb's words; Khonsu's trembling eased and he was able to draw a deep breath.

  Perineb had been gazing sightlessly before him. He smiled at Khonsu. “There,” he said rising to retrieve the torch. “I can see you are better now. There is nothing to fear. You saw something: remember what you saw, and if you are able, later, to understand the reason for the vision, and the action you must take, then follow what you have learned. You can do nothing more.”

  XLVII

  Lord Nebamun held court once more in the throne room beneath the blaze of the Aten. The blinding afternoon sun streamed down through the clerestory windows to catch on the beaten, inlaid gold of the disk and turn it to fire. The golden hand-tipped rays fell about Nebamun's shoulders; the gold-covered throne caught their glint and scattered it in a thousand sparkling shards. To Khonsu, whose eyes had been somehow sharpened by the past night's vision, he seemed to be throned and circled by the Aten, the last of the kinship of its worshipers.

  Lord Nebamun watched in silence, motionless and erect, as the people arrived one after another. When all were present he raised his voice and said, “I have called you together as the lieutenant of the Lord of the Two Lands—may he live, rejoice and prosper!—to hear your reports and decide the fate of this city of Akhet-Aten. What will be decided this day has the leave and approval of His Majesty, and I act with Pharaoh's full powers.”

  The room murmured into agitation. Nebamun sat back and waited until silence had fallen again. “Let Master Neh
esi and Master Mersu come forward,” he said. When the stonemason and the sculptor were before him he said, “Have you completed your survey of the quarries”

  Nehesi's deep voice rumbled through the room. “Yes, Your Grace, we have.”

  “Then give me your conclusion. Will it be possible to reopen them?”

  Nehesi glanced at Mersu and then raised his head. “The stone is beautiful, Your Grace,” he said. “It's close-grained and smooth, excellent for sculpting or building. But...” he broke off and looked over at Mersu again.

  The sculptor came forward. “It's too dangerous, Your Grace,” he said. “The cave-ins were engineered by men who didn't understand stone. The murderers undercut several key supports left by the quarrymen and masons. The galleries are unstable now, the weight of the overlying rock improperly supported. Men could work there, I suppose, but it's only a matter of time before the roof collapses once again, and this time the death toll will be higher.”

  “I see,” said Nebamun.

  Nehesi said, “It might be possible to brace the ceilings, but how that is to be done, and at what cost, and with what success, I can't say, Your Grace.”

  Nebamun's expression had not altered. “If you were faced with such a ceiling, Master Nehesi, would you command your men to go into the quarry?”

  Nehesi made a helpless motion with his hands. “No, Your Grace,” he said. “I couldn't.”

  Nebamun turned to Mersu. “And you, Master Sculptor?” he said.

  Mersu smiled at him. “Your Grace knows I would never send my men anywhere I wouldn't go myself,” he said.

  Nebamun slowly sat back. He lifted his head, his eyes focused on something before him the others could not see. He drew a long breath at last and nodded to the two men. “Thank you,” he said. “And now, General, tell me your conclusions about the thefts in the city.”

  “There was little to discover, Your Grace,” Seti said. “The city was abandoned hurriedly, with little effort made to safeguard the property left behind, aside from haphazard measures were never meant to hold off determined thieves for any length of time.”