The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle

by Diana Wilder

  “That's the first of a string of fortresses stretching into Palestine,” General Senwadjet said. “They border the coast. In past times they controlled the trade routes under Thutmose the Great and his heirs.” The man's eyes narrowed as though he were looking into the past. “Until the Heretic and his father turned their attention elsewhere. They are all falling into ruin now.”

  Nakhtamun nodded. “But they may be brought back to strength without much effort. It is worth investigating.” He lifted his face into the wind. Fortresses, old wars...

  He caught a tang of salt from the ocean, west of his force. He gazed into the distance, seeing billows of dark water... He had traveled on 'The Great Green' once, when his father was Vizier of the North, sailing from Pelusium to Byblos on the Mediterranean coast.

  He still thought of the journey, the sea streaming past the bow of the ship, the dance of the dolphins escorting them. He could feel the plunge and rear of Prince of the Winds as she surged across the waves, her sails bellying in the wind, all oars shipped. He remembered shaking his head and laughing aloud at the wind's cold, vigorous tug in his hair, feeling—just for that moment—that he belonged there, that was what he had been born to do.

  He blinked at the memory and realized that it had underlain the fabric of his soul for years, lending a touch of mystery, a sweetness, never lost. Could it be recaptured? He was Co-regent; could he command Egypt's fleet? He raised his dazzled eyes to the horizon. Or perhaps he might lead an expedition of discovery deep into the south, as did the great explorers all those centuries ago. To see new sights, to bend his mind to puzzles and new information.

  The elation faded and he sighed. ...Or, most likely, he would be trapped, in a lifetime of courtiers, ritual, procedure, things to do and ways to do them, to be the focus of all reverent eyes, the ornament of Egypt—Pharaoh.

  He straightened and gathered the reins in his hand with a sigh. Pharaoh. How to escape that fate?

  “Majesty!”

  He blinked and looked up.

  Senwadjet was approaching him, his straight brows drawn together. Was the man never enthusiastic about anything? “Our point riders have seen the fort, Sire. They went inside. It is open and abandoned now, but commanding the countryside.”

  “Does it seem like a good possibility?”

  “Definitely, Sire. It's sturdy, in a good location...”

  “Something to remember,” Nakhtamun said. “I will include it in this evening's dispatch. Continue your sweep and report back this evening. Send some scouts to see what they can find. Bring in some of the local citizens. We can question them.”

  CHAPTER II

  Nakhtamun turned to look back at the force fanning out behind him. The Company of Ptah was cresting the rise to the east, their standard flashing in the afternoon sun, leading the river of heads moving up the grassy incline. They were singing a Memphis ballad. He paused to listen and then grinned. Not the commonly known words! In fact, the verse had something to do with the lavish charms of a woman who lived beside the Nile.

  His grin widened: the descriptions were very specific, and he knew the brothel that was named in the song. He shook his head, laughing. Soldiers! Storehouses of lewd information, with hearts as soft as bowls of gruel. He might be tempted, he thought, to investigate the truth of the song when he returned to Memphis.

  ...Or he could ask his younger brother to look into it for him. He wondered what Ramesses was doing at that moment. Hearing an embassage? Holding a child on his knee? His amusement faded to warmth. Whatever was occupying Ramessu at the moment, he was probably smiling and at ease, even as he ruled the country. That had come at the end of a week's worth of strong argument. Pulling rank was a dirty trick, perhaps, but it worked. Ramesses would be fine as regent, with Lord Nebamun beside him.

  The land rose before him. The swell of hills reminded him of the smooth seas on the way to Byblos.

  Byblos... He raised his head to the wind, his mind back at the ocean, remembering, longing... He frowned and turned his thoughts aside. Was he truly unhappy? Or was it his trick of inserting emotions into everything?

  'You should be a poet, Nakhti,' his father had said once when he had let his speech soar into emotion. 'You can imagine yourself into any situation and suffer with the sufferers, be they however far removed by time and distance!' They had both laughed, but it was true.

  “Bah!”

  “Majesty?”

  The voice made him start. Suti, his driver, was back from his circuit with General Senwadjet beside him.

  His grin altered to a wry smile. “What did you find?” he asked.

  Senwadjet was frowning. The expression eased after a moment. “Another Migdol. Deserted now, some parts crumbling...”

  “Did you go inside?”

  “Yes, Majesty. I took a company. We found signs of occupation within the past few months, but no later. Ashes from fires, rubbish—these Canaanites are pigs!—nothing recent. The walls are still strong, the place can be refurbished.”

  Nakhtamun nodded slowly. “Send my scribe to me. I will want to report to His Majesty.”

  ** ** **

  “Do you have all that?” Nakhtamun asked. He shifted in the shade of the sycamore tree and sipped from his flask of water. The senior army scribe, was cross-legged before him, frowning down at the papyrus stretched across his lap. He raised his head. “All of it, Sire.”

  “Seal it, then, and send it off. His Majesty will be interested in reading it. We need to extend our presence here.” He saw that the man was hesitating, eyeing the sheet of papyrus and then frowning at his brush. “What is it, Per-Hor?” he asked.

  “There's better than half a sheet left, Sire. Do you wish to say anything else?”

  Nakhtamun took another sip of water and corked the flask, frowning. “Set it aside. Senwadjet is bringing in some local folk for questioning. I can include that in the report.”

  ** ** **

  The three tribesmen stared at him across the campfire that evening. Senwadjet had brought them in without undue courtesy, though he had ordered a supper for them. Nakhtamun had waited until they finished the beans and roasted meat before questioning them.

  Their answers had been easy and general, though Senwadjet was frowning at some of them. Nakhtamun continued. “That fortress, now, who is occupying it?”

  The tribesmen traded glances and then bowed to the ground. “There is no one there, My Lord,” said the oldest, a hawk-faced man with keen eyes set into a network of fine lines. “It has been abandoned for years, with shepherds corralling their sheep there from time to time.”

  “Hm. Is it wrecked, then?”

  “There is shelter, Majesty. The wind does not enter ... The roof is not destroyed, and it has a well.”

  The answer made Senwadjet fold his arms.

  Nakhtamun ignored him. “A well, you say? With sweet water?”

  “Oh yes, Majesty. I have drunk from it many times. The roof is sound, the stones still in place. It is a fine shelter.”

  “I see. Interesting.” Nakhtamun turned to the Sergeant at arms. “Take them away. Give them food to take with them and send them forth.”

  Senwadjet moved. “Did you order that we let them go, Sire?”

  “They have given me the information I need.” Looks exchanged; he could almost hear the man's thoughts. “Well?”

  Senwadjet's eyes were fixed on the three. “We can take them with us on the march and send them on when we reach the fortress. They will serve as our guides. Once we are there and inside it—with them accompanying us—we can release them with, perhaps, some payment.” His gaze had become an intense stare.

  One of the prisoners took a half-step backward. “I must go home tonight!” he exclaimed in a thick patois. “The baby is coming!”

  Nakhtamun considered this as the tribesmen and his staff watched him. Ramesses had a pregnant wife, and while he pretended to be confident and happy, Nakhtamun had caught an undertone of worry. He shook his head finally. “Let them g
o.”

  Senwadjet's brows drove together in an incredulous frown. “But Sir! We will house them in comfort. We can take them with us and let them depart once we are at the fortress. They can accompany us inside.”

  “This man says his wife needs him. We come peaceably and I have no wish to cause any hardship.”

  “If Your Majesty is kind enough to hear his servant,” Senwadjet said with a thin smile to the three men, “I suggest we send an armed escort with this fellow to bring his wife back here. Your Majesty's private surgeon can tend her. I suspect she would get better care with him than in her own home.”

  “If she is pregnant,” Nakhtamun said, “It would be dangerous to move her.”

  “If Your Majesty will deign hear his servant,” Senwadjet said, speaking with slow clarity, “This man has spoken of a pregnant wife. He is greatly troubled by worries for her safety, and yet he has abandoned her while he goes far from family and herdbeasts in order to watch us. And, let me add, we knew nothing of this woman's existence until perhaps ten heartbeats ago.”

  The older man straightened. Senwadjet looked at him.

  Nakhtamun frowned. “No livestock?”

  “No goats, sheep, cattle, horses—nothing.”

  Nakhtamun turned away from the leader to look over his shoulder at Senwadjet. “Are you saying, General, that these three are lying?”

  “I am saying, Sire, that we know nothing of these people aside from what they have told us. I am reminding Your Majesty that it was very easy for our outriders to capture them. Much of what they have told you is incorrect based on what I know personally. And I am suggesting that having this fellow pass a night away from his wife, who is obviously not in labor at the moment, else he would not have been able to tear himself from her side, will not harm anyone. They can escort us to this fortress and return to their people once we have given them leave to go.”

  Nakhtamun raised his head to stare at Senwadjet, who returned the gaze without any hesitation. He drew his brush through his fingers and frowned at the three tribesmen. The younger man's eyes were wide and pleading.

  “Let them go.”

  “Sire—”

  “Do as I tell you! You keep warning me of dangers that all have come to naught. We will be going with our full force, and they will regret any treachery. Go. You are dismissed.”

  He watched them leave and then turned back to his writing. He finished his report, including a note for Ramesses:

  I have been thinking, Ramessu, how you would enjoy traveling here and governing these people. You have an instinct for diplomacy, odd though it seems, little brother. I would think you would thrive here, and you would have plenty of scope for rebuilding.

  I will be inspecting a fortress on the morrow. One of those built by Thutmose the Great at the height of his reign. I will be looking it over carefully, but the chain of fortresses, of which this is one, will be a powerful network of defenses once they are repaired. It is something to consider; I will mention it to His Majesty when I return.

  I have enjoyed this time of exploration, though there have been annoyances with my staff. Time and again they have warned me of problems that subsequently did not arise.

  He lowered his brush and slumped where he sat. The past two weeks had been busy, strenuous, and wonderful. But the work had exhausted him. How long had it been since he had accompanied his father on campaign? More than two years, certainly. He folded his arms and sat back, closing his eyes. His surroundings seemed to blur. The wind pushed into his tent...

  He is astride a great, star-flecked horse, riding across the night sky, following the glittering 'Trail of the Crocodile' to the great beast itself. He urges the horse into a circle as he nocks an arrow. The Crocodile lunges toward him, roaring, jaws open wide, teeth glinting in the moonlight while the horse squeals and rears. He dismounts, draws the bow as the Crocodile looms above him...

  He jerked awake, his heart pounding. It had been so real for a moment. He shook his head and frowned down at the papyrus, then took up his brush again.

  Tomorrow should be eventful. I will inspect the fortifications and decide whether it will be worth our time to bring the fortress back to strength or to raze and rebuild it. Its location is perfect, and I hope that it is repairable. A garrison there, with access to our headquarters at Gaza, would be very useful, and serve as a base to extend our holdings. I will let you know my conclusions when I write to you this evening.

  Give my most respectful greetings to His Holiness and to your ladies. Count Pasenhor will be getting a separate letter from me, since I need to deal with some things before my return.

  Behave yourself, little brother... until we meet again.

  He set the papyrus aside with a smile. Ramesses would have some things to say, no doubt. And they would be interesting.

  CHAPTER III

  Riding along in the wind and the sun the next morning, Nakhtamun found his thoughts circling around Ramesses. Court life did not suit him, but Ramesses, though younger than him by more than a decade, thrived on it. Could he, Nakhtamun, appoint Ramesses to serve as his deputy, or viceroy? It was worth considering. The press of government was weariness to him. He preferred to be out and doing rather than conducting ceremonious business, important though it was.

  Would it be possible? He frowned and considered. It was asking much of his brother's honor and courage. Perhaps they could be co-regents, Ramesses performing the tasks of Kingship that lay within his strengths, and he following his own abilities?

  But what were his abilities? He was a competent fighter, but others had formed strategy. He was a meticulous observer of things that interested him... He faltered. What could he do?

  The moment's doubt passed. The brothers Kamose and Ahmose had had such an arrangement at the start of the previous dynasty, didn't they? He would speak with his father.

  His smile grew crooked at the thought of His Majesty's reaction. It would be wiser to wait. It might be a long time before he was sole King, and arrangements could be made then, without fear of his father's devastatingly pointed method of dealing with what he judged to be arrant stupidity.

  He drew in his team to await his outriders circling back toward him with Senwadjet at their lead.

  “Well?”

  “It seems to be intact, Sire.”

  Nakhtamun set the notion of co-regency aside. “Excellent. The less rebuilding we must do, the more quickly the fortress can be put into service. Let's look it over.”

  Senwadjet watched him gather his reins. “I will select a squadron to escort us, Sire.”

  Nakhtamun frowned as he adjusted the tension. “Don't be a fool. They'd have to march on the double and they would not thank me for ordering it without need. The fort is obviously deserted.”

  Senwadjet lowered his head and spoke over him. “If it please Your Majesty: we followed your orders and did not enter the structure, nor did we approach it closely. We do not know whether it is deserted. At this moment we know nothing of it apart from its outward appearance.”

  Nakhtamun stared for the time it took to check the arrow-filled quiver to his right. “We can verify that ourselves,” he said.

  Senwadjet raised his head. “Sire, I beg you. If I have done anything that has pleased you in the time you have been with me: we should have our foot soldiers and scouts supporting us. It will be slower, but we can face and fight any resistance we may encounter.”

  “No!”

  Senwadjet continued doggedly. “But, Sire, if they are dealing treacherously—”

  “The citizens here have told us the place is deserted,” Nakhtamun snapped. “I can see it, myself. There is nothing there. The troops will follow us as they can—”

  “But Majesty!”

  “Don't try my patience, General! If they have betrayed us, you have my leave to put them all to the sword!” And he urged his horses to a canter before Senwadjet could protest any further.

  ** ** **

  Magnificent! The sun-bleached stones of the f
ortress seemed set within a frame of mountains rising almost purple to either side. The brightness echoed the lightness in Nakhtamun's heart. He would speak with his father and with Ramesses.

  He eased his hold on the reins and his team quickened its pace. The canter became a gallop until they were in the shadow of the fortress' square gatehouse. He drew up, then, smiling at the tower, picturing it stuccoed and painted, peopled with soldiers and traders, as it had been in the great times. His horses felt the tension on the reins and shook their heads, their feathered headdresses tossing in the wind.

  He turned to Senwadjet, who was beside him. “They spoke truth,” he said. “It's in fine shape, from this vantage! We will see how it seems from inside!”

  His horses stiffened their necks, snorting as he shook the reins. “What's this?” he demanded. He loosed the lash of his short driving whip and cracked it over their heads. The team lurched forward and then steadied, though their ears flicked back and forth. “That's it, my beauties!” he said.

  He swept through the gatehouse, Senwadjet's panicked shout ringing in his ears behind him. A twang from the right, then a heavy thud as a long black shaft seemed to bloom in his breast. The horses screamed and reared. He heard the whine of a bowstring and looked down, choking, as another arrow appeared beside the first.

  The back of his throat was filling with blood. His hands were losing their strength as he fell forward against the chariot rail—

  Screaming—shapes around him—the ring of bronze—a horse shrieking— He could feel arms around him and Senwadjet's voice saying his name as the blue sky turned black and all sound faded into murmurs and then silence.

  Father... he whispered in the moment before he was gone.

  ** ** **

  The wind blew south from Joppa, channeling through the Nubian hills, throwing a glittering net of sunlight upon the blue waters of the Nile. Low hills rose to either side of the river, their shoulders half-hiding the expanse of grasslands beyond them. The man turned his face into the wind, tasting the scent of the grasslands.