City of the Dead (23 page)

The inner courtyard lay desolate. No one would be about when the festival was in full gaiety outdoors. I crossed to the Great Hall, glancing through the forest of columns for signs of four people meeting in secret. Then on to Khufu’s private audience hall, which was also empty. I ventured up the stairs at the back of the palace toward Khufu’s private bedchamber. In the passageway outside his chamber, I encountered what seemed to be the palace’s only inhabitant, a young woman I recognized as one of the harem.

I froze in the passage, then tried to look at the floor and appear casual. But the ruse was ridiculous. I had no business there, and she recognized me at once.

She was foreign and exotic, with hair cut short and a body whose curves belied her youth. I remembered her from the accession festival not long ago, the girl who had watched me as she danced.

She glided close to me, a playful smile on her lips. “It seems I have found the man all of Egypt is searching for.” Her voice was smooth and slow.

“I wish no harm on anyone—”

She ran a cool finger up my arm. “Have no fear, Grand Vizier. I do not plan to raise an alarm.” She licked her lips. “In fact, you are even more fascinating to me now. Perhaps you need a place to hide?”

I jerked my arm away from her touch. “Do you know where I can find Pharaoh?”

She laughed and even this was a slow sound, like sweet honey, poured cold. “He is not nearby. We are quite alone.” She mistook my concern.

“The king is in danger. Tell me where he is!”

She lifted her face and leaned toward me. Her breath smelled of herbs. “Take some time to rest before you begin to run again, Hemiunu.”

I stepped back. “Is the king in the palace?”

Her lips formed a pout. “He would not miss the bull fight. Go and find him there if you must hurry to seal your fate.”

I backed away. Would she speak of finding me here? I suspected she would not.

* * *

The venue that had hosted the wrestling match was the site of the bull fight, a favorite among all Egyptians. The open yard surrounding the walled arena still thronged with onlookers, and the crowds were building. The enclosure was currently empty, though the bullfight was due to begin soon. I melted into the crowd once more, wary of each face that turned my direction, and watched for the king’s arrival.

I did not have long to wait. Directly across from me, Khufu appeared, surrounded by attendants. A cheer erupted from the people when their king waved, and I lifted an arm with those around me in effort to blend in. Khufu took his seat on a carved chair that had been placed on a platform, slightly elevated.

I am not close enough.

Dancers tumbled out into the ring to entertain before the fight began. They ran the length of the arena, and I moved in the same direction, slicing quickly through the crowd.

The dancers wore short skirts, so that their movements would not be impeded. The long braids of their wigs were held close by red and gold bands at their foreheads. Several of them carried large balls.

I reached the end of the arena at the same time as the girls, but as I circled around they whirled to begin their feats. I had always been fascinated by the unusual ways these women could contort their bodies with such grace, but I had no time for entertainment today. I needed to get as close to Khufu as I dared. I did not intend to be left guessing again at his whereabouts.

I pressed forward, drawing angry looks from those who believed I was trying to take their place at the wall. I reached an adequate position from which to observe. At the same moment the girls all flipped together and let out a triumphant yell. The crowd cheered, the girls laughed and bowed, then scattered from the arena like sands to the wind.

Khufu stood. He wore the double crown, and the wide-throated golden snake reared at his forehead. The crowd quieted in expectation. Pharaoh waited, extending the moment as he was wont to do. It was as if all of Egypt stilled to hear his words.

When he spoke, his voice carried across the arena, and even from where I stood I could hear the sadness in it.

“The Festival of Hapi is to be a joyous time.” He braced his hands on the wall in front of him. “And I wish each of you a day of joy in celebration of the gift of the Nile, and the fortuitous Inundation we have had this year. The ground will be fertile, and Egypt will be strong!”

The people lifted a brief cheer that dropped off suddenly, as though they sensed that the king had more to say.

“But it is also with heavy hearts that we mark the high point of the floodwaters this year. The Great Wife has crossed to the west, and we are more desolate without her presence.” Khufu’s voice broke for a moment, and he looked to his feet. When he lifted his head, I recognized the hardened determination there. “Do not fear,” he said, “the evil that has befallen our great land. The gods will deliver the guilty into our hands, and the divine order will be restored!”

The people responded as Khufu surely knew they would, with loud blessings of “Life, Health, Strength!” called down upon his head.

Khufu raised a hand and silence spread over them. When the last child was stilled, Khufu gave a shout. “Bring the bulls!”

The pen doors were released at opposite ends of the arena, and two brown bulls with dirty horns charged forth to snort and paw the ground.

My attention was on Khufu, who regained his seat and seemed satisfied with himself. The razor-sharp tension in my shoulders eased a bit. It should be a simple matter to watch Khufu from here, with all eyes in the arena on the bulls.

The two beasts hurled themselves at one another, their equally massive heads colliding at the center of the arena. Around me, onlookers screamed out in support of the bull they were backing. A little boy beside me chanted “Broad-Striker, Broad-Striker,” and beat his fist against his palm. The bulls’ horns became locked, and men ran in from the perimeter with sticks to disengage the animals, then fled back to safety.

I had almost begun to lose myself in the fight, but then a movement near Khufu drew my attention.

Rashidi.

The priest stood behind the king, near enough to slip a knife into his side. I leaned forward, as though my fists could reach him.

Turn, Khufu. See the traitor at your side!

And Khufu did turn. He lifted his chin and acknowledged Rashidi behind him. The priest bent his head down to Khufu’s. I pushed aside several people to get closer.

Khufu nodded, as if in agreement, and the priest stood upright again.

I stopped my forward movement. Rashidi lifted his head to the bulls, and as the two animals once again cracked horns, I saw a smile creep across the face of the murderous priest.

Moments later the bull fight ended with a nasty goring by Broad-Striker. Those that had backed the winner lifted a cheer. Around me, the losers complained alternately that their favorite had been half-starved or overfed before the match.

The vanquished bull lay in the arena, a growing pool of blood seeping into the sand. The first blood-letting of the day.

How much more before the day is over?

Slaves came to drag off the dying bull while Broad-Striker was led back to a pen. Then a long-horned bull covered in a red cloth was released into the arena to prance before the crowd, and the previous match was forgotten.

On the king’s platform, Khufu arose from his chair and followed Rashidi down the steps. I would have lost him in the crowd had he not commanded a following of attendants. This procession led forth, away from the arena and toward the palace, with Pharaoh shielded from the desert sun by a canopy on a pole, carried by a slave following close behind. I also followed, my fingers gripping the hilt of the knife at my waist.

The sea of people parted at Khufu’s approach. He moved through them with head and shoulders thrown back, smiling upon all like a benevolent god. He left a wake as he passed, and I kept to the right so that the parting crowd would not leave me exposed.

As they approached the palace, though Khufu led, it seemed to me that Rashidi directed their steps. Would Tamit and Ahmose already be there? Should I wait until all the players were in place before entering the stage?

Tamit then approached, drawing the attention and the greetings of many, and my decision was made.

I moved alongside of one of the huge granite statues of Khufu that flanked the palace entrance. My eyes came to just above the carved left foot. At the statue’s side, on a much smaller scale, a carved representation of Merit looked down on me. I reached out a hand to touch her leg and kept my eyes on Tamit.

She laughed and smiled her way to the palace entrance, acknowledging hails of congratulations on her win with the bow. She stopped to blow a kiss in the direction of a court official. Her scarlet dress was the color of the bull’s blood in the sand.

I drew in a gritty breath and watched her disappear into the palace.

Then Ahmose was there, also moving toward his destiny inside the palace. He alone walked as though he had cause for shame, with his eyes to the ground, his steps sluggish.

Be alert, brother!

I leaned my upper body against the coolness of the granite. My feet and legs seemed to twitch with an urgency to move. I felt like a leopard stalking its prey in the marshes, muscles tensed to spring.

Ahmose disappeared beneath the lintel, and I breathed a count of ten, giving them time to assemble before I breached the palace. When the entrance was clear, I filled my lungs and rounded the base of the granite statue.

Twenty steps from the entrance, a small figure slipped from the garden grove and ran for the palace.

Jafari.

I could wait no longer. My nephew was inside.

I ran through the palace entrance and into the first courtyard. No Jafari. I dashed around the pool and ran to the wall, then shuffled along it until I reached the arch leading to the Great Hall. I looped around the doorway to the wall inside the hall and followed it forward. The massive columns running the length of the huge chamber would partially conceal me.

At the front of the Great Hall, I sprinted across to the opposite side and into the passageway that led to Khufu’s private audience hall at the southernmost edge of the palace. Still no glimpse of Jafari, but I could hear voices as I approached. I slowed to a walk. Outside the doorway I paused to listen, then moved close enough to observe.

Rashidi stood facing me. I pulled back slightly, but his attention was on the three who stood in a line before him. Tamit stood
on his left, Khufu in the center, and my brother on the right. A stray desert wind snaked into the hall, and Tamit’s dress snapped around her legs. Rashidi began chanting, a strange staccato sort of sound unlike any I had heard.

In turn, each of the three knelt and lowered their heads. I watched the double crown tumble from Khufu’s head. He caught it before it clattered to the floor.

I rubbed the knife hilt between my fingers.

Where were Rashidi’s apprentices? Did they wait in the wings, ready to pounce?

Rashidi covered Tamit’s bowed head with his hand, as though preparing a lamb for the slaughter.

I could wait no longer.

I pulled the knife from my belt, pushed into the chamber, and hardened my heart.

A flash of white on my left startled me.

“Uncle, you have returned!”

Jafari’s youthful voice seemed to fill the chamber. The four at the front of the room rose and turned as one. At the same moment I rushed them, knife raised.

Tamit screamed, and Ahmose threw himself in front of the king.

Rashidi retreated until his back was against the wall.

“Where are they?” I shouted at the priest.

“Hemi!” My brother’s hands were raised in front of his body. “What are you doing?”

“Stand aside, brother!”

“Hemiunu!” Ahmose’s command was like the voice of our father. “Stop! I will not allow you to harm the king.”

I stood panting before them, my blood hot and surging under my skin. “Harm the king! I have come to protect you all from
him
.” I pointed at Rashidi with my knife. “The Scourge of Anubis!”

Khufu carefully pivoted so that he could see the priest, keeping Tamit at his back. “What is this, Rashidi?”

The little priest raised his hands in feigned innocence. “He is deranged.”

Khufu spoke over his shoulder to Tamit. “Go, woman. Raise the guards.”

“No!” I held out a hand. “Tamit, wait. I can explain.”

She hesitated.

“I will give you a moment, Hemi,” Khufu said. “Out of respect for our former friendship. But give your brother the knife.”

“Thank you, my Pharaoh.” I hated to give up the weapon with Rashidi still free, but I trusted Ahmose with it. I reached the knife across the space between us. He closed his hand around the hilt and delayed there a moment, as if to signify his support.

I jutted my chin toward the priest. “I have discovered the true identity of the Scourge of Anubis. It is not me, as I insisted. Rashidi takes his revenge for the killing of Amunet.”

“Amunet? I do not understand.”

“He loved her, Khufu. You must remember how we used to laugh—”

Rashidi’s face darkened.

Khufu bit his lip. “Yes. Yes, I do remember. And then he went off to study in On.”

“Yes, after her death. He was devastated. But Sneferu had ruled the matter closed, and there was nothing Rashidi could do. And now he is exacting revenge on those of us who kept the secret of that day.” I lowered my hands, aware that I had been waving them as though I were deranged, as Rashidi had accused.

Tamit smoothed her dress at her sides. “No. He is helping us, Hemi. Helping to rid us of the guilt, to appease the gods. That is why we are here. The king has had a dream—“

“Rashidi has used the dream to lure you here. Three of his apprentices are waiting to rush in and kill you all.”

They glanced to the shadowy corners of the hall and the passageway beyond.

Behind me, Jafari spoke. “Father, who is this Amunet—”

“Go home, Jafari!” Ahmose’s voice was harsh. The boy drew up beside me, and I reached toward him. Ahmose stepped forward, and I stayed my hand. “Do as your father says, son,” I said. “All will be explained later.”

Jafari raised his large eyes to mine, then nodded and ran from the chamber.

Khufu replaced the double crown on his head. “There is much evidence to suggest that you yourself are the killer, Hemi. Why should I believe this story you weave for us now?”

I clenched my fists at my sides. “Think on it, Khufu! Do you really believe me capable of killing Merit? Mentu? Of murdering anyone? You know I cannot even stand the sight of blood. Last night I saw Rashidi sharpening his blade and instructing three men to move quickly and strike without hesitation. And here you are before him, on your knees.”

Khufu looked to Rashidi, who again shrugged and maintained his puzzled frown.

Tamit’s eyes flicked back and forth among us.

Khufu sighed. “Hemi, your attempt to shift the blame is transparent. Even I can explain Rashidi’s actions. He has made his complaint about the way that we took the priesthood from him, and I have listened and heard. Today, I honor him by allowing him to close the festival with the ritual sacrifice to Hapi. The knife he sharpened was no doubt for the sacrifice. The three young priests are appointed to help him, to move quickly to the sacrificial bull and to strike without hesitation. That is all you heard.”

My eyes blinked, too rapidly. The fight was beginning to drain from me. Probably due to the lack of sleep. The faces before me seemed to pale, and I became aware of my own shallow breathing, like the rasp of a dying man.

The room silenced then, and I could hear, as if from a day’s journey away, the roar of the crowd outside. “He is the killer, Khufu. I swear to you. And I will tell you how I know this without a doubt.”

The others watched me carefully.

“Last night after I heard him instruct his young priests, I saw him preparing something else. Three golden masks.” I pointed at Khufu. “One,” I said. Then to Tamit, “Two.” And finally to Ahmose, “Three.”

Behind them, a smile curved the corners of Rashidi’s mouth. He did not defend himself.

Khufu looked to Tamit and nodded, and she exited the chamber. To my brother, he said, “I am sorry, Ahmose. I wish that it were not so.”

Ahmose studied his feet.

“I do not understand,” I said. “Did you not hear me? I
saw
him readying three death masks!”

Khufu breathed deeply and studied my face, with pity, it seemed.

“Those were the original three death masks you saw, Hemi. The masks found on the faces of Merit, Mentu, and Ebo. I gave them to Rashidi to purify before the burial of each.”

The room drained of all sound and color before me. I thought at first that Rashidi was laughing at me, but I probably imagined it. He may as well have laughed. “My king,” he said softly behind Khufu, “perhaps it would be best if we removed you from the hall before the guards arrive.”

Khufu gave me a final glance, then turned and followed Rashidi from the chamber.

I was left alone with Ahmose. We stared at each other for only a moment, then two guards trotted in and each grabbed my arm.

I had been tried and sentenced again. This time, I knew, there would be no escape.

The guards led me away. I turned my head, my eyes still on my brother, whose expression I could not discern. I fought for some final words to say to him but could find none.

We were nearly out of the hall when Ahmose finally uttered a sound—a long, guttural moan like that of a wounded animal that built to a scream behind us, even as it drew closer. The guards instinctively released my arms and turned. Ahmose was upon one of them in an instant, the knife I had given him clenched in his fist.

Without thought, I pulled a knife from the belt of the other guard.

It all happened like lightning. Stunned by my brother’s assault, the first guard dropped his drawn sword, and Ahmose snatched it up and felled the guard. The other guard drew blood on my chest, but the wound was not deep. Ahmose sliced the back of his leg, and my opponent fell to his knees. This gave us the moments we needed to race through the palace courtyard and out of the Great House, into the sun. Ahmose threw the sword aside. We both tucked our knives into our belts and plunged into the center of the crowd.

When we had pushed our way into the clog of people, Ahmose reached for my arm and I slowed. He looked into my eyes as though it might be the last time. “Go, brother,” he said. “Run.”

I didn’t know if he would be safe, but I could not keep him so. It was best for us both that I should disappear.

And so with the festival games still churning around me, I twisted and wove through the press of people, with no idea of a destination and even less hope.