Dagger (19 page)

"You cannot prevent me, Ahwere," Khamwas said in a clear voice that bespoke enormous control. "Your fate is accomplished."

The popping griddle sound ceased, but the silence which replaced it was unnatural. When the woman began to speak, her voice did not echo. It was as if they all stood on a mighty plain instead of in a stone chamber from which sound dissipated only after hundreds of reverberations.

"Go back, man of my house," she said. She was a statue of blue fire whose face alone moved as she spoke. The infant squirmed against her and began to cry in a thin, hopeless voice. "The price of what you seek is too high."

"Your fate is accomplished, Ahwere," Khamwas repeated gently. "The price you paid is no part of me. You must stand aside."

He made no attempt to step forward.

Ahwere, who would have been attractive if she were a woman and alive, laughed. The sound began as something nearly human and ended in a clucking, like arpeggios played on dried vertebrae. "You do not think the price is for you to pay, oh man of my house? But nevertheless, you must leam just what the price is, mustn't you?"

Her mouth opened, wide and then wider than life or protoplasm would allow.

"Watchl" screamed a voice from the cavern that was enveloping the world. . . .

"DON'T STAND THERE with yer bleedin' thumb up, Ipis!" screamed Shay, the bosun, to the sailor at the bow line. "Belay the bloody line!" Shay glanced with a subservient expression toward the woman beside him and the man who Samlor now was. "Beggin' yer pardon sir, madam." he muttered perfunctorily. Then the bosun's face reformed itself into a snarl as he bellowed, "And you lot! Lower the bleedin' mast, don't drop it through the bleedin' bilges!"

At the mainsheets, six squat crewmen—

naked except for their breechclouts—

hunched

themselves against the weight they were supporting. They had furled the sail against the upper yard as the richly-appointed craft neared the quay. The fitful breeze was still making it hard enough to dock that Shay decided to lower the twin-pole mast as well. One of the temple servants on the quay had managed to get a line aboard, but the boat was drifting outward despite the efforts of the three oarsmen at either gunwale.

The baby at Ahwere's breast began to squall because of the shouting. She crooned to comfort the child; and Samlor—

whose body knew he was named Nanefer, and which

acted outside the control of his Samlor mind—

stepped closer and put an arm

around both his wife and his son.

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Sailors and men on the shore began to haul the vessel firmly to its berth. The quay was stone-built, not wooden. Though unoccupied at present, it projected far enough into the river to dock a pair of vessels the length of Samlor's on either side, i A causeway, also stone, led a hundred feet inland to the ! walled courtyard and temple which stood on the firmer ' ground at that distance from the riverbank. Drums were beating in the courtyard, and already a group of regally-garbed priests were hurrying to join the handful of servants on the quay.

The vessel edged against the downstream side of the dock. Sailors snubbed it while Shay bawled orders and horrible threats.

"Hush, dearest," murmured Ahwere. "Hush, sweetness. Soon it will stop." The bank to either side of the stream was a rich green backdrop of palmettoes and reeds in their Spring colors, before the sun and the lowering river dried them golden. The temple's extensive fields were hidden behind the screen of natural vegetation.

Not far upstream from the quay was a massive wall built against the bank for no evident purpose. Like the temple and its outworks, the wall was stone: but the blocks comprising it were cyclopean and of immense age. In the center of the wall—

a dam backed against a section of riverbank no different from those to either side of it—

was a bas-relief which seemed to be a stylized face, though mud from recent flooding and the patina of age made it impossible to be sure. A gaggle of musicians had run to the dock with the priests. A plump man with an image of the god Tatenen on his breast gestured to them. They broke into a flute-and-drum tattoo whose timing suffered from the fact most of the performers were panting from the haste with which they'd run from the temple enclosure. The priest shut them off with another gesture and an angry glare which smoothed to buttery slickness as he turned and bowed toward Samlor. "Prince Nanefer," he 132

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said. "Princess Ahwere, little prince Merib—

come ashore, please. 1 am Tekhao the

chief priest, and I offer you the full hospitality of the Temple of Tatenen." Six other priests with scarlet sashes—

Tekhao's whole tunic was dyed red—

bowed in

shaky unison behind their chief.

Samlor nodded to them and handed his wife to the rail ahead of him. Temple servants steadied her as she stepped to the dock, though the babe in her arms and the servants' determined obsequiousness made the job even more awkward than it needed to be.

Takhao himself offered Samlor a hand as he followed Ahwere. "Your father is well, Prince Nanefer?" he asked.

"Certainly, very well," Samlor responded. His current body did not have the aches which had accumulated with the years in his own form, though they were noticeable only now that he lived in their absence. On the other hand, stepping up to the dock was an unexpected effort: Samlor/ Nanefer wasn't fat, but neither was he used to efforts more strenuous than strolling through the gardens of his palace.

He was only socially truthful, also. King Merneb hadn't been at all well when they sailed from the capital ... but that was no business of a temple functionary.

Besides, the king would cheer up as soon as they returned. His present state was mostly because of his concern about his only son and daughter, and their child, his grandson. Samlor was utterly sure that his knowledge was equal to this undertaking, but his father, King Merneb, refused to believe that. The musicians resumed playing as the party walked toward the temple. "The banquet we have—

" Tekhao began.

"And have you assembled the quantity of wax 1 require?" said Samlor, at close enough to the same time that both men could pretend the prince had not broken in to silence a yammering priest.

"Why yes, your highness," said Tekhao without dropping a beat. "That is to say, most of it is on hand at this moment, and the rest should arrive by—

" he glanced

at the

sun, a finger's length above the reedtops "—

well, by early tomorrow at the

latest. You must realize that the, ah, the size of the levy was unexpected, though of course the Temple of Tatenen never hesitates to carry out the desires of the King."

"Yes, you've done quite well, then," said Samlor with an attempt to make the words sound appreciative rather than ironic. Tekhao was a toady, but he had carried out a difficult task in a short time.

They stepped beneath the arch into the temple enclosure. Two-story buildings were built along the right and left sides of the courtyard, while the facade of the temple closed the end facing the gate and the river beyond. Four caryatids representing aspects of Tatenen, the Creator, supported the temple pediment whose reliefs showed the Court of Heaven over which Tatenen presided. The courtyard was crowded with folk ranging from those who cultivated the temple fields to priests' wives garbed as richly as the functionaries themselves. They began to cheer when Samlor and his family entered the enclosure.

"Ah, your highness," Tekhao murmured with his lips to Samlor's ear. "It's our understanding that the temple's contribution to the royal granary this year will be reduced by the value of the wax. May we assume that the wax will be valued at the rate prevailing in the capital on the date contributions are due?" Merib, startled by the cheering crowd, began to wail again, but his cries were lost in the enthusiasm.

"You may assume that the affairs of scribes will be handled by scribes," Samlor retorted loudly enough that he did not need to bend close to the chief priest.

"No doubt they will be aware that goods turned over to the king are valued at the place where they come into the hands of the royal agents."

"Of course, Prince Nanefer, of course," boomed Tekhao, smiling so that all his subordinates could see how well he was getting along with the king's son. "We'll conduct you to your chambers, now, and perhaps at the banquet later we can discuss some of the special problems with which a temple estate in this district must deal."

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"Of course," said Samlor, irriated at having been so tart a moment before. The crowd cheered, and Ahwere glanced at her husband across the crying visage of their son.

"WE'RE so HONORED by the presence of your highness," said Tekhao's wife—

for at

least the third time during the course of the banquet—

while her beaming husband

served Samlor the dessert, a compote of limes and white grapes, with his own hands. The other priests, temple administrators, and wives watched the two couples at the high table with expressions of awe and envy as their temperaments dictated.

"Perhaps you can tell me, Tekhao," said Ahwere as she accepted the ladleful of fruit the chief priest was offering. "There's an odd-looking wall next to the dock. Well, near it. What do you use that for?"

Tekhao sat down and filled his own cup from the serving bowl. "An involved question, your highness," he answered with a smirk in his voice. "In a manner of speaking, we don't use it; but in another way it is the reason a temple of Tatenen is located here."

He had forgotten to serve his own wife. Her scowl was one that would wake thunder later when the couple was alone, but now she said sweetly to Samlor, "A child is always such a responsibility, Prince Nanefer, and for you, knowing that your lovely boy will succeed you as king, well. . . . The State is fortunate that such a responsibility is in hands so capable."

Samlor managed a smile. His mouth was full of fruit and

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his attention was focused on the explanation the priest was giving Ah were.

"You see, your highness," Tekhaosaid, "we didn't build the wall. That is, human beings didn't. It was placed on Earth by Tatenen himself when he created the cosmos."

Tekhao permitted himself a brief smile to indicate to his visitors that he was too sophisticated to believe such a myth—

-if they were—

but without committing

himself to heresy if Ah were and her husband took a rigidly accepting approach to their religion.

Ah were's nod was no certain indication either way, so the chief priest went on in factual neutrality. "The wall is only a hundred feet long, to be sure, but the stones in its fabric are of exceptional size. There are a few buildings in the capital as massively constructed, but nothing whatever here on the Lower River. And even in Napata, the close fit between the individual stones would be considered remarkable. It is—

"

Tekhao paused to consider his words. "It is said," he continued, "that Tatenen made the stones soft for a moment after he put them in place, so that the surfaces flowed together. Despite weathering, there is no place in the wall that a knife will slip further than a fingertip between the layers."

"But there's a face on it, isn't there?" Ahwere asked. "Was that always there?" Samlor couldn't tell whether Ahwere were just making conversation, or if she had a suspicion of what he intended—

but would not ask her husband directly.

"Yes indeed, your highness," Tekhao said. "The face of Tatenen himself, ah—

it is

said. Stamped onto the stone with his, ah, seal ring as his final act of creation."

The chief priest's wife stood up and stumped heavily across the front of the table to reach the fruit compote. One of the servants standing behind the diners' chairs would have served her had she flicked a finger toward him—

but

that wouldn't have given her the opportunity to glare straight into her husband's eyes.

"There was once a ceremony," continued Tekhao. Only a tic of his right cheek betrayed his awareness of his wife's displeasure. "The Cleansing of the Face, it was called.

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Every year the nearby villages brought offerings which they cast into the river, and they scrubbed the face clean. Horrible waste. Ah, the offerings, that is."

"Now the ceremony is held here in the temple," said Tekhao's wife brightly, joining the conversation as a better way of getting attention than glowering from her end of the table. "It's much nicer. Though still very colorful, of course."

"Ah, yes," agreed Tekhao with a hint of well-deserved embarrassment. "It seemed more fitting that the ceremony be held here in the temple enclosure. Of course, we know that Tatenen is everywhere, not in an idol or a, or a face on a wall. But it makes it easier for the common villagers to carry out their duties to the god if they associate him with the, ah, house where their offerings are deposited."

"The wall," said Samlor, "is thought to be the dam which Tatenen built to separate the realm of men from the realm of gods."

Tekhao blinked and turned to face Samlor. "Yes, your highness," he said. "That is said. Though—

" his round face became as neutral as an expanse of flooring

"—

nothing is behind the stone except earth. There have been, ah, examinations. Muddy earth."

Samlor nodded calmly.

Ahwere was looking at him past the chief priest's head. Her face was gray with fear.

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MERIB WAS ASLEEP, but they could hear the nurse singing to him in the room beyond the doorway screened by reed matting.

Ahwere began to cry softly.

Samlor touched her shoulders from behind, then began to massage them gently as he moved closer.

She turned, throwing her arms around him and burying her face against his chest.