The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle (14 page)

XXII

“How beautiful art thou,

Walker of the heavens!

Rising in the morning without ceasing,

Thy rays illumine all the world.

Beside thy splendid beams

The finest gold is lusterless.

Who can gaze upon thy face?

Behold, even the pure of heart

Cast their eyes down in confusion before

thy glory,

O thou splendid one!

How beautiful art thou,

Healer of hurts!

Thy rays, piercing the darkness,

Bring a new dawn

To those grieving in the night.

Compassion is in thy touch,

And beneath thy gaze we are renewed,

O thou splendid one!”

The words and the melody moved quietly into Khonsu's dreams, bringing images of warmth and the half-forgotten happiness of the time when Sithathor still loved him and Sherit had been unbrushed by the passing wing of death.

Healer of Hurts...

The slow warmth penetrated his memory of Sithathor, transformed the image of Sherit lying wasted and feverish upon her bed and crying for her mother. For the first time in months the memory did not bring him rearing upright with the sweat streaming down his face.

He opened his eyes to clear light and the lingering touch of the night's coolness. The sun was just above the horizon, flooding the land with light so pure and so strong that it almost seemed liquid. He felt as though he were somehow bathed in a fathomless ocean of light that washed away the memory of the murk and blackness of the past night.

He raised his head and looked around. He could still hear the song, though the words were sung so softly that he could barely make them out.

“How beautiful art thou,

Bringer of joy!

Beneath thy touch the earth sings for gladness

The beasts of the wilderness

And the cattle of thy countless hills

Skip for joy.

And in their hearts the children of man

Sing thy praise,

O thou gladsome one!”

The voice was close by. Khonsu rubbed the sleep from his eyes and looked toward the sound. Lord Nebamun was standing on the outcropping of rock that had been his perch the night before. It was his voice that Khonsu had heard in his sleep. His eyes were fixed upon the bright disk of the sun as it soared above the horizon. His hands stretched out toward it as though he were seeking to reach and touch it and draw its warmth into himself.

He lowered his arms, turned and smiled as Khonsu sat up. “Oh, so you're awake now, are you?” he said. “You sleep like the dead!”

Khonsu ran an experimental hand over his hair and found it hopelessly tousled. “I'm sorry, Your Grace,” he said, trying to smooth his hair into some semblance of order.

Nebamun's mouth, quivering on the edge of a grin, was sternly disciplined into a straight line. “Breakfast is waiting over there by the fire,” he said. “Not much, I fear, but as a soldier you'll have had much worse.”

Khonsu returned Nebamun's smile and ran his fingers through his hair one last time. He got up after a moment and made his way to the fire.

Several small loaves of bread had been placed on a flat stone to one side. Beside them, wrapped in a length of cloth, were onions and figs and a small leather flagon of honeyed wine. It was just enough to feed one hungry man.

Khonsu eyed the provisions and turned to Nebamun. “Have you eaten yet, Your Grace?” he asked.

“Yes, I have,” said Nebamun. “I was up and about long before sunrise. It would have been the courteous thing to delay my breakfast, but I had some things to do that are best not done on an empty stomach.”

“Your Grace should have awakened me,” Khonsu said. “I should have accompanied you. I'm sorry: I'm not generally lazy. I can't think why I slept so long.”

“It could have been because you badly needed the sleep,” Nebamun suggested, sitting down beside Khonsu and drawing up one knee. He wore his archer's garments of the night before. He seemed to have shed twenty years in one night. “There was no need to wake you,” he said. “And you'd worn yourself out last night.”

Khonsu broke a loaf of bread and then looked up at Nebamun. “Your Grace is being far more generous than I merit,” he said. “I did little to justify any supposed exhaustion.”

Nebamun smiled and shook his head. “We must be content to disagree, Commander,” he said. “I have found that fear and uncertainty are often more strenuous than hard riding and fighting. You went out into what you expected to be a perilous night in order to rescue me from what you half-feared was a ghost, and what you certainly knew was a dangerous intruder. It took courage, and I am in your debt.”

“Your Grace needed no rescuing,” Khonsu pointed out.

“You didn't know that at the time,” Nebamun said.

Khonsu lowered his eyes. “Has Your Grace forgotten that I disobeyed your orders in following you?”

Nebamun eyed the pile of bread, lifted a small loaf and broke off the tip. He selected the smallest of the onions beside it, brushed it off against his kilt, and then popped it and the bread into his mouth.

His eyes rested thoughtfully on Khonsu while he chewed the bread and onion together and then took a drink from the flask of water beside him. “You puzzle me, Commander,” he said when he had finished swallowing. “When I thank you for your assistance, you tell me that it's worthless. In return for my praise of your courage and initiative, you point out that your actions verged on mutiny. Do you
want
me to read you a lecture or order a punishment? I can do so if that's what you want. Whether you'll enjoy it when I do is another question. They say I am good at it.”

Khonsu looked across at him, startled.

Nebamun selected another onion and bit into it with a bland smile.

Khonsu, staring at him in astonishment, suddenly realized that he was being needled by an expert. “I beg Your Grace's pardon,” he said. “And I thank Your Grace for your kind praise.' He gauged how far he dared to go and then added, “And I warn Your Grace that I won't be so blind in future to the fact that I am being teased!”

“Thank you for the warning,” Nebamun said with an undeniable grin. “I'll try not to...tease you...so shamelessly in future.”

Khonsu snorted and took a bite of bread.

Lord Nebamun watched him for a moment and then turned away to gaze west toward the river. “I suspect that sleep hasn't been in plentiful supply for you recently, Commander. You have had much to burden your mind in the past months. I wouldn't begrudge myself a much needed sleep, if I were you. And now that you're awake, there's a great deal that you can do to make yourself useful.”

**   **   **

“I scouted the path this morning while you were sleeping,” Lord Nebamun said. “I think what you'll see-there-' he pointed, “-will interest you.”

Khonsu followed the line of Nebamun's arm and then walked over to the spot and knelt beside it. It was an irregularly shaped patch of black, covered with flies. His nose wrinkled.

“Blood,” he said. “A lot of it.' He looked up at Nebamun. “I remember he dropped the plaque and whipped up his horses. You commanded him to stop, and loosed your arrow when he did not. This is perhaps thirty yards from where he was when you spoke with him. You struck him while he was trying to escape.”

Nebamun made no comment.

Khonsu lifted his head and frowned at the rock above and behind them. “That was a difficult shot,” he said.

Nebamun shrugged.

“But I wonder why there's so much blood,” Khonsu said after a moment. “He would have fallen close by if it were a mortal wound. But you say you didn't find him.”

Nebamun drew an arrow from the quiver that hung aslant between his shoulder blades and handed it to Khonsu.

Khonsu turned the shaft of the arrow between his fingers. He glanced at the fletching, then looked thoughtfully at the groove that had been carved along the side. “A blood channel?” he asked. “This is a hunting arrow!”

“And this is a hunt,” Nebamun said. “I meant to track whatever I shot, and I decided to make matters easy for myself. That arrow left a clear trail of blood until it was pulled out.”

“The head remained in the wound,” Khonsu said. It was not a question.

“Of course,” Nebamun said. “But I loosed two arrows. If you look farther to the northwest, you'll see another blood trail.”

“The horse,” said Khonsu. “I'll harness your team and saddle Blackwing. We'll see what we see.”

XXIII

A horse lay stretched on its side where it had collapsed in its traces. The shaft of an arrow jutted backward from its left side, where the ribcage was deepest. The horse was harnessed to a light, sturdy chariot of leather stretched over a reinforced wooden frame. The chariot was a costly piece: the front panel of wood was carved and gilded, the harness was of heavy, gold-tooled leather that fed through gilded bronze guide rings.

“He ran until he collapsed,” Khonsu said. “And then the driver cut his harness-mate free, abandoned the chariot, and rode him away from here.' He touched the horse's flaxen mane, sifted and scattered in the fitful wind from the desert, before getting slowly to his feet and looking up at Lord Nebamun.

Nebamun paused to hobble his horses before going over to the chariot. “This is an older design,” he said. “Look at it: it is outdated. These four-spoked wheels tend to splinter when you try to make a quick turn. A six-spoked wheel is much more stable.' Nebamun's voice was calm and almost emotionless, but Khonsu saw the gentle, almost wistful motion of his hands as he smoothed a painted spoke.

“There's a king's name on the hub,” Khonsu said. “Neb-Khepru-Re Tutankhamun.”

“Then this chariot has been out of use for at least twenty years,” Nebamun said.

“The name would have been changed otherwise,” Khonsu agreed.

“And the wheels, too,” Nebamun said drily.

Khonsu was still examining the body of the chariot. “Look how richly this is made!” he said. “See here: the wood's cedar, from large logs. And see how the body is inlaid. There's gold everywhere!” He frowned and added, “Though the cap from the near hub is missing.”

Nebamun nodded. “It was an expensive piece,” he agreed.

Khonsu frowned at the inlays and then looked up at Nebamun again. “This is outdated, twenty years and more outdated, Your Grace,” he said. “It's the sort of chariot that a ghost might drive-”

“It was pulled by at least one mortal horse,” Nebamun pointed out.

“But listen to me, Your Grace!” Khonsu exclaimed. “I think this was part of a tomb's provisions. They say that Neb-Aten patrols these reaches: could they have found and looted his tomb? And then set up a “ghost' patrol to frighten us?”

“It is possible,” Nebamun conceded. “But who do you mean by “they'?”

“I...don't know yet,” Khonsu said. “Though I have my suspicions. Nothing's making sense, but there's no ghost, as Your Grace has said. The only thing that puzzles me is the richness of this chariot.”

Nebamun smoothed the gilded reliefs on the body of the cab. “It makes sense if this did belong to Neb-Aten,” he said. “The fellow was Commander of One Thousand in the Royal Army.”

Khonsu stared. “Your Grace as much as said that he was a negligible fellow yesterday!” he exclaimed. “If he was a Commander of One Thousand-”

“We were discussing his disposition,” Nebamun said calmly. “Not his rank.' He eyed Khonsu's expression and said, “Tell me your thoughts, Commander.”

“I think a tomb was robbed and gear taken from it,” Khonsu said. “I think the ghost is a sham designed to scare us all away for reasons I can only guess. I think the quarry's collapse was engineered, and I think-' He faltered and fell silent, gathering his words.

“Yes, Commander?”

“I think we're in one of two situations,” Khonsu said. “I think either we're in over our heads, or I think whoever is promoting this haunting and these robberies is about to find out that he's bitten off more than he can chew.”

“I intend to make it the second choice,” Nebamun said. “And I think we'd best hitch that strong fellow you have been riding to this chariot and take it back to the city for everyone to see. We can plan what' i to be done over a decent meal and a cool cup of beer.”

**   **   **

“I'm still amazed that you made both of those shots last night,” Khonsu said later. “I wouldn't have attempted them, myself.' They had driven southeast, following the trail back to Akhet-Aten. The day had turned brisk and windy, the horses were fresh, and the journey had been a merry one.

A tussock of grass had occasioned an impromptu contest of archery, and though Khonsu knew himself to be an excellent marksman, Lord Nebamun had bested him without any apparent effort. That victory had led to a tutoring session. Nebamun had given him several suggestions that he knew he would put to good use.

The conversation had turned naturally from teaching to archery in general.

“And now that I remember it,” Khonsu said, “your first shot against hyenas in that temple, the night before we arrived at Akhet-Aten, was one of the finest I've seen. A shot by moonlight, against a target moving in shadow, in strange territory, isn't one that I would have tried, myself.”

“You are too modest, Commander Khonsu,” Nebamun said as he wiped the grip of his bow. “I have seen your skill.”

The matter-of-fact way in which the praise was voiced made Khonsu duck his head. “I thank Your Grace,” he said.

“It is simple truth,” Nebamun said, folding the cloth and tucking it back in the pouch at his belt. He drew a deep breath and lifted his head into the wind. His eyes turned southwest, toward Akhet-Aten. He looked back toward Khonsu with a smile. “You're a fine shot,” Commander,” he said.

“And Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “You must have been taught from childhood. Marksmanship takes considerable practice.”

Nebamun smiled reminiscently. “My father gave me my first bow when I was four years old,” he said. “Looking back now, after nearly fifty years, I know it was a tiny little toy, but it was all I could do to draw it.' His fingers smoothed the powerful curve of his bow. “Every archer could tell a similar story, I know,” he said. “As could you, Commander.”

“Oh no, Your Grace,” said Khonsu. “I came late to the skill. My forefathers were mounted messengers for the Nome, and I was set upon the same path. But my father saw that I always lingered to watch the soldiers at practice, and when I turned fifteen he used what influence he had to arrange my enlistment.”

“Late,” Nebamun said thoughtfully. “No more than fifteen years, if I am right to guess your age at thirty. I salute you, Commander. You have risen far and fast, and it has been on the basis of merit, that I can see.”

Khonsu smiled and shook his head. “I'm fortunate and my commanders have been generous,” he said. “But I'm surprised that Your Grace is a priest. I'd sooner have thought you a soldier. In fact, that's what anyone would take you for. How did you come to enter the priesthood of Ptah?”

The easy smile vanished from Lord Nebamun's lips as Khonsu watched. He looked down at the bronze-clad tip of his bow and scraped a fingernail across it. “Forgive me, Commander,” he said. “You're asking a question that I can't answer.”

To Khonsu, who had begun to relax in the easy informality of the conversation, the words came like a shock of cold water. He sought refuge from the surprise in an excess of formality. “I beg Your Grace's pardon,” he said. “I assure Your Grace that I meant no impertinence.' He turned away to unstring his bow in a silence that had grown suddenly strained.

Nebamun fingered the fletching of one of his arrows and watched him silently for a moment. “But I am permitted to tell you how I came back to the skill after a break of five years,” he said at last.

The slightly wistful quality of his voice made Khonsu stop and turn to look at him.

The Second Prophet had lowered one end of his bow to the ground and was resting his folded hands on the other end. He was watching Khonsu with a calm resignation that eased a little as he saw Khonsu turn. “You weren't impertinent,” he said. “And the prohibition doesn't come from me.”

Khonsu frowned. The man's tone was hard to read. He seemed a little sad. “Five years?” he said.

Nebamun's expression eased. “I'd been at the temple of Ptah for five years. I was a priest there with a wife and a circumscribed life. I...saw no need for any skill at archery or driving or singlestick or anything else other than watching the days turn into years and wishing that they might move more swiftly. But then one evening, as I sat on the terrace of my home and swirled beer in my cup, my wife came and sat beside me and spoke to me.”

Nebamun's eyes crinkled a little at the corners as though he were smiling at a private memory. “If it were possible for a woman to combine in her person and her soul all that is gallant, kind, wise and gentle, and then couple it with a devastating wit, she'd be just like my Mayet. I am a fortunate man.”

“I have heard that your wife is a truly fine lady,” Khonsu said.

“Oh yes,” Nebamun said. He smiled and added, “Though as I recall it, I wasn't so sure on the day I'm describing. Mayet was carrying our first child and was near her time and growing clumsy. She started to sit beside me. To steady herself she set her hand first on my shoulder and then, by accident, on my stomach. She looked down at her own belly then, and she said, 'Husband, if anyone saw us side by side, and couldn't see our faces, he'd be hard put to judge which of us is the woman.'“

Nebamun's teeth flashed in a grin as he saw Khonsu eyeing his trim waist and well-muscled chest. “I sputtered something,” he said. “And then she said, 'My excuse is that I am nine months pregnant. It is your good fortune that that fact shows all that you aren't a eunuch. If it weren't for that, coupled with the general knowledge that I am a virtuous woman, certain people at this temple might be in some doubt. I am astonished that you should choose to allow yourself to look like one.'“

Khonsu stared.

“I told you she had a sharp wit,” Nebamun said, chuckling at the memory. “I wish I could have seen my face. And she wasn't finished with me. She said, 'While I don't hate eunuchs, I do dislike men who allow themselves to resemble them without being able to offer their excuse. It speaks strongly of laziness and no self-respect. And so I am telling you, husband, that you'll beget no more children with me until you look a little more like the man I agreed to marry when I was still a maiden.'“

Khonsu's grin was as wide as Nebamun's. “Devastating indeed!” he said. “You limbered your bow at once, I'd imagine!”

“Yes, I did,” Nebamun said. “She was right: I'd been lazy. Oddly enough, the exercise helped to bring me out of the slump of hopelessness that I had felt until then.' He smiled and added, “I am a fortunate man.”

Khonsu coughed delicately. “As I recall, Your Grace has three children,”

Nebamun threw his head back and laughed, for all the world like one of Khonsu's fellow-soldiers. “Yes,” he agreed. “Daughters, and badly spoiled. Merit'taui-named for my mother-Tetisheri and Sitra, who is my youngest. All as lovely as their mother. But without her sharp tongue.' He settled the quiver between his shoulders and then looked up at Khonsu. “But you have a pretty little girl, yourself,” he said. “I saw her on the docks. Count Tothotep said she had been terribly sick and wasn't out of danger. I hadn't known... But the letters say that she's recovering, for which I am glad. It must have been a terrible time for you and your wife if she's your only child.”

“I'm alone now,” Khonsu said flatly. “My-sister has helped to care for Sherit.”

Nebamun stretched out his hand in ready sympathy. “Oh, I am sorry!” he said. “Did your wife die during the illness, then? How terrible for you! It must have been doubly hard.”

“My wife left me,” Khonsu said. The words came out harsh and slow. “We divorced. She's now in some delta prince's harem. She only sent word once. Send her jewels on to her. Some had been in my family for generations. Poor things, I suppose...”

“I am sorry,” Nebamun said again. “I didn't mean to rip open old wounds.”

“I suppose it's common knowledge,” Khonsu said. “I suppose everyone knew but me. I thought I made her happy. I tried. Maybe I-maybe I didn't try enough. We had been happy, once, the three of us... But she never even sent word to Sherit-our little girl-when she was so ill. And all I could think was that I lost my wife and I was about to lose my daughter-I remember I was frantic with the thought that they would both be gone, leaving me all alone and wondering if they had ever really existed.”

Nebamun had been listening quietly. “But you have said that your daughter is recovering,” he said. “The messengers bring you word every day, and every day you learn that she's growing stronger and stronger.”

“Yes,” Khonsu said. His voice shook. “I received another yesterday evening. I bless whoever arranged for them. If only he could know how happy it has made me.”

“He probably does,” Nebamun said. “Come on, get in that chariot and let's go back to the city.”