The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle (38 page)

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 fortress 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.

He turned to the man standing beside him with his arms folded on the ramparts of the fortress. “Another splendid day drawing to a close. We can start for Uronarti in the next two days. The soldiers are ready.”

No answer; his friend was staring north and east, his clear features somehow frozen. As the other watched him, his brows came slowly together in a puzzled frown.

The man hesitated, eyeing the stiffness of his friend's stance. “What is wrong, Seti?”

Seti, King of Egypt, turned, still frowning. “We must start back,” he said.

Intef, Vizier of Upper Egypt, nodded. “We can certainly do so if you wish,” he said. His voice was calm. “When do you want to leave?”

“Quickly,” Seti said. “Can we sail tomorrow?”

“We can if you command it,” Intef replied.

Pharaoh looked down at his hands, gripped together on the battlements. “I command it.”

“What is it?”

Seti's dark eyes raised to meet Intef's. “I need to return to Memphis. As soon as I can. Nakhtamun was...troubled when I left. I thought he would settle in, since Nebamun's at his shoulder... But...”

Intef pushed away from the battlement. He knew that expression. “A feeling?” he asked.

Seti folded his arms and frowned down at his feet, a stance Intef remembered from their campaigning days. The frown had eased when he looked up. “Something is badly wrong. I must get back at once.”

Intef nodded, his broad face expressionless. “I will order a galley. We will have the current and the oars working for us.”

About The Author

Diana Wilder grew up in a military family that traveled throughout the United States and spent generations in the orient. The constant travel honed her love for people-watching and gave her plenty of material for stories, whether set in the present or in the distant past. She has published four novels set in ancient Egypt and one set in the American civil war. Currently, she is working on a fourth novel in her Egyptian cycle and another civil war story. In between these, she is polishing a novel in two parts set in France of the 1830's and two non-magical fantasy novels.

When she is not writing, Diana is showing cats, working in graphic design and trying to knit.