The Mazes of Magic (Conjurer of Rhodes Book 1)

by Jack Massa

  Korax touched the boy affectionately on the shoulder. “I hope all of your dreams are fulfilled, young Baufre.”

  “These would be our three new trainees.”

  Everyone turned to Mehen, who had approached without notice. Korax and Katep bowed to the chief scribe, and the three apprentices instinctively did the same.

  Katep pronounced a formal introduction: “I present Chief Scribe Mehen, supervisor of the House of Records.”

  “I welcome you, young scribes,” Mehen declared. “And I remind you of the honor that has been bestowed upon you. The life of a scribe in service to our god is a great privilege. Always be aware that it is a privilege you must earn by your labor. You must be diligent in all your studies and follow the instructions of your tutors with care. Remember, in our tradition, a scribe who does not learn quickly enough suffers the lessons of the rod.”

  Eyeing the boys severely, Mehen allowed his admonishments to sink in. Then he turned and walked back toward his office, leaving a much-dampened atmosphere behind

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Near the center of Memphis, at the river’s edge, stood an ancient obelisk of red sandstone. Lines chiseled in the stone over many centuries recorded the height of each year’s inundation. This year, the Nile’s cresting waters reached only a low place on the obelisk—in the range that historically forecast a paltry harvest and likely famine the following year. As the waters began to recede, a mood of worry settled over the city.

  That worry plunged to a bleak foreboding when it became known that, unexpectedly, the Apis Bull had died. Not only the sacred animal’s death, but the bizarre manner of death heightened the people’s anxiety. According to rumor, Apis had left his stall in the middle of the night and wandered into the exercise yard. The god-bull was found in the morning with half his body submerged in the alabaster drinking trough: Apis had drowned.

  On the day of the bull’s demise, Korax received a summons from his master Harnouphis. This time, instead of going to the high priest’s apartments, Korax followed a messenger through a series of passages in a building adjacent to the House of Records. He had not seen Harnouphis since that night outside the city, and a feeling of dread lingered in him, an instinctive urge to shield his soul from the high priest’s intrusions.

  If only that were possible.

  He found Harnouphis standing alone in an airy chamber lit by a high-set clerestory. On a sprawling table-top lay a map representing the whole of Egypt. From the Delta to the cataracts, every nome, every city, every known village was marked and named. Korax had seen maps and navigational charts often in his life, but nothing so huge and detailed as this.

  “You have heard the news about Apis?” Harnouphis inquired.

  “Yes, your Excellency.” Korax kept his eyes lowered.

  “A pity we could not foresee this event,” Harnouphis said. “Still, it may yet turn to our advantage.”

  Harnouphis was changing. Absent now was the amiable mask of friendliness and charm. The high priest appeared solemn, abrupt, as though spurred by a relentless inner force.

  “Do you understand what happens at the death of the sacred bull?”

  “I know that a new one must be found,” Korax said. “A new calf.”

  “That is correct. There will be fear and consternation across the land until the reincarnated god is found. And great honor and status will attend the servants of Ptah who find the calf. Do you know by what mystic signs Apis is recognized?”

  “No, your Excellency.”

  “Then listen well and picture them in your mind. His hide is black. On his forehead, there is a white triangle, on his back, a vulture with outstretched wings. On his right flank is a crescent moon, and on the top of his tongue, the image of a scarab. Finally, the hairs of his tail must be double. Can you remember and envision all of these signs?”

  Korax had fixed them in his mind. “Yes, Excellency.”

  “Good. Now I shall place you under a mild enchantment. In your vision you will see the time and place where the sacred calf is to be born. You will show it to me on this map and tell me the month and day.”

  Harnouphis set a hand on his shoulder.

  Reluctantly, Korax looked into the high priest’s eyes. The familiar, dreamy haze seeped into his brain.

  * * * * *

  Three days later, Harnouphis departed from Memphis. He commissioned one of the smaller temple barges and, attended by a handful of porters and servants, set sail in the early morning.

  When he returned from upriver one month later, a cheering throng met his ship at the quay. Runners had been dispatched the day before to inform the temple hierarchy that the sacred calf Apis had been found. At Harnouphis’ instructions, the runners made no effort to conceal the joyous news from the folk they met along the way. The crowd sang hymns as the barge floated into its mooring. They broke into exultant cries when the calf appeared, draped in flowers and was led down the gangway by Harnouphis himself.

  Of course, Harnouphis understood that the calf could not be proclaimed the true Apis until certified by a panel of expert priests. He apologized profusely to his superiors that word of the calf’s arrival had somehow spread to the population at large. But he also understood how difficult it would be for the panel not to certify the calf, now that the people of Mem-Nephir had recognized the animal as their incarnate god.

  Fortunately for all concerned, the examination did not take long. The calf was led into the temple yard, while hushed, anxious onlookers crowded the seats and swarmed against the fences. Wielding ceremonial implements, the priests measured the holy markings and compared them to images on the antique scrolls. Perhaps the vulture mark looked more like a lopsided insect, and the scarab on the tongue might have been a sore. Still, no calf was perfect. Most of the experts had seen worse approximations. After a brief, tense discussion, the priests flung their hands in the air and shouted out the happy news.

  The god Apis had returned to Mem-Nephir.

  Harnouphis enjoyed abundant acclaim for finding the incarnate god so expeditiously. His annual salary was increased and banquets held in his honor. He officiated at the ceremonies investing the new Apis with magical powers. He received accolades and gifts from city officials and village leaders all over the region.

  His disgrace at the council two months past now appeared completely forgotten. Indeed, the blustery talk of mounting resistance to Pharaoh’s taxes had mostly evaporated. Only two detailed strategies had been submitted, including the one by Paramses. Both were rejected by the conservative majority of the Inner Circle.

  Harnouphis used his rising fortunes to strengthen his alliances on the council and to further ingratiate himself with the first servants. His daily contact with the god Set imbued him with rising confidence. He sensed that more and more events would swing in his favor and that soon, at long last, his moment would come.

  * * * * *

  Korax thrust hard, knees bent, hands gripping the wooden shaft. The blunt end struck the wall with a thud, denting the soft brick, making fragments of dust fall to the floor. He leaned back with a hiss.

  Must be more quiet, more cautious. Must not wake his neighbors.

  The wall on that side of his room was scarred with numerous marks from his improvised weapons. On sleepless nights, he no longer wandered the temple grounds. Instead, he practiced the arms training he had learned at school in Rhodos. A fallen acacia branch, picked up in a temple grove, served as a spear. Now he leaned it in the corner and picked up a short rod, the broken end of a discarded walking stick. Striding to the center of the floor he spread his feet, lifted an imaginary shield, and began a regimen of sword practice. Silently he wheeled, ducked, slashed, and thrust, stepping lightly, always balanced on the balls of his feet.

  These drills calmed his mind much better than forlorn wandering in the night. They reminded him of his past, of Korax the son of Leontes, who he had been. His body was still paunchy, with spindly limbs. But at least he felt more invigorated and alive.


  Sometimes, after practicing in this way, he would sit in bed with a wax tablet, writing as best he could remember passages from Plato, verses of Euripides and Homer. He was determined to preserve both body and mind, to not let his Greek self fade to nothing.

  Of course, he also still practiced the visualizations of light, continued to pray and burn incense to Isis. He had vowed to her that he would walk the path of the sacred knowledge with all the patience and dedication required. That vow, that path, sometimes seemed opposed to his urge to return to the Greek world. Other times, he thought that it must be the path that would eventually lead him to freedom.

  Isis had warned him that a time of testing would come. Korax knew that his master Harnouphis had used him more than once for evil—in ways he could not remember, but that certainly left him defiled.

  Teeth clenched, he stabbed the air hard.

  Perhaps the day would come when he would kill Harnouphis. Perhaps that was the duty the gods would set before him.

  He pivoted and slashed with a growl.

  Whatever his fate, he promised himself he would face it not as Seshsetem the slave, but as Korax, son of Leontes—Korax of Rhodes.

  * * * * *

  The immense procession crawled ponderously from the gates of the Temple of Ptah and down the long avenue of sphinxes. A somber crowd lined the steps and galleries to watch the funeral of the deceased Apis Bull. Eighty days had elapsed since the bull’s death—the period required for mummification.

  To Harnouphis, it seemed another eighty days would pass before this tedious ritual finished. He stepped along in a place of honor, leading the new incarnation of the god by a tether woven of rushes cut from all the nomes of Egypt. In front of him, the enormous painted coffin rode on a gilded cart in the shape of a boat. Around the cart walked flutists playing a dirge and priests who beat their breasts and wailed lamentations. A team of oxen pulled the cart, led by the chief lector priest Amasis, who wore the jackal-head of Anubis.

  But the cause of the infuriatingly torpid pace moved at the very front of the procession. Neksapthis, the feeble Sem-priest, bedecked in yellow vestments and a ceremonial leopard-skin, crept along like a crippled dog—too old to lead such a long ritual, too vain and stubborn to step aside for a fitter man. Harnouphis cursed the ancient Master of Artisans vehemently under his breath. His muttering brought a look of solemn sympathy from Mehen, who marched along at his shoulder, sharing in his honors and the concurrent discomforts.

  By the time the procession had passed through the Saqqarah gates and approached the vast city of the dead, the sun blazed high overhead. The sweltering heat forced a number of mourners to stop and rest by the roadside. Elderly and overweight priests sat gasping and sweating in their bright ceremonial gowns, like so many dying fish washed up on a riverbank.

  Deep in the necropolis, the procession halted at a complex of temples and shrines dedicated to the cult of Osiris-Apis—the bull in his deceased and resurrected form. Here the columns and facades gleamed with freshly-painted reliefs. Ramps and stairs stood littered with jars of offerings. By an odd twist of theology, the Greeks had identified Osiris-Apis with Serapis, a new god they worshipped in Alexandria. Under the Ptolemies, his cult had burgeoned, and so this dilapidated burial complex had been refurbished.

  Tottering about the courtyard in the harsh sun, Neksapthis uttered interminable prayers. Subordinates swarmed after him, censing the air with perfumed smoke, sprinkling holy water, carrying his scrolls and wands, or simply standing ready to catch him if he fell over. Other priests, in masks and orange gowns, beat tambourines and performed a curious, hopping dance. The new Apis calf, impatient with the blazing heat, began to struggle and bellow loudly. Everyone regarded this as a propitious omen.

  Finally, the exterior ceremonies were concluded. The oxen were unhitched from the funeral cart and priests of Ptah took their place. They dragged the cart up a long ramp, across a towering portico, and into a dim hypostyle hall. Here at least the air was cooler.

  The heat diminished further as the procession descended a series of zigzagging ramps into the vast subterranean catacombs. Hundreds of cressets lit the way as the mourners marched slowly through the ancient labyrinth, where countless generations of mummified bulls lay interred.

  Finally, the mourners stopped before a niche newly-carved in the rock. Still, Harnouphis lamented, the funeral was far from over. Another whole liturgy of prayers and incantations must now be performed to ensure the bull’s successful journey into the afterlife.

  But as he stepped forward to resume the rites, Neksapthis faltered. Lifting a lotus wand high overhead, he suddenly grew stiff and emitted a loud wheeze. Before the startled subalterns could react, the Sem-priest dropped to his knees, then fell on his face.

  Immediately priests surrounded him, and the tunnel filled with a rising din. Smelling distress, the Apis calf mooed plaintively. Harnouphis and Mehen exchanged wide-eyed expressions.

  “If the Master of Artisans has died in the midst of performing the funeral rites,” Mehen muttered under his breath. “That is an ill omen indeed.”

  Harnouphis gazed inward. After a moment he whispered, “On the contrary. For us, it is a prelude to glory.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The embalming rites for Neksapthis had scarcely begun when the Inner Circle elected his replacement. After meeting for only half a day, the eight surviving first servants choose Peherenptah as the new Master of Artisans.

  Clever and robust, in his mid-forties, Peherenptah was a popular choice. He boasted an ancient priestly lineage and had distinguished himself as both a skilled administrator and a potent ritual celebrant. He enjoyed universal respect, though some high priests privately voiced reservations over his dissolute temperament. A man of wealth, he indulged himself with three wives and a harem of concubines. He drank expensive wines and kept a household chef who had trained in Alexandria. Most disturbing of all to narrow traditionalists, Peherenptah had been known to take part in the sensualistic rites of Hathor, the goddess of love and pleasure.

  For seven days, the first servants performed intense and elaborate rituals to invest the new Sem-priest with the symbols and potencies of his office. During this time Peherenptah was required to fast, drink only water, and of course abstain from all congress with women. When the final rites of Investiture were complete, Peherenptah’s first act was to celebrate with an extravagant banquet in his own honor.

  A terraced courtyard was converted to a sumptuous dining pavilion. Curtains of flimsy, embroidered linen fluttered in the cool evening breezes. Lanterns sparkled cheerfully amid rows of tables and couches. An army of entertainers had been hired and dancing girls pressed into service as waitresses. In scanty mesh costumes, they carried platters of goose and lamb basted with complex sauces. They poured wine from painted jars and mixed it with spices from tiny silver ewers. According to the gossip, one hundred jars of imported wine had been purchased—an extravagance indeed considering Ptolemy’s hefty duties on foreign luxuries.

  Harnouphis reclined on a couch among the second servants, observing the festivities with a serene and pleasant mien. But inwardly his thoughts simmered. The death of Neksapthis had at long last opened a place on the Dais. Harnouphis’ recent success in discovering the Apis calf had been well timed to buoy his cause. Chief Treasurer Shepseskaf had even privately acknowledged Harnouphis to be the leading candidate.

  Still, the appointment was far from certain. Imouthes was rumored to favor his own protégé Paramses, and Harnouphis knew that other first servants might also put forth their favorites. Doubtless, these would be men of the priestly caste, the key social advantage that Harnouphis himself lacked. He shook his head with rancorous disgust. His inner sense assured him that the vote would likely go in his favor. Yet, he had no way of knowing for sure, or knowing when the decision would come.

  When the feasters had eaten their fill, Shepseskaf rose from his place among the first servants. He delivered a speech praising the inauguration
of the new Sem-priest and invoking the blessings of all the gods upon his leadership.

  Peherenptah himself then addressed the banquet. He spoke with remarkable fluency, Harnouphis decided, considering the quantity of wine he had consumed.

  “Brothers, esteemed guests, I thank you all for the honor of your presence at this modest celebration. And, as I have many times these past days, I humbly thank my fellow first servants for the trust they have placed in my hands. The mansion of our god faces formidable challenges in these times. But I assure you, I will do all in my power to protect and preserve our sacred heritage. And I am confident that, with your help, we will not only maintain our glorious traditions, but usher in a new era of prominence and prosperity for our temple, our city, and our god.”

  As though at a prearranged signal, a number of priests leaped up and applauded crisply. Soon the entire banquet rose to imitate their actions. Grudgingly, Harnouphis stood up with the rest. Peherenptah patiently waited for the acclamation to subside.

  “Tonight, as a sign of the new alacrity I plan to instill in the temple’s governance, I am pleased to announce the appointment of our newest first servant. With his addition, the Inner Circle is once more complete ...”

  This unexpected announcement incited murmurs of surprise and anticipation. Shocked, Harnouphis stood rigid as an obelisk.

  “It may appear to some that we moved hastily in this appointment,” Peherenptah continued. “But I assure you, he is a high priest of such incomparable qualifications that the Inner Circle saw no reason to delay. Tonight, it is my great privilege to present to you, for the first time as a member of the Inner Circle, our brother Paramses!”

  To Harnouphis it seemed as though a jagged boulder had materialized inside his belly. He could barely stop himself from doubling over and howling in anguish.

  Grinning amid the cheers and shouts of congratulations, Paramses jaunted to the foremost terrace and took his place among the first servants. Conscious of the furtive glances cast his way, Harnouphis regained his composure and stiffly joined in the applause.