by Diana Wilder
Khonsu shaded his eyes and frowned through the haze. “Like sun upon weapons.”
“Weapons?” Paser repeated, elbowing in beside the Second Prophet.
Khonsu ignored him. “I see it clearly, Your Grace,” his voice urgent, highly alert. “A host of men!”
Nebamun turned to the messenger. “Were Karoya and the physician hurt?”
“I don't know yet, Your Grace. I was told to go to you at once.”
“Did you come afoot?”
“No, Your Grace. Three chariots are down below.” He looked at Khonsu for reassurance. “I thought it best to bring Your Grace and the Commander back quickly.”
Khonsu clapped him on the shoulder. “You've done well, Nebamun.”
“Very well,” Lord Nebamun agreed. He turned to the others. “I am going back at once with the Commander. Nehesi will be invaluable as well if there's been a collapse. And you–” this to the messenger, “Your name is Nebamun? I'll certainly have no trouble remembering it. You will drive me back to the city.”
He waited for the man to go ahead of him, then hurried down the path with Khonsu and Nehesi following.
“People were shouting as I was harnessing the team,” Khonsu’s driver told them.. “I heard one voice above the rest. I turned and saw an army pouring into this valley at a run from the cliffs. They were wearing royal insignia. Their leader took one look at what was going on, waded in with all his men and started giving orders. The way he was going about it, he may have things under control by now.”
They returned to the city at a punishing speed. Khonsu, gripping the rail of his chariot, traded grim smiles with his driver. “What happened?” he demanded.
The driver took a wide turn in the path with magnificent ease, gathered the reins more firmly, and looked over at Khonsu. “It was the damnedest thing, Commander. That bustling, sharp-faced little fellow, the sawbones His Reverence brought, went marching all over the House of Life with Captain Karoya. I went with them.”
“But why was he looking at a temple?”
“It was near the river,” Djer replied, feather-edging another turn and nearly overrunning Lord Nebamun's chariot in the process. They were approaching the northern limits of the city. “That old stick of a physician thought it'd be a good idea to have a place near the water so any really sick ones could be sent south to Asyut or north to Khemnu. He'd seen the place last night and wanted to take a closer look at it.
“It's a terrible spot, Commander! Filled with weird carvings! Teti and Captain Karoya stayed inside with the Physician while I was sent to call for more men to help clear the rubble. We'd just started forward when I heard a whoosh! Like a wind. I looked up and saw the cliffs crumbling like a waterfall of earth and stone.
“The officers went running for the wreckage, one yelling for Nebamun to grab two others and send to His Grace. We didn't have time to see who was killed!”
Khonsu clenched his hands on the rail of the chariot. They were racing down the processional way now, past the temple on the right toward the line of high cliffs forming the southern boundary of the cup of land holding the city. The streets seemed to be thronged with three times as many as men as Khonsu had brought.
“Thoth's beak!” Khonsu exclaimed. “An army!”
** ** **
The overtopping cliffs seemed to dwarf and silence the pandemonium as the two chariots arrived. A horde of men stood before the entrance to the walled enclosure of what appeared at first glance to be a pleasure pavilion. Shouts of officers were heard from behind the walls, sounding above the steady beat of a drum.
Nebamun, whose chariot arrived first, was staring up at the cliffs. “A landslide!” he breathed.
“Your Grace?”
“The cliffs!” Nebamun pointed. “See that patch along the edge, lighter than the rest? And the rocks below? The pavilion is up against the edge of these cliffs, directly beneath the overhang. Foolish, foolish to have built it so! I should have remembered and ordered them to stay away!”
Khonsu looked up at the gash in the rocks. “I'll find out what's happening. Your Grace? Will you remain here until we know it's safe?”
“Yes, yes, of course!”
Khonsu jumped from his chariot and ran toward a squadron of infantry who stood frowning at the line of the cliffs. One lifted his weapon at sight of Khonsu.
Khonsu stepped forward with his hands raised. “I am Khonsu of the Nome of Khemnu, in command of the Provincial Army here. Take me to your commanding officer at once.”
One of the soldiers brought his fist to his shoulder in a salute and hurried over to a tall, strongly built officer in the gateway watching the rescue work. The man looked up as the sentry spoke, swept a glance over Khonsu's group, and went forward to meet Khonsu.
“Greetings to you, Commander Khonsu,” he said with a salute. “I am Seti son of Ramesses son of Seti, one of His Majesty's commanders. I bring a contingent of soldiers, two hundred fifty in all, to work under His Grace's direction. I arrived just as these cliffs collapsed, and set my men to digging out the casualties.”
Lord Nebamun pushed forward and lay an urgent hand on Khonsu's arm. “Has anyone been hurt?”
Seti, slit-eyed against the sun and the dust, took in his dusty and disheveled appearance, his plain garments, assessed his probable rank, and replied with perfunctory courtesy. “We don't know yet, my good fellow. You're welcome to look for yourself.” He nodded toward the pile of rubble. “If you'd like to pitch in, I won't stop you. Sturdy backs and strong arms never go amiss.”
Nebamun hesitated for a moment, his expression ominous. Khonsu thought he might be considering a pointed reply, but he said, “I thank you, officer. I'll do so, with the Commander's permission.” And he strode off to join the throng of workers.
Seti watched him. “A good, willing man, that one. He comes late, though. The work's well underway.” He nodded toward a steadily growing pile of reddish stones off to one side, clearly fallen from the cliffs above.
Someone shouted from the wreckage. Khonsu shaded his eyes and frowned into the dust and commotion. “What happened?” he asked.
Seti frowned thoughtfully. He was a calm, handsome man with a measured way of speaking. “I'm not sure. My force was approaching the southern bounds of this city, when I heard a roar and a crash. They were the sort of noises I have only heard in a siege where the attackers have undermined a stretch of wall. My point rider came back at a gallop with reports of a collapse. I ordered the group to round the cliffs on the double and head north into the city, and here we are. You can see the place is a pile of rubble, but from what I could see while we shifted the stones from the fall, it doesn't appear to be as bad as I'd first feared. The question is whether anyone is trapped.”
“At least two. My second-in-command and the Surgeon-General for this expedition. I don't know how many of their escort were with them.”
Seti cocked an eye at him. “If it makes you feel better, Commander, my men don't report seeing any blood. Well then, Piay, what news?”
“We've reached them, my general,” a soldier panted. “Three of them. One is hurt, though not badly, and no one's mouth's crippled, that I could hear.”
“Very good,” said Seti. “Sit down and catch your breath.” He nodded to Khonsu. “I'd meant to pause just south of the city to clean up my force a little before reporting to His Grace. I guess I'd best dismiss that notion now, since everyone knows I'm here, Hello, what's this?”
Lord Nebamun had returned. His light over-tunic clung to him and his hair was plastered to his forehead, but his expression was eased. He smiled at Khonsu as he tugged loose the knot at the neck.
“They have dug through the worst of the rock fall, Commander. Karoya and Sennefer are unhurt. You can thank Karoya's brother-in-law for their safety because the man had told him the sturdiest place to stand during a cave-in is a doorway, and when they heard the noise they did just that. Karoya's wrist is sprained from yanking Sennefer back to shelter. The third man, one of yours
, has a cut over his eye. Not serious.” He paused to pull the tunic over his head, exposing an impressively muscled chest.
“I spoke with them,” he continued. “They're still trapped, but they'll be completely freed in short order. They’d best spend the rest of the evening doing nothing more strenuous than sleeping.”
He dragged one dusty forearm across his forehead, frowned at the sweat, and mopped his face and shoulders with the tunic. “I'll get cleaned up, myself, and make certain they'll have a place to rest.”
Seti clapped him on the shoulder. “An excellent idea, my good man, go and do that. And you, Commander, would you be so kind as to inform the Second Prophet that the troops from the army of Lower Egypt have arrived under the command of Seti, son of Ramesses, son of Seti? Tell him I request the favor of an audience so I may present my credentials and commission.”
Khonsu nodded and looked over at Nebamun.
The Second Prophet tossed the damp tunic over his shoulder. “I'd be happy to carry the message for you, Commander, if you wish.” He met Khonsu's gaze with a bland smile.
Khonsu lifted his eyebrows, but answered calmly. “Do so, with my thanks. And ask His Grace whether he wishes to receive before or after we have dined.”
Nebamun inclined his head. “I would imagine, Commander, that His Grace would prefer the first option. But he'll wish to let you know, himself.” He left with a half-salute.
XI
“He's there, so visible to the eyes of my memory that I'm amazed no one else can see him. Just beneath the lowest hands of the sun's rays Look closely and you'll see him.” Mersu the sculptor folded his arms and cocked an eyebrow at Khonsu.
They were standing in the grand hall of Akhenaten's palace with the rest of the Second Prophet's entourage, gazing toward the dais and trying not to see the huge, gilded disk of the sun between the flanking wings of steps that led up from the dais to the private chambers beyond. Immense, bright, sheathed with gold, streaming with hand-tipped rays. It seemed to be stretching out, seeking someone gone never to return.
Neither the coolly frescoed floors nor the glittering faience inlaid magnificence of the columns ranged in stately procession toward the tall cedar doors, nor the ceiling painted in the tones of all the jewels of Egypt in a swirling pattern of winged scarabs and lotus blooms could hold the eye in the presence of the great, glinting disk.
“We're in the hall of the Aten,” Mersu continued. “Pharaoh always held his audiences here. I can still see him in the center of that dais, beneath that golden sun. His brother-in-law and Vizier, Prince Nakht, always sat to the right of the king, on a lower chair. I often saw Nakht smiling at his own son, Neb-Aten, there among the ranks of the royal princes who sat beyond them on their own gilded chairs, crowned with flowers. All the children, of Pharaoh's body or of his heart, holding audience with him.”
The sculptor sighed. “There were so many once. All gone away now into the fields of the West.”
Khonsu felt a prickling along his spine. Looking at the dais he could almost see the figure of the king seated beneath the depiction of his god, gazing round at the nervous, murmuring throng that filled the room, seeking the faces of allies, of enemies...
He thought of the shadows and the whispers. “Children?”
“Oh yes. The royal falcons that would secure the next generation. I watched them all. The king's six daughters by his chief Queen, Nefertiti. Active and pretty, hopelessly spoiled, the darlings of his heart. His sons, Smenkhara and Tutankhaten. He fostered his nephew, Neb-Aten, as well, since Nakht, the vizier, was so often away on Pharaoh's business. Neb-Aten's mother was Pharaoh's sister, Merit'taui, and His Majesty loved the boy as much as his own children. What a trio those lads made! Running through this palace, filling it with their laughter. Tutankhaten was the youngest, a little tag-along. All gone far away now. Plague, murder, childbirth, heartbreak... Their names died with them.”
Mersu smiled at Khonsu's startled expression. “Oh yes. Tutankhaten turned his back on his own father and became Tutankhamun, though it didn't do him any good when his murderers struck him down. No one's left of that dynasty now but the High Priest of Ptah.” He fell silent and raised his eyes to the gilded Aten once more.
Khonsu looked around at the throng. They're growing restless, he thought. The collapse of the cliffs followed by the arrival of Pharaoh's army this day had unsettled everyone, and now Lord Nebamun was late to the audience.
Rumors had been flying through the city since the cave-in, though Perineb had done a good job of keeping everyone calm. Khonsu had heard more whispers of curses, which this time would be hard to fight. Ruia had come to him in private, reporting tracks where they thought they had seen the chariot the night before. Afterwards, the stable master reported that someone had been taking horses from the stable during the night. Were all these linked?
“They haven't dared to deface it yet,” Mersu gazed at the disk thoughtfully. “How odd...”
“Why?”
“It was the symbol of his god. I could see where they might not touch it simply for that. But the sheer amount of gold it took to cover that carving... I remember when they carved and gilded it. A few of the hammer strokes were mine.” He looked around and then shook his head. “This city's filled with gold. A scavenger's dream, except for the ghosts.”
Khonsu frowned at him, caught by undercurrents. “You don't buy that explanation.”
Mersu shrugged. “I've sculpted tombs and gone into places where everyone died horribly, still I haven't seen ghosts, curses, shadows, the wakeful dead…”
Khonsu smiled at Mersu and looked up the sweep of the right branch of the grand staircase leading to His Grace's private suites. Lord Nebamun appeared at the head of the steps and descended the long, low flight to the throne dais. He wore in the full regalia of his rank as the Second Prophet of Ptah. Gold chimed as he moved, the only sound in an entrance that was otherwise as silent as the passage of time. No one had seen him.
The Second Prophet came forward to the chair that had been set in the center of the dais, but he paused to direct pensive gaze toward the right corner of the platform, where the vizier had once stood.
A murmur of voices, had grown grew disastrously distinct.
“We are inviting disaster! A haunted city! A cursed king! It's best destroyed, and any memory of that madman and all his kin purged!”
Like everyone else in the room, Khonsu turned and craned his neck to look at the speaker, whom he recognized as Seneb, the priest he had last seen during their visit to Khebet speaking earnestly, but quietly, with Mayor Huni.
Lord Nebamun had heard the comment. His hazel eyes, sparkling with anger, located the man and rested upon him for a brief, distant moment while he took his seat in the center of the dais.
“Seneb's always looking for ways to single himself out!” hissed Mersu “He goes into prophetic tizzies and annoys the hell out of the rest of us. Even the High Priest was getting sick of him! And he insisted on coming! His Grace is generally fairly tolerant, but look at him now: he's having none of it today!”
“Rise, my lords,” Nebamun's voice quivered with annoyance. He stopped, and brought it under control when he spoke again. “You must excuse my lateness. I met with Captain Karoya and Master Sennefer. They and the guardsman, Teti, are in good health after their mishap this afternoon.”
He looked around and added with relentless sweetness, “I can't express what a comfort it is for me to learn that all here share my eagerness to submit to His Majesty's commands.”
The Second Prophet might be quiet-mannered, thought Khonsu, but he could bare his teeth in a snarl when the spirit moved him.
“But I am here now,” His Grace continued. “And through me His Majesty is present as well. Is there any matter that requires my attention?”
Khonsu stepped forward and bowed to the ground. “I am charged to inform Your Grace that Seti, son of Ramesses, son of Seti, has arrived with the troops from the Army of Upper Egypt, and requests an audie
nce with Your Grace.”
Nebamun looked around the assembly again, frowning a little as he saw Seneb muttering to himself. “He is welcome, especially after his actions this afternoon. Let him in and present his credentials.”
Khonsu turned and nodded to his guardsman, Nebamun, who bowed and went to the double timber doors. At a word from him, the two guards flanking the doors lifted the bar and swung them open to admit Seti.
The man had taken pains with his appearance. The dust and sweat of the afternoon had vanished and now, clean-shaven and impeccably groomed, he wore a long tunic, belted at the waist with a plain sash. A gold-hilted dagger of iron was thrust into the sash, and his only adornments were the plain gold wrist and armlets awarded for valor in battle, along with a double gold necklace of honor. A heavy bronze bracer on his left wrist marked him as an officer of archers.
“His Grace bids you enter and welcome, General,” announced Khonsu, bowing low.
Seti came briskly forward, passing through the ranks of murmuring courtiers and linen-swathed priests like a cool breeze cutting through a mist. He moved smartly up to the foot of the dais, took a sealed roll of papyrus from his belt and started to hand it to Khonsu. He looked up for the first time at the man seated before him.
The papyrus clattered to the ground and rolled off the edge of the dais with Khonsu in hurried pursuit.
Seti stiffened, caught himself, then went down on his knees and bowed his head against his folded hands as Khonsu returned with the message.
Nebamun had been watching all this without comment, though his eyes were dancing. Khonsu bowed and offered the scroll.
Nebamun accepted the document from Khonsu, broke the seal, and scanned the message. “Rise, Chief of Archers, Scribe of the Armies, Troop Commander, and Fan Bearer on the left of the king.” He set the message aside and added, “Pharaoh has honored the great god Ptah and blessed our venture by sending such a one to our assistance.”
