by Diana Wilder
“No one liked Paser by the time he left,” Iry remarked diffidently. “We all hated him in the barracks.”
“Why was that?” Seti asked.
“You should have heard him, General,” the scribe said. “He made it clear that he had no use for ground-pounders like us, and he thought it an outrage that he had to share quarters with us.”
“He certainly was a charming fellow,” Seti said after a moment's wryly frowning thought. “I'd be inclined to kiss his killer's hand and give him a necklace of honor.”
“Charming or not, he's dead and we have to look into the matter,” Khonsu said.
“I don't envy you,” said Seti. “We appear to have a city filled with potential killers.”
“We have one with a clear motive, who won't account for the block of time during which Paser probably was killed,” Khonsu pointed out. “Failing any other lead, I must pursue that one.”
“I would be nervous if I were Ptahemhat,” Seti said. “But I can't imagine that he'd be fool enough to kill Paser and then go strutting through this city crowing about what a bastard the fellow was, and what a boon his death is to mankind.”
“He's been acting differently since the killing,” Karoya said slowly. “He seems more sober and responsible.”
“You'd be the same if you found yourself finally free of one who treated you like an idiot child and did his best to undermine your authority,” Khonsu observed. “The question is whether he could have killed Paser.” He nodded to Seti. “General?” he said. “Any thoughts?”
“I have some reservations,” Seti said. “Such as the fact that Ptahemhat's skin's intact. Any blood on Paser wasn't his. But I don't have too much trouble with that: Paser was a quarrelsome fellow and he might have gotten in a scuffle before he fought Ptahemhat. Ruia helped to establish the time he was last seen alive, but many things could have happened between then and his death. I think we'd do well to question Ptahemhat.”
“What really angers me is that Paser was such a horse's ass,” said Karoya, “If anyone deserved to be killed it was him. Calling His Grace a cheat and a liar! He was asking for it. And let us not forget that he was a thief who'd been caught in the act! He stole that bowl from somewhere!”
“It was probably taken from a tomb,” said Khonsu. “That piece was too valuable to have been left by someone living. And it's vanished, by the way.”
“Vanished?” Karoya repeated.
“Yes. Perineb made a report yesterday evening.”
“Was that tied in with the murder, do you suppose?” asked Seti. “No, I doubt it. Now that I recall, it was under guard with the rest of His Grace's valuables. We're back at the murder.”
“He was asking to be killed,” Karoya said again.
“Paser may have been asking for it,” said Seti. “But let's not forget that Ptahemhat shouted for everyone to hear that he'd kill Paser. There are ways of dealing with horses' asses within the law, and murder isn't one of them. Personally, I can't imagine that anyone would be stupid enough to swear undying enmity in public and then go out and kill a man by stealth. Ptahemhat would have killed Paser in fair fight and rejoiced in it.”
“I doubt the death was a murder,” Khonsu said. “But whatever it was, it still must be investigated.” He pushed away from the wall, suddenly brisk, and dusted off his hands. “I'll make inquiries in the towns south of here,” he said. “We'll see if we can account for Ptahemhat's absence that night. If not, then I'll detain him for questioning. I think Ptahemhat probably fought Paser man to man. I'd have done the same. I'm sure Ptahemhat will be cleared.”
“Will you tell His Grace now?” Seti asked.
“I don't know,” Khonsu said. “Lord Nebamun's been ill lately, and while Sennefer tells me he's recovering, I know Ptahemhat's a protégé of his. For him to learn now that we may arrest him might cause him unnecessary distress. Best to wait until we're certain.”
“It'll distress him sooner or later,” Seti pointed out.
“But not just yet,” Khonsu said. “His Grace is still unwell. I'll explain when he's feeling a little better. He's an intelligent and sensible man: he'll understand. And now I'd best get my inquiries underway.” And, he thought silently, read my letter.
XXXIII
“His Grace is resting, Commander,” said Rai, the second ranking of Lord Nebamun's personal guard at Akhet-Aten. He was an older man, always calm and courteous, but Khonsu caught an underlying note of worry in his even voice. “Father Perineb has taken over some of His Grace's duties, if the matter concerns this expedition. If not… Well, His Grace hasn't given any new orders concerning you. Indeed, his standing command is that you're to be admitted to his presence whenever you wish. If you like, I'll show you in.”
“No, wait,” said Khonsu. “I know His Grace has been ill, and I don't want to disturb him unnecessarily. Would you simply tell him that I ask the favor of an interview with him? Tell him it's a personal matter: I have received a letter from my daughter, which I think he'd enjoy hearing. And add that I'll understand if he wants to wait a day or so.”
Rai's expression warmed. “I'll do it, Commander,” he said. “But I'm sure His Grace will see you.”
Rai left, but he was back almost immediately. “His Grace says come in and be welcome,” he reported. “He says he'd be delighted to hear news of the Commander's daughter.”
“I thought he might be,” Khonsu said.
Rai smiled and led Khonsu through the Second Prophet's private chambers to the terrace that overlooked the king's ruined garden. “His Grace is there beside the reflecting pool,” he said. “Or what's left of it. You'll find him tired but in good heart.”
“Thank you, Rai,” Khonsu said. He took the message from his sash, smoothed it between his fingers, and then, taking a deep breath, went to the pool with firm footsteps and a warm smile.
Lord Nebamun was reclining on a low cot, his shoulders propped upon a snowy pile of folded linen cloths. His sandals were set neatly beside the cot and a light wrap covered his feet against the afternoon chill. A table sat nearby, bearing a faience cup and a small clay pitcher that probably contained watered wine or beer. He looked tired and wan, and his eyes were bright with the last traces of fever, but his smile was warm and alert, and he sat up to greet Khonsu.
“You're welcome indeed, Commander,” he said. “I apologize for receiving you like this, but Sennefer has bullied me into spending the day abed, and he's a bad one to cross.”
“Your Grace has been going at a run since we came to this city,” Khonsu said. “A rest is probably just what you need. If it helps Your Grace to recover more quickly, then Sennefer has placed us all in his debt. Your Grace still seems tired.”
“I am,” Nebamun admitted. “It is good to be lazy for a day. To take time, once in a while, to forget cares, concerns and heartaches and let oneself drift...” He saw the message and smiled again. “Rai tells me you have word from your little girl,” he said.
“Oh yes, Your Grace,” Khonsu said, unfolding the papyrus. “She's written an entertaining letter, and I thought it would cheer Your Grace. Shall I read it?”
“By all means,” Nebamun said, lying back against his pillows.
Khonsu shook out the message, raised it and read.
Sherit greets her father in life, happiness and health. The daughter of Khonsu of Khemnu greets her father and says, how are you? Is all well in your heart? Behold, I am well and happy in my heart and in my body.
The days are full of warmth and sunshine, and I feel the sun entering me and making me strong. Just today I ran and danced with my friends while aunt Hatshepset made date comfits. I sent you the recipe in one of my letters and the cook asks if you made them. Did you make them? Please tell me if you like them!
He smiled across at Nebamun and said, “I have the recipe, if you'd like to have the cook try it.”
“I think I'll have to,” Nebamun said.
Khonsu nodded, looked down at the letter, and continued.
I ha
ve a kitten on my lap now. She is a special cat. Master Thutnakht—
Khonsu broke off and said, “Thutnakht is the senior scribe in the cult of Thoth. He's acknowledged to be the finest scribe in Egypt, and he has gone personally, day after day, every day but this, to see my daughter and write these letters to me.” He read again,
Master Thutnakht gave her to me as a gift last week when he was last here. Her mother comes from the great temple of Bast at Per-Bastet. Master Thutnakht told me that she is a holy cat and very distinguished. I call her “Smoke' because she is that color.
I am happy to know that you are glad in your heart. Sorrow is a bad thing, and so is loneliness, so I am glad to know that you are not lonely or sad.
I have made new friends on Aunt Hat's street, and Master Thutnakht is a friend, too. He is like a grandfather to me, and the messengers are like new uncles. One of them is always stopping to speak to Aunt Hat, and her face gets red when he does. I think it would be good if they married, because then she would not be a widow any more.
I have grown taller. That is what Aunt Hat has said to me as she measures me against the doorpost. I also am brown with the sun now, and when I run I am not tired any more. I cannot stop eating, but Aunt Hat and Master Thutnakht say that is a good thing.
“Running and playing in the sun!” Nebamun said. “That is good news!”
Khonsu nodded. “There's just a little more, Your Grace,” he said. “Listen:
This scribe, Ameni, says that His Grace the Second Prophet commanded that he make certain to tell you all these things in the letters he writes for me so that you will know that I am truly well and won't grieve over me. He also said that Lord Nebamun wanted me to have news of you so that I would not worry, either. I think His Grace is a good man, and I ask that you give him my love...
Khonsu broke off to look at Nebamun.
The Second Prophet was lying still, his eyes lowered to the dry pond before him.
“She's right,” Khonsu said, folding the letter away. “Your Grace is the kindest man I have ever met. You did this long before you knew anything about me other than the fact that my child had been sick. And I think—” He broke off and continued more slowly, saying what he had only just realized. “—no, I know that you commissioned the messengers right after you saw Sherit and me the day we set sail for this city.”
Nebamun did not look up.
When he did not speak, Khonsu continued, “I should have guessed it long ago. All the signs were there, and I sometimes pride myself on being perceptive. That I didn't guess shows that I have been blind and stupid and half out of my mind with worry. But now I do know, and I can thank Your Grace with all my heart. This thing that you have done for me out of the sheer goodness of your heart is unparalleled in my life. Words can't express my gratitude.”
Nebamun looked down at his hands. “Please, Commander,” he said. “It was nothing.”
“Forgive me for contradicting you, Your Grace' Khonsu said. “But for this moment I'm speaking to you as one father to another. What you did was not “nothing', and you know it. Why didn't you tell me?”
“You make too much of it,” Nebamun said. “It was such a little thing. And it took no great effort on my part to think of it.”
“No one else did,” Khonsu said.
Nebamun raised his eyes to Khonsu's. “Perhaps I remembered myself...” he said at last. “I was my parents' only child. My mother was beautiful and charming and I loved her, but she was a great lady, much occupied at court, and though she loved me, she had little time to spare for me. I adored my father. I was happiest when he was with me. But he was an important man and the duties of his rank often took him away from our home. My uncle took me into his household and used me like a son, but I remember the days and the weeks that I'd wait each morning to see if there was any word from my father and my mother. I wanted to spare your daughter that grief, and I wished to spare you as well. Really, Commander, it was nothing.”
“I know better, Your Grace,” Khonsu said. “Laying aside any question of the kindness of the action, sending regular messengers to and from this city is costly.”
“I am a wealthy man, Commander,” Nebamun said. “I can bear the cost.”
“Count Tothotep is also wealthy,” Khonsu said. “And my family has served his for generations. But it was Your Grace who did this for me, and I will never forget it. As long as I live, you have my friendship.”
He eyed Nebamun's white face and said more quietly, “Your Grace is still tired. I'll leave you in peace with my heartfelt thanks. But I'm sincere when I say it: if ever you have need of anything from me, you need only ask and I'll do it.”
XXXIV Sumneh
“Are they reopening the city?” The question, posed the next morning by the village priest, was mirrored and repeated over and over by the bright, eager faces of the folk clustered behind him. The faces showed signs of hunger and poverty. They were pinched and worn and slightly furtive, but those traces seemed to vanish as Karoya looked around.
It was strange to look at the remains of what had once been the Gateway to the East and contrast them with the smooth prosperity of Khebet. And, indeed, the contrast made no sense, for to Karoya's eyes the site of Sumneh was far superior to that of the more northern city. A fine natural harbor fronted the river, the site of the town was easily defensible, and the roads from the desert channeled naturally to the harbor. And yet the city was nearly deserted.
The eager expectation that had risen at the question paled as Karoya hesitated.
“I can't really say, My Father,” Karoya replied. “I know the quarries interest them, and they think to reopen them. But as for the city... I can't say.”
The information was taken, weighed and judged hopeful. Worn faces eased into smiles.
“That would be good news,” the priest said. “Those were great days for us when the traders came from the desert with their caravans of ivory and spices, their odd speech and different ways...”
“All that is gone?” Karoya asked.
But he did not need to ask. The beautiful harbor was ill-kept, the natural break in the cliffs, channeling travelers into the flatter ground surrounding the town, was deserted. The packed, solid earth of the roadway was wind-frayed. If circumstances did not change soon, it would be loose earth again within another decade.
“Gone,” the priest replied. “Gone when the city died under Prince Nakht's supervision.” His tone held no self-pity. “Now Khebet's the gateway to the east,” he said. “It's hard to understand.”
“How so, Father?” Karoya asked.
“Have you seen Khebet?” the priest asked.
“I have once or twice,” Karoya answered.
“And did you look at the place? Does it have a harbor worth using? Is it defensible? This town once beat off a determined attack of Bedouin from the eastern deserts. We held them off and defeated them long before royal troops arrived, and that was only within the past fifteen years, when we had fallen from our glory. Before that we had a royal garrison. His Late Majesty and his forbears valued us properly.”
Karoya looked around at the villagers and saw them nodding in agreement. “But with the fall of Akhet-Aten,” he began.
“Oh no,” said one of the townsfolk, an older man with the bearing of a soldier and a twisted leg. “We were important before Akhet-Aten was built. We were the gateway of the east. Even as Akhet-Aten died, ships came to us to load the riches of the caravans. And then it stopped.”
The priest shook his head at the others. “It's time for the midday meal,” he said. “And our guest is probably hungry. Save your questions for another time. And do you, Captain, come with me. I would be honored to offer you food and drink.”
** ** **
The priest's name was Neferhotep, and he lived in a tiny house adjacent to the city's only active temple. The others lay open and empty. While he was nominally a priest of Ptah, in practice his service encompassed all the great gods of the Egyptian pantheon when he wa
s not performing his annual quarter-year's service at one of the great temples of Ptah throughout Egypt. He was also a physician; at the moment he had in his home two elderly patients suffering from the shortness of breath that comes of living many years on the edge of a desert.
“They were correct in saying that the city died overnight,” the priest said, offering newly baked date cakes on a tray woven of fresh green palm fronds.
It was obvious to Karoya, cautiously sipping some of the town's thin, sharp-tasting beer, that the cakes were a special treat, one that Neferhotep was seldom able to afford. He accepted one of the cakes, took another sip of beer, decided that he liked it, and drank more deeply. “How could that be?” he asked.
“I have often wondered that myself,” Neferhotep said. “One day we were bustling and filled with travelers. The next we were empty, as though by command of Pharaoh. I remember it well. We had just learned, less than a month before, that Prince Nakht, that great man, was dead, and his son shortly after. The stream of traders faltered, and within another month all traffic had been directed to head to Khebet. Soon the wealthier of the people here, the ones who came in pursuit of riches and had no ties to the land itself, had left. We all stayed.”
“It's a goodly place,” Karoya said.
“I have always thought so,” said Neferhotep. “Have another date cake, Captain. They're good.”
Karoya took another, against his better judgment, for they were indeed good. “Did Prince Nakht favor you, then?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” Neferhotep said. “The man had the soul of an explorer. I remember hearing once how he ventured across the Great Green to the land of the Hittites during the season of storms. He came back, sat right there, and told me of what he had seen. He was a mighty lord, was Nakht, and a good man.”
