The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle

by Diana Wilder

  “My heart lurched, but I stiffened my knees. “Liar!” I shouted. “I don't believe you!”

  “Horemheb tossed me something that seemed to glow in the sunlight. I caught and looked at it and felt the world spinning around me. It was the Udjat amulet that you are wearing now. I'd given it to my father when I was a child. He had been about to take a long journey across the ocean, and I had wanted to give him something to keep him safe. I had run away to the market place and traded a little gold fish amulet, which had been set with valuable lapis, for the udjat charm. He had hung it on a gold chain.

  “It was a thing of little real value, but my father had never removed it. I knew that he was dead indeed and I had failed. My hands lost their strength to hold my bow; it slipped to the ground, and I made no attempt to resist as Horemheb's soldiers surrounded and secured me.

  “I was taken back to Akhet-Aten and brought to my father's house. He hadn't been sent to the embalmers yet. I'd had dark thoughts of murder, but one look at his peaceful face was enough to calm those misgivings. Whatever the villainy of those around him, he had kept himself unsullied to the end. After that I...went where they told me and answered whatever questions they asked me. Nothing mattered any more and I didn't care what happened to me, though I couldn't understand their persistent talk of treason.

  “Horemheb and Ramesses taxed me with plotting to bring the Hittites into Egypt. I denied it. I told them I'd been heading north to speak with Prince Thutmose. They didn't believe me. They kept insisting I had been planning treason, for my father himself had told them. But I continued to deny it, and finally came to myself enough to produce the copy of the letter I had written to Prince Thutmose and hidden in my chariot.

  “The letter set the seal on their bafflement. They finally put me under guard, more for my own protection than anything else, while they tried to decide what to do with me.

  “I hadn't yet learned that no matter how powerful the evil ones may be, the good are never left helpless. A messenger from the High Priest of Ptah arrived just at this moment bringing a reply to my letter and the news His Highness was traveling south to Akhet-Aten with all speed to speak with me and my father. His arrival two days later shed some light in the darkness.

  “Prince Thutmose knew at once that Huy was behind my father's death, though the exact means baffled him. Now I watched as he set about to make matters right. He decided the wisest course would be to turn away from the mechanics of my father's death and instead concentrate on protecting what was left of his family.

  “Prince Thutmose, Horemheb and Ramesses decided it would be unwise to wait the customary seventy days to bury my father, and so Nakht's son, Neb-Aten, officiated at his father's funeral after only two weeks. He died of grief after another week and was laid to rest in his own tomb by his old comrades Ramesses and Horemheb. It was a quiet ending for a turbulent young man who was mourned by only a handful of honest friends and was soon forgotten.

  “Nakht's widow, the royal princess Merit'taui, remarried a year later and passed from the public eye, though she did bear one more child, a daughter, and lived in wealth and contentment until she died.

  “Not long after Neb-Aten's death, a man named Nebamun quietly entered the household of the High Priest of Ptah at Memphis. He had a gift for administration; he spent his first year with His Holiness learning the skills required to oversee the vast properties of the cult of Ptah. This man seemed quiet and somehow sad, but, against his own expectations, he lost his heart, happily, to Prince Thutmose's daughter, the Lady Mayet. And, more wonderful even than this, he learned that his was not the only heart lost: the middle of Nebamun's second year at Memphis saw his betrothal to this truly lovely lady. He married her at the end of the year.

  “Nebamun lived well but quietly. He held no public offices, aside from those incidental to the priesthood of Ptah, and he never went to court. Those trifles could not touch the happiness that he had found, all unexpectedly, in his life. Huy died after a reign of two years. He was succeeded by Ay, whose reign was also brief. In time, after Ay's death, which occurred almost twelve years after Prince Nakht's suicide, Nebamun was named Second Prophet of Ptah by his father-in-law, with the approval of Pharaoh.”

  Lord Nebamun lowered his eyes from the now dark sky and smiled at Khonsu. “You guessed it all, my dear Khonsu,” he said. “I am Neb-Aten. Or perhaps 'was' is the proper word. He is a person from another time and place, far separated from me, though for a time it was necessary to become him once more. The only command that was laid upon me at the time I went into the temple of Ptah, and that for my own protection, was that I was forbidden to speak of my past to all but Horemheb, Ramesses and Prince Thutmose. And, of course, my lady, when I married her at last. And, I had resolved, you, when everything had been settled.”

  “I still don't understand how you were deceived,” Khonsu said.

  “It was simple,” Nebamun sighed. “I was too trusting. Prince Thutmose might have realized Huni's part in all of this, if I had spoken of him, or if Horemheb or Ramesses had known, but my father and I had never mentioned him. We had thought to protect him. In fact, I...forgot all about his part in Neb-Aten's last days until an old family servant, Neterkhet, came to me two years ago, after my mother's death.

  “He had learned from my mother that I was still alive, and he came to me in the bitterness of his heart, to reproach me for my part in my father's death. What he had to say was...very enlightening.”

  Nebamun's eyes narrowed slightly. “I learned that instead of bearing the message I'd given him, Huni told my father I had sent word to Shupilluliumash and was planning to ride to the northern borders of the realm, and there meet with his messengers and plot with them to overthrow Pharaoh. He told my father I was expecting to hear that Shupilluliumash was on the march.

  “My father knew this would never happen. Hatti had enough immediate concerns, with the fall of Naharin and its expansion into Syria and the Levant, but he saw at once that this treason would lead to my ruin and death, and he determined to stop me.

  “He sent his reply to me by Huni, telling me to wait for fortune to turn once more, that he was prepared to die by his own hand rather than allow me to ride headlong to my death. He commanded that I come to him in the morning with my reply. He said this to Huni in the hearing of Neterkhet, his major-domo, who had spent his life in my father's service and had accompanied him to Akhet-Aten. He promised Huni a valuable bracelet as payment if he would go and then come again with me. You saw it when he came that last time.

  “My father always planned for all possible outcomes. By Neterkhet he sent word to Horemheb and Ramesses telling them that he feared I was running headlong into folly, and asking they be prepared to stop me if he were unsuccessful. He told them he would send word of what developed.

  “Huni returned to my father with word that I was resolved on my course of action, and if he chose to die, then so be it, but I intended to head north to meet with the Hittites. My father, stricken to the heart, nevertheless gave Huni the bracelet he had promised, and sent Neterkhet to Ramesses and Horemheb once more, asking them to stop me. He told them he would be dead by the time they received his message, and he counted on their friendship to save his son from disaster and his wife from disgrace.

  “Neterkhet delivered my father's message and went on to Thebes, where my family's household was, to continue in my mother's service. His bitterness toward Neb-Aten, who he thought had callously caused his own father's death, never abated. When he learned I was alive he came to me at Memphis to give me a piece of his mind.

  “I was able to convince him of my innocence, but any peace I was able to give to him did not touch me. It was as though I'd seen my memories shaken apart and reassembled into a dreadful parody of what I had once thought true.

  “The means of my father's murder had been hideously cruel. He had gone to his death believing that I—I who had adored him as a child and loved him as a grown man!—was sending him with a glad heart! His last moment
s must have been filled with terrible anguish, and yet—and yet, Khonsu, mark this!—he endured even that to save me. I had no way to tell him how mistaken he had been. All that was left for me was my duty as his son to deal out vengeance.

  “I set about that with a good heart, indeed! I provisioned my personal corps of guards and made plans to march upon Khebet at their head. Then I went to my father-in-law to tell him what I had learned and ask his blessing for what I intended to do.

  “His Highness was as horrified and enraged as I was. He didn't try to stop me, but he urged patience. He told me that a little restraint at the beginning would ensure my success and make my vengeance all the more complete. He sent word at once to Pharaoh, who came posthaste to Memphis along with General Ramesses, and the four of us spoke long into the night.

  “His Majesty gave me leave to avenge my father's death against all who were responsible, no matter who they might be, and he pledged his approval and support. I swallowed my fury, made plans, and followed them. His Majesty wished to complete the pylon of Akhenaten at Memphis and case it with virgin stone that would be carved for him. I thought I could achieve two aims at once by looking into opening the old quarries at Akhet-Aten.

  “I'd been following Huni's career at a distance for some time, beginning with the ascendancy of that worthless, ill-placed city, Khebet, and the eclipse of Sumneh, which was superior to it in every way. I suppose it was a concession to nostalgia: we had been close as young men. Neterkhet's news put an entirely new face on things. I set spies upon Huni and learned that he had spent the past twenty years systematically despoiling Akhet-Aten a little at a time. He had cloaked this with his tales of ghosts and curses.

  “It was amusing to learn that Huni had selected the son of the man he had murdered as his ghostly culprit, and he had used an oddly accurate account of Nakht's death in his explanation for Neb-Aten's haunting of the northern reaches of the city.

  “I decided that since Huni had invoked my ghost, he would have to deal with it. My father had entrusted him with a message for me: it was time to make him deliver it. I started sending letters written in my own hand, which he knew by sight, and sealed with my old seal. Each time I used old papyrus and ink made to look old and faded. Among my other titles I had been a commander of archers: the letters were sent by way of arrows of a sort that he knew well from our years together, for I had designed and fletched them, myself. And then I arranged to travel to Akhet-Aten at the head of the expedition. Things happened as you observed, honor and vengeance are satisfied at last, and now Neb-Aten can be allowed to rest.”

  “I saw you and Huni at the last,” Khonsu said, touching the udjat amulet at his throat. “I saw, and in seeing I finally understood what I had only guessed before. But—” he hesitated.

  “But?” Nebamun repeated.

  “But what made you decide to spare Huni? He had admitted what he had done. He felt no remorse, that was plain to me. But you held your hand and would have let him go.”

  Nebamun sat back with the hint of a sigh. “At that moment I remembered my father saying once, Vengeance must give way to justice, and justice must always be tempered with mercy. I had defeated him and made my answer to my father. There was nothing more to do, and spilling Huni's blood would not have changed anything. I think withholding my hand would have pleased my father.”

  “Horus showing mercy,” Khonsu said softly.

  Nebamun's brows contracted.

  Khonsu said, “I think each moment comes on two levels, mortal and divine, and the division between them is terribly thin. I saw you in my dreams, fighting with Set, and each time it was as though I were watching a dance of set movements until the last dream, where it seemed that your success or failure depended on my action.”

  “It did. And you stepped into legend and saved Horus for this time.” He smiled and added, “But we are mortals now, and the danger is past. And the heartache.”

  “Is it truly, Your Grace?” Khonsu asked.

  “Yes,” Nebamun said firmly. He saw Khonsu's expression and said, “But why do you frown, Commander?”

  “Huni deserved his death—and I remember it was his own choice, for you had spared him—but Huy died before he could be brought to account for his part in your father's death. I hate to think he sleeps in honored peace in a splendid tomb at Thebes.”

  Nebamun smiled slowly. “Is that what you think?”

  Khonsu's eyes widened.

  “But the past is past,” Nebamun continued. “By Pharaoh's decree, Neb-Aten is no longer dead and his silence is no longer required. My father's estates, forfeited to the crown upon his death and mine, have been returned to me.”

  His smile had a reminiscent edge to it. “It was fascinating to see the faces of those who had spoken ill of me and my house over the years as they swallowed their bile and, I do believe, their tongues, when I came into Pharaoh's presence, knelt before him and received back my birthright. It would seem that my appearance has not changed much over the years.”

  “It hasn't,” Khonsu said. “And you need no longer keep silence... I'm glad.”

  Nebamun shrugged. “It isn't such a blessing,” he said. “I have gotten into the habit of silence now, and I find it comfortable. You are the first I have spoken to, and I would have done so even without Pharaoh's permission. As for the rest, I am a wealthy man, but so have I always been.” He lifted an eyebrow at Khonsu. “Although I can certainly dower Sitra satisfactorily now.”

  Khonsu lowered his eyes. “Lady Sitra's person and character are dowry enough for any man fortunate enough to win her,” he said.

  “Do you think so?” Lord Nebamun's voice held the hint of a smile. “You will be interested to learn that my lady and my daughter have asked me to speak with you on that subject.” He smiled at Khonsu's expression. “Oh yes,” he said. “Sitra comes from a line of people who know their hearts at once. And she has saved me the trouble of trying to convince her, myself.”

  “Your Grace?”

  Nebamun's smile flashed again. “I'd had an eye to you for a son from the moment I learned you were no longer married,” he said. “I regret your grief and pain, but I think you and Sitra will be happy together.”

  “I'm a nobody from the provinces,” Khonsu said. “How could anyone think me a suitable match for her?”

  “You're a fine man, a loving father and an excellent officer,” Nebamun said. “The new Vizier of the North has expressed a desire to place you in high command in the northern armies, and the Commander in Chief of the Armies has agreed. That's why the Governor has replaced you. You need only regain your strength. There is no hurry. And assume your new post.”

  “The new vizier?” Khonsu repeated. “Then Your Grace has—”

  Nebamun's smile altered slightly. “Not I. There will be no vizierates for my family in my lifetime. Pharaoh isn't such a fool, nor am I. General Seti is the new Vizier. I think that man will be one to watch in future.”

  “Your Grace is probably right,” Khonsu said.

  Lord Nebamun smiled and rose to his feet. “And you will have a long future in which to watch him if you come inside with me and have some supper and retire,” he said firmly. “It would never do to have my daughter a widow before she is a wife.”

  ** ** **

  Thank you for reading this. If you enjoyed The City Of Refuge, I would be delighted if you could leave a review.

  You might enjoy its sequel, Mourningtide, which is the second book in The Memphis Cycle, followed by Pharaoh’s Son. Another, Kadesh, is due to be published in 2015.

  For more information on The Memphis Cycle and my other books, you can visit my website, here.

  You can also sign up for my newsletter, here

  AFTERWORD

  A story, once told, has as much reality as a piece of embroidery or a painting. The fabric of legend surrounds us every day like coats of many colors that we can no longer see or feel for their familiarity. We move through landscapes of myth with the heedless nonchalance of treasur
e-house guards grown accustomed to treading upon a rainbow of precious stones in the course of their daily work. And yet the beauty and the color are there to be seen by any who are willing to look and see. A good storyteller is one who can somehow touch these legends and bring them to renewed life in his tale. This is what I tried to do with The City of Refuge when I told the tale of an Avenger of Blood and his quarry.

  In ancient societies, the 'Avenger of Blood' was a close kinsman of a murdered person, usually the victim's most senior male relative. The Avenger of blood had the duty to hunt down the killer and exact the blood-price, usually the killer's life in exchange for that of the victim.

  The book of Deuteronomy states: But if any man hate his neighbour, and lie in wait for him, and rise up against him, and smite him mortally that he die...then the elders of his city shall send and fetch him thence, and deliver him into the hand of the avenger of blood, that he may die. (Deut 19:11, 12 [King James Version])

  But what if the death were not deliberate? Numbers 35:19 provides for the founding of six cities of refuge for those not guilty of deliberate murder.

  The earliest myth to deal with the Avenger of blood is the tale of Horus and Set. Other Egyptian myths echo it. The office of the avenger of blood also figures in the story of Oedipus.

  Nebamun’s pursuit of his father’s murderers owes something to the story of Orestes, perhaps the most famous avenger of blood in all western literature. Orestes was the son of Agamemnon, the high king of the Greeks and leader of the forces that besieged Troy. The story of his vengeance upon his father's murderers is recounted in the magnificent cycle of plays by Sophocles, Aeschylus and Euripides.

  The writer of any story taking place in New Kingdom Egypt will sooner or later come up against the most controversial figure in ancient Egyptian history, Neferkheprure Amenhotep IV, who took the name Akhenaten. His name and memory, deliberately destroyed in dynastic times, were only rediscovered in the last century thanks to some brilliant archaeological sleuthing.