Abu reached out and clamped a hand around Tcha's neck. Tcha squawked but stopped trying to get away.
Kysen contemplated the scrawny shadow that was the thief. He'd contacted Tcha after his father returned from the palace this morning. The little burglar had been astonished and then greedily pleased that he was to be allowed to rob a merchant's house. He'd agreed to pilfer Dilalu's correspondence in the process. What had happened in the intervening time to put Tcha in such fear?
Kysen darted forward and whispered to Tcha. "You've found out who Dilalu is, haven't you?"
"A merchant. He's a merchant, by the blessings of Amun."
"Correct," Kysen said. "So there's nothing to fear. Bring him, Abu."
Kysen led the way through the streets of the foreign quarter. Here lived traders from the Greek islands and mainland cities, artisans and merchants from the city-states of Byblos, Tyre, Ugarit, and the great lands of the Tigris and Euphrates river valleys. They passed several noisy taverns, encountering shrinking and cloaked figures that vanished as soon as they appeared. Finally they came upon a quieter street. Its only waking inhabitant was a fat, flat-headed cat sitting beside a porter asleep in a doorway. It hissed at them and stalked away in search of a feline fight.
Kysen slithered down a passage beside the cat's house and around the back of the building. There rose a pungent and mountainous refuse heap. At the foot of an exterior staircase, Kysen halted and grabbed Tcha by the arm.
"This is the house. To your work." Tcha squirmed but Kysen tightened his grip and bent down to whisper in the thief's ear. "Listen to me, you carrion feeder. You'll do as you agreed, or I'll send you to the granite quarries."
As he'd expected, the threat of actual work, especially such taxing labor, caused Tcha to become as docile as an aged donkey. The wretch nodded, and Kysen released him.
"Remember, confine yourself to a few metal vessels or jewels."
Kysen watched the thief remove a linen bag from the recesses of his kilt. Tcha hesitated only a short time before scrambling to the staircase. Kysen signaled to Abu, and they melted into the darkness beyond the refuse pile.
Waiting in nighttime always seemed longer than waiting during the day. Kysen pressed his back against a wall and slid down to crouch beside Abu, whose gaze swung in an arc, watching for any hint of trouble. Kysen's back and legs were growing numb when Tcha's head popped over the roof coping. He rose as the thief scrambled downstairs and launched into a foot-pounding run. When his quarry darted past, Abu stuck out his foot. Tcha hit the ground with a smack, but would have jumped to his feet and kept on running if Kysen hadn't grabbed him. Releasing his captive when Abu fastened his hand around Tcha's neck, Kysen snatched the linen bag.
"Empty. Tcha, you're too miserable for the quarries. I'm sending you into the desert-"
"Lord," Abu said. "The wretch is frightened. More than usual, that is."
Kysen peered at Tcha, who was shaking as if he were on some foreign snow-topped mountain. Dropping the bag, Kysen folded his arms and spoke calmly.
"What happened?"
"Merciful Amun protect me." Tcha whimpered and seemed to melt onto the ground, where he groveled at Kysen's feet. 'Let us flee this place at once, lord. At once!"
"Not until you explain."
Constantly glancing at the house of Dilalu, Tcha said, "I went up to the roof, me. Like always. There was another sleeping porter there, but I always slide through a roof vent or a window if it's large enough. I got inside through the door this time, and then-merciful Amun." Tcha moaned and began to rock back and forth on his haunches.
"Curse you, Tcha, get on with it," Kysen said. Tcha's fear was beginning to affect his composure.
"Know why there's only sleeping porters on guard? Because inside there's black giants.'"
For a moment Kysen's thoughts stilled. Then he asked, "Do you mean the merchant has Nubian guards?"
Tcha's head bobbed so rapidly Kysen was certain it would snap off his neck.
"They was awake. All of them! I went down the inside stairs and nearly ran into them at the bottom, but Amun was watching and slowed my steps. I saw them before they saw me. Dozens of them, all armed with knives and spears and bows and axes and-"
"Tcha!" Kysen snapped.
"Yes, lord."
"Exactly how many did you see?"
Tcha held up his fingers and counted silently. "Eight."
"This-this merchant has eight Nubian bodyguards?" Kysen didn't listen to Tcha's reply. Dilalu employed mercenaries, which he took care to conceal from everyone. "Is that all you saw?"
Tcha whimpered again and said, "Yes, master."
"Then we cannot get inside the house," Abu said.
Kysen rubbed his chin while he thought, then he motioned to Abu. The charioteer snagged Tcha by the arm and followed. Kysen crept back toward the back stair. Once he realized where they were going, Tcha tried to dig in his heels, but his efforts were useless against Abu.
Kysen stopped between the refuse pile and the stair. He gazed up at the reeking mountain thoughtfully. "Abu, Dilalu is an Asiatic."
"Aye, lord."
"Then he uses the wedge-shaped script of the Asiatics, inscribed upon clay tablets." Kysen turned to Tcha. "Thief, you will search the refuse heap for clay tablets."
"But the Nubians!"
"Will not show themselves unless forced to do so. Therefore I would encourage you to be both quick and quiet."
"But-"
Kysen gave a sharp sigh. "Tcha, if you don't do as you're told, I will do what I've been tempted to do since meeting you. I am going to throw you in the Nile to rid your insect-like body of that foul odor. Of course, you'll probably be eaten by crocodiles before that happens."
Tcha danced from one foot to the other as he regarded his persecutor. Evidently he perceived Kysen's determination, for he darted to the refuse mound and began searching through the fetid contents.
"Fear not," Kysen said. "Abu and I will keep watch. If the Nubians come, just burrow into the filth. You should blend in quite well."
Chapter 5
Thebes, the joint reign of the pharaohs Amunhotep III and Akhenaten
Nefertiti stood in her chariot outside the great Sun Temple, waiting for her husband to finish his consultation with the royal architects. Wind whipped her robe around her legs and threatened to topple her high crown. It was dusk, and a day spent arguing with the priests of Amun had tired her. They hated the Sun Temples, all four of them, thrusting as they did against the sacred precinct of Amun.
It seemed a lifetime since she had married Akhenaten, and yet she was only eighteen. Eighteen and a failure. For although she'd become queen when Akhenaten ascended the throne to rule jointly with his father, she had yet to bear a son. Three daughters. Three beloved daughters. Failure. And even more important, she hadn't been able to prevent her husband from taking more and more outrageous steps in his journey toward chaos.
But how could she have foreseen that Akhenaten's elevation to the throne would feed his heresy? Instead of making him the incarnation of Amun, as had happened to all his predecessors, Akhenaten's kingship proved to him that the Aten's plan for him had become manifest. The Sun Temples were one result.
Massive, open, decorated with reliefs in Akhenaten's new style, they were her husband's announcement of his new religion. He even had a sed-festival to mark his revolution. Gone were scenes of pharaoh worshiping his father Amun, who gave him life. On the walls she and Akhenaten were depicted worshiping the Aten. There was even a series of piers on which she and her little Merytaten were depicted making offerings to the Aten.
The Sun Temples disturbed Nefertiti. Oh, pharaohs had built temples since the beginning of the Two Lands, but not like this. Not covered with reliefs that abandoned the graceful precepts of Egyptian artistry. She and Akhenaten were shown with elongated faces, protruding buttocks, exaggerated hips and thighs, and spindly legs. Akhenaten had explained to her how the natural power of the Aten was reflected in this style. She could
understand his wish to depart from the formality of the usual temple reliefs, but to go to such an extreme…
She had questioned the wisdom of the Sun Temples, tried to convince Akhenaten to build them elsewhere, to no avail. She had tried to mediate between him and the priests of Amun. Her efforts had postponed a formal break for a while, but Akhenaten had never been a tolerant man.
When the priests of Amun refused to change, her husband recalled her advice about building elsewhere. To Nefertiti's astonishment, he decided to build a new city. For the past several years the vast resources of pharaoh had been concentrated in a barren spot in the middle of nowhere. Thousands of laborers, artisans, and architects scrambled to create Akhenaten's planned capital, which he called Horizon of the Aten. Soon the whole family would move there, along with the courtiers and government.
Faced with his son's absolute determination, Amunhotep had decided not to object to the move. Perhaps he'd simply grown tired of fighting with his son. Tiye and Nefertiti both tried to keep them from quarreling, for the confrontations took a toll on Amunhotep's health.
Nefertiti sighed and glanced around her. The court in which her chariot stood was filled with royal attendants. Outside she could hear the clatter of chariots, the clop-clop of donkeys, and the ceaseless tread of bare feet as the rest of the city went about its daily routine. Finally she saw Akhenaten emerge from the temple. He joined her in the chariot, taking the reins from a groom, and set the vehicle in motion. Soldiers ran ahead and behind them, clearing the way. Nefertiti smiled at her husband, but he was glaring at the chariot teams' ears and muttering to himself
"Is something wrong, husband?"
"The high priest of Amun, he was there lurking behind a statue. He thrust himself into my presence!"
"How odd."
"He dared to argue with me again."
"If you would only be patient, husband."
She jumped as Akhenaten roared at her. "No! It is not for me to be patient. I am pharaoh. I am the son of the Aten, living in truth. My word is truth. If these blasphemers persist in their lies, I'll kill them."
Akhenaten was panting as he guided the chariot. His face had turned carnelian, and his eyes burned like the Lakes of Fire in the netherworld. She had to distract him, or he might actually have the priests executed. Placing a hand on his arm, Nefertiti made her voice hard and sharp.
"I am angry too, husband."
"What have you to be angry about?" he snapped.
"I am angry that so many cause you pain. I would banish all who do so. It is not fitting that your peace be disturbed constantly."
Distracted, Akhenaten gripped the reins with one hand and leaned down to kiss her cheek. "My little warrior. I think you would charge into battle at the head of my armies if I allowed it."
"I would, husband."
Nefertiti found herself enveloped by Akhenaten's free arm, her face pressed against a gold-and-turquoise broad collar. At last she was released. Akhenaten wasn't smiling anymore, though. His eyes were bright with unshed tears as he watched the way ahead.
"You are my champion, little Nefertiti, my love. You alone can I trust never to surrender. You are my general of armies."
She smiled and kissed his cheek, only to be startled by another abrupt change of mood.
"And I'll reward you as you should be rewarded!"
"I need no more jewels, Akhenaten."
"No, not jewels, beloved." He beamed at her while he glanced at her head and neck. "No, you shall have an ornament befitting your warlike spirit. You, my queen, shall wear a war crown."
"But that is the crown worn by pharaoh," Nefertiti protested. "It is a battle symbol."
"That's why you shall wear one I design for you, my little warrior."
She knew better than to argue. Once an idea became fixed within his heart, Akhenaten tended to consider it a divine inspiration. She had grown in wisdom since marrying him. Far better to save her influence for persuading her husband to stop his newly appointed ministers from commandeering a whole granary full of wheat intended for the mortuary temples of Thebes.
Akhenaten glanced down at her again as they neared the quay where the royal barge waited to take them across the river to the palace. "Truly, Nefertiti, you grow in beauty and dignity each day."
She smiled at him. She had learned the art of appearing regal from Queen Tiye; her body was wrapped in gauze, electrum, and precious stones. Green malachite and kohl paint emphasized her eyes. Never did she forget her duty to be beautiful, for Akhenaten's affection was founded upon her appearance. Once, such knowledge would have dismayed her. Now she understood her husband better. To him, her beauty balanced his lack of it, and having so beautiful a wife enabled Akhenaten to say to the world, Look, this magnificent woman loves me; in her eyes I am worthy.
Nefertiti turned away to look at the Nile. Sometimes her heart hurt with pity for Akhenaten. His ka seemed to contain a lost and lonely little boy who never grew older, who never learned to master his pain, and who searched endlessly for relief. Being the wife of such a man was hard; being the wife of such a man who was also pharaoh seemed impossible. She grew weary of her role as his mooring rope, of the constant need to be strong and beautiful.
The chariot stopped, and Akhenaten conducted her to the royal barge through a sea of kneeling onlookers. Once they were on board the gilded vessel, it drifted majestically away from the quay. Nefertiti enjoyed standing at the rail and watching the river traffic. She and Akhenaten surveyed great oceangoing freighters, smaller river boats, the pleasure yachts with their trailing kitchen boats, and the swarm of fishing boats and tiny skiffs.
She glanced over her shoulder when she heard a shout. A boat was being rowed alongside the barge, and a priest of Aten scrambled up a rope to the deck. Carrying a leather document case, the man hurried to Akhenaten, folded his body, and touched his forehead to the deck.
"Ah, Penno, you've finished. Give them to me."
Nefertiti drew closer, wondering what could have been so urgent that the priest would chase after pharaoh in so hasty a manner. Akhenaten unrolled a long sheet of papyrus. She could see that most of the text consisted of lists. She glimpsed a section given to property in the delta. There was a whole page devoted to workshops and another to storehouses holding gifts and spoils of war. She glimpsed another papyrus devoted to property in Upper Egypt, including fields, herds of cattle, and goats. Another section listed personnel-overseers of estates, scribes, soldiers, herdsmen, and a vast array of artisans. A separate sheet detailed foreign possessions, from gold mines in Nubia to whole towns as far north as the Orontes River above Byblos. Nefertiti's gaze caught the number of orchards-over four hundred-the hundreds of thousands of head of livestock, the scores of ships, and the tens of thousands of laborers.
The sheets over which Akhenaten was poring had to be a compilation of the vast riches of the temple of Amun. It couldn't be an accounting of the possessions of the Aten temples, and pharaoh had more riches. Nefertiti turned away to gaze out at the setting sun. This list had been composed by Penno, a prophet of the Aten, not by the Second Prophet of Amun, to whom such an administrative task would have fallen ordinarily.
Why did Akhenaten need a separate list? She already knew the answer. Her husband had broken with Amun, denied his existence, true, but even Nefertiti hadn't guessed the extent of his ruthlessness toward the priests and the god who had defied him. Although the day's heat had yet to give way, she felt a chill spread over her body.
Akhenaten rolled the papyri and handed them to Penno with a satisfied smile. "Excellent. You may begin writing the decrees. My majesty will choose those who will oversee the transfers."
Penno bowed himself out of the royal presence. Nefertiti waited until he was out of hearing range, then dismissed the attendants who fanned them. Waving the royal bodyguards away, she linked her arm through Akhenaten's and gently pulled him next to her. They gazed out at the west bank. The barge was approaching the royal harbor, and she could see waiting ministers an
d the tiny figures of her daughters, dancing with impatience on the quay. There wasn't much time.
"Akhenaten, you're diverting the revenues of Amun?"
"Of course," he replied as he waved at their daughters. "Did I not say I would?"
"I hadn't realized your decision was set."
Akhenaten looked down at her with a slightly hurt expression. "After your zeal on my behalf, are you surprised? You said-"
"I have no patience with those who offend you, my husband."
She was rewarded with a royal smile.
"However-" The royal smile vanished, but she continued. "However, if you close the workshops, transfer the fields and orchards, divert all the revenues, many will suffer."
"The priests of Amun have had the benefit of my majesty's patience for years," Akhenaten snapped. "They'll have it no longer."
Here was the test of her diplomacy. "Of course, husband.But it isn't only a question of the priests. There are the families of the priests."
"They should have considered that before defying me."
"Perhaps, but then there are the artisans, the field laborers, the scribes, the-"
"They can work for the Aten."
"Some, perhaps, but there are only a few Aten temples, and they won't be able to use all the labor of those displaced." Akhenaten's face was growing stiff with resistance, so she hurried. "Think of the thousands upon thousands of people who will be cast out, and with them their families and those who served them. Each pr-each worker represents many more who will suffer."
Akhenaten pulled his arm free and confronted her. "All must learn the price of defying pharaoh. By the Aten! Never was a pharaoh so disobeyed. That's why I'm building my new city. I need a place of truth, unsullied by the abominations and falsehoods with which Thebes and Memphis are contaminated."
"This is true, husband, but in withdrawing to the new city, you cause great disruption to those left behind. What will happen to the people of Memphis once pharaoh's patronage is diverted to this place where no city ever was?"
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