The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle (25 page)

XXXIX

Ptahemhat shot a quick glance over his shoulder and then hurried along the street, taking care to keep on the shadowed side even in the moonless night. He should be back in his own bed but he would not be able to rest until he had spoken with Lord Nebamun and heard from the Second Prophet's own lips that all was well.

He was at a break in the wall; he could see the dry, twisted shapes of dead trees beyond it bordering an arcaded walkway in what must once have been a beautiful garden.

He heard the measured beat of feet approaching along the packed ground; he flattened himself against the broken, irregular stones of the wall until the patrol passed, then leaned forward to frown after them. They were Royal Army: some of Seti's boys. Ptahemhat compared them with his own command and shook his head with disgust. Swaggering baboons!

He crossed the garden, passed through the arcade to the core of the house itself, and then stopped to raise his head into the faint night wind and gaze around. The house was silent and dark. No lamplight warmed the walls or spilled across the broken pavement.

“Your Grace?” His voice was almost breathless in the night.

No answer. Ptahemhat went into the house and moved through empty, graciously large rooms bare of furniture or hangings. Dark doorways yawned before him; he passed them with pounding heart and quickened footsteps. A stairway opened to the right and he could see the faint shimmer of starlight filtering down from the rooftop. Light and air after the close darkness of the house.

He began to climb the steps.

The stairway opened to a wide balcony that overlooked the rooftops of the city and, to the north, channeled the eye to the towering lines of the Northern Sentinels. Ptahemhat looked around the starlit expanse of terrace, suddenly caught by the feeling that he was not alone. He moved away from the doorway and out under the stars.

He looked along the terrace.  A lidded basket sat beside a chair, at the edge, facing the towering lines of the Northern Sentinels touched with silver by the high-riding moon.  He looked away from the cliffs.  Threads of silver seemed to outline the form of a man, richly robed, his hands clasping a cup that glinted in the starlight.  His face was raised toward the cliffs, the strengthening moonlight limning his features - familiar and yet not so.  Tears traced the lines of his cheekbones; as Ptahemhat watched he raised the cup to his lips
.  Ah, my son…

The words were barely above the sigh of the wind.

The man raised his eyes to Ptahemhat… 

Like and yet unlike
-Ptahehmat thought, confused. 
…and so terribly sad–

The threads of starlight raveled, faded as he watched, leaving the faint outline of the basket, real in the night.

Ptahemhat gasped and took a step backward.  “Your Grace?” he said again. His voice sounded small, shaken and lonely in the vast silence of the night.

Had someone spoken? He strained his ears but caught no lingering echoes, though his mind brought up, all unbidden, his memories of his father's tomb, that he had seen during his funeral. He could remember the impassive statues gazing into blackness, the wide-eyed coffins nested each within the next, and all shut away from the light of day within a womb of rock. And he remembered how Lord Nebamun had held and comforted the eight year old child that he had been. It seemed so distant, so faint, as though His Grace himself were now dead.

Ptahemhat wrenched himself away from the thought. “Your Grace!” he cried. “Your
Grace!
M-my Father–? Are you here?”

He heard no immediate answer, but he felt another behind him as clearly as though he had heard someone speak,. He turned, his heart pounding, to face the man who gazed at him, as still and calm in the starlight as the man he had seemed to see. 
Like and yet unlike…
  All that Ptahemhat could make out was shadow and silver and the glint of light upon a carved jewel that hung at the man's breast. He took a hesitant step backward, his mouth dry—

“Ptahemhat.” The name was spoken quietly, as though the speaker were naming an item to be remembered.”

“Your Grace?” he gasped.

“Yes,” the other said after the slightest of wondering pauses. “That is my title now.” The calm, detached voice warmed a little. “Come sit down beside me, Ptahu, and tell me why you're here.” he said. “It is late and you look sleepy and a little furtive. I was caught in the past. It will be good to speak with the living again.” He added with a smile, “I see they released you.”

“Yes, My Father,” Ptahemhat said, lowering himself to the ground beside Lord Nebamun's chair. He leaned back and said, “I spoke to Commander Khonsu and then to Father Perineb. They told me I couldn't talk to you.”

Nebamun's frown flashed for a moment. “And you disobeyed them both and came to see me anyway. Shame on you! I thought you were a better soldier than that! You obey your superiors unless there's a compelling reason not to! Don't do it again!”

Ptahemhat lowered his head. “I'm sorry. I'll apologize tomorrow.”

“Do so.”

“Yes, sir.” Ptahemhat paused. “Y-you look well.”

“I am perfectly well, as you can see,” Nebamun said with the glint of a smile.

“But Master Sennefer said that you were in seclusion,” Ptahemhat pursued with the feeling that he was making a pest of himself.

“I suppose there's some truth to that,” Nebamun said. “But the proper wording is that I am being
kept
in seclusion.”

The Second Prophet's voice was quiet and amused, but Ptahemhat sensed a hint of danger in the even tones. It made him afraid for reasons he could not understand. He shivered suddenly.

Nebamun's expression softened. “Sit back and tell me about yourself, Ptahu. I am sure you're glad to be out of prison.”

“Yes,” Ptahemhat said fervently. “I don't like being thought a criminal.”

“It isn't comfortable,” Nebamun agreed. “And in your case it was unnecessary. Tell me, Ptahu, between ourselves: what were you doing the night Paser was killed?” He smiled as Ptahemhat stiffened. “It was the girl, wasn't it? You were with her that night.”

“That— Oh hell, I might have known you'd guess! Do you ever miss anything? Yes, it was her. I saw her that night. We didn't do anything wrong. I want to marry her, but who'd believe me with her so lovely?”

Nebamun rumpled Ptahemhat's hair. “I would.”

Ptahemhat looked up at him with a wide smile and took the Second Prophet's hand between his own. “Yes, you would. But not everyone's so understanding. Anyhow, it would be the end of her good name. She comes from a priestly family. Don't lift your eyebrows at me like that! They're proud and they're proper! Sebnit agreed to marry me, but she can't do anything until I offer for her, and I want my mother's permission first.”

“That's why you wanted to go to Memphis,” Nebamun mused. “You might have told me: I am your guardian, after all, and I think her family would have accepted my authority.”

“Mother would have been hurt if I hadn't told her. And Sebnit made me promise to speak with Mother first.”

“Did she, now?” Nebamun said. “She sounds like a delightful girl.”

Ptahemhat's smile gentled. “Oh, she is, Your Grace! Good and sweet-tempered, with a sense of humor that reminds me of Aunt Mayet!”

“If she's like my wife, Ptahu, you have found a treasure,” Nebamun said. “See you hold on to her.” He smiled down at the young man and said, “Well, your troubles are all over now, aren't they?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Ptahemhat said dubiously.

“You seem a little doubtful.”

“They said they released me because they had no proof against me. They act as though I really killed Paser, but I didn't! No one will believe me!”

Nebamun stretched his legs out before him and crossed them. “Of course you didn't kill Paser. And they know you didn't because I told them that I am the one who killed him.”

Ptahemhat stared, his increasing sleepiness forgotten in his astonishment. “
You
killed him?” he repeated.

“Yes,” said Nebamun. “Me. I'd do it again with the best will in the world if the opportunity presented itself, but I think I might use a bow and arrow the next time.” He looked up at Ptahemhat and lifted his eyebrows at the young man's dumbfounded expression. “Well?” he said.

“I can't believe that it was Your Grace of all people who killed Paser!”

“The others had the same problem,” said Nebamun. “It is sobering to think that I appear as feeble as all that. Maybe I should shave my head and hobble about with a stick.”

“Will they send you to trial?” Ptahemhat demanded. “No, never say so! I'll go to them and confess—”

Nebamun sat back and crossed his ankles. “Don't be a fool, he advised. “I won't go to trial. All will be well.”

“All will—” Ptahemhat began, astonished. “No! This time it won't! They were going to press charges against me! And I denied everything! But you admitted— Your Grace, this is terrible! If I could tell Prince Thutmose, or Father Perineb—”

“We'll leave my father-in-law and His Reverence out of this,” Nebamun said crisply, but with the hint of a smile. “It would worry them to no purpose. Matters have been taken care of. I won't be tried, wait and see.”

“But how—”

“Don't ask questions I can't answer.”

“You always say that.” Ptahemhat was happier now. He sat back with a sigh. “Why did you kill him?”

“He left me no other choice.”

Ptahemhat considered the answer and judged it sufficient. “But you aren't sick?”

“No, not sick,” Nebamun replied.

“But the house is dark!”

Nebamun had turned his eyes northeast. “I'm waiting for the sun. It comes through those cliffs… Magnificent.”

Ptahemhat hesitated and then gazed northeast as well, toward the Northern Sentinels. His eyes were growing heavier; he leaned his head against Nebamun's knee after a moment. “I'm sorry I made such an ass of myself,” he said at last through a yawn. “I never meant to cause you any trouble.”

“It is hard to suffer slander with a smile. I know that as well as anyone. Paser brought out the worst in you. But you caused me no trouble. It was merely a question of deciding whether to tell the truth, and that never takes long. Never mind, Ptahu, all will be well.”

Ptahemhat closed his eyes and felt sleep washing over him in slow, dark waves. “I don't understand why I'm so tired,” he yawned.

Nebamun smiled down at him for a moment and then looked toward the Northern Sentinels once more. “There's nothing to understand,” he said. “You have been under a strain; you're a healthy young man, and nature has caught up with you. Be glad you can sleep: age tends to steal that gift away.”

Ptahemhat opened blurred eyes and tried to raise his head. He relaxed after a moment and closed his eyes once more with a sigh.

Nebamun folded his hands in his lap and watched the strengthening glint of sun just emerging through the opening in the Northern Sentinels. “How young you are, Ptahu,” he mused with the hint of a smile, “though I'd never be unkind enough to say it while you were awake to hear me. I remember when I was as young as you, how it seemed that the world lay waiting for my touch to rouse it to glory.”

He fell silent, gazing straight into the sun. “I learned to ignore my dreams And yet sometimes I still feel the longing, and I wonder if I have the resolve and courage to follow them.”

Ptahemhat stirred and murmured. Nebamun eased him down to the pavement and settled his light cloak over him. “Your mother would never forgive me if I let you freeze out here,” he said wryly. “Nor would the spirit of your father, who entrusted you to my care as he died. Now sleep; you have little enough to worry you, and there's no need for you to know the terrible matters that are worrying me.”

XL

“I should have guessed you'd disobey as soon as my back was turned! You went straight off to worry His Grace after you were specifically ordered not to, and you have heard things that were supposed to be kept secret.” Khonsu said the next morning. He had been speaking with Sennefer when Ptahemhat reported to him.

“Since I'm not under your command, I'm not obliged to obey you,” Ptahemhat pointed out with a touch of defiance, “And His Grace told me what he thought I should know.”

“As the commander of the Army force for this Province, my lad,” Khonsu said, “and as the officer who is directing the investigation of a murder, my authority supersedes yours and General Seti's. The next time I give you an order, it had better be obeyed.”

Ptahemhat stiffened and scowled at Khonsu, but then surprised him by suddenly grinning. “Oh, all right. I'm sorry. I was out of line and His Grace told me so, too. He clipped my ears, in fact, and insisted that I apologize: which I do now, sincerely. But there was no harm done, and His Grace was glad to see me. And besides, His Grace didn't seem worried to me.”

“His Grace wasn't worried because His Grace is an idiot!” Sennefer snapped.

Ptahemhat's expression hardened. “I won't have you or anyone else speaking of His Grace like that, Sennefer. You don't need to worry about him. He knows what he's doing, and he's confident everything will work out.”

“Is that what he told you?” Khonsu asked.

“Yes, Commander.”

“I see,” said Khonsu. “Did he explain anything to you?”

Ptahemhat shook his head. “His Grace never explains things, Commander. He just told me not to ask questions he couldn't answer. He's been saying that to me since I came to his household as a child after my father died.”

Khonsu's habitual smile stiffened. “You say he often uses that turn of phrase?” he said.

“Yes, Commander,” Ptahemhat replied. “Always. It's useless to coax or plead with him, because he never says anything more after that.”

Khonsu released his breath in a sigh. “That's interesting to hear. And it's gratifying to learn that His Grace isn't uneasy. For myself, I can't stop worrying, and I don't see any way out.”

“Forget it, Commander,” Ptahemhat said. “When His Grace says all will be well, he's usually right. He doesn't take unnecessary risks: he scouts the situation, formulates a strategy, and then follows it. If he needs to change, he can think on his feet like every other soldier.”

Khonsu had been listening with half his attention. He blinked, swung round and stared at Ptahemhat. “Did you say he'd been a soldier?” he demanded.

“I'm sure of it. I asked him once if he had been in the armies, and his reply was to tell me not to ask questions he couldn't answer.”

“Well, then,” Sennefer began.

“Wait. Lord Nebamun knew my father, and they were good enough friends for him to take my mother and me into his household after my father died. But I'd never met His Grace until then, and my father had never been to the temple of Ptah. He was a career officer in the royal army, and had been since he was a boy. The only way that my father and Lord Nebamun could have met was through the army.”

Khonsu was listening with his brows knit. “I...see.”

“And there's something else you may not know,” Ptahemhat said. “Master Mersu tells me he knew both my father and His Grace for many years.”

“That's impossible!” Sennefer snorted. “Mersu only came to the temple ten years ago! He was at Akhmin before that!”

“Nevertheless, that's what he has often told me when he was in his cups.” He smiled back at Khonsu. “But when I asked Lord Nebamun, he said they were issues he isn't allowed to discuss, so I just left them alone. He says all will be well, and I believe him. Now, Commander: may I go back to my men?”

“Go with my blessing,” Khonsu said, but absently. When Ptahemhat started to leave, he stopped him. “Wait. Do you recall where Paser was going, what he was doing during the week before his death?”

Ptahemhat considered before answering. “I had him watched during the week before he was caught stealing. I thought he was dangerous. He spent a lot of time exploring the northeast cliffs, where the tombs are said to be. Once he was reduced in the ranks and under your control, I didn't think it necessary.”

“The northern cliffs, you say?”

“Yes, Commander,” Ptahemhat replied. “He spent a long time driving around there, and once or twice he remained after it grew dark and my scouts couldn't see him any more.”

“Thank you, Ptahemhat.”

Ptahemhat smiled, bowed to Khonsu, and left.

“Insolent puppy!” Sennefer snorted. “He has no manners! I remember circumcising him!”

Khonsu felt a twinge of laughter, which he sternly repressed. “He's no longer the boy you circumcised. Tell me, Master Physician. When did Lord Nebamun come to the temple of Ptah?”

“Almost twenty-five years ago, by all reports,” said Sennefer. “It was in the second year of the reign of Tutankhamun.”

“Tutankh
aten
,” Khonsu mused.

**   **   **

“If you think it may shed some light, Commander,” Seti said later as they drove together through the Northern Sentinels and took the wide branch of path that led toward the northern track, “then I won't object. But this may turn out to be a waste of time.”

“It may,” Khonsu said, shaking out the reins and urging his horses to a trot. “But I can't ignore the inkling, and if I'm right we may have a way out of our dilemma.”

“And if you're wrong, we'll both look fools,” Seti remarked. “I remember the last time we went this way: we ended up being soaked and humiliated.”

“We were led into a trap,” Khonsu said, guiding his team through the spot where the hooded driver had raced past them. “And I suspect it was a trap meant to divert us from something.”

He reined his team in and frowned up along the cliffs. It was not far from there that his horses had bolted on the afternoon he had encountered Nebamun and had visited the tomb of Akhenaten.

“We're almost there,” he said. “There's a place where the cliffs rise from a completely level area, and they're riddled with paths.”

“What are we looking for?” Seti demanded.

Khonsu was still frowning at the cliffs. “We're looking for a tomb,” he said.