The City of Refuge: The Memphis Cycle, #1

By D M Wilder

Once the glory of Akhenaten's reign, the imperial city of Akhet-Aten now lies tangled in the raveled ends of old plots; wrecked, abandoned and rumored to be cursed.

When Commander Khonsu is assigned to escort a royal delegation to the deserted capital to investigate reopening its quarries, he finds the task anything but routine, beginning with the expedition's leader, Lord Nebamun, the second ranking priest of Ptah.  Nebamun is a man without a past who has no fear of ghosts, curses or the damned spirits said to prowl the surrounding hills and scream in the night.

As Khonsu watches the man move through the echoes of old strife and treachery, he begins to realize that Lord Nebamun has come to put the spirits of the city to rest once and for all, whatever the cost to himself.   But the question that grips Khonsu, as the shadows thicken and the threat intensifies, is whether Nebamun might be a danger to them all.

The City of Refuge, set in Egypt after the fall of Akhenaten, is a tale of revenge and renewal, and one man's discovery that the Paths of Righteousness may lie through peril, but they will always bring you home.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D M Wilder
• Release date: Mar 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524285197

D M Wilder

Diana Wilder was born in Philadelphia and grew up all around the United States courtesy of the United States Navy. Perhaps because of the Irish in her, she liked to weave stories for her own enjoyment about the people she met and the places she saw during her travels. She graduated from the University of North Carolina with a degree in ancient and medieval history and experience in journalism.   Her love of storytelling developed into a love of writing. She wrote her first novella, based on Kamehameha’s Hawaii, in middle school. She started writing novels in graduate school and has produced four novels set in New Kingdom Egypt: The City of Refuge, Mourningtide, Pharaoh’s Son and A Killing Among the Dead, all part of The Memphis Cycle.  Another volume, set after Mourningtide and prior to Pharaoh’s Son, will be published under the name Kadesh.    The heartbreak and gallantry of the American Civil war has always caught her imagination, and she served as a Docent in the Civil War Library and Museum in Philadelphia for some years. The Safeguard arose from her research into the Georgia theater of the war.   You can read sample chapters of all these books, published and projected, can be read on her website, www.dianawilderauthor.com.

Book preview

D M Wilder

BOOKS BY D M WILDER

THE MEMPHIS CYCLE:

City of Refuge

Mourningtide

Pharaoh's Son:

A Killing Among the Dead

PARIS, 1834

The Orphan's Tale, Book I

THE AMERICAN CIVIL War:

The Safeguard, A Novel of Georgia in 1864

DISCLAIMER

This book is a work of fiction and imagination.   While some of the characters in this story can be found in history, their personalities and actions are the product of my own imagination and are not meant to be taken as statements or depictions of historical fact.

LIST OF CHARACTERS

AKHENATEN..............Pharaoh of the XVIIIth Dynasty

Akhet-Aten.............Akhenaten’s capitol city

Aten......................The sun-disk

Hatshepset..............Khonsu’s sister

Horemheb...............Pharaoh

Huni......................Mayor of Khebet

Huy......................Pharaoh who reigned before Ay

Karoya...................Khonsu’s second at Akhet-Aten

Khonsu..................Commander of the Army of the 15th Nome

Mersu....................Master Sculptor

Nakht....................Vizier of Egypt under Akhenaten

Neb-Aten...............Son of Nakht

Nebamun................Second ranking priest of Ptah

Nehesi...................Master Quarryman

Paser.....................Commander of Ptah’s Temple Guard

Ptahemhat...............Captain of Nebamun’s personal guard

Rahu.....................Royal Messenger

Ramesses...............General of the Armies

Sennefer.................Master-Surgeon

Seti.......................Son of Ramesses; General

Sherit....................Khonsu’s daughter

Sitra......................Youngest daughter of Nebamun

Thutmose...............Prince; High Priest of Ptah, brother of Akhenaten

Udjat.....................Amulet in the shape of the eye of Horus

Chapter One

The City of Akhet-Aten

Reign of Tutankhamun, Year Two

THE MIDNIGHT WIND WHISPERED through the clefts in the rock with the sound of distant voices.  The man gazed down on the river curving away to the southeast like a road of silver gleaming in the starlight.  His team of horses was tethered on the crest of the hill behind him; he heard the jingle of harness as one of them shook its head and stamped.

He drew his cloak closer about himself.  Was he a fool to wait here? He shivered and lowered his head to gaze again at the city, far below.  Perhaps.  What other weapon had he? Now it was growing late, and every moment was precious.

My Lord?

His hand clenched about the amulet at his neck as he looked up to the man silhouetted against the stars.  He spoke calmly over the sudden pounding of his heart.  You come late.  Did he send his reply?

He did, my lord.  He said 'So be it'.

The man turned away, one hand to his throat, staring unseeingly down over the cliffs.  'So be it'? It couldn't be true! The other was watching him as he turned back.  "Did you tell him all that I said?"

He wouldn't listen, my lord.  He turned and left as I was speaking.

The man covered his face.  Oh, my son...

The other watched him.  I have carried out my charge.  The result was unfortunate, but that is not my fault.  Do you have my payment?

The man extended his arm, to show a heavy gold bracelet that encased his forearm from the wrist a third of the way to the elbow.  He removed the clasping pin and opened it.

The other took the bracelet and turned it in his hands, scowling at it in the starlight.

The man watched him with an ironic smile.  How could you, of all people, believe that I would cheat you? There is the king's name, and the mark of your teeth from yesterday.  Match your teeth to it and see that they fit.

The other looked up.  Forgive me, my lord, but these are desperate times.

Perhaps, the man said.  But even in desperate times I refuse to behave desperately.  Go quickly now.  If Pharaoh's guards catch you here on this errand, it will go hard with you and I won't be able to protect you.

The other looked up from the bracelet that he was settling on his wrist.  I am sorry, my lord.

Don't be, said the man.  It is for me to mend matters as well as I may.  Go while it is safe.

He watched the other pass over the spine of the hills.  Hooves sounded a moment later, fading away northward.

He waited a little longer alone under the stars.  When the sound was gone, he moved through a natural gateway and stepped into a torchlit chamber hewn into the rock of the hillside.

The torch caught bright colors, lapis blue, malachite green, and the glint of gold.  A lavish feast was sculpted on the walls deeper into the room, past a gallery of pillars depicting the gods.

The sculptor had done a splendid job.  Tables piled with food of every type, fruits, fresh-baked breads, haunches of beef, grilled fish... Wine stood in tall jars, filled cups were raised everywhere.  He moved down the ranks of guests, the carved and painted features of those who had once been his friends.  He turned a shoulder to the smooth, shallow faces and lowered his eyes to the form of a little boy crouching beneath his chair, one arm tucked around the neck of a large, gray cat, the other holding his father about the ankle.  The man's somber face lightened in a smile as his mind superimposed the living features of his grown son upon the child's skillfully carved face.

It was too late for him, he thought, touching the boy's painted cheek with gentle fingertips.  But not for his son.  This night's work was his only hope of turning him from a disastrous course that would destroy him.  Maybe one day the lad would be able to understand and forgive.

Midnight was long past; dawn was approaching.  He drew a shaking breath and looked back over his shoulder at the tomb entry.  He should leave.

But he lingered a moment to gaze upon the chests of garments, the beds hung and padded with finest linen, the boxes filled with his jewels and, there in the corner, one holding the collection of silver cups, chased with scenes of animals and flowers, gracefully fluted and glinting in the glow of the torches as though they had been cast of moonlight.  They had been a gift from the king of the Hittites to him, personally, as Vizier of the realm.

He opened the box and took one of the cups, remembering all the feasts where he had drunk wine from it.  Now Hatti was the mightiest power in the Levant, while he- But he paused, remembering.  Perhaps one more drink.  In celebration...

He tucked the cup into the breast of his tunic, selected a jar of the finest wine, and lifted it into the crook of his arm.  Yes, one last toast would be proper.  He went outside again to his chariot

THE ROYAL ROAD LAY ruined in the starlight, the, spacious courtyards bordering it all empty now, the statues of the king smashed and scattered.  The eyes of his memory filled the road with cheering people, their bright garments and jewels glinting in the sun that flashed from the diadem on the king's brow.  He saw again the long jawed, aquiline face he had once loved.  How many times had his king and cousin stood in that spot and showered him with the gold of honor while the court applauded? And what had happened to all the applauders now that the king had gone into the west leaving others to salvage the wreckage of his empire?

The streets were silent and cloaked with the night once more, the Window of Appearances empty and dark.  He shook the reins; the horses moved into a smooth trot that whirled him along with frightening speed toward the end of his journey.

His house lay silent as he approached, but a figure detached itself from the shadows and came forward to take hold of the horses' bridle as the man drew the team to a halt.  You are late, my lord! Pharaoh's guards came to ask after you twice this evening.  I said you would return, and they thought about it and left.  They will come again in the morning.

The man handed the reins to his Major-Domo.  I am sorry, Neterkhet.  All will be settled in the morning: General Horemheb himself has promised. He stepped down from the chariot.  Is the basket on the balcony?"

Yes, my lord, Neterkhet replied.  But I-

Very good, the man said.  He read the question in Neterkhet's eyes.  My son's reply was 'so be it.' He is pursuing a course of mad folly.  There is nothing else that I can do.  Walk the horses to their stables, deliver your message, and then go to bed, yourself.  I won't require your services any more.

Neterkhet started to turn away.  A moment later he was on his knees with the other's hand clasped between his, tears spilling down his cheeks.  My dearest lord- he began, If you could only wait—

I had to choose between saving my son or myself, and I have made my choice.  You're needed elsewhere.  Now go with all the gods and do what you have been charged to do. He added, And keep yourself safe for your mistress' sake and mine.

Neterkhet wept as he pushed slowly to his feet.  The man watched him leave, then turned and went into the house.

He moved silently through the chambers he had once shared with his wife, climbed a short flight of steps and came out to a loggia that opened to a view of the high cliffs lying to the northeast, forming a gateway to the city.  A gilded chair had been drawn up facing the east.  A rush basket, securely tied with a cord and sealed with a pinch of clay, rustled and shifted slightly as he touched it.  He set the jar of wine beside the chair.  The sky was paling to the east.

He removed his cloak and shook out his robe.  The pleats had survived the long night, and while his sandals were dusty, they were still splendid.  A moment's work with a comb set his hair in order.  He opened the small box by the door, took out the four golden collars of honor and set them carefully about his neck.

Almost time.

He lifted the jar of wine, broke the clay seal and removed the plug of rushes.  The wine chimed softly as it filled the silver cup.

He drained the cup, savoring the taste as the questions came crowding around him.

Was he responsible for the disasters of the past reign, as his enemies said? He had done his best.  Were he not concerned with the rescue of another, he might have waited to see if his star would ascend once more.  As it was, he had no time.  He had made arrangements with the most honorable and steadfast of his remaining friends: his only son, whom he loved more than life, would be safely settled under the powerful protection of a great lord, but saving him from the results of his disastrous folly required that he sacrifice his own life.

He poured a last measure of wine and set the jar aside.  He leaned forward and broke the seal on the basket, loosening the knot with shaking hands.  He set the lid aside, his right hand clenched about the carnelian amulet at his neck.

He heard the rustling again, like a faint breeze, and watched as a hint of movement within the shadows resolved itself into the glint of growing dawn upon a sleek head set with unblinking dark eyes.

He sat back.

The head reared up above the rim of the basket, the eyes fixed on his.

He lifted the wine to his lips.  The head swayed, lowered to the basket rim.  The long, lithe body flowed smoothly down over the rough weave like a stream of wine trickling across a bed of gravel.

The head raised again as he set the cup down and reached toward it.  The body lashed backward with a hiss as the hood distended.

The man flinched, mastered himself, and moved his hand toward the swaying head.  A flash of movement almost too swift to be seen left two marks on the webbing of his thumb.  The head turned, lowered-

No, he said.  Come back to me.  I still have need of you- He gasped at another quick stab of pain to his forearm, but held the snake by the body and drew it toward him.  Once more, he said.  Then we are quit of each other.

He broke the cobra's neck with a quick twist of hands that were beginning to lose their strength.  "There.  Now you shall harm no one else.

His lips were slightly numb, and the periphery of his vision seemed to be darkening.  He sighed, closed his eyes and drifted.  He had not thought death would be so gentle.  But all was settled, and those he loved would be safe.

An eternity seemed to pass, marked by the slowing beat of his heart.  The stab of grief at his son's answer had ebbed when he opened his eyes again.  There was treachery somewhere: his son would never have consented to his father's death.  It was past mending for him, but the boy was intelligent.  He would sort it all out in time, and until then he would be safe.

For well or ill, it will soon be over, he whispered through stiffening lips.  The treasure I am gaining is worth the price.  And, let them say what they may, I was Vizier of Egypt.

He closed his eyes and opened them some time later to watch the sun's birth through the Gateway to the North, his eyes dazzled by the light in his gathering darkness, his mind filled with the carved image of his son sitting beneath his father's chair and cuddling the family cat as a great state feast proceeded about him.

Chapter Two

Twenty-Five Years Later:

The City of Akhet-Aten

Reign of Horemheb, Year Thirteen

THE CLIFFS LOOMED OPPRESSIVE as the memory of fevered dreams.  The afternoon sun had transformed them into a landscape of beaten brass.  The wind, wailing through the narrow valleys, carried no breath of coolness.

The man shivered despite the heat of the sun and drew his light cloak closer about himself.  He turned south toward the city and became, for that moment, the ambitious young man who had seized an opportunity and wrenched fate to his will, winning power and wealth as he did. 

The ruined city lay far away below the cliffs, cradled in the green valley nurtured by the Nile.  A ridge of rock hid the ruins from his sight, but he could feel its presence through the stone like the blows of a chisel.  The eye of his mind gave those blows substance and shape, cutting through the glare and the heat to recall the city bathed in starlight and swept by a cold wind on the night he seized his opportunity and turned fate in his favor.  The cost had been high.  And yet...  That night's work had brought him to princely riches...

He had forgotten that night over the past twenty-five years as a conqueror forgets the wars he has fought.  The years had passed.  The young man who had stood there was older now, armored by the past years' successes.  But now the strife was in his mind once more, and the fear.  The memory of the starlight, the wind, and the darkness combined with the terrible reality of the whine and thud of the arrows pursuing him.  Arrows that had been fletched by a long-forgotten hand, bearing messages written by one who had been in his grave, swathed in linen and sheeted in rock, for years.

That first arrow and its message from the dead had brought the memories back.  His hands shook as he slid two fingers beneath his belt and drew out a tattered scrap of papyrus bearing a line of writing set down in faded ink.  The characters were distinctive; the writer had been a splendid scribe and a better archer.

There had to be a trick.  His hands shaking with fear and fury, he read the writing and then crumpled the papyrus and flung it away from him.  It broke and scattered into light flakes, caught by a swirl of wind and spun away down the cliff.

The rising tide of anger braced him; he growled a curse and strode to the edge of the cliff to glare down at the city.  He blinked away the shadows of his memories and forced himself to see the city for the decayed heap of mud brick and stone rubble that it really was.  Wrecked, ruined, decayed, and yet a rich mine for those who knew how to work it properly.

Sometimes the greatest profit is found in death, he thought, and it made him smile.  His fingers smoothed the heavy curve of his armlet in a motion made meaningless after years of repetition.  He was a fool to let himself be frightened by the shadows of past deeds when the present held so much.

The sound of hurrying feet turned his thoughts from death, treachery and profit.  He stared down along the path leading across the cliff face.  The track wound back and forth up the cliff walls from the quarry opening, switching back three times before reaching the top.  The lad was coming toward him.  He folded his arms and waited as the young man negotiated the final turn before pausing breathlessly on the slight ledge below him.

Well? he said.

It is done, Father, the young man said.  Everything is in place near the city, ready to go at a moment's notice.

The older man nodded.  What of the quarry?

We are ready, replied the younger man.  The priesthood of Ptah is coming to dig at Akhet-Aten: they will find they've dug up more than they bargained for.

The words made a shiver trail upward along the man's spine, but he nodded, his broad face impassive in the glare.  I just hope you did it right, he said.

We dug good and deep, never fear, the younger man assured him.  He smiled and repeated the words, Good and deep. When the older man remained silent he added, I went into the city itself this morning.

The older man's brows drew together.

Yes, continued the younger man.  Into its heart, where the grand palaces are.  You may be afraid, but I'm not! I discussed it with our friend in Memphis during my visit a month ago.  He insisted I look and report to him.  Well, I looked. His eyes shone.  There's more gold than you remember, Father! Wealth enough for all of us to live in ease forever.  If you'll come with me this moment I can show—

"No!"

Hear me out! The gold is on the walls, it only needs to be scraped loose, or melted with a torch!

No! he said again.  A flash of lighter color against the cliff caught the older man's eye; a papyrus fragment pinned to the rock by the wind.  The sight made the breath catch in the back of his throat as he thought once more of deep-buried, perilous things, long hidden in the darkness, brought back terribly to life by those who dug too deeply in the debris of the past.

He shook the thought from his mind and took the three steps that brought him out, overlooking the city.  Gold, his son had said.  Gold for the taking, gold to make them all wealthier even than they were.  It only needed to be taken from the walls.  By others, not by him.  Never by him.

Chapter Three

The City of Khemnu

THE SUN GLINTED FROM brown flesh, brightly dyed cloth and jewelry of burnished metals and many colored faience.  The air was heavy with the scent of flowers and food cooked especially for the occasion.  The city of Khemnu had turned out to witness the arrival of the force from Memphis, bound for the ruined city of Akhet-Aten under the command of Lord Nebamun.  He was second in power only to the High Priest of Ptah.  The worship of Ptah, the chief god of the ancient city of Memphis, was powerful in Egypt.

Khonsu, Commander of the Army of the Fifteenth Province of Egypt, stood at the entrance to the palace of the Governor, awaiting the arrival of the priestly party, his mind awhirl with plans and a touch of unease.

So the Governor told you only last week, said Kheti, his second-in-command.  Hard luck for you, being assigned to escort His Grace to that ghost town with your little girl so sick still, and your wife— He flushed and fell silent.

Khonsu shrugged with a good imitation of nonchalance.  He was a dark-eyed man in his mid-thirties, with quirky brows and a mouth bracketed by lines of laughter.  His expression was grim at the moment.  His Lordship has reasons for everything, he said.  It's fitting for me to escort such an important visitor. He paused, remembering the deserted city lying shadowed and ominous in its bowl of land by the river.

I wonder what he's like, said Kheti.

I tried to investigate his background when I was given this assignment, Khonsu said.  He can't be traced through his name or his patronymic: Nebamun and Nakht are too common.  It's impossible to sort them out.  From my information, the man appeared to be Upper Egyptian.  He must have been in the army at one time: he's known to be an excellent charioteer and a master archer.  I wonder how he came to be at the temple of Ptah.

Kheti frowned and shook his head.

He's the High Priest's son-in-law and heir, Khonsu said.  If he's leading this expedition, the High Priest must consider the venture important enough to require the supervision of a close kinsman. As he frequently did since given this assignment, Khonsu wondered again about what exactly was so vital about this mysterious mission.

The cheers increased with the approaching roar of trumpets and the throb of drums.

A carefully groomed child, standing by the roadside and clutching a huge armful of lotuses and marguerites, shifted his feet and stared down along the road.

Khonsu gazed with unseeing eyes as he reviewed his assignment once more.  Puzzle was piled upon puzzle, and he could not shake off a strange premonition about this entire expedition.  They were going to the Heretic's deserted city.  Khonsu had been raised on tales of horror centering on the place.  The Heretic's cousin and Vizier, another Nakht, had presided over the dismantling of some of its larger buildings in the second year of Tutankhamun's reign.  Prince Nakht, facing scandal and ruin, killed himself at Akhet-Aten.  The dismantling was abandoned after his death.  Khonsu was certain a fair amount of treasure had been left behind.

Khonsu’s assignment was to escort the Second Prophet and his retinue to the abandoned city.  He had two weeks to select the soldiers he judged steadiest, most of whom were sent south a week before to set up a garrison under the command of one of his top lieutenants.  Khonsu had received word the previous evening that they had reached the city in good time, and were busy clearing away some of the clutter and preparing suitable lodgings.

Khonsu blinked as a line of trumpeters and drummers passed him, followed by a phalanx of white-robed priests who moved down the processional way in time to the beat of the drums.  Gold bracelets glinted in the sun.  One of the priests, walking at their head, wore a fillet and sidelock of gold about his shaven head.

That's him! Kheti exclaimed.

Khonsu frowned and looked more closely.  No, he said after a moment's thought.  "This one's too young.  I don't think he'd be much use in a fight.  The Governor said He's in his fifties and seems like a soldier."

You're right, agreed Kheti.  But this one's got some seniority, I'd say.

Khonsu and Kheti turned back to gaze down the road.

The cries of the crowd increased as a heavily armed escort swung into view: close-combat infantry bearing long, two-handed mace axes and curved swords of bronze glinting red in the sun.  Heavy wooden shields, bound with spotted bull hide and bearing a representation of the triple-headed staff that was the symbol of the cult of Ptah, were slung over their backs by straps of heavy leather.  Khonsu sized them up with the knowing eye of a veteran soldier.  Businesslike, he said.

The soldiers were followed by a light, elegant chariot drawn by a matched pair of cream-maned sorrel stallions.  The driver, a young man in his twenties, wore a leather corselet sewn with bronze scales, and a helmet with a gold-inlaid browband.  The man standing beside him was in his early fifties, calm-faced and self-contained.  This man had the bearing of a soldier.  He wore crisply pleated, spotless white linen.  A festival fillet of gold circled his forehead and fastened at the back with a clasp shaped like a lotus bud.  Gold wristbands and armlets flashed in the sun, while a lapis inlaid golden leopard head snarled from the center of his breast above the knot fastening the beast's pelt across the man's shoulders.  A carved amulet hung below the leopard's head from a gold chain.

Khonsu knew him at once for Lord Nebamun.  "That's him," he said.

The Second Prophet's driver reined in the team as the chariot drew abreast of the child with the flowers.  Khonsu saw grownup hands behind the little boy giving him a quick shove forward, bringing him out into the street.

Lord Nebamun, looking round at the crowd, caught sight of the tot and laid an urgent hand on the driver's arm.

The driver's painted eyes widened; he tightened the reins and the horses stopped, shaking their heads and prancing at the pressure on their bits.  Lord Nebamun braced himself as the vehicle drew to a halt, then turned a smiling face upon the child.

The crowd fell silent.

The child, staring up at the looming horses and the glittering man beyond them, took a frightened step backward.  He hesitated at a hissed command, then went slowly forward, holding out the bouquet as the Second Prophet stepped down from the chariot.

Khonsu caught the impression of a carefully memorized speech being flung to the winds as Lord Nebamun leaned down, smiling.  He took hold of child and bouquet both, and lifted them in his arms.

Are these for me? he asked.  His clear voice rose over the hush, followed by the lilting chatter of a response.

The Second Prophet listened with smiling attention.  I thank the great city of Khemnu and its children, he said.  And did you and your friends pick these beautiful flowers yourselves?

The child nodded, shy again.

Lord Nebamun gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and the kiss was returned.  He set him down, keeping the bouquet.  A gentle hand between the child's shoulder blades guided him back to his family.  The Second Prophet stepped back into the chariot, bowed to the crowd, winked at the child, and motioned his driver to continue toward the Governor's residence as cheers rang behind him.

THE WOMAN'S UNBOUND hair floated about her shoulders in a swaying cloud as she whirled in the center of the banqueting hall to the sound of a flute and the beat of a drum.  She was young, barely sixteen.  Her lithe body needed no music to set her audience's blood pounding.

Watching her, Khonsu thought of the wife he had lost, and turned away from the pain of memory.  He had hoped she might send word when she learned that her daughter had nearly died with the wasting fever, but there had been nothing throughout the long months of the child's illness.

He drew a shaken breath and stared down at his folded hands.  Was it possible to close out the past as completely as one closed a wooden door? Perhaps so, for Sithathor.  But not for Khonsu, and not, during her illness, for their daughter.  The girl was recovering well, though she was still heartbreakingly frail, but she would not speak of her mother.

Desperate for some sort of distraction, he looked up toward the high table.  Lord Nebamun, seated between the Governor and his chamberlain, was watching the dancer, his hand closed about the Eye-of-Horus amulet he wore upon a golden chain.

His Grace had met their Governor and conveyed the greetings of the cult of Ptah.  He had finished by unclasping a magnificent armlet from his upper right arm and presenting it to the Governor in full view of the city.  The citizens of Khemnu, already disposed to like him for his exchange with the child, had cheered until they were hoarse.

Khemnu had spared no effort to make the setting of the feast magnificent.  The pillars of the banqueting hall were garlanded with blue and pink lotus blooms.  The air seemed to shimmer with their perfume.  More blooms floated in wide, flat bowls of water.  Serving tables were heaped with roasted meats, beef, lamb, antelope, and goose, all brown and dripping with savory juices.  Great platters mounded with perseas and persimmons, pomegranates and dates and sweet, succulent figs were set throughout the room.  Tall clay jars of wine and of water, cooled by the breezes that were channeled into the room, stood in the doorway as servants dipped pitchers into them, drawing them out filled and dripping.

Commander Khonsu?

Khonsu turned away from the head table to see Lord Nebamun's driver standing beside him.  He had noticed this young man earlier: engaging in a staring match with an older man seated nearby.  The two had obviously been in the throes of a serious quarrel.  Now, seeing the man waiting for him, he lifted his eyebrows.

Commander Khonsu? the man said again.  His Grace asks the favor of a word with you when you are free.

Khonsu set down his portion of meat, wiped his fingers on the towel beside him, rose, and followed the man past the glaring older man and up to the Second Prophet's table.  He went to his knees and lowered his head.

Nebamun returned the salute with a nod.  Thank you for coming so promptly, Commander, he said as he poured a cup of wine.  But I hadn't meant to force you away from your dinner.  No matter, he said, nodding toward the platters of food set before him.  You can share mine.  Come, sit down and drink some of this excellent wine.

Khonsu bowed and rose.

And in the future, Nebamun said, offering the cup, you would please me much better if you would refrain from kneeling before me.  I am neither Pharaoh nor the High Priest.

Khonsu bowed again, hiding his surprise.  He took the cup from the Second Prophet's hands and sat beside him.

He sipped the wine, aware that he was the object of a measuring but tolerant appraisal.  He met Nebamun's eyes, and smiled.  I thank Your Grace, he said.  "It is good wine.  And I will gladly obey your command."

He accepted a portion of roast goose from Nebamun, and waited.  Khonsu was surprised to see that Lord Nebamun's smile was slightly dimmed by the sort of fatigue and strain he himself had felt on the eve of a battle.

I have some concerns to discuss with you, Commander, Nebamun said.  The Governor tells me he's paying me the compliment of sending you to command the guard forces at Akhet-Aten.

Your Grace may wish to reserve judgment until you have had a chance to discover for yourself the nature of the compliment His Lordship is paying you, Khonsu said.

Lord Nebamun nodded with a spark of amusement.  He paused to dip his fingers in the shallow bowl of water set in front of him, then took up a small seed-crusted loaf of bread, broke it, and sopped it in the meat juices in the platter before him.

I understand you commanded this province's army in their desert patrols for some years, he said.  Tothotep tells me that you are familiar with the city itself and with the villages and towns surrounding it.  That's good news; the question of supply lines had me a little concerned.

Khonsu followed Nebamun's lead and broke off some bread.  Supplying the group shouldn't be difficult, Your Grace, he said, dipping it in the sauce.  Akhet-Aten is half a day's journey from Khebet.  I have a good lieutenant at Khebet.  I'd planned to use that city as the delivery point for any supplies we'll need during the assignment.

Khonsu raised the bread to his lips and looked up from the platter to see a surprisingly intense frown gathering on The Second Prophet's face.

Khebet? Nebamun said.  I would think— He broke off as a man, stumbling with fatigue, came into the room followed by two guards.

The man looked around, caught sight of the Governor and Khonsu, and went to his knees.

What is this? the Governor demanded.

His news was urgent, Excellency, the senior guardsman explained.  I thought it best to bring him before you at once.

He is Hutor, Excellency, Khonsu said.  One of the officers I sent to Akhet-Aten.

Commander— the man gasped.  The city—

The City? Lord Nebamun repeated.  He did not seem to be surprised.

The officer, Hutor, dragged air deep into his lungs.  The quarries collapsed, he said.  Deaths—

Lord Nebamun traded glances with a powerfully muscled Nubian who was seated down the dais from him.

"Deaths?" the Governor repeated.

Eleven, buried alive.  W–we dug them out, but too late.

Khonsu sat forward.  What happened?

The city's cursed! the man said.  We were warned! Cursed by an evil ghost!

Lord Nebamun's brows drove together in a scowl, but he sat quietly as the room roared into commotion.

Who told you this? the Governor demanded.  How do you know?

I was there! Hutor said.  It was wailing in the night—

Lord Nebamun's voice came quietly into the turmoil.  "Many creatures, not ghosts at all, wail in the night.  What did this ghost do?"

The Governor seemed surprised at the interjection, but he nodded to the man.  Answer His Grace.

Hutor's eyes widened.  He bowed to the ground before Lord Nebamun, raised himself, and then sat back on his heels.  The quarry collapsed! he said.

Cave-ins do occur at quarries from time to time, Lord Nebamun said.  He was even smiling at Hutor, who had stopped trembling.  They don't generally require ghostly intervention: I am told that quarrying is dangerous enough without it, as my Master Quarryman, here, can tell you. He nodded at the Nubian as he took his cup and poured more wine into it. 

But as to this ghost, he continued, setting down the jug and offering the cup to Hutor, When did it make its appearance?

Hutor accepted the cup with a look of surprise.  He raised it to his lips, took a large, shaky swallow, and then lowered the cup with a sigh before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  He drank again and set the cup down.

Now tell me what happened, Lord Nebamun said.

Yes, Excellency, Hutor said.  He paused, frowning.  It was the second night we were there.  We had been warned of the ghost.

Warned by whom?

By the mayor of the city just north of the Accursed Place.

Ah yes, Lord Nebamun said.  Khebet.  Please continue.  What was there?

A shape, a shadow.  And a cry, like someone in terrible grief and fear, followed a moment later by dreadful, mad laughter.  We froze where we stood.

And where were you standing? Lord Nebamun asked.

Hutor had to look down and think. 

The quarry? Lord Nebamun prodded gently.  The King's Road? The outskirts of the town?

It was n–north of the heart of the city, Your Grace, Hutor finally replied.  Near something like a temple...

Drink more of your wine, Hutor, Lord Nebamun said.  And then tell me what you did once you heard this dreadful ghost.

The Second Prophet was smiling as he spoke, but the smile and the words held no trace of mockery.  Hutor relaxed visibly.  He raised the cup to his lips and drank again. 

We left right away, he said after he had lowered the cup.

Lord Nebamun's smile grew almost impish.  Khonsu suspected that he was imagining the headlong flight of the guards scrambling over each other in their mad haste to leave.

I see, the Second Prophet said again.  Did this evil ghost make any other appearances while you were there? Before the cave-in at the quarry?

Noises and rustling...  White shapes against the sky.  And when the quarry went we heard a crack and a roar...

Nebamun exchanged glances with the Master Quarryman again.  Was there anything else? he asked at last.

N–no, Your Grace, Hutor replied.

Nebamun smiled and directed a look at the Governor.

Count Tothotep raised his hands.  Continue as Your Grace wishes

Thank you, Count, Lord Nebamun said.  He turned toward Hutor.  You have had a frightening time of it, he said.  I suggest that you finish the wine, then take some food.  I imagine you haven't had much to eat over the past several days.

Hutor bowed to the ground and then moved to the side.  At a nod from the Governor, one of the servants brought him a platter of food.

A thoughtful silence passed before Lord Nebamun spoke again.  My orders come from His Majesty and my High Priest, he said.  "The quarry must be inspected.  Indeed, that is why I have been sent, and why I have brought the finest stone-worker in Lower Egypt with me, but I won't force anyone into a time of terror