Read The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle Online
Authors: Diana Wilder
Akhenaten named his capitol city 'Akhet-Aten', which literally means 'Horizon of the Aten'. It is not too farfetched to suppose that he based the name on the appearance of the cliffs rising to the northeast of the city. 'Amarna', the name many people use for the site, is a bastardization of two separate place names.
I have based my description of the city of Akhet-Aten upon verbal descriptions of its buildings, and upon the reconstructions found in W. Stevenson Smith's excellent book,
The Art and Architecture of Ancient Egypt
(part of The Penguin History of Art), which has a long and fascinating chapter on Akhet-Aten. I have tried to be accurate about various features of the city, but I did depart from the actual layout of the city in several places.
What I have described as the 'window of appearances' was contained in a sort of pedestrian walkway that crossed what we now call the 'Royal Road', joining the east and west wings of the main palace. There is some doubt that it was actually used for this purpose. Because of plot considerations, I chose to ignore these reservations. I added a pair of bronze-clad timber doors to an open palace courtyard in order to provide a means for Nebamun to outwit Seti and Khonsu.
In his book
Pharaoh's People
, T. G. H. James gives a long description of Nakht's house, of which a good deal of its interior decoration has survived to the present. I based my description of the layout of that house as well as that of the city of Akhet-Aten on plans included in Smith's book. I have based the plan of Nakht’s tomb on that of Tutankhamun, which was probably excavated for a non-royal person. Ay's tomb in Thebes, which some think was originally intended to be Tutankhamun's, is now ruined. One of the tombs in the Valley of the King is described as having no decoration left intact; I have used this tomb as Huy's.
While the temple of the Aten constructed at Karnak by Akhenaten was burned to the ground, this was not done at Akhet-Aten. In fact, although many of the buildings in the city were razed, Akhet-Aten itself was relatively untouched for an ancient site. Despite my determination to keep the supposedly factual parts of this story as close to historical truth as possible, I could not resist the temptation to have Lord Nebamun order the city's destruction by fire and use the conflagration to further his own ends.
Finally, while a goodly amount of research went into the writing of
The City of Refuge
, the primary aim of the story was to entertain. I hope it achieved its purpose, and I thank you for giving me the chance.
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, would you be willing to write a review?
T
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Please read on for a preview of Mourningtide:
Mourningtide
is the sequel to
The City Of Refuge
, set before
Pharaoh's Son
. It tells the story of the death of Nakhtamun, who figures in
A Killing Among The Dead
, and sets the stage for young Ramses' family.
In these chapters, Nakhtamun, co-regent with his father, Seti, is in Palestine, where he has gone to work out in his own mind the meaning of kingship. He meets his fate, and the story tells of his father's season of grief – his Mourningtide.
Seti’s reign has brought Egypt to a renaissance and regained for the land the prestige and power that were lost in the disasters of the past. The power is needed: the world is in the grip of change, tribesmen are moving across the face of the land, coming to the outskirts of civilization, looking for land and plunder.
During this time of strife, Seti’s eldest son and heir is killed through a tragic mistake. Word is sent to Seti, but it does not reach him. He returns to the devastating reality of the loss. His son is already sealed in his tomb, and the King of Egypt, always under the gaze of his subjects, has no way to come to terms with this death.
Following the counsel of an old friend, Seti steps out of his world and leaves it behind as completely as a man boarding a ship that will take him to another land. He comes to a small village of craftsmen in the wake of an attack by marauding invaders, admits that he has seen some service in the armies of Egypt, and accepts their invitation to remain with them and help them learn to fight.
In the course of that short summer the greatest general of that century, welcomed into the village, teaches them the art of battle, and in doing so he regains his peace, finds love again, and learns that a king is also a man.
CHAPTER I: Canaan Reign Of Seti I, Year 3
The rider drew rein at the crest of the hill and frowned down at the encampment below him. The early morning stillness magnified the neighing of horses, laughter, the throb of a drum, the clang of metal. He sat forward on his saddle pad. He could catch the spicy scent or grilling fish overlying the tang of cooking fires—and could he smell hot gruel?
Motion to the left—one of the large tents collapsing in a billow of stripes. He grimaced. Breaking camp. It was a good thing he had not spared his horse after receiving his general's summons. A hot breakfast would sit well after two days of cold porridge and onions.
A line of chariots was moving toward the gateway, the lead team, with gold-mounted harness, driven by a taller man wearing a gold circlet. The messenger grimaced again. He was just in time to make his report to Pharaoh's eldest son Nakhtamun—The Co-Regent—trying his strength in the field for the first time while his warrior father traveled to Nubia. The rider nudged his mount forward toward the gate guards.
** ** **
Nakhtamun smoothed the reins and looped them through the chariot's rail. The sun's warmth on his shoulders provided a pleasant counterpoint to the brisk wind blowing down from the highlands. He frowned toward the west, narrowing his eyes in the light. “All right, then, General,” he told the man beside him. “We can send point patrols north, since you say we will be seeing some movement in the hills now we're approaching Megiddo...” He nodded to the distant bulk of a structure just visible to the northeast. “That looks promising,” he said. “A good size, I'd think. What of it?”
“That's the first of a string of fortresses stretching into Palestine,” General Senwadjet said. “They border the coast. In past times they controlled the trade routes under Thutmose the Great and his heirs.” The man's eyes narrowed as though he were looking into the past. “Until the Heretic and his father turned their attention elsewhere. They are all falling into ruin now.”
Nakhtamun nodded. “But they may be brought back to strength without much effort. It is worth investigating.” He lifted his face into the wind. Fortresses, old wars...
He caught a tang of salt from the ocean, west of his force. He gazed into the distance, seeing billows of dark water... He had traveled on 'The Great Green' once, when his father was Vizier of the North, sailing from Pelusium to Byblos on the Mediterranean coast.
He still thought of the journey, the sea streaming past the bow of the ship, the dance of the dolphins escorting them. He could feel the plunge and rear of Prince of the Winds as she surged across the waves, her sails bellying in the wind, all oars shipped. He remembered shaking his head and laughing aloud at the wind's cold, vigorous tug in his hair, feeling—just for that moment—that he belonged there, that was what he had been born to do.
He blinked at the memory and realized that it had underlain the fabric of his soul for years, lending a touch of mystery, a sweetness, never lost. Could it be recaptured? He was Co-regent; could he command Egypt's fleet? He raised his dazzled eyes to the horizon. Or perhaps he might lead an expedition of discovery deep into the south, as did the great explorers all those centuries ago. To see new sights, to bend his mind to puzzles and new information.
The elation faded and he sighed. ...Or, most likely, he would be trapped, in a lifetime of courtiers, ritual, procedure, things to do and ways to do them, to be the focus of all reverent eyes, the ornament of Egypt—Pharaoh.
He straightened and gathered the reins in his hand with a sigh. Pharaoh. How to escape that fate?
“Majesty!”
He blinked and looked up.
Senwadjet was approaching him, his straight brows drawn together. Was the man never enthusiastic about anything? “Our point riders have seen the fort, Sire. They went inside. It is open and abandoned now, but commanding the countryside.”
“Does it seem like a good possibility?”
“Definitely, Sire. It's sturdy, in a good location...”
“Something to remember,” Nakhtamun said. “I will include it in this evening's dispatch. Continue your sweep and report back this evening. Send some scouts to see what they can find. Bring in some of the local citizens. We can question them.”
Nakhtamun turned to look back at the force fanning out behind him. The Company of Ptah was cresting the rise to the east, their standard flashing in the afternoon sun, leading the river of heads moving up the grassy incline. They were singing a Memphis ballad. He paused to listen and then grinned. Not the commonly known words! In fact, the verse had something to do with the lavish charms of a woman who lived beside the Nile.
His grin widened: the descriptions were very specific, and he knew the brothel that was named in the song. He shook his head, laughing. Soldiers! Storehouses of lewd information, with hearts as soft as bowls of gruel. He might be tempted, he thought, to investigate the truth of the song when he returned to Memphis.
...Or he could ask his younger brother to look into it for him. He wondered what Ramesses was doing at that moment. Hearing an embassage? Holding a child on his knee? His amusement faded to warmth. Whatever was occupying Ramessu at the moment, he was probably smiling and at ease, even as he ruled the country. That had come at the end of a week's worth of strong argument. Pulling rank was a dirty trick, perhaps, but it worked. Ramesses would be fine as regent, with Lord Nebamun beside him.
The land rose before him. The swell of hills reminded him of the smooth seas on the way to Byblos.
Byblos... He raised his head to the wind, his mind back at the ocean, remembering, longing... He frowned and turned his thoughts aside. Was he truly unhappy? Or was it his trick of inserting emotions into everything?
'You should be a poet, Nakhti,'
his father had said once when he had let his speech soar into emotion
. 'You can imagine yourself into any situation and suffer with the sufferers, be they however far removed by time and distance!'
They had both laughed, but it was true.
“Bah!”
“Majesty?”
The voice made him start. Suti, his driver, was back from his circuit with General Senwadjet beside him.
His grin altered to a wry smile. “What did you find?” he asked.
Senwadjet was frowning. The expression eased after a moment. “Another Migdol. Deserted now, some parts crumbling...”
“Did you go inside?”
“Yes, Majesty. I took a company. We found signs of occupation within the past few months, but no later. Ashes from fires, rubbish—these Canaanites are pigs!—nothing recent. The walls are still strong, the place can be refurbished.”
Nakhtamun nodded slowly. “Send my scribe to me. I will want to report to His Majesty.”
** ** **
“Do you have all that?” Nakhtamun asked. He shifted in the shade of the sycamore tree and sipped from his flask of water. The senior army scribe, was cross-legged before him, frowning down at the papyrus stretched across his lap. He raised his head. “All of it, Sire.”
“Seal it, then, and send it off. His Majesty will be interested in reading it. We need to extend our presence here.” He saw that the man was hesitating, eyeing the sheet of papyrus and then frowning at his brush. “What is it, Per-Hor?” he asked.
“There's better than half a sheet left, Sire. Do you wish to say anything else?”
Nakhtamun took another sip of water and corked the flask, frowning. “Set it aside. Senwadjet is bringing in some local folk for questioning. I can include that in the report.”
** ** **
The three tribesmen stared at him across the campfire that evening. Senwadjet had brought them in without undue courtesy, though he had ordered a supper for them. Nakhtamun had waited until they finished the beans and roasted meat before questioning them.
Their answers had been easy and general, though Senwadjet was frowning at some of them. Nakhtamun continued. “That fortress, now, who is occupying it?”
The tribesmen traded glances and then bowed to the ground. “There is no one there, My Lord,” said the oldest, a hawk-faced man with keen eyes set into a network of fine lines. “It has been abandoned for years, with shepherds corralling their sheep there from time to time.”
“Hm. Is it wrecked, then?”
“There is shelter, Majesty. The wind does not enter ... The roof is not destroyed, and it has a well.”
The answer made Senwadjet fold his arms.
Nakhtamun ignored him. “A well, you say? With sweet water?”
“Oh yes, Majesty. I have drunk from it many times. The roof is sound, the stones still in place. It is a fine shelter.”
“I see. Interesting.” Nakhtamun turned to the Sergeant at arms. “Take them away. Give them food to take with them and send them forth.”
Senwadjet moved. “Did you order that we let them go, Sire?”
“They have given me the information I need.” Looks exchanged; he could almost hear the man's thoughts. “Well?”
Senwadjet's eyes were fixed on the three. “We can take them with us on the march and send them on when we reach the fortress. They will serve as our guides. Once we are there and inside it—with them accompanying us—we can release them with, perhaps, some payment.” His gaze had become an intense stare.
One of the prisoners took a half-step backward. “I must go home tonight!” he exclaimed in a thick patois. “The baby is coming!”
Nakhtamun considered this as the tribesmen and his staff watched him. Ramesses had a pregnant wife, and while he pretended to be confident and happy, Nakhtamun had caught an undertone of worry. He shook his head finally. “Let them go.”
Senwadjet's brows drove together in an incredulous frown. “But Sir! We will house them in comfort. We can take them with us and let them depart once we are at the fortress. They can accompany us inside.”
“This man says his wife needs him. We come peaceably and I have no wish to cause any hardship.”
“If Your Majesty is kind enough to hear his servant,” Senwadjet said with a thin smile to the three men, “I suggest we send an armed escort with this fellow to bring his wife back here. Your Majesty's private surgeon can tend her. I suspect she would get better care with him than in her own home.”
“If she is pregnant,” Nakhtamun said, “It would be dangerous to move her.”
“If Your Majesty will deign hear his servant,” Senwadjet said, speaking with slow clarity, “This man has spoken of a pregnant wife. He is greatly troubled by worries for her safety, and yet he has abandoned her while he goes far from family and herdbeasts in order to watch us. And, let me add, we knew nothing of this woman's existence until perhaps ten heartbeats ago.”
The older man straightened. Senwadjet looked at him.
Nakhtamun frowned. “No livestock?”
“No goats, sheep, cattle, horses—nothing.”
Nakhtamun turned away from the leader to look over his shoulder at Senwadjet. “Are you saying, General, that these three are lying?”
“I am saying, Sire, that we know nothing of these people aside from what they have told us. I am reminding Your Majesty that it was very easy for our outriders to capture them. Much of what they have told you is incorrect based on what I know personally. And I am suggesting that having this fellow pass a night away from his wife, who is obviously not in labor at the moment, else he would not have been able to tear himself from her side, will not harm anyone. They can escort us to this fortress and return to their people once we have given them leave to go.”
Nakhtamun raised his head to stare at Senwadjet, who returned the gaze without any hesitation. He drew his brush through his fingers and frowned at the three tribesmen. The younger man's eyes were wide and pleading.
“Let them go.”
“Sire—”
“Do as I tell you! You keep warning me of dangers that all have come to naught. We will be going with our full force, and they will regret any treachery. Go. You are dismissed.”
He watched them leave and then turned back to his writing. He finished his report, including a note for Ramesses:
I have been thinking, Ramessu, how you would enjoy traveling here and governing these people. You have an instinct for diplomacy, odd though it seems, little brother. I would think you would thrive here, and you would have plenty of scope for rebuilding.
I will be inspecting a fortress on the morrow. One of those built by Thutmose the Great at the height of his reign. I will be looking it over carefully, but the chain of fortresses, of which this is one, will be a powerful network of defenses once they are repaired. It is something to consider; I will mention it to His Majesty when I return.
I have enjoyed this time of exploration, though there have been annoyances with my staff. Time and again they have warned me of problems that subsequently did not arise.
He lowered his brush and slumped where he sat. The past two weeks had been busy, strenuous, and wonderful. But the work had exhausted him. How long had it been since he had accompanied his father on campaign? More than two years, certainly. He folded his arms and sat back, closing his eyes. His surroundings seemed to blur. The wind pushed into his tent...
He is astride a great, star-flecked horse, riding across the night sky, following the glittering 'Trail of the Crocodile' to the great beast itself. He urges the horse into a circle as he nocks an arrow. The Crocodile lunges toward him, roaring, jaws open wide, teeth glinting in the moonlight while the horse squeals and rears. He dismounts, draws the bow as the Crocodile looms above him...
He jerked awake, his heart pounding. It had been so real for a moment. He shook his head and frowned down at the papyrus, then took up his brush again.
Tomorrow should be eventful. I will inspect the fortifications and decide whether it will be worth our time to bring the fortress back to strength or to raze and rebuild it. Its location is perfect, and I hope that it is repairable. A garrison there, with access to our headquarters at Gaza, would be very useful, and serve as a base to extend our holdings. I will let you know my conclusions when I write to you this evening.
Give my most respectful greetings to His Holiness and to your ladies. Count Pasenhor will be getting a separate letter from me, since I need to deal with some things before my return.
Behave yourself, little brother... until we meet again.
He set the papyrus aside with a smile. Ramesses would have some things to say, no doubt. And they would be interesting.