The City of Refuge: Book 1 of The Memphis Cycle Read Free Page A

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