The royal road lay ruined in the moonlight, the wide, spacious courtyards opening onto it stood empty and echoing, the statues of the king smashed and scattered. He passed the massive white pylons of the great temple on the left, moved between the high, white walls, and approached the heavy bridge that was the Window of Appearances. He drew rein and gazed up at the black opening. The eyes of his memory filled the road with cheering people, their bright garments and jewels glinting in the sun, which flashed from the diadem on the king's brow. How many times had his king and cousin stood there and showered him with the gold of honor while all the court applauded in the early days of the city!
His house was silent and still as he approached, but a figure detached itself from the shadows and came forward to take hold of the horses' bridle as he drew the team to a halt. "You're very late, my lord! Pharaoh's guards came to ask after you twice this evening."
"I'm sorry, Neterkhet," he said, relinquishing the reins to his major-domo. "I didn't mean to leave you open to annoyance. All will be settled in the morning: General Horemheb himself will dispose of matters." He stepped down from the chariot and took up the jar of wine again.
Neterkhet's eyes fastened on the wine jar, then raised to the man's face.
"Is the basket on the balcony?" the man asked.
"Yes, my lord," Neterkhet replied. "But I - "
"Very good," the man said. He read the question in Neterkhet's eyes. "My son said 'so be it'. He is going to pursue a course of mad folly. My way is clear before me, and there is nothing else that I can do."
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 dear lord - " he began, "If you could wait only a day - "
"Not a word," said the man. "We've said all that can be said between us, and there are no more words. I had to choose between saving my son or myself, and I've made my choice."
The man watched Neterkhet get to his feet and leave, then turned and went into the house. He passed through the four-pillared reception hall, moved silently through the chambers that he had once shared with his wife, climbed a short flight of steps and came out to a two-pillared loggia that gave a view of the 'Northern Sentinels', the two hills lying to the northeast that formed a natural gateway to the city in the shape of the hieroglyph for 'horizon'.
A gilded chair had been drawn up facing the east. A tall rush basket, securely tied with a cord and sealed with a pinch of clay, sat beside it. It rustled and shifted slightly as he touched it. He set the jar of wine beside the chair and then looked up. The sky was paling now. Soon the sun would rise.
He carefully removed his cloak and shook out his fine linen robe. The pleats had survived the long night, and while his sandals were dusty, they were still fine. A moment's work with a comb served to set his hair in order, and then he opened the small box by the door, took out the four golden collars, and set them carefully about his neck. And then he drew a deep breath. Almost time.
He set the jar of wine in a ring stand beside his chair, broke the clay seal and removed the plug of rushes. A moment later the wine chimed softly as it filled the silver cup. He sat down and tossed off the wine, savoring its taste for what seemed the first time in his life as the questions came crowding around him once more.
Were the disasters of the past reign his fault, as his enemies now were saying?
Who could say? At least he had tried to do his best. Had he not had the rescue of another to concern him, he might have tried to see if his star might begin once more to ascend, but it was an experience he could not now afford. 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 with hands that shook slightly, and then set the jar aside. He leaned forward and broke the seal on the basket-tie. He loosened the knot with shaking hands and set the lid aside, his right hand convulsively 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, smooth head set with unblinking dark eyes.
He sat back. The slight movement was mirrored; 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, and the long, lithe body flowed smoothly down over the rough weave like a thin stream of wine trickling across a bed of gravel. The head raised again as he set the silver 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, my friend," he said quietly. "Come back to me." He gasped at another quick stab of pain to his forearm. "Once more and 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, and cast it aside. Then he sat back in the chair. His lips were growing slightly numb, and the periphery of his vision seemed to be darkening. He sighed, closed his eyes and drifted. He had not thought that death would be so gentle. But all was settled, and those he loved would be safe.
Hours 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. Now he understood that there had been 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, and in the mean time he would be safe...
"Well," he whispered through stiffening lips, "For well or ill, it will soon be over. The treasure I'm 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 a vision of the sun emerging through the Gateway to the North. He watched the moment of the sun's birth, his eyes dazzled by its light in the gathering darkness, his mind filled with the carven image of his son sitting beneath his father's chair and cuddling the family cat as a great state feast proceeded about him...