Reign of Ramesses II: Year Twenty-Two
The colossus smiled down at the festival spread out below it, at the pennons snapping in the wind, at the gaily colored booths of the merchants offering luxuries like necklaces of cunningly carved carnelian beads and faience ornaments, as well as those offering necessities like seasonal fruits and wines for refreshment. The statue's carved features seemed to smile, the obsidian and limestone eyes to glitter in the sunlight.
Its mate stood on the other side of the massive gateway, identical to it in all respects. Together they flanked the doorway, an offering of His Late Majesty, Pharaoh Seti, who had taken the ceremonial throne name of Men-Maat-Re, to the great temple of Memphis. The sounds of the festival of the great god Ptah came as a mingled murmur and roar of happiness on this, the greatest feast-day of his calendar.
Now Khaemwaset�s painted eyes narrowed in half-vexed amusement and he said, "No, Neferhor, I won't delay the procession further. We're ready to begin."
"But Highness - !" Neferhor, the Master of Novices, was wringing his hands. "If Your Highness could delay it another hour - another two hours - or even postpone the festival a day - "
Khay raised his eyebrows at the man and said, "Delay the festival past its appointed day? That throng would be howling for my blood, especially after the last two delays that you talked me into approving. The ships from the temple of Amun have been sighted and it�s time for the procession. I'll take responsibility for any disaster," he said. He smiled at Sarenput, his second in command at the temple, nodded to the men bearing the banners of the temple and stood aside as the great golden gates pivoted inward on their polished stone sockets.
The crowd began to roar with excitement, the sound increasing as the shrine passed through the gateway and out between the tall, gold-sheathed obelisks. The gilded sides of the shrine flashed in the sun, the brown backs of the bearers glistened with ointment. The Prince Khay moved before it with the stateliness of a king, the wind making the stylized priestly sidelock of his headdress shift and swing, and whipping his crisply pleated linen robes against his legs. The jeweled gold apron that marked him as High Priest chimed in the wind.
They were beneath the shadow of the colossus that flanked the eastern side of the pylon; the Prince looked up at it and paused, caught by a sudden change in the sounds about him. He could hear the usual noises of Memphis in festival, the cries of vendors, the braying of donkeys in the streets, the jingle of sistra, cheers -
"Hush!" he said, raising his hand.
The procession faltered to a halt behind him.
"What is it, Highness?" Sarenput asked.
"Can't you hear it?" Khay demanded. He cocked his head. "There it is again, listen! It sounds as though someone just clicked two stones together."
He looked over at Sarenput, who was staring up at the pylon.
Khay's eyes traveled up the whitewashed front of the huge pylon, lingering on the brightly painted relief carvings of his grandsire relieving the siege of Beth Shan in Palestine, passing over the colossal stone statues that seemed to stride forward with the faint smile that Khay remembered from his early childhood, when King Seti still lived.
The sound came again, and for a moment it seemed like a voice speaking to him from a distance, saying words that he could almost understand... He could see from Sarenput's eyes that the Second Prophet had heard it too.
The members of the procession shifted on their feet and began to murmur.
The stone smile seemed to deepen, the great head to nod -
"Run!" cried Khay. "Run for your lives!" People stared at him open-mouthed. The shrine-bearers milled about, their burden tipping precariously. "Get the shrine away from here!" Khay shouted. "Everyone - run for the river!"
People began to scream, clutching at their children and their wares. A jeweler near the High Priest tried to gather his golden beads. Khay seized him and shook him. "Forget that trash!" he commanded.
His words were drowned by a roar of splintering stone. The colossus, still smiling, began to tilt, as though, stepping forward, it could not arrest its stride. Stones screeched and came away from the carved pylon to crash to the ground below: the great Pharaoh seemed to bow to his grandson, who stood transfixed by the bright, inlaid eyes.
The string of beads that the jeweler was clutching broke, scattering globes of gold across the ground; the man screamed something at Khay and dove to the ground, to scrabble for them in the dust.
The crash and thud of falling rocks grew to a roar. The colossus paused for one crazy second before it toppled forward.
Khay hurled himself to the ground and rolled to the side, his arms wrapped about his head, his eyes tightly closed as the statue smashed against the packed earth. Dust billowed upward, golden in the sun, to settle again upon the ground.
All sounds ceased for the space of time it took everyone to draw a deep breath. The fallen stones settled themselves more securely against the earth with a slow groan and sigh in the sudden stillness; a small rock fell from the pylon and struck the ground with a clatter. Rays of sunlight, scattered by the motes of sand drifting in the diminishing wind of the statue's fall, seemed to descend upon the festival throng in thin, bright streamers of gold, gilding a slow, thin trickle of red that flowed beneath the shoulder of the colossus to pool among the abandoned wares of the jeweler's booth.
Continue to another chapter... Return To Pharaoh's Son...
