“Merneptah and Nekoptah,” I asked as we entered, at last, the cool shade of the temple, “are they related by blood?”
Nefertu smiled tightly, almost grimly, I thought. “Yes. And they both revere Ptah as their guardian and guide.”
“Not Amon?”
“They revere Amon and all the gods, Orion. But Ptah is their special patron. The city of Menefer was Ptah’s special city. Merneptah has brought his worship here, to the capital. Nekoptah is the chief priest of Ptah.”
“Is there a statue of Ptah that I can see? What does he look like?”
“You will see soon enough.” He said it almost crossly, as though irritated by my questions, or fearful of something I did not understand.
We were striding through a vast hallway of tremendous columns, so tall that the roof above us was lost in shadows. The floor was marble, the gigantic columns themselves granite, as wide around as the mightiest tree. Guards in gleaming gold armor stood spaced every few yards, but it seemed to me they were there for ceremony and grandeur. There had been no need for armed men in this temple for a thousand years. This huge chamber had been designed to dwarf human scale, to overpower mere mortal men with its grandeur and immensity. It was a ploy that haughty, powerful men used up and down the ages: utilizing architecture to bend men’s souls, to fill them with wonder, and admiration, and fear of the power that had raised these mighty pillars.
A pair of glittering eyes stared at me from the deep shadows. I almost laughed. Another of the palace’s innumerable cats.
At the end of the awesome court we climbed up steps of black marble. Down another corridor, this one lined with small statues of various gods bearing heads of animals: a hawk, a jackal, a lion, even an anteater. At the end of the corridor a giant statue stood in a special niche, its head almost touching the ceiling.
“There is Ptah,” said Nefertu, almost in a whisper.
The god’s statue loomed before us, almost as huge as the colossi of Ramesses outside the temple. A skylight in the roof far above us cast a shaft of sunlight along the length of the statue’s white stone. I saw a man’s face, his body wrapped in windings like a mummy, except that his hands were free and clasping a long, elaborately worked staff. A skullcap covered his head, and a small beard dangled from his chin. The face looked uncannily like that of the slim, sarcastic Hermes I had last seen when I had briefly transported Joshua to the Creators’ realm.
Nefertu stopped at the foot of the giant statue, where incense smoldered in a pair of braziers. He bowed three times, then took a pinch of something from the golden pan between the braziers and threw it onto the embers at his left. The stuff made a small burst of flame and sent white smoke spiraling toward the distant ceiling.
“You must offer a sacrifice, also, Orion,” he whispered to me.
Straight-faced, I went to the railing and tossed a pinch of incense onto the brazier to my right. Its smoke was black. Turning back to Nefertu, I saw his eyes following the dark billow. His face was not pleased at all.
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked.
“No,” he said, his eyes still on the drifting smoke. “But sacred Ptah is apparently not entirely happy with your offering.”
I shrugged.
As he led me down a narrower corridor, past another pair of golden-armored guards and to a massive door of ebony set into a deep, stone doorway, Nefertu seemed distinctly nervous, filled with an anxiety he could not hide. Was he apprehensive about meeting Nekoptah, or was it something I had done? Or had failed to do?
Another guard stood before the door. Without a word he opened it for Nefertu.
We stepped through the doorway into a sizable room. Morning sunlight slanted through three windows on our right. The room was absolutely bare of decorations: the stone walls were as blank as a prison cell’s. The floor was empty and uncovered. Far at the other end of the room, next to its only other door, was a long table heaped with rolled-up writing scrolls. Two huge silver candlesticks stood at each end of the table, the candles in them unlit.
Behind the desk sat an enormously fat man, his head shaved bald, his huge globulous body covered with a gray sleeveless robe that went to the floor. His arms, flabby, thick, hairless, and pink as a baby pig, rested on the polished wood of the table. Every finger and both his thumbs bore jeweled rings, some of them so buried in flesh that they could not have been taken off in years. His jowls were so huge that they cascaded down onto his chest and shoulders. I could barely make out a pair of eyes embedded in that grossly corpulent face, studying us as we crossed the long empty chamber to stand before his desk. His face was painted: eyes lined with black kohl and daubed with green shadow above and below them, his cheeks pink with rouge, his lips deep red.
Nefertu threw himself onto the floor and pressed his forehead against the bare tiles. I remained standing, although I bowed slightly from the waist to show my respect.
“O great Nekoptah,” intoned Nefertu, from the floor, “high priest of dreaded Ptah, right hand of mighty Merneptah, guide of the people, guardian of the Two Lands, I bring you the barbarian Orion, as you commanded.”
The high priest’s fleshy painted lips curled in what might have been a smile. “You may rise, Nefertu my servant. You have done well.” His voice was a clear sweet tenor. It sounded strange, such a lovely voice coming from such a gross, ugly face. Then I realized that Nekoptah was a eunuch, one who had been dedicated to the god’s service in childhood.
Nefertu slowly climbed to his feet and stood beside me. His face was red, whether from pressing it against the floor or from embarrassment at having done so, I could not tell.
“And you, barbarian…”
“My name is Orion,” I said.
Nefertu gasped at my effrontery. Nekoptah merely grunted.
“Orion, then,” he granted. “My general Raseth tells me that your two dozen Hittites will make a passable addition to our all-conquering army.”
“They are fine men.”
“I am not so easily satisfied, however,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “Raseth is of an age where he dwells in the past. I must look toward the future, if I am to protect and guide our great king.”
He eyed me carefully as he spoke, waiting for a reaction from me. I remained silent.
“Therefore,” he went on, “I have thought of a test that these recruits can undertake.”
Again he waited for a reply. Again I said nothing.
“You, Orion, will lead your men to the delta country, where the barbarian Sea Peoples are raiding our coastal cities once again. One particularly troublesome set of raiders flies a lion’s-head emblem on their sails. You will find them and destroy them, so that they will trouble the Lower Kingdom no longer.”
Menalaos, I realized. Searching for Helen and ravaging the coastal cities, looting as much as possible while he searches. Possibly with Agamemnon alongside him.
“How many of these ships have been seen?” I asked.
Nekoptah seemed delighted that I had finally spoken. “Reports vary. At least ten, possibly as many as two dozen.”
“And you expect two dozen soldiers to conquer two dozen shiploads of Achaians?”
“You will have other soldiers with you. I will see to that.”
I shook my head. “With all respect, my lord…”
“Your holiness,” Nefertu whispered.
It took an effort to get the words past my gag reflex. “With all respect — your holiness — I did not intend to stay with the Hittites once they were accepted into your army.”
“Your intentions are of little interest,” said Nekoptah. “The needs of the kingdom are paramount.”