Celtic Empire (Dirk Pitt 25)

PROLOGUE

NILE FLIGHT

MEMPHIS, EGYPT

1334 B.C.E.

Wails of grief drifted over the city like a black aria. The mud brick dwellings burst with anguish, as the sorrow swirled into the night desert. But the winds ferried more than just the cries of mourning.

They carried the stench of death.

A mysterious scourge had descended upon the land, striking at nearly every household. The young were most afflicted, but not exclusively. The claws of death had grasped even the royal family, snatching the Pharaoh himself in their cold grip.

Crouched in the shadows of the Temple of Aten, a young woman tried to block the din and odor. As the moon slipped from behind a cloud, casting its glow over the landscape, she rubbed a heavy gold amulet on her chest and listened for sounds of movement. The rustle of leather soles on stone pricked her ears, and she turned to a figure running toward her across the temple’s front portico.

Her husband, Gaythelos, was tall, with dark curly hair and broad shoulders. His skin was damp in the hot night air as he grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. “The way to the river is clear,” he said in a low voice.

She gazed beyond him. “Where are the others?”

“Securing the boats. Come, Meritaten, let us delay no further.”

She turned to the shadows behind her and nodded. Three men emerged from along the temple wall, armed with spears and heavy khopesh swords. As she followed her husband, they took up a triangular defensive position around her.

Gaythelos led them away from the temple entrance and down a side street, their sandals kicking up dust. Despite the late hour, many houses showed the gleam of burning oil lamps through cracks in their shutters. The group moved at a quick pace, keeping silent as they crossed the former capital city.

The road sloped gently toward the riverside, where rows of small merchant boats were tied to a dock. As they moved along the bank, two men arose from the reeds. They wore long gray beards and were dressed in shabby linens.

The escorts raised their spears and sprang forward.

“Guards! Cease!” Meritaten cried.

The armed men froze.

She stepped past them and greeted the two men. “Osarseph, Ahrwn, what are you doing here? Why have you not departed?”

The younger of the two men stepped forward. His eyes held a determined look, shrouded by a weathered face. “Meritaten,” he said, “we could not taste freedom without offering you our thanks. Your influence with Pharaoh was instrumental in his edict. I am saddened for you to learn of his passing at Amarna.”

“My influence was debatable,” she said. “What is not questioned is that Pharaoh’s high priests are now in control of our lands—and have blamed the royal family for the sorrows brought upon Egypt.”

“You are guilty only of having an open heart for the downtrodden.” He slipped a goatskin bag from around his neck and passed it to her. “You saved us from the tainted waters of the Nile. I pray it is now time to save yourself.”

“You took heed where Pharaoh did not. It is Gaythelos you should thank, not me.” She nodded toward her husband. “He knew the power of the apium.”

Osarseph turned and bowed to the man. “You will join us?” He waved an arm toward the river. On the opposite bank, the glow from a thousand campfires dotted the horizon.

“No,” Meritaten said. “We will cast our fate to the sea.”

The old man nodded, then knelt before her. “My brother and I shall carry your deeds close to our hearts. May you live in peace for the life of the star

s.”

“And you as well, Osarseph. Good-bye.”

The two men climbed aboard a small raft, pushed into the dark river, and paddled for the opposite bank.

“Perhaps we should join them?” she whispered.

“The desert brings nothing but hardship, my love,” Gaythelos said. “More hospitable lands await. We must delay no longer.”

He led the company along the shoreline, turning away from the vessels at the town’s landing to a trio of boats hidden in the reeds downriver. As they approached, they were challenged by armed sentries, who then guided them aboard one of the boats.

Meritaten and Gaythelos took a seat on a bench beneath the lone mast as the boat was released from its mooring. Crewmen rowed away from the bank, following the other two vessels to the Nile’s center.

Meritaten cast an uneasy eye about the boat. It was less than 100 feet long and open-decked, with an upward-curving hull stem and stern. Pots and baskets filled with provisions littered the deck. Soldiers lined the gunwales, most rowing with short oars. The other two boats, veteran merchant ships that had crossed the Mediterranean many times, sat equally low in the water.