Memphis, reign of Tutankhamun
Kysen watched the royal troops leave while he stood beside Bener on the loggia. Their going was ostentatious, but of little consolation to him. Having dealt with criminals and traitors, he knew that the household would still be observed from afar all the hours of the day and night.
As the gate closed on the last guard, Bener nodded. "Good."
"The withdrawal means nothing," Kysen began.
"I'm not a fool." Bener led the way inside to the cool half-darkness of the reception hall and sank into her favorite chair, with its embroidered cushions. "The king's men can watch until they turn to dust. I care not."
"You weren't dragged before pharaoh. You didn't see the king's face."
"None of that matters, Ky. What matters is proving Father innocent."
Kysen gave his sister a skeptical glance before dropping to a cushion on the floor. "And how will we do that when we can't set foot outside the house without being seen?"
"We'll have help."
"From whom?" Kysen growled. "Even Maya dares not visit us, and Horemheb is busy hunting Father. Who will aid us?"
Bener grinned at him and glanced over her shoulder. Someone came through the shadowed doorway that led to the family quarters. Kysen glimpsed a tall figure, hair the color of obsidian. When the newcomer move toward them with a leopard's hunting pace, Kysen caught his breath.
"Father?"
"I thank Amun daily that I'm not your father," Ebana said as he strolled over to them.
Scowling, Kysen rose and faced his father's cousin. No wonder he'd mistaken the man for Meren, for Ebana shared with his cousin the same wide-shouldered, long-legged physique, embodying the canon of proportions so dear to painters and sculptors. Each had long cords of muscle in the neck, shoulders, and arms, kept taut by hours of practicing war skills. Each had angular features and a strong nose softened somewhat by a wide mouth. Even their hair curled the same way, causing tendrils to trespass on their high foreheads.
Like Meren's, Ebana's hair had yet to show a trace of silver, but unlike Meren's, Ebana's face bore a scar. Kysen stared into eyes as black as his father's and spoke to his sister.
"What possessed you to bring him here?"
Bener rose and stood between them. "Do you know anyone else who would brave pharaoh's wrath to help us?"
Kysen broke his stare to give Bener an exasperated glance. "Do you know anyone who harbors more ill will toward Father?"
"Nonsense," Bener replied. "He saved Father's life not long ago. Ebana doesn't hate him as much as he says."
"How do you know that? I know what he's done You don't."
Ebana forestalled Bener's retort with a raised hand. "Enough. I'll not be fought over like a carcass between two hyenas. Kysen, you forget that your father and I declared a truce."
"Only after he caught you-" Kysen shot a look at Bener and pressed his lips together.
Ebana gave him a smile that slithered through high grass and curled under rocks. "You speak the truth, but consider this, low-born cousin. If Meren is condemned, his whole family will suffer. As his cousin, who grew up with him, I'll share in the devastation. In proving your father's innocence, I merely assure my own well-being."
"Now I believe you," Kysen said.
Ebana turned and went to the master's dais, where he sank into Meren's chair with the grace of a prince. "Your faith is a comfort to my heart."
"Ass's dung."
Bener poked him with her elbow. "Hold your tongue. He's already been at work for us, ungrateful one."
"Ah, yes," Ebana said. "Allow me to add to your discomfort, baseborn cousin. I have sought out a friend among the king's war band and have an account of the attack on pharaoh."
Aghast, Kysen turned on his sister. "What have you been doing? And now that I think of it, how did he get here?"
"I sent a message in the laundry when the maids took it to the river to wash."
"But the laundry was searched."
Bener gave him a contemptuous look. "Not the women's blood cloths. Remember?"
Kysen opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again. Oh, yes.
"And he got here by simply walking in the front gate."
"Oh." Kysen faced Ebana, his jaw rigid as he bowed in gratitude. "May Amun bless you for your aid. Please, tell us what you've discovered."
Ebana grinned at him. "Well done, for a commoner."
"Just tell the tale," Kysen snapped.
"Some of it you know. After the skirmish with the bandits, pharaoh decreed that everyone was to celebrate. Horemheb convinced the king that the guards at the palisade shouldn't drink, but those inside the camp did. Even the Nubian bodyguards downed jars full of wine. You know how it is after battle, the strain winds the muscles as tight as a wine press."
Ebana rose and left the master's dais to join them. "As the hours passed, some went to their tents or fires. Meren left early, but pharaoh remained to joke and compare experiences with his companions. It was still dark when the king retired, and soon the whole camp slept."
"I could have guessed all this," Kysen said.
Ebana lifted a brow, caused his scar to move. "Could you in your omnipotence guess that after Meren left, someone drugged the wine and beer, and that was why the attacker could slip past the sentries at pharaoh's tent?"
Kysen flushed and shook his head.
"I don't know if the king's wine was touched, for his supply is kept separate. But his body servant slept through the attack, and the sentries at the royal tent roused only slowly. By the time they reached the king, the evil one had slashed the back of the tent and fled. Once the alarm was sounded, it was discovered that Meren was the only one missing."
"All that means is the attacker remained in camp rather than fleeing."
Bener had been listening silently. She returned to her chair, shaking her head. "The plan is a simple one."
Kysen had learned not to scoff at his sister when she said things like this. "Yes?"
"Of course," Bener said. "One of those nearest the king is the attacker. A humble soldier might have been noticed approaching the royal tent, even if the king's companions were drunk. The evil one waited until he thought everyone was in a stupor, stole into the tent, and made certain to wake the king. The attack was never intended to kill pharaoh, only to incriminate Father. The intruder stayed only long enough to do that before slipping out of the tent and rejoining the rest in the confusion. He might have been quick enough to take his place among the sleepers and pretend to wake with them."
"Meren told me you were clever of heart," Ebana said.
"He did?"
Kysen glared at his suddenly pleased sister. "But pharaoh is adamant that he heard Father."
"He was half asleep, and his wits were clouded by wine," Ebana said. "And pharaoh's heart is grieved by Meren's betrayal. If he weren't so disturbed, he would have realized that if Meren had wanted to kill him, he could have done it without getting caught. Your sister is right."
Bener had been staring over Kysen's shoulder, her lower lip caught between her teeth. "Even with the sentries in a stupor, there could have been little time to act."
"I agree," Ebana said.
"Therefore it is most likely that the attacker was one of those closest to pharaoh's tent," Bener continued.
"Who had charge of it that night?" Kysen asked.
Ebana drew nearer Bener, his harsh features softened by conjecture. "Karoya was wounded and unable to attend pharaoh."
"Which means that Mose would have been on duty," Kysen said.
"Yes." Ebana glanced from Kysen to Bener. "Mose and one other. The Nubian called Turi."
The conversation subsided as all three of them engaged in contemplation. Finally Bener spoke in a musing tone.
"I wonder if either Mose or Turi have dealings with Dilalu, Yamen, or Zulaya."
Ebana's head swiveled in her direction. "By the gods, little cousin, your heart is as devious as your father's."
"Such a possibility is the result of following a reasonable path of thought," Bener replied.
"Indeed," Ebana said faintly as he glanced at Kysen.
"She has always been this way," Kysen said. "Only of late, she has insisted upon meddling in Father's affairs."
Ignoring him, Bener said, "You must find a way to question Mose and Turi."
"How simple." Kysen threw up his hands. "I'll trot into the palace and ask them to a feast, shall I?"
"Hmm."
Kysen scowled at his sister. "No, Bener."
"You're right," she said. "They wouldn't come."
Holding up a hand in protest, Ebana interrupted them. "Enough, both of you. There's no time for grand designs. I'll seek out the Nubians myself."
"And I'll make my own inquiries," Kysen said. "I can seek Othrys's help. The pirate might know something of Mose or Turi, if Bener will send a message for me in her… creative manner." He kept his mouth shut when Bener smirked at him.
"How fortunate for you, brother, that I don't hold your condescending attitude against you."
The patrons of the Divine Lotus were more drunk than usual. Their drunkenness had a wild and desperate air about it. Everyone from the maids who served the food to the most successful Canaanite smuggler jumped at sudden sounds and stared into dark corners with slit-eyed acuity. On the floor in one of those dark corners, Meren sat pretending to drink spiced beer. He was waiting for Abu as arranged, and he was as wary as anyone, for Horemheb had returned to Memphis. At the general's command, the city police had doubled their patrols. It had been one of these that he'd barely escaped three nights ago.
When he arrived at the tavern this evening, the Lotus's owner, Ese, told him she'd had visits from three different patrols. Since Ese disliked men intensely and noblemen in particular, Meren was uneasy using her tavern as a meeting place now that she felt threatened. However, Othrys, who had accompanied him, assured him that Ese was more afraid of him than the city police and wouldn't reveal Meren's presence. Othrys was entertaining his allies in piracy at the moment- sailors, ship captains, port officials, Asiatic merchants, and the corrupt Egyptian traders who bought goods for temples, nobles, and government offices. The Divine Lotus was more packed than usual.
The crowding suited Meren, for it meant that he was ignored in favor of the abundant drink and roast ox Othrys had provided. He took a sip of beer, trying to ignore the stale taste. He was feeling lost and powerless, as he had when Akhenaten killed his father for refusing to renounce Amun. After he'd avoided being killed himself, Meren had spent his life trying to make certain he'd never be powerless again-and he'd failed. His impotence was a rat gnawing at his gut, and every action he took reminded him of how lost he was.
He'd never realized how much he'd taken for granted until he'd been forced from his position and his home. Although in the past he'd taken various guises in the service of pharaoh, he'd always chosen to play the part of men of whom he'd had adequate experience-rich merchants, soldiers, foreign nobles. Such disguises were too dangerous now.
Thus continual vigilance was essential, for his must give no orders-something he did as naturally as he breathed. He must walk differently, not stride as was his habit and expect others to get out of his way. He couldn't look at people in his own manner, for a great man stared over the heads of most and looked directly at anyone he wished. He had to amend his manners; they were those of an aristocrat. He had to fetch his own food and clothing and empty the bowl of sand under the toilet in his room.
Every moment he had to guard his speech and roughen his accent to that of a Greek commoner. But what had almost given him away several times was his habit of resting his hand on the dagger thrust into his belt-that dagger he could no longer wear without revealing himself. Greek sailors didn't go about wearing weapons any more than did ordinary Egyptians.
Meren tensed as a foreign merchant stumbled in his direction. It was Dilalu, who was known to frequent the Divine Lotus. Asiatics like him were recognizable by their multicolored and fringed wool robes. The merchant's clothing danced with embroidery and gold appliques. He had a wide face, but the lower half was obscured by a beard and curling mustache. Meren drew in his legs as the man zigzagged toward him and into a pool of lamplight. If Dilalu got a look at his face, he might be recognized.
Drawing his legs close to his chest, Meren tried to melt into the corner, but Dilalu's foot hit his ankle. The merchant tripped and would have plummeted to the floor in front of Meren had someone not caught him. Abu hoisted the man upright, twirled him around, and aimed him at one of Ese's prettiest dancers. The girl caught him, laughed, and began whispering in his ear. Soon Dilalu was giggling, his near accident forgotten.
Abu lowered himself beside Meren, who sighed and whispered, "My thanks."
"It was nothing, lor-it was nothing. What is Dilalu doing here?"
"Getting drunk on wine and pleasure, from what I can see. The Divine Lotus attracts most foreigners. You know that. I have to get away from this drunken offal before he runs into me again. Follow me to the courtyard."
Meren threaded his way through Othrys's numerous acquaintances and into Ese's courtyard. There amorous couples groped each other among the shrubs and flowers. Once Meren had found an isolated refuge in the shadows behind a tamarisk tree, Abu began to whisper to Meren.
"I have news-"
Meren shook his head. "That can wait. How does my family?"
"Lord Kysen was taken to the palace three days ago."
Meren felt the world spin for a moment. "He came back?"
Abu nodded. "Pharaoh spoke to him, but he was taken home." Abu frowned and rubbed his chin. "Afterward the men guarding your household were removed."
"It's a trap. Pharaoh has been an excellent student, Abu."
"Aye, but that's not what disturbs me. I was able to view the house for a brief time from the roof of another building."
"You should be careful," Meren said. "They're looking for you as well as me."
"I'm careful. I saw Lady Bener talking to her personal maid in the kitchen yard."
"She's well?"
"Too well. You remember how she used to look as a child when she'd devised some plan of devilment that had succeeded? She wore that same look while she was talking to the maid."
Meren covered his face with his hands. "Oh no. She has involved herself."
"I think so, because today Reia saw Lord Ebana enter the house."
Startled, Meren gaped at Abu. "How long has he been there?"
"I know not, lord."
Meren groaned. "Bener was always his favorite niece. She would tell him her plots and plans, and he'd keep her secrets. She remembers him as he was before pharaoh murdered his family, and I'd wager a chariot that it was she who sent for him."
"Perhaps, but there's nothing that can be done about your children at the moment, lord."
Whispering a stream of curses, Meren began to pace back and forth in front of the tamarisk tree. "Very well, but when I'm free again, I'll take a chariot whip to that girl." He saw Abu's grin. "This time I mean it."
"Of course." Abu's tone was skeptical.
Eyeing his aide, Meren asked, "How long have you been with me?"
"The lord was but a youth when I came to train him."
"But how long?"
"Over twenty years."
"Too long, Abu. You know me too well."
"You suffer much, lord, for it isn't like you to complain and lament."
Meren stopped in front of his aide and clasped his shoulder. "Forgive me, these leggings itch and I haven't been able to go about in daylight for what seems like years. Without the feel of Ra's light on my skin, my ka shrivels like grapes left in a tomb. What have you to tell me?"
"Reia and I did as you instructed, lord. We've been watching Dilalu and Yamen as much as possible. Neither has done anything suspicious. However, Dilalu is making preparations to go back to Byblos, and Yamen will soon depart for Megiddo as king's herald to assess tribute."
"Damnation, if they leave-"
"Fear not, lord. I was trying to tell you, I think I've seen the barber."
Meren drew closer to his aide. "Where?"
"This morning a soldier reported for duty with the squadron under Yamen's command at General Nakhtmin's barracks near the palace. This soldier has a shaved head, but he's growing his hair again, so it looks as if he stopped shaving it quite recently. And, lord, he is left-handed. I saw him with Yamen drawing a bow in a practice yard. There are scars on his inner arm from blade strikes."
"By the gods, Abu."
"Yes, lord."
"We must arrange a meeting with Yamen."
"In what manner?"
"What are his habits?" Meren asked. "Does he frequent any tavern or other place at night?"
"He visits the daughter of an incense maker in the Street of Perfumers." Abu glanced up at the moon. "He crosses the city almost every night to see her. Soon he'll be on his way."
"Good. You and I are going to pay Yamen a visit while he's indulging himself. It's always best to take an enemy in a vulnerable position, and I can't think of one more vulnerable than a man lying with a woman."
"Aye, lord."
"We've been here too long. Leave as you did last time and meet me behind the carpenter's workshop down the street."
"Yes, lord."
"Well done, Abu."
"I but followed your commands," Abu said. He almost saluted, but stopped himself and left by the back courtyard door.
Meren went back inside the tavern, his ka much lighter. At last the battlements of secrecy that protected Nefertiti's murderer were crumbling. Yamen was responsible for the plot to destroy his name. The question was why. Was it because Yamen himself had orchestrated the queen's death? If so, there was yet another above him who had issued the command, for Yamen hadn't been high enough at court to manage the deed by himself. And how had Yamen known that Meren suspected him?
Ever since he'd begun to inquire into Nefertiti's murder, he had run into one obstruction after another. He'd sought the queen's favorite cook, whom he suspected of administering the poison, to no avail. Her sister's wits were scattered, leaving him with no way to discover whether his suspicions were correct. The queen's steward had got himself killed before Meren could question him. And he'd barely embarked upon his quest to investigate Othrys's three candidates for murderer when he was snared in this evil trap and accused of attempted regicide.
Like Dilalu, Yamen had been at Horizon of the Aten when Nefertiti died. He'd had the men and the power to get rid of the cook and ruin Meren, but so did Dilalu. Only the barber linked Yamen to the plot to destroy him. If this half-bald soldier wasn't the barber, Meren was left drowning in ignorance again. And then there was Zulaya, whom he'd been on the verge of contacting when he was forced to flee. Zulaya was still a mystery to him.
Keeping to the shadows and obscure corners, Meren left the Divine Lotus and met Abu behind the carpenter's workshop. The space behind the house was littered with wood shavings, discarded lumber, and broken tools. Meren stepped over the remains of an adze handle and joined his aide, and they set off for the Street of Perfumers. It was a dangerous journey, for they had to cross the palace district and dodge police and military patrols. They skirted the area as much as they could, going completely around Horemheb's headquarters and ending up on the north side of the palace. There they entered a neighborhood of artisans-goldworkers, joiners, chariot makers, and perfumers.
The house of the perfumer was wedged between two larger structures, the agglomerated workshops of two extended families. The expansion of families into new quarters had left but a sliver of a passageway between each dwelling. As Meren approached the perfumer's, he heard the slapping footfalls of a patrol. Darting into the passageway with Abu behind him, he slipped around an exterior stairway and waited. He glimpsed a three-man patrol, spears used as walking sticks, as it tramped past.
When the patrol was gone, Abu snorted and said quietly, "They'll never catch anyone, lumbering about like drunken hippos."
"I doubt if they want to catch anyone," Meren replied. "Most city police I've met take care to avoid places where they're likely to find someone to arrest."
"True, lord."
Meren rested his back against the bulk of the staircase, hoping that his dark clothing would make him invisible. While he waited, he reviewed what had been discovered about Queen Nefertiti and her household.
Before Meren's own troubles intervened, his scribes had been examining government records and bringing back verbal reports. As with any great royal wife, Nefertiti's household had extended over countless estates and possessions throughout the empire. Her immediate servants were numerous as well. There had been waiting ladies-the daughters of princes and nobles-three personal maids, five dressers, several physicians, her steward, the chief scribe and his staff, her captain of troops and his men, her traders, and her overseer of the cabinet, who dealt with the queen's wardrobe. He'd reconstructed this list from his scribe's reports, not from his patchy memory.
Royal accounts had yielded payments to hairdressers, cosmetics attendants, a keeper of the queen's jewels and his assistant, a bearer of floral offerings, the queen's Aten priest, her musicians, singers, porters, and sandal-bearers. He'd found a sealer of the storehouse of gifts of the queen, three personal heralds, and a vast array of kitchen and garden staff, along with the woman who was overseer of the queen's bath. Rations had been dispensed to the queen's cup-bearer, her chariot driver, her grooms, and the keeper of the queen's pets. Nefertiti had left bequests to many of her servants, including the mistress of the queen's oils and unguents.
Unfortunately, the documents failed to list many of these servants by name. He could trace only the highest, many of whom had left royal service completely or had died.Two of the queen's physicians who had attended her during her last illness had died, and that worried Meren. The third, a woman, still attended Queen Ankhesenamun. Would a woman so highly regarded by the royal family have poisoned her mistress? Of that he had great doubt.
Another high servant had been Thanuro, the Aten priest appointed to serve the queen by Akhenaten. Once the queen had taken ill, the priest had conducted sacrifices to beg the gods to save Nefertiti, but he hadn't visited the sick woman. After the king and queen were both dead, the priest had retired. Meren remembered hearing that he'd died on a journey to a foreign estate he'd been given by Akhenaten. The steward, of course, had been in charge of the household and had access to the favored cook. But someone had directed his actions. Someone high enough to impose his will upon a royal servant; there were few such men.
An evil possibility had occurred to him while making the interminable list of queen's servants. He-Meren-had been a constant visitor to the palace in his capacity as Ay's aide. Being in the palace so frequently during the queen's final days made him vulnerable to the same suspicions he had against her servants. He'd been justified in his secrecy. Should pharaoh discover his inquiry into the queen's death, his cautious heart would conclude that Meren's recent mad actions resulted from a murderer's guilt and fear of exposure.
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Meren surveyed the dark streets at either end of the passageway. Few were abroad this late, and he was beginning to think Yamen wasn't coming. Resolving to give his quarry a little longer, Meren resumed his contemplation.
Records from the days at Horizon of the Aten were incomplete. Only those of immediate use had been taken when the court had moved back to Memphis. These were scattered among various government departments. Many had been left in the nearly abandoned city, which now was the residence only of the mortuary priests who attended the royal tombs. These pharaoh had not yet transferred, even though the graves they tended were empty. Tutankhamun was reluctant to remove them, for such an action would signal to the whole kingdom that the bodies of Akhenaten and his family had been taken away. The king was fearful of a repetition of the desecration that had been wrought upon his dead brother's body.
A stealthy and thus limited examination of accounts from the royal treasury had revealed some important news, however. In Nefertiti's final months, there had been payments of grain and small amounts of gold to Dilalu by the queen's steward. He had also found ration disbursement records that disclosed that Yamen had been assigned to the queen's household guard for a brief time. Of Zulaya there was no record at all, and Meren was beginning to think that the man had been somewhere else, possibly in one of the cities in which he owned property-Byblos, Aleppo, or Damascus.
Meren shoved away from the stairway and rotated his shoulders, which had grown stiff with prolonged inactivity. Motioning for Abu to remain where he was, he slithered down the passageway to the Street of Perfumers and looked at the sky. The moon was gone. Yamen wasn't coming.
Returning to the staircase, he whispered to Abu, "He's not coming. We'll try again tomorrow night."
He slipped out of the passage with Abu at his heels. Traveling as a wanted man meant skulking down foul alleys and over the rooftops of buildings when he could be sure a family wasn't sleeping outdoors. He couldn't hop and clamber over roofs in this crowded district, however. With reluctance, Meren picked his way through side streets and alleys, trying not to step in dog and goat dung or pools of muddy piss. He made it through several noxious passages before his sandal landed in muck that oozed between his toes. It was as black as night in the netherworld, but Meren recognized that unpleasant, slimy texture. Abu stopped beside him and made a noise of commiseration.
Cursing, Meren lifted his foot and sniffed. He sniffed again. No acid odor. He smelled dirt mixed with a coppery scent he knew from the battlefield and practice yard. Forgetting his foot, he squatted and reached out. His fingers touched skin slick with blood, and then he heard a whimper.