On the third night after he'd killed Tanefer, Meren was in a palace chamber near the royal apartments with Ay and Horemheb. The general was striding about the room while Meren rested on a stool beside Ay. His wound was itching where Nebamun had cleaned and stitched it. Egypt was famed throughout the world for its medicine. Meren just wished the physician didn't insist upon using a needle fresh from a white-hot flame; he could have done without the magic of the fire. They were going over the precautions taken in rounding up Tanefer's nest of traitors, including the guards he'd placed near pharaoh. Rahotep had been given the task of finding the enclave of mercenaries lurking in the desert.
"A messenger came not an hour ago," Horemheb was saying. "Rahotep is chasing the renegades north. Those he doesn't kill will flee into Palestine."
Meren nodded wearily. He hadn't slept well since he'd discovered Tanefer's betrayal. He would never understand how his friend could have plotted to kill Tutankhamun, but deep in his ka, he had some understanding of how one so brilliant could lose control after years and years of enduring the damaging rule of an unfit king.
Meren himself failed to divine the purpose of the gods in inflicting Akhenaten upon Egypt and then allowing the middle brother to die untimely so that
Tutankhamun came to the throne too young. A plague of misfortunes had driven everyone to desperation until Akhenaten died, but Tanefer had suffered more than most. His mother's country had endured far more at the hands of the Hittites than Egypt had at the hands of its heretic pharaoh. And Tanefer had witnessed the destruction.
How much of his rebellion had been impelled by the desire to spare Egypt from a like fate, and how much had been simple greed for power? He would never know. And the pain of losing so close and beloved a friend remained with him, an interminable affliction.
Horemheb had finished his summary, and Ay rose and leaned on his walking stick as he talked. Meren listened without comment. He had already reported to pharaoh the night his friend died, giving him the entire story of the deaths of Unas, Qenamun, Ahiram, and Tanefer. He'd given the report without comment, his spirit so weighed down with grief that he had little attention to give to his estrangement from the king.
He'd been honest about his suspicion of the priests of Amun, for the king's view was the same. The offer of the truce was discussed. Then he'd left. Nothing was said by pharaoh regarding their personal difficulty. During the days that had passed since then, Tutankhamun had consulted Ay and Horemheb in his effort to reach some decision. He hadn't sent for Meren at all.
Ay's wrinkled hand descended to his shoulder. "You aren't listening, Meren."
"Forgive me," he said. "You were talking about moving the royal tombs from Horizon of Aten."
"I know Akhenaten decreed that his house of eternity never be moved, but we can no longer abide by his wishes."
"Yes, yes." Meren heard the impatience in his own voice, but sometimes Ay could be so circuitous.
"Now that the body has been restored," Ay said, "it's time to move all the family burials to a place of concealment."
Meren stared at the vizier. There had been little of Akhenaten left to restore. Whatever had been effected had been done to assuage Tutankhamun's troubled ka more than for any other purpose.
"We must choose a place, perhaps Abydos or Memphis," Ay said.
"Then get on with it," Meren snapped. "Put them in a simple, unmarked tomb in the Valley of the Kings. It's the most guarded place in Egypt, and it's the only place where they have a chance of remaining undisturbed. Here, where pharaoh's power can protect them."
"And right under the noses of the priests of Amun," Horemheb said with a chortle. He had been in riotous spirits since he'd been absolved of evil by Meren.
"Put no mortuary temple above to mark the site," Meren continued. "Move them and be done with it."
Ay's walking stick tapped the floor tiles as he strode toward Meren. "Your temper grows worse each day, boy. What makes you so hot-bellied?"
'Treasons and plots may be like meat to you, but I find them unpalatable."
His scar began to itch. It always did when he was thinking about Akhenaten's death. He'd stopped counting the times he'd cringed at the hypocrisy of his position. He had hunted and killed Tanefer when, not many years ago, he had ignored hints of a similar plot against Akhenaten that had led to the king's death. He had saved one king, but allowed another to die. Oh, he doubted he could have stopped Ay. Should he have tried, at the cost of more lives and the continued rule of a madman?
"I know you had great affection for Tanefer," Ay was saying. "We all did. You didn't want to kill him, young one, but he would have killed you if you'd hesitated."
A door swung open to reveal the overseer of the audience hall. Meren watched him without interest as he entered, stopped to arrange the complicated folds of his robes, and pounded the floor with his walking stick.
"The living Horus, Strong Bull arisen in Thebes, rich in splendor, the Golden Horus who conquers all lands by his might, the King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Nebkheprure Tutankhamun saith thus: "The Lord Meren will attend my majesty. He is to come alone'."
Meren glanced at Ay. The vizier leaned on his walking stick, his back so bent by age that he resembled a lurking vulture.
"Go on, boy. It's time you two talked."
Sighing, Meren worked his sore shoulder. He was wearing an Eye of Horus amulet to guard his health. Nebamun had insisted upon it, and he couldn't have worn a broad collar over the wound anyway.
The overseer of the audience hall was leaving. Meren followed, gripping the amulet. It was suspended from a heavy gold chain. Long ago, the god Horus lost an eye in combat with the evil Set over the murder of his father Osiris. Toth, god of magic, retrieved the eye and healed it. Later Horus gave the eye to Osiris to eat in order to restore him to life. Meren wondered if the amulet could work its magic and restore to health his relationship with pharaoh.
Tutankhamun received him in the audience chamber reserved for formal events. Two Nubians of the royal bodyguard swung open golden doors, and the overseer paced slowly into the room between high columns. Meren followed him, his pace equally slow, and as he walked, he grew cold. Pharaoh was seated on his throne on a raised dais wearing the double crown of Upper and Lower Egypt, his body draped in gold, in his hands the crook and flail symbolizing his rule over the Two Lands. They would never reconcile if Tutankhamun continued to hide behind that aloof royal demeanor he'd learned to wear so well.
The overseer announced him and retreated. Meren sank to the floor before pharaoh and bent his head. If pharaoh wished formality, he would give it to him.
"Rise, Lord Meren."
As he stood, Meren heard the overseer return. He never liked noises at his back, but before he could glance over his shoulder, pharaoh beckoned to him. He mounted the dais and took up a stance slightly behind and to the right of the throne. Between the rows of columns the overseer preceded his cousin, who led a procession of priests bearing ornate boxes and caskets of gold, ebony, cedar, and ivory. Ebana was as ornate as his offerings in his court dress. A heavy necklace of malachite rested on his shoulders, while a long wig gleamed black against the shining green stones.
Meren watched priest after priest place his burden before the dais. He couldn't stop one corner of his mouth from curling as he realized how worried Parenefer must be to try to bribe pharaoh. Ebana caught his eye, and he pulled his mouth into a straight line. He shouldn't gloat. After all, Ebana had saved his life.
The overseer began to intone the phrases of formal address to pharaoh. Then Ebana spoke.
"The good god Amun has heard the prayers of his living son, the divine bull, the golden Horus. His care for his son knows no boundaries."
Ebana began to open the boxes. Inside lay stacks of ingots, gold ingots. The priests were still coming, and soon the floor was covered with boxes filled with gold, silver, and electrum. Meren stopped counting when he reached fifty. He cast a sideways glance at Tutankhamun, but the boy appeared to be taking this flood of riches with composure. Of course, much of Amun's wealth originally derived from royal generosity. No doubt pharaoh had seen greater riches on his visits to the royal treasury with Maya.
Two priests threaded their way through the fabulous litter, bearing a casket between them on carrying poles. They set it before Ebana, who removed the lid to reveal an interior filled with jewels, products of the workshops of Amun. Meren saw several necklaces fashioned of electrum, the links in the shape of beetles. There were diadems, fillets and headbands of gold, pectoral necklaces with inlay of carnelian, lapis, turquoise, and malachite.
Anklets of beaded amethyst rested on top of gold falcon collars and long, heavy earplugs of the same metal. There were several collars made entirely of thick lenticular gold beads in five rows each. The weight of just one of these made them a burden to wear. Ebana lifted a belt of electrum and deep green malachite. Bowing low, he placed the token at pharaoh's feet.
"Life, health, and strength to the living Horus, son of Amun, shining seed of the god, great of strength, smiter of Asiatics, he who-"
"Yes, yes," Tutankhamun said. "My majesty acknowledges this… small expression of the good will of the god my father."
Ebana straightened and waited. Tutankhamun stared at him wordlessly until Ebana resorted to glancing at Meren. Meren let him suffer a few moments longer before whispering to the king.
"Majesty, this humble cupbearer believes the Servant of the God begs privy speech."
A scepter waved in the air, causing overseer, priests, and guards to vanish. Once they were alone, Tutankhamun nodded to Ebana. Ebana gave Meren an uneasy look before speaking in a voice just above a whisper.
"The chief prophet of the god greets the divine one and asks if the matter discussed with Lord Meren has been agreed upon."
Still Tutankhamun didn't speak. A bead of sweat appeared from beneath Ebana's wig and snaked down his forehead to stop at his scar. The golden crowns remained motionless. Held in crossed hands, the crook and the flail seemed immobile. Ebana's gaze darted to Meren. Meren kept his expression as blank as the face of a desert cliff. When he thought Ebana's jaw would break from being clenched, pharaoh broke the silence.
"My majesty has listened to the speech of the Eye and Ears of Pharaoh, the Lord Meren. Even now criminals are being sought for their transgressions against us." Tutankhamun shifted on his throne and rested his arms on those of the golden chair. "As we speak, my wrath seeks out those who would destroy the order of my kingdom. Justice and balance will be restored, according to the eternal and everlasting harmony between my majesty and the god, my father. There will be peace."
"Thy majesty's will is accomplished in its utterance," Ebana replied.
Tutankhamun waved a hand in dismissal. "My majesty's heart desires harmony and order above all things."
"As does thy father, the king of gods." Ebana bowed and retreated through the forest of boxes.
When the doors shut behind him, Tutankhamun let out a long breath. The scepters faltered as he slumped from his rigid posture. Meren found himself the subject of scrutiny from those great, dark eyes.
"Your wound doesn't trouble you?" the king asked.
"No, majesty."
Tutankhamun rose, and placed the scepters on the throne. Meren helped him lift the heavy headdress and set it beside the crook and flail. The king ran his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his temples.
"By the gods, those are heavy. They make my head ache."
"Shall I send for the royal physician?"
"No," Tutankhamun said. "No. I wanted to ask about Tanefer's men."
"Several of his officers tried to flee the city. I sent Kysen after them, and he's turned them over to Horemheb. They've been questioned about the location of Tanefer's mercenaries, and Rahotep is pursuing them. None of them seems to have been told about the desecration of the royal tombs."
"And the actual violators of the tomb?"
"No word, majesty. I begin to think they never left Egypt. The criminals are most likely living among us." He didn't mention Parenefer or Ebana. It was unnecessary. "No doubt they're busy dismantling the jewelry, melting down the gold into ingots, prying out stones, and so on."
They both glanced at the boxes full of ingots.
"So that the source of the gold and stones can never be discovered," Tutankhamun said.
"Yes, majesty."
"You see that I've taken your advice. Both Ay and Horemheb said you were right, but I did so want to feed Parenefer to the crocodiles."
"Thy majesty needs time and peace in which to gain experience."
"I'd rather have revenge."
Meren turned away from the brilliant piles of loot to face the king. "Revenge might cost you your throne."
"Ay said you would say that." Tutankhamun lowered his gaze to the floor. He cleared his throat.
"Um. I haven't had a chance to tell you that Maya has remembered that it was from Tanefer that he first heard the rumors of Horemheb's treason."
"I thought it might be so, majesty."
Tutankhamun looked away. "And while you were gone chasing Ahiram, Tanefer kept reflecting upon the past, about how greatly you suffered at the hands of my brother, how Akhenaten had your father killed and tortured you." His voice faded and he gave Meren a look of appeal.
"I see, majesty."
"Do you?"
Meren heard the distress and pain in those two words. All at once he realized he'd just received for the second time something unheard-of in Egypt, a pharaoh's apology. Just as suddenly, his spirits lifted, and he smiled for the first time since Tanefer's death.
"Yes, majesty, I do."
He nearly jumped back when Tutankhamun gave a joyful whoop, dashed at him, and gripped his wrist. Although startled at the contact, Meren returned the gesture, gripping the boy's wrist, warrior to warrior.
"I've missed you," the king said.
"I have longed for thy majesty's presence as well."
Tutankhamun dropped his arm and peered into Meren's face. "You look weary."
"I'm well, divine one."
"I don't think so. Ay says you aren't sleeping."
Meren cursed Ay's inquisitive and interfering nature, which caused the king to laugh.
"Now that I see you, I agree with him," the king said. "Once we're certain we've purged ourselves of traitors at court, you will go to the country and rest."
"But, majesty, there is much to do."
"And Kysen will go with you to see that you abide by my orders."
"There's no need," Meren began.
"There is a need," Tutankhamun said. "Because my majesty declares it to be so. Now go home and rest. Ay says you've been working since before sunrise, and it's almost dusk. You must recover your full strength."
As Meren stepped down from the dais, a suspicion snaked into his thoughts, and he turned back to the king. "You want me to recover so that I'll take you on a raid."
"You did say I needed experience. Now that we have a truce with Parenefer, I have the time and freedom to get it. And those bandits are still plundering villages to the south."
"I knew it. Majesty, thou art shrewd and full of guile, like the cobra."
Tutankhamun walked over to him, folded his arms over his chest, and smiled. "I'm apprenticed to a master skilled in shrewdness and guile. How could I be otherwise?"
Meren shook his head as the king gave him a parting smile and left the audience chamber through a door behind the dais. Meren left the way he had come, and outside found Kysen coming toward him, flanked by Abu and Reia.
"Horemheb has just sent three of Tanefer's officers into the desert."
Nothing else had to be said. Criminals had been sent into the desert since before the time of the god-kings who built the pyramids. Meren wondered if Horemheb would be merciful and allow the men to kill themselves rather than be staked out in the sun and elements to die slowly. It was a matter in which he couldn't interfere. Meren fell into step beside his son.
"You're ready to go home?" Kysen asked.
"Yes."
Kysen gave him a worried glance. "You saw the king?"
"Yes. I'm to rest."
"Good."
Meren heard a relieved sigh and knew that Kysen had understood him. It wouldn't do to discuss the king's repentance in the palace.
"I'm to rest so that I'll be well enough to take the divine one on a raid as soon as I'm fit."
Kysen's steps faltered, and he gave Meren a chagrined look. "Oh, no."
Meren slapped Kysen on the back as they threaded their way through courtiers, servants, and government officials.
"It seems not even treason or will prevent pharaoh from becoming a true warrior."
Kysen snorted. "And what if the golden one is killed on this raid?"
"That's what you and I must guard against." He listened to his son grumble, and he almost smiled. It wasn't but a few years ago that Kysen had been just as eager to test himself as pharaoh. The memory of youth was short. No doubt Kysen had forgotten his near-fatal initiation into warfare. Meren hadn't. He'd nearly lost his son to a dirty knife thrown by a thieving nomad.
What he needed was respite from restless youth and court intrigue. He would obey pharaoh and retire for a few weeks to the country. Surely he would find refuge there.