The king had retreated from the blast of the afternoon sun to an audience chamber. For this Meren was thankful, but he would rather have remained by the reflection pool than endure this bickering among pharaoh's advisors. Tutankhamun had summoned support for his side of the argument, so now several of the younger men were gesticulating in front of a weary Ay. Meren's gaze traveled from the short and wiry Ahiram of Byblos to Tanefer, Djoser, and Rahotep.
His concern mingled with that for Kysen. Something was wrong at the temple of Amun, something that had so disturbed Ebana that he'd brought the matter to court. Now Kysen was in the midst of inquiries that would pit him against Ebana and possibly Parenefer.
Far more powerful men than Ky had lost their lives in such struggles. There had been sudden deaths by poisoning, purported accidents that cut a life short, unexpected scandals that ruined reputations. The reach of the temple of Amun was high and deadly.
Djoser rose abruptly from his kneeling position beside the king, distracting Meren from his worries. The king's brow furrowed as he directed his stare at Djoser. Meren could see that he was confused by Djoser's lack of zeal for battle. Raised in the tradition of warrior pharaohs, Tutankhamun hadn't the experience to under-stand a man who preferred tranquility and the rhythmic cycles of the farmer to the glory of court and battle.
Meren sighed and rubbed the sun-disk scar on his inner wrist. He caught himself and shoved a thick warrior's bracelet down over the wound. He bore much of the blame for the king's headstrong desire for conquest. Knowing how great was the Hittite threat, how easily barbarians could invade Egypt and prevail over a people so used to peace and good living, he had taken care to train the king for battle.
The king's father, Amunhotep the Magnificent, had built great temples and ruled by divisive manipulation of allies and enemies alike. Thanks to his neglect and that of Tutankhamun's older brother, however, such tactics would no longer suffice. The time for war was coming.
So now he was faced with a young stallion kicking at the stable door, who threatened to injure himself in his efforts to gain freedom. Meren rubbed his chin and stared down at the plastered floor. He stood in the middle of a painting of a reflection pool. A yellow-and-blue fish goggled at him from between reeds of deep green.
His attention snapped back to the group surrounding the king. Ahiram of Byblos and Prince Rahotep were arguing-again. No matter the issue, they were never on the same side. Ahiram had made a point for the war side, which Rahotep immediately rebutted.
Ahiram balanced on the balls of his feet. He was a small man, but powerful of build. He wore his curly hair longer than Egyptians did and cultivated a pointed beard that grew at the tip of his chin. Meren had always thought it gave him a goatish appearance, but had spared Ahiram his opinion.
Not so Rahotep, who criticized anyone except pharaoh with the brutal honesty of a child of four. No matter who was offended, Rahotep would offer his views.
Perhaps Rahotep disliked Ahiram because of their similarities. Both felt the sting of imagined insignificance, Rahotep because of his peasant mother, Ahiram because of his foreign birth and lost throne. With natures based on such weak foundations, neither man seemed capable of reaching peace of the ka.
A warning trumpet blew in Meren's head when Rahotep suddenly jumped to his feet. Ahiram stuck his thumbs in the belt of his kilt. His bearded chin jutted forward so that the tip pointed at his adversary.
"Such maidenly aversions cost my father his life, and me a throne."
Rahotep narrowed his eyes and sneered at Ahiram's beard, the essence of civilized Egyptian disdain. "Watch your tongue, barbarian. My ancestors were exacting tribute from your kind while your family was still raising goats in the wastelands of Syria." He made a point of staring at the beard as he said goat.
Meren edged closer to the group as an abrupt silence fell. Even the king stiffened and dropped his hand to a ceremonial blade in his belt. The air crackled with the threat of bloodshed.
"You well know Byblos is an ally. Speak not of tribute when you mean trade, fool."
Meren darted a glance at the king's chief Nubian bodyguard, but Karoya was already moving to Tutankhamun's side. At the appearance of the towering warrior, Ahiram broke off glaring at Rahotep. Danger ebbed from the moment, and Meren glided between the two men.
"All of us are weary from a long morning of duties, and the divine one still must receive merchant emissaries from the Mycenaeans and the Libyans."
"As always, Meren plays the arbiter," Prince Tanefer said as he smoothly drew Ahiram away from Rahotep.
"It's possible we won't have any peace until we drive the Hittites back into their forsaken mountains and take their children as hostages the way Ahiram was taken Rahotep said, almost earning a kick from Meren.
"My father sent me to Egypt willingly for training. I was never a hostage!"
Ahiram lurched out of Tanefer's grip. His hands fastened around Rahotep's neck. Meren shouldered Djoser aside, grabbed one of Ahiram's fingers, and bent backward. Ahiram yelped, his hold broken, and Meren changed his grip so that he could bend the man's arm backward and pinch flesh and tendons against bones. The whole movement lasted less than a heart's beat, and then Meren stepped back and smiled lazily at Ahiram.
"Govern yourself in the presence of the golden one," he said. "You know better, my friend. It's not like you to chance rousing Karoya." Meren jerked his head in the direction of the royal bodyguard.
Ahiram's head swiveled around in the same direction. Karoya had drawn a knife. He'd cocked his arm back, the blade gripped in his fingers, aiming at Ahiram. The foreign prince flushed and raised his empty arms away from his body in a gesture of compliance.
His dark face expressionless, as if killing Ahiram meant no more to him than stepping on a beetle, Karoya glanced at Tutankhamun. The king's hand made a slight, sideways movement. Karoya sheathed the knife.
"Divine one," Ay said. "Lord Meren is right. Duties await thee."
"Very well," Tutankhamun said, and waved his councillors permission to retire.
Meren spoke under his breath to Tanefer. "Bring everyone to me. We all need a good meal and relief from this heat."
Tanefer nodded as he left.
"Lord Meren will attend my majesty."
He was surprised to find the king studying him intently. Ay passed him on his way out and gave him a look of sympathy. Karoya had retreated to his station behind the dais upon which the king sat. Approaching the king's gold and ebony chair, he dropped to his knees and bent his head.
"Oh, be done with that," the king snapped. "What use is it for you to kneel to me when you know well that I am the one who must obey, who must perform and follow tradition and orders?"
Meren straightened, but didn't get to his feet. He raised a brow. "What is thy will, divine one?"
"You've been quiet all day. When Ay argued for caution and pointed out how young I was for a campaign, you said nothing. When Horemheb and Tanefer scoffed and spoke of the ravages of the Hittites, you remained silent." Tutankhamun rose from his chair and threw up his hands. "Curse it, Meren. It's not like you to straddle a boundary stone. What do you think?"
Meren sank back on his heels and stared up at the king, who was pacing back and forth like one of his pet lions. At last he shook his head and spoke.
"It is my misfortune to think two things at once, golden one."
The king halted and stared at him. Meren rose.
"If we allow the Hittite menace to go unchallenged, we invite a powerful enemy to camp at our very borders. Our armies and allies have been neglected. Their faith fails them, for they have seen their pleas for aid ignored and have needlessly shed blood because of it. They need a warrior king to lead them."
"I knew it," the king said. "I knew you understood."
"And if you plunge into battle with them before your time and are killed, no victory, no amount of land or tribute, will make up for the evil that will befall Egypt."
"But you've said my skills are great."
"They are, as is your heart and courage," Meren said.
"But have I not also said that the span of a warrior's training is as the length of the Nile? Consider, majesty. How long is the reach of your arm compared to mine? Try to touch me."
The king reached out, and Meren darted forward, arm outstretched as if gripping a short sword. His hand tapped against the gold and lapis beads of the king's broad collar. He drew back in silence as Tutankhamun's gaze darted from his chest to Meren's arm. A flush crept over the king's cheeks.
"Damnation to you," Tutankhamun muttered.
"Had I been a Hittite, I could have sliced your heart in half."
"Get out!"
Meren bowed and backed away.
"Wait."
Tutankhamun gripped the back of his golden chair. Meren cocked his head to the side as the king pressed his lips together.
"I didn't mean to shout at you."
He had difficulty in concealing his admiration and his surprise. It was as close to a request for forgiveness as he'd ever heard from a living god.
"Thy majesty is much beset."
Tutankhamun came to stand before him. "My majesty wishes you to reconsider your advice." He touched Meren's arm briefly. "You of all of them should have faith in me."
"I do, majesty."
"Then consider well, for I'm not done with this matter, and neither are Horemheb and Tanefer."
"As thy majesty commands."
"Don't affect obedience in private, Meren. I know you're going to do just as you wish."
"I give you my promise, majesty. I will ponder long and well."
"And before you leave, tell me what mischief your cousin has been spreading. Ah, you didn't think I knew about his visit."
'Thy majesty is all-knowing," Meren said. He told the king of the death at the foot of the statue. "Such an affront to thy majesty's image must not go without inquiry."
"There's more," Tutankhamun said. He walked over to Meren. "Tell me the whole of it."
"It seems that Ebana imagines that this pure one was in my pay."
"And was he?"
"Only indirectly, majesty."
"Do you think they killed him for it?"
Meren shook his head. "I don't know. If Parenefer had the pure one killed, why bring the matter to my attention and risk my conducting an inquiry?"
"But you will anyway," the king said. "So perhaps they're attacking before you do, to distract."
"Aye, majesty. I'll know more after Kysen makes his examinations."
"Very well. I can see you wish to go, but don't forget my words. I want to lead my armies, Meren."
He left the king then, relieved to escape without having pushed the boy into fury with his defiance. As he went, he realized that this matter of the king's campaign was no longer a councillors' squabble. Now it was a matter of state-an affair of life and death.
Almost an hour after leaving the king, Meren stepped through the gate in the wall surrounding his town house in the palace district of western Thebes. The charioteers behind him took the path to the left around a reflection pool, through another gate in a wall, and past the house to the offices and barracks that lay to the rear. The porter closed the gate, leaving Meren standing alone in the shade of the first of a double row of acacia trees that lined the walk surrounding the pond in front of the house.
As he had left the king, he'd come face to face with the high priest of Amun in the throng outside. After the confrontation with pharaoh, he'd been in no mood to tolerate Parenefer. He could still hear the old man's high voice grating like a bronze saw against granite.
"Ah, the lord Meren, in secret conversation with the son of the god as usual. How great is the fortune of the Two Lands that its young lord should so depend upon the council of a servant."
He grew cold all over again in remembering the sudden quiet that had settled over the courtiers and government officials. The stares, most of them sly or calculating, none of them revealing the rankling envy and fear Parenefer had taken care to feed. Meren pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut.
Even Horemheb had looked at him strangely. But the damage was done. He had to remember that scorpions like Parenefer were always lurking, and they had yet to sting him fatally.
Opening his eyes, he shaded them and glanced at the small family chapel, shining white in the sun of the front courtyard, before walking down the path to the house. In the distance he heard the whinny of his favorite thoroughbred from the stables. Kysen might be back from the temple of Amun by now.
The morning's confrontation with Ebana still worried him. It wasn't like his cousin to make open accusations that led nowhere. He speculated that Parenefer had instigated the trouble, perhaps as revenge for the placing of that statue in front of his temple, perhaps for some other evil and obscure reason he had yet to discover. Parenefer would have known that Unas's death would attract his attention. It could be that the high priest had decided that an attack was better than waiting to be accused of eliminating a suspected spy.
In the house, Meren gave orders for the preparation of a large meal, then retreated to his apartments. He'd bathed, changed, and gone to his office behind the house by the time Kysen sought him out. He retrieved his juggling balls and was tossing the three leather spheres. His hands made soft padding sounds as the balls hit them.
It wasn't long before his son came into the room, carrying a pitcher of beer and two goblets. Setting these aside, Kysen picked up a fourth ball and tossed it at him. Meren grabbed for it and missed. Another ball hit his arm while the others fell and bounced at his feet.
"You still haven't managed that fourth one," Kysen said as he poured beer.
Meren stooped and picked up the balls, storing them in a cedar box. "Not when it's thrown at me."
"Did the juggling settle your temper?"
"What temper?"
"Come, Father, I saw your expression this morning. And Ebana always manages to stir you to hornet madness."
Meren shut the lid of the cedar box and picked up his goblet of beer. 'The inquiries at the temple, what of the death of the priest?"
"Some day you must tell me about him."
Meren took a long sip of beer before speaking. "The priest."
"I'm not sure whether he died accidentally or not. Ebana might have been trying to goad you," Kysen said. "Unas appears to have been an excitable little moth of a man, over-diligent and clumsy as well. Most likely, he missed his step and fell through his own carelessness. There are no marks to betoken a struggle."
"However?"
"However, if someone did discover his connection with you, well, this could be Parenefer's way of warning you to keep away. And there is a difficulty."
"What difficulty?"
"Unas's wife said that he went to the statue early because of a message given by a boy from the master sculptor asking for the meeting. Yet the sculptor says he sent no message. I believe him, for he's the one who brought the accident to our attention, and he has a reputation for straight dealing and honor."
"Have you found this boy messenger?"
"No. He's vanished."
Meren set his cup aside. "It could be that the wife is lying, or she may have been mistaken about who sent the message."
"I've sent Abu to see her again. He's good at scaring the truth out of people."
"If Unas didn't fall by accident, the murderer would have to be someone who knew the arrangements for work at the temple, those of the guards, the porters, the priests, and the royal artisans as well."
"In other words, someone from the temple, or his wife or her lover."
"Lover?" Meren asked.
"Yes, a man much younger than Unas, who no doubt attracts the attention of many women."
"I see," Meren said. "Yet another example of the delights of marriage." He went to his chair and slumped into it. "God, I'm sick of questioning everyone's motives, of suspecting even the slave who pours water over me in the bathing stall."
He looked up at Kysen, who was regarding him with surprise. "Even I can grow weary of stratagems and machinations, Ky."
"Is that why you took me for your son? To have someone so beholden to you that you could trust him completely?"
"No."
They held each other's gaze, and Kysen finally lowered his.
"Forgive me, Father."
"You shouldn't listen to Ebana. His ka is poisoned."
"I won't listen to him if you won't," Kysen said with a grin.
"Insolent colt."
"About the priest. The wife, Ipwet, is but a girl, one of spirit and pleasing. And the lover seems to have been on his way to the royal workshops when the priest died. If Unas was murdered, we may never know whether it was because of his family or because of his service to you."
Meren was listening to Kysen's view of the situation when Abu appeared, leading in the porter of the temple of Amun, Huni. The man fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor in front of Meren, who backed away as a pungent odor reached him. The man's hair was greasy and stuck to his scalp. His skin bore a layer of dust matted with grime. Beneath the smell of refuse Meren detected a whiff of cheap beer.
"Look at me," Meren said.
Huni raised his head. The whites of his eyes were discolored with a network of red veins, and he blinked at Meren slowly, as if he'd just swilled a few buckets of beer.
"Did you see the pure one Unas fall from the statue of the king?"
"No, lor'. Didn't see nothin'." Huni's fingers plucked at his kilt and his hair as if he were trying to repair his disheveled appearance.
"Because you were asleep," Kysen said as he walked around to stand beside Meren.
The porter sat back on his heels and placed his hands on his thighs. Huni's glance slid away from them as he fell to studying his broken and dirty fingernails.
"I never," he muttered, "sleep on duty."
"I have reports that it's your most skilled accomplishment," Kysen said. "I hear that if there were tournaments for sleepers, you would win the gold necklace."
"False reports," Huni whined.
Meren raised his glance to Abu, who instantly approached the porter, gripped his neck, and pulled him erect. He lifted the man by his throat until he balanced on his toes, gurgling and choking.
"I have no patience with mewling lingerers," Meren said. "Admit that you were asleep or tell me what you saw. Raise your right hand if you slept through the whole thing, porter. Ah, you slept. Then you will tell me who allowed you to serve as porter. Release him, Abu."
Huni dropped to his knees again and crouched there gasping. Finally he was able to speak.
"Wasn' a porter no more 'til a few days ago. The chief of porters took me back an' put me on night duty."
"Why?" Kysen snapped.
"Don' know, lor'. But now I'm banished forever to the refuse gangs. It's a terrible punishment. Terrible."
A fresh whiff of the man's odor sent both Meren and Kysen back several steps. Meren put his hand over his nose and gestured to Abu. "Get him out of here, and leave the door open."
When the two had gone, Meren looked around the office for a fan, but found none.
"Damnation," he said. "I'll have to have the whole chamber freshened."
"I think he was telling the truth," Kysen said.
"With Abu choking me, I would. By the gods,
Mutemwia has been straightening in this room again. No wonder I can find nothing." Meren left off his search for a fan. "I must order circumspect inquiries about the posting of Huni to the god's gate at night."
"Ebana isn't being forthcoming."
"I should speak to him again," Meren said.
Kysen agreed, but neither held much hope of prying anything from Ebana. Had Unas's death been an obvious murder, Meren would have requested from pharaoh the power to order his cousin's compliance. Without such power he could only request it, and Ebana's cooperation was doubtful where Meren was concerned.
If Meren pushed his cousin too hard, he could incite a quarrel that would embroil the entire court. His position would be precarious in such a battle. And perhaps that was what Ebana had wanted all along.
Meren and Kysen continued to discuss Unas's death and how to handle the priests of Amun throughout the afternoon. When a servant announced the arrival of Ahiram, Meren put aside the matter of Unas's death, for the moment.
"Come," he said to Kysen. "You should be thankful you weren't in the audience hall when Ahiram tried to strangle Rahotep."
They met the first of their guests in the pillared main hall, where servants had set out chairs, cushioned stools, and low tables laden with baskets of fruit and bread. A maid was pouring wine from a tall jar into a goblet for their guest. Ahiram barely glanced at them and uttered no polite greeting. Meren could tell he was still angry: when disturbed, he had a distinctive habit of speech.
"I'm in no mood for revelry, me."
Meren laughed. "Then I won't send for my harpists and singers."
"Ahiram, you jackal, how is it that you tried to choke Rahotep?" Kysen asked as he offered their guest a chair.
Meren shoved a basket of fruit into his son's hands and said, "Not now, Ky. We've just spent most of the day quarreling. This meal is for the respite of my friends."
"Respite!"
They all looked up to find Tanefer parading to the threshold, a cup of wine in one hand, a flagon in another. He moved loosely, with abandon and ease. As was his habit, he wore his dagger in a scabbard on his upper arm.
"Respite indeed," Tanefer repeated as he came in and looked back over his shoulder. "They're in here, Djoser."
Soon they were all seated and being served roast goose accompanied by new-baked bread. Rahotep joined them last of all, taking a seat well away from Ahiram. Servants passed among them, refilling goblets with wine or beer from jars whose necks had been decorated with garlands of lotus flowers. Meren kept Ahiram distracted while Tanefer entertained Rahotep and Kysen. As usual, Djoser listened quietly to everyone and said little himself.
As dusk approached, a wine-heavy somnolence came over the group. Kysen engaged Rahotep in a game of senet.
"I'll beat you," Rahotep said. "I beat everyone. I'm the best senet player in the Two Lands."
Meren saw Kysen press his lips together to prevent a retort. He'd warned Ky long ago about Rahotep's bragging. Rahotep considered himself the best at everything from swordplay to breathing, and saw to it that the entire kingdom knew it. Meren felt that his bragging covered an utter lack of faith in his own merit. And somehow he couldn't become annoyed with Rahotep for long. His rudeness and clumsiness were so childlike that when he offended someone, he was often bewildered at how he'd managed to offer insult.
Djoser, too, seemed indisposed to listen to Rahotep's blustering. He requested that musicians be summoned. When they arrived, he settled on cushions with a basket of pomegranates and grapes and listened to the harp, flute, and sistrum.
Tanefer left him to join Meren and Ahiram. The conversation drifted from the hunt to speculation about a newly widowed noblewoman, Lady Bentanta, who had taken an interest in Meren. Meren endured Tanefer's gentle teasing while his own thoughts pursued a different course. He didn't like the conjunction of the controversy among the king's advisers and this sudden death of a priest, and the currents of dissatisfaction at court seemed more disturbing than usual. This was one reason he'd invited Tanefer and the others to his home. Due to their station and birth, these men had great influence on those of lesser rank.
In addition, Ahiram commanded the Bows of Ra, an elite regiment of two hundred royal archers, and Tanefer's regiment of charioteers, the Golden Leopards, was second only to the king's own war band. Djoser nominally headed a squadron of infantry. No one expected him to remain its commander for long. Rahotep, however, had just persuaded the king to allow him a regiment of charioteers and supporting infantry. For these he was recruiting native and foreign soldiers, especially Mitanni, of whom he seemed to have acquired a good opinion while in Syria.
All of these men reported to General Horemheb. Any one of them, except possibly Djoser, possessed the knowledge, wealth, and skill to menace pharaoh should he choose. Meren's task was to know the character of each. Only in this way could he guard the safety of the king.
"Am I right, Meren?"
"What?"
"Don't fall asleep," said Tanefer. "Brother of my heart, I've just wagered this gold ankle band that you've refused to favor the Lady Bentanta."
Meren held out his hand, and a maid placed a silvers dish laden with his favorite figs in it. He rose and went to a couch. Lowering himself to a half-reclining position on its cushions, he bit into a fruit.
Unfortunately, Tanefer and Ahiram followed him. Tanefer dropped on a leather cushion near his elbow, plucked a fig from Meren's bowl, and took a bite.
"He won't answer, Ahiram. What say you? Has he let her into his bed?"
"I would, me," said Ahiram between gulps of wine. "A widow-gods, think of her experience, and she's still young enough to-"
"Ahiram," Meren said softly. "You really should learn not to flap your tongue about women."
"Then settle our wager," Ahiram said.
Meren lay back on the couch and stared up at the plastered ceiling and green-and-white frieze of papyrus fronds that bordered it. "I regret that you've been reminded of the loss of your father by this whole question of a new campaign next harvest."
He glanced at Ahiram, but the Syrian was staring at Tanefer as if the younger man held the secrets of the underworld. Tanefer studied his fig, then took another bite.
Meren had expected to provoke a string of complaints, Ahiram's forte. His laments at his ill fortune were well known at court, and he could spend an entire evening listing injustices done to him, reasons why his plans for achievements hadn't succeeded (always someone else's fault), slights received. Meren often learned interesting things from these tirades.
"I know the old king abandoned your father to those rebels and bandits," Meren said.
"Dung-eaters in the pay of the Hittite king."
Meren tried again. "How it must sting to have been raised as an Egyptian, to be trained to take your father's place and continue in friendship with the empire-and then have those who promised so much fulfill nothing."
Ahiram looked away and shrugged. "That was long ago."
"Not so long," Tanefer said. He was staring into the pool of wine in his goblet.
Meren watched the way the corners of his mouth drooped, and for once regretted the necessity of probing old hurts. Tanefer's mother had been a princess, daughter of the king of Mitanni, who came all the way from the banks of the northern Euphrates to wed pharaoh's father and vanish into his palace as one of several lesser wives.
He remembered Gilukhepa. A woman, like many in the household of pharaoh, dissatisfied with her allotted place in the shadow of the great Queen Tiye. Over the years, her dissatisfaction had putrefied. She had tried to bathe Tanefer in that putrefaction, but her son possessed a merry and magical ka that could no more live upon misery than a crocodile could walk like a man.
He surrounded himself with beauty, having built one of the most gracious and largest houses in Thebes. He kept entire workshops of artisans who decorated his houses, created his jewelry, armor, and weapons, designed his tomb. Tanefer had a gift for beauty. Most of the young men around pharaoh envied him his easy yet regal manner, his brilliance in battle, his barbed wit.
"You could have been king," Meren said.
Tanefer set his goblet down on the floor and began tossing a fig in one hand. "My uncle is dead, murdered by one of his cousins no doubt, and my relatives vie for what is left of Mitanni. Think you I wish to leave the font of civilization to lie in a bed of serpents?"
"Byblos is a magnificent city, and rich," Ahiram said. "I wouldn't refuse to rule it, me, should the empire find its testicles again."
"That kind of campaign would take years," Meren said. "Think of the cities that lie between Egypt and Byblos."
"We wouldn't have to fight if the old king hadn't-"
"Peace! We're here to enjoy Meren's food." Tanefer slapped Ahiram on the back and whispered a lurid jest.
Ahiram barked his laughter. Having won his game of senet, Kysen came over to join in their merriment. Meren was left free to approach Djoser and Rahotep, who were listening to the musicians. Words of the song floated up to him as he took a chair beside them. My beloved rules my heart. Oh how long is the hour since I lay with her.
The harp's music rippled through the air, and Meren could see that its tranquility was at odds with Djoser's thoughts. Evidently Rahotep was trying to amend his friend's poor spirits in his clumsy way and hadn't succeeded. Djoser's foul mood contrasted with his fine raiment. Of all of them, he was the one most attentive to dress. At the moment he was contemplating his sandal, a rich object of gilded leather. Djoser liked sandals. Meren once estimated he had a pair for each day of the year.
Rahotep was still trying to cheer his friend. He was generous; for once he'd found someone to whom he could compare himself easily and always rank himself the better.
"It isn't every man's fate to be a warrior," Rahotep said. "Many of the great of Egypt weren't. Remember architects Amunhotep, son of Hapu, and Imhotep, who was also a sage and magician. Why, Imhotep designed the great step pyramid and is revered as a god."
Djoser downed half a goblet of beer, then wiped his mouth. Even this much drink couldn't seem to quell his agitation. His eyes darted from side to side, and he appeared to shrivel inside his skin as he spoke.
"You didn't puke on the battlefield. You didn't drop your own scimitar. You didn't lose governance of your horses and have to be rescued from your own chariot."
Djoser gulped down the rest of his beer and slurred his words. "I have to prove my worth. Everyone is laughing at me, but I'll kick their laughter back in their throats. No one should laugh at a prince…"
Meren exchanged glances with Rahotep.
"I'll see that he's taken home," Rahotep said.
Meren nodded. "Has your humor restored itself?"
Rahotep began to store the senet tokens in compartments inside their box. "Ahiram wouldn't have dared put his hands on me if I had full royal blood."
"His temper will be his downfall," Meren said. "I've seen him so maddened that I thought he'd touch pharaoh himself."
He could see that Rahotep didn't believe him. He'd known these men for most of his life, but Rahotep was the only one who bore common blood, and was the only one who constantly remembered it. His mother had been a peasant who caught the eye of pharaoh. And with every breath he drew, Rahotep regretted that she'd never been anything more than a concubine. He even hated his appearance, for he'd inherited his mother's wide, flat face and spreading nose, which he deemed to be peasant traits. Kysen had often remarked that Rahotep would appear far more princely if he weren't constantly digging his little finger in his ear.
Meren listened to Rahotep discounting the concerns of Djoser, consigning them to insignificance beside his own burdens, and knew that he'd been right to invite his friends home. There was much fuel here to heat the cauldron of strife that was the court. To keep it from bubbling over, he needed to listen to howls of discontent, to keep his ear alert for the sounds of hounds metamorphosing into jackals and hyenas.