"Djet can tell you the truth better than I."
"Djet?" Meren began to read.
Bentanta,
You were right, as you have always been. How can I explain to you? How can we justify what we've done? You and I took comfort from each other when both of us knew we really wanted Meren. When Ay called me home to care for him, I thought he might turn to me. He did, but only as he always has, as a brother. He writes to me, begging me to come home. How can I tell him I have no home because I made the mistake of telling my parents I loved my cousin? I can't endure being near him. Living with this pain will slay my ka. I don't know how much longer I can contain this lake of fire in my soul. You say there is a child within you from our uniting. I will send a messenger from Babylon with gold for you and the babe, but I see no remedy but silence. It has ever been thus for me, condemned to silence, living amidst many and feeling alone. I'm weary, so terribly weary.
The letter ended with Djet's name. Meren stared at the script until the lines blurred. A confusion of memories came to him-of Djet helping him spear his first fish, of their first real taste of warfare, in which he'd saved Djet from a beheading by scimitar. His ka refused to reconcile the meaning of the letter with his experiences. Raising his head, he looked at Bentanta as if he'd never seen her before.
"He never told me."
"Could you have responded to him as he wished?"
Meren lowered his face to his hands, shaking his head.
"He knew that," Bentanta said. "Why burden you with remorse? He told me he felt that way since he was a boy."
"But he was famed for his exploits among the women."
"And men. But you and I know that adventures have little to do with love." Bentanta looked away. "And after that terrible time when he brought you home after Akhenaten had you tortured, he turned to me. You remember I was here visiting your aunt Cherit with Anhai."
Meren stood up suddenly. "You… and Djet. You and he came together. I don't understand this-this taking of each other as replacement for someone else. You bedded my cousin to comfort him?"
Standing, Bentanta reached out to touch his arm, but Meren jerked away as if stung and stepped out of reach. His vision filled with images of Djet and Bentanta.
"Do you think I want to speak of it?" she asked. "Gods, Meren. I was married to my husband when I was thirteen. He was much, much older. I had babes by the time I was fifteen. Babes, a household, a husband, duties, so many to care for. Women are no different than men, you know. They lust, Meren. They give their affection. I was so young still, and you were a royal charioteer."
She reached out to him, but pulled her hand back. "You don't remember that time in Horizon of Aten when we attended the king and queen at their pleasure garden.
You and your wife had quarreled, and she went into the palace. I asked you to row one of the skiffs for me so I could pick a lotus flower. No, you don't remember, because you ignored me the whole time. After Ay persuaded the king not to kill you, and he brought you to your house in the city, bleeding and wandering in your wits, I was there. I stayed with you until Djet came."
"I don't remember." He ran his fingers through his hair and paced back and forth in front of her. "I don't understand why he would kill himself just because I couldn't be what he wanted me to be. There were so many others. There was you, and-" Meren stopped and stared at a wall, then slowly turned his gaze on Bentanta. "A child. He said there was a child."
"There were two, actually. The twins."
"Your son and daughter." Meren heard his voice crack. He looked down at the papyrus in his hands, confused, shaken more than he'd been since Akhenaten's death. He sought refuge in duty; in duty lay escape from that which he couldn't understand and didn't want to know. Touching a torn corner of the letter, he said, "Anhai had this and was using it against you somehow."
"Yes. It's odd how long and loving friendship can turn to bile. As children we were close, and as women we remained friends, but one day when she was visiting me, she asked me to persuade Sennefer to give her his fortune and a divorce. I knew she could be ruthless, but I never thought she'd do something so mad. I refused, and she seemed to accept my decision. Until a few days later. She invited me to stay with them at their home in Memphis, and when I got there, she told me she had the letter. She'd found it in my chamber while I left her alone to confer with my cook on her last visit. She said she'd return it if I helped her, but if I didn't she was going to give it to you."
Meren rolled the papyrus and slipped it into his belt. "You could have told me the truth."
"You know the penalty for adultery. I have no wish to be flogged or have my ears and nose cut off."
"That wouldn't happen."
"Perhaps not, but I didn't want you to find out. You can't see yourself, Meren. You look at me as if I were some plague-ridden hound."
Meren dropped his gaze to the whip he'd discarded. Picking it up, he threaded the lash through his fingers.
"So, this old folly is the reason you quarreled with Anhai."
"Yes, and when I couldn't make her return the letter, I left her alone on the front loggia."
"I see."
"Then you must see that I wouldn't kill Anhai over it."
"I'll tell you what I see," he replied. "I see that you have the letter now. Yet Anhai had it the night of the feast. She had it in her bracelet."
"How did you know?" Bentanta asked in a faint voice.
"You weren't careful enough when you took it out of the bracelet. A piece tore from the corner." Meren pulled the letter from his belt and used it to point at her. "Tell me. Did you take it before or after you killed her?"
Chapter 16
Meren waited for Bentanta's answer, all the while feeling as if he'd been raped across the distance of more than a dozen years. But he couldn't succumb to confusion and misery now. Now he needed to find the truth. Thus he performed a monumental effort of will-one that would cost him later-and set aside in a tiny, dark vault in his ka his bewilderment and renewed grief.
"You're surprised," he said. "You gave yourself away by tidying up after you dumped her in the granary. I knew someone had interfered with the body and searched it for a reason. The only sign I found was a scrap of papyrus. Since my men never found the rest of it when they searched Baht, I knew someone had it on them or had destroyed it."
"I grow weary of repeating that I didn't kill Anhai. How could I carry her up those stairs to the granary?"
"Fear makes one strong. If you'd ever been in battle, you'd know this."
Bentanta picked up the lamp and came over to him. Holding it up so that she could study his face, she curled her lip. "You still want me to be the murderer. That way you're rid of me, if not of the past. I hate to cause you grief, but I'm innocent. And you have to believe me, because I know who did kill Anhai."
"Oh? How beneficial for you."
"Just before he was murdered, Sennefer told me he killed Anhai."
Lifting a brow, Meren said, "Indeed. And why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"Because you were convinced I was a killer, Meren. You wouldn't have believed me, not without me revealing the whole story, and I didn't want to tell you about Djet."
"Tell me the whole of it now."
Lowering herself to the floor, Bentanta set the lamp down again. Meren crouched a few cubits from her, near enough to see her face, but not too close.
"The night of the feast, while Hepu was speaking, Anhai and I quarreled again, but I left her. As I came back inside, I saw Sennefer go out, and I decided to follow him to see if he was going to give in to Anhai. If he had, there would be no reason for her to keep my letter. When I reached the loggia, they were already sneaking away in the shadows along the wall that runs from the corner of the house to the outer wall to form the front of the granary forecourt. All the doorkeepers were busy at the front gate or elsewhere because of the feast, and no one saw them go inside. I waited, thinking to intercept them when they returned, but they never came out. After a w
hile, I crept up to the forecourt gate and looked in. It was deserted, so I went to the opposite gate and saw Sennefer coming down the steps of the last granary."
"And you didn't see Anhai or anyone else?"
"No," Bentanta said. "He was coming in my direction, so I hid behind a stack of wicker boxes. When he was gone, I went into the court and up the granary stairs. I could see the whole court, and Anhai wasn't there. Then I noticed that the granary cover was ajar. I don't know what made me open it. Perhaps it was only seeing Sennefer up there, in a place he would have no reason to be."
"And you found her."
"Yes, she was on her side with her uppermost leg drawn up to her head."
"And you searched for the letter, found it, and straightened her body and clothing afterward."
"Yes, and the rest you know."
"I don't know what he told you before he collapsed."
"Isn't it enough that he's dead? Why stir up more ugliness?"
Meren leaned forward, holding her eyes with his. "Because you haven't convinced me you're telling the truth." He gave her a slight smile. "After all, you could have planned the murder with Sennefer." Bentanta only gave him a disgusted look.
He remembered opening the granary cover the morning they'd discovered Anhai. Sennefer had been stunned. If he'd simply dumped his wife in the granary, it would have been a nasty surprise to find her lying neatly on her side, her clothing and wig perfect. "Did Sennefer tell you exactly how he killed Anhai?"
"You're an ass, Meren. You work hard to be good at it."
"Just tell me what he said."
"He was quite drunk."
"He was suffering the effects of poison," Meren said.
"His speech was slurred, but I understood him well enough. Still, I don't think he would have told me without a lot of wine, or perhaps it was the poison that loosened his tongue. And he was frightened of you. He told me Anhai had asked him to meet her in secret again, and when they found a place where they wouldn't be heard, she threatened him again. Only this time, she used a weapon she must have been reluctant to use, considering the results. I think she may have suspected how dangerous using it could be."
Bentanta paused, her eyes growing sad. "You see, she'd been hinting at it for weeks, and he'd been growing more and more desperate."
"What threat could she have made that would disturb him so? He didn't seem worried to me."
"He concealed his fear, just as he concealed his secret, Meren. Because Anhai was hinting that she was going to tell everyone the truth-that Sennefer was impotent."
"Impotent."
"Cursed by the gods, he said."
Meren thought back over the last few days. When Anhai had insulted Sennefer about her lack of children, he'd assumed it was just another of her sudden and malicious attacks, lacking any real foundation. Then he recalled Sennefer's many boasts and the rumors of his conquests. Had it all been a facade? Sennefer had been diligent in his pursuit of a reputation for sexual mastery-perhaps too diligent.
Unwilling to admit he believed her, he said, "Go on."
"This time, Anhai said that if Sennefer didn't do as she wanted, she would tell his whole family he was less than a man, and that she'd do it while everyone was gathered for your feast of rejoicing."
"By the Devourer," Meren said.
"You knew she was vicious. Sennefer fell into a rage then, and they fought. She picked up one of those grindstones and swung it at him, but he grabbed it. She rushed at him, and he fended her off with it, holding it lengthwise like a sword. He hit her in the chest. He said she grunted and dropped like a duck hit by a throw stick. He tried to rouse her, but she was dead."
Meren was shaking his head. "Not from one blow to the chest."
"That is what he told me. He said he didn't understand it, that he hadn't meant to kill her. He had been trying to make sense of it, but he couldn't."
Drawing his legs up to his chest, Meren propped his arms on his knees while he thought. Bentanta's story made sense. It accounted for all the signs he'd discovered-the too-neat arrangement of the body, the scrap of papyrus, the disposal of the body in the odd location, the timing during Hepu's Instruction-everything except…
"Even if I believe you, there's still the question of Sennefer's death. He was poisoned with your pomegranate wine."
Bentanta uttered a gasp of aggravation. "I had no reason to kill Sennefer."
"None to which you've admitted. Perhaps Anhai had shown him that letter you've been hiding for sixteen years."
"Someone else killed Sennefer, Meren, and you know it. You're just afraid you know who it is. By the gods, you'd rather condemn me unjustly than face the possibility that Ra killed Sennefer out of jealousy and revenge."
He'd had enough. If he stayed, the misery he was hiding might escape and reveal itself. Getting to his feet, Meren opened the door, stepped outside, and kept his gaze away from Bentanta. She followed him. Reia was waiting for them.
"Take the Lady Bentanta to her chamber. Set a guard outside her door and see that she remains there." He kept his gaze trained on the palm tree.
"I'm going home in the morning, Meren."
"You'll leave when I give permission."
"If you try to stop me, I'll tell your family about the letter."
Meren looked at her then. "I might have believed that threat if it had come from Anhai. I don't believe you."
"Did you know you're one of the few people I'd like to kick?"
"Take her to her chamber, Reia."
He didn't watch her go. He was too busy praying he wouldn't give way to misery and confusion before she left.
Late the same afternoon Meren stood beneath the awning of the deckhouse of Wings of Horus. Kysen was talking to Nebamun not far away. After the interview with Bentanta he'd sought refuge here, hiding like a wounded antelope. Flooded with remorse, he had relived the grief of Djet's death. Now he understood Nebetta's and Hepu's animosity on account of Djet, but he also blamed them for Sennefer's impotence. Hepu had beaten and sneered at his sons almost from infancy, and Meren was certain that this mistreatment had robbed Sennefer of his manhood. His aunt and uncle were like two demons sent to spawn evil and spread it throughout the family.
It had taken him a long time to regain his composure, but he'd climbed out of the refuse pit into which he'd fallen. He had to, because it was urgent that he confirm Bentanta's tale of Anhai's murder. He'd sent for Kysen and told him what had happened at Green Palm and in Bentanta's cell. Kysen was now giving a censored version of the tale to Nebamun.
"So there it is," Kysen was saying. "He jammed one of these into her chest." He hefted the oblong grindstone.
Nebamun took it, his arm sagging under the weight. He held it in one hand and thrust it against the palm of the other. Meren watched him for a moment, then beckoned Kysen.
"You said Nento is growing more and more agitated at the haunted temple. Should I send him away?"
"I'll go again tonight. If he's no better, you can dismiss him in the morning. Father, you don't look well."
"I feel as if I've brought a curse home with me."
"Anhai is the one who brought the curse," Kysen replied. "If she hadn't been so vicious, Sennefer wouldn't have fought with her."
Meren turned his face to the north breeze, but even that beneficent wind couldn't banish the deathly heat. Nebamun set the grindstone down on the deck and approached them.
"What say you?" Meren asked. "Could my cousin have caused his wife's death in such a strange manner?"
"My lord, I think it is possible."
"Why?"
Nebamun pointed to the casket he'd brought with him, in which were stored his medical texts. "The wisdom of the ancient ones has been passed down for countless generations. Wisdom learned from the study of our brothers, the cattle, the ox, the goat, and others, as well as experience from great healers such as the great Imhotep."
"I know that, Nebamun. You don't have to convince me."
"Yes, lord. And we also
know that the heart is the house of the soul. Within it resides a person's reason, his character and feelings. The gods speak to us through the heart, and through it they let us know their will. But also, from the heart issue channels linking all parts of the body. These channels convey blood, air, tears, sperm, sustenance."
"Nebamun, all I want to know is whether a sharp blow could kill Anhai."
"That is what I'm trying to explain, lord. The heart is the center of the soul, the crux of all channels in the body. A sudden blow could disrupt the flow of blood, air, everything." Nebamun held up a finger. "And such a blow could murder the ka in its house."
"Then Sennefer could have killed his wife with one strike."
"Aye, lord. I think it possible."
Meren nodded and walked away to stand at the ship's railing. He heard Kysen thank Nebamun and dismiss him. When his son joined him, he was leaning on the railing watching a royal trading vessel sail by, its decks laden with incense trees, several baboons climbing on its mast.
"Bener was looking for you this morning," Kysen said. "She accused Isis of flirting with poor Simut."
"Was she justified?"
"I'm afraid Simut isn't wise in the ways of young women. He's caught between the two and wishes to be relieved of his duties as their bodyguard. He said he's suffering greatly."
"I'll ask Aunt Cherit to supervise them. They won't be able to fool her."
"I can already hear Bener's howls of dismay," Kysen said with a smile. Then the smile faded. "Now what do we do?"
"This tale of the grindstone, I've been thinking about it. Even if Nebamun agrees it's possible, I can't justify believing Bentanta without something more to confirm what she says."
"You could, but you won't."
"Please, Ky, not now. I've been thinking about that night at the feast, and what various people have said about how Sennefer behaved."
Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing lm-3 Page 17