“Why should I? You didn’t. All you had to do was get born first.”
Meren dropped down beside Ra and stuck his face in front of the younger man’s. “How many times must I say this? I worked; I work now. All the time. You may not remember because you were so young, but I spent my whole life studying and training, and Father noticed every mistake I ever made. While you were playing with your friends, he was screaming at me that I was worthless. I worked, Ra. I trained as a charioteer, apprenticed myself to great warriors and ministers.” Meren snatched the goblet from Ra’s hand, stood up, and glared down at him. “My success isn’t due to magic, dear brother, only to ordinary, unending hard work.”
Rising, Ra appeared abruptly sober. “And perhaps it was also due to catching the eye of Nefertiti and Queen Tiye. Did you bed them to get what you wanted?”
Meren cursed, swooped at Ra, and hit him across the face. Ra stumbled backward against the column, laughing. “Someday that flapping tongue will get you killed,” Meren said. “The gods will hear you and punish such obscenities.”
Ra wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. As quickly as it had appeared, his humor vanished. “They won’t punish me for speaking the truth, and the truth is that you won’t share your power with me because you’re afraid I might be better at serving pharaoh than you are. Just as I would have been a better heir to Father than you are.”
“As long as we’re speaking the truth,” Meren said, “you should listen to a little of it yourself. Father and Mother provided well for you. I inherited so much for the reason anyone does; I’m the one who cares for our parents’ kas. I see to it that their mortuary temples are attended by priests and supplied with food and drink. You see, dear brother, of the three of us, I’m the only one they trusted to do this duty forever.”
Ra’s mouth distorted with a sneer. “And you’re so dutiful. The perfect son. But not such a perfect father, eh? Or the perfect husband. You let Sit-Hathor die, didn’t you? And now you’re too afraid of her ka’s wrath to remarry, so you adopted a peasant.”
“You know Sit-Hathor died in childbirth,” Meren said after a long silence. “Speak of her again, and I’ll give you the beating you’ve been inviting for years.”
Ra lunged forward and jabbed a finger in Meren’s chest, his words flying out like sparks of a fast-burning fire. “You’d rather spend time with your common son than play the dutiful father to your daughters. And what of your duty to the family? The rest of us might as well shut ourselves up in our tombs for all the care you show us. Gods, Meren, you make me want to puke.”
Slapping Ra’s hand aside, Meren suddenly realized he was gripping the hilt of his dagger as if preparing to draw it. Ra’s mood changed again without warning, and he smiled.
“Take comfort, brother. You’ll see even less of me than usual if I decide to marry.”
“You’re already married.”
“Oh, I’ll rid myself of my old wife if I take a new one. I’m not fool enough to try to make two women happy.”
“Your wife’s family is powerful at court. Don’t make them angry. Who do you think you’re going to marry?”
Without answering, Ra laughed in Meren’s face. Turning his back, he sauntered into the central hall, stopped by Anhai’s chair, and whispered something to her. Anhai chuckled, causing heads to turn in their direction. Meren swore silently. Ra had always enjoyed baiting him, but from the look in his brother’s eye, it was obvious that Anhai appealed to him. Perhaps he admired a tongue even more cruel than his own.
Meren tore his gaze from the scene and unwrapped his fingers from their clench around the dagger. Then he forced himself to smile and entered the hall. At once he spotted Antefoker bearing down on him. He sidled behind a group of men watching the acrobats and plunged into another crowd gathered around a pair of jugglers. Taking a cup of wine from a servant, he slipped behind a column and took a long drink. When he lowered the cup it was too late to avoid the clawlike hand that descended to his arm.
“Ah, my dear host,” said Wah. “What a beautiful feast this is. And what great fortune it is for me to be able to talk to you. I’ll be Idut’s husband soon, with your permission, and I’m sure you and I can agree on a suitable contract.”
“But not tonight,” Meren said.
“Of course,” Wah said. He popped a date in his mouth and chewed while he talked. “But there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. Much time has passed since the unfortunate—uh—heresy. I know you understand that I, like you, was only doing the bidding of pharaoh at Horizon of Aten. Much time has passed, much time.”
“Wah, you personally took a chisel to the name of Amun in his great temple.”
Wah glanced around before coming closer. The scent of his unguent cone nearly choked Meren as he whispered, “You know I couldn’t refuse. Who among us would refuse the will of the living god? Others have been forgiven, and I have great skills.”
“Silence!” Irritation caused Meren to speak so loudly that several men looked their way. He lowered his voice. “There is nothing I can do.”
“Yes, there is.”
Wah droned on, but Meren was too unhappy over his brother to heed him. He settled for smiling and nodding while Wah continued to make his case. Over the man’s shoulder Meren could see Anhai fanning herself with her lotus flower and leering at Ra. Near them Bentanta seemed to be talking urgently to Sennefer, who was touching a fresh scent cone that was beginning to melt on his head.
Then Sennefer whirled around and stalked to his wife’s side. Anhai ignored him and slipped away to join Bentanta, who was sitting on a couch. The two women began to speak. Bentanta threw up her hands. Meren couldn’t hear what they were saying, but their speech was growing more and more agitated. Anhai leaned toward Bentanta and growled into her ear. Then Bentanta jumped up with an exclamation. Grasping Bentanta’s robe, Anhai attempted to hold her in place.
Bentanta’s voice rose above the music and chatter. “Let go, you foul bitch!” Her hand struck out, knocking Anhai’s arm and freeing her robe. Heads turned as she fled, shouldering her way across the hall and vanishing into the reception room.
“So you will aid me?” Wah was saying.
“What? Oh, I’ll think upon it.”
“After all, I’m to be your brother.”
“I said I’d think upon it, Wah. That’s all I’ll say.”
He waved a hand in dismissal and threaded his way through the crowd toward the reception hall. Anhai was there before him. The two women stood in the shadows, toe to toe, breasts heaving. He heard Bentanta’s voice, strained, quiet, menacing.
“I wish I had the courage to kill you.”
Anhai’s light laughter filled the room. “If my husband and his parents don’t, why should you? Take heart, Bentanta, perhaps Antefoker will do the work for you.”
“Stay away from me,” Bentanta said. “Or you’ll regret it.”
Bentanta walked out of the shadows, saw Meren, and hesitated, her eyes wide with alarm. Meren approached her, but she hurried by him. He caught up with her as Ra passed them on his way to Anhai. Meren slipped around Bentanta and blocked her way.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “I thought you and Anhai were longtime friends.”
“Anhai has no real friends,” Bentanta said. “She has followers, worshipers, people who are enamored of her charm and haven’t the wits to see beneath it and into her scorpion’s soul.”
“But what has she done to you?”
Uttering a little gasp of impatience, Bentanta said, “Don’t you ever listen to your family, Meren? She wants to leave Sennefer and take his most valuable estate with her.”
“I know, but what has that to do with you?”
“She wants me to help convince Sennefer to give in. Sennefer likes me and trusts my judgment, possibly because I’m one of the few people who know what Anhai is really like.”
“But still, to ask you to interfere in such a matter— why would she demand such a thing of you?�
�
“I know not,” Bentanta said, throwing up her hands. “If you want to know more, ask Anhai.”
“You’re not telling me everything. You’re worried. I can see it in your eyes. If I didn’t know you better, I might think you were afraid. Of what?”
Bentanta gave him an incredulous look and laughed. “I didn’t know you had a storyteller’s imagination, Meren.”
Meren didn’t return her smile.
“You’re right about Anhai. Beneath that humor and charm lies the ka of a netherworld fiend. Don’t anger her.”
“Oh, go away, Meren. You make too much of a simple quarrel.”
“Then you won’t mind if I talk to Anhai and Sennefer.”
“I care not, Meren, only leave me alone.”
She brushed past him, but he caught her arm. She looked up at him with dark, startled eyes as he whispered to her.
“What is it that has you so disturbed, Bentanta?”
Bentanta looked away and shook her head. Meren released her, and she walked away. Not quickly, but calmly, with an unfaltering step that belied the fear he’d seen in her eyes. Meren stood frowning at her retreating figure and musing over the last few moments. Bentanta was a formidable woman, one capable of making him feel like a newly circumcised youth. But tonight she’d lost her composure as he’d never seen her do. And she’d threatened to kill Anhai. Anhai was malicious, but hardly worth killing.
What had Anhai done to anger Bentanta so? Meren drummed his fingers on the side of his wine cup. He was worried, and to his great surprise, he was worried about Bentanta. Her mysterious predicament had thrust the quarrel with Ra out of his thoughts. Astonishing.
Just as he began to ponder this development, Antefoker called his name. Too late he realized the man had planted himself in front of him and was waving a joint of beef as he launched into a litany of complaints about Anhai’s grasping and cheating nature.
“Oh, Antefoker, not now,” Meren said.
“Can’t you make her pay me?” Antefoker asked.
Kysen walked up and saluted them with a wave of his wine goblet. “There you are, Antefoker. Sennefer was looking for you over there by the musicians. He wants to talk to you about some matter of a contract or something.”
Antefoker rushed off, and Meren gave his son a grateful look.
“I’m in your debt, my son. Was Sennefer really looking for him?”
“No. Now let me speak to you before someone else comes near. Nento has left, complaining of an ague. By now he’s at the barge. The poor man is frightened near to pissing with this unexpected feast. He was quite brave until he saw all the guests. Then he realized the risks. I had to find him a stool and pour two cups of wine down him.”
“Then I’m glad he’s already gone. We’ll meet him as soon as the house quiets down for the night. Gods, I could strangle Idut for disobeying me.”
“She’s not thinking of you, or anyone else but herself. Look at her. She’s enamored of Wah.”
Meren glanced at his sister and her proposed husband and shook his head. “But why would she want to marry that snake?”
“I overheard him flattering her just now,” Kysen said as they gazed at the couple in disbelieving curiosity. “He’s as obsequious to her as he is to you, and with much more flattery in the mixture. Don’t worry about it now, Father.”
“Do you know how many things I have to worry about? There’s our secret guest—enough to turn my hair white. There’s Bener and her scribe. There’s this warfare between Sennefer and his wife. There’s Bentanta’s fight with her too, and then there’s Nebetta and Hepu. Did you know they tried to blame me for—never mind. Oh, and there’s Ra, who is going to get himself killed if he doesn’t keep away from Anhai. And all this has to happen on the one night I can least afford to have it happen.”
“The family will fight whether you’re here or not.” Kysen handed Meren his wine cup. “Here, taste this. It’s spiced pomegranate wine. Lady Bentanta brought it from her own vineyards.”
Meren took a sip and gasped. It was like drinking liquid gold. He’d never tasted anything that so resembled the tales of wine in the perfect netherworld. Fruity, light, but not too sweet, it made him feel as if he were bathed in cool night waters in a pool in the north breeze.
“Ky, I think I hear the music of Hathor.”
“I told you.”
“I’m going to have more of this. But not tonight, nor should you.”
“There you are!”
Meren jumped as his sister caught his arm and began dragging him toward the dais at one side of the hall.
“You’re supposed to be in the host’s seat, not skulking among the lesser guests. Great-Aunt Cherit was asking for you.”
Idut herded Meren and Kysen to the dais, where they sat on either side of the aged lady. Thus ceremoniously ensconced, they watched a line of women dance to the accompaniment of harp, double pipes, flutes, and drums. Bener and Isis persuaded one of the women musicians to teach them to use sistra. A loop of metal attached to a handle, the instrument bore small wires suspended across the loop. The bars held small metal disks, and when the sistrum was shaken, it produced a light rattle. Meren was admiring his daughters’ agility with the instruments when Cherit poked him with her elbow.
“Pay attention, boy.”
To his disbelief, Hepu stood before him, a roll of papyrus in hand. He glared at Meren, cleared his throat, and began to read.
“Instruction of the Lord Hepu for his nephew, being the teachings for existence, instructions for well-being, every rule for conduct with elders …” Here Hepu paused to give Meren a significant glance. “For conduct with magistrates; knowing how to answer one who pleads, to reply to one who sends a message …”
Now Meren wished he’d drunk four or five glasses of Bentanta’s wine. He fixed a pleased smile on his face, pretended to look at Hepu, and watched Isis instead. His thoughts strayed to the work ahead of him until he noticed that his daughter wasn’t among the musicians anymore. He found her in the midst of a group of young men, some of those who had come with Ra. Jolted into alertness, Meren sat up straight and directed a severe glance at Kysen.
Kysen rose, left the dais, and strolled over to the group around his sister. The young men welcomed him with jokes and smiles. Kysen smiled in return as he spoke quietly to them. They turned as a group to cast apprehensive glances at Meren. Kysen was already making Isis laugh as he smoothly guided her away from them. In a moment he had deposited Isis on a cushion at Meren’s feet. Unaware of almost being the cause of her friends’ neardemise, Isis began to listen to Hepu’s endless recital.
Kysen rested his arm on the back of Meren’s chair. “Harmless.”
“Ra’s friends aren’t harmless, they’re unwholesome, lazy, and in need of flaying. Where is he? He should be keeping watch on that bunch of drunken colts.”
“You’re not going to be pleased.”
“Tell me anyway.”
“He’s gone to the village of Green Palm. At least he took Antefoker with him.” The village lay between Baht and the haunted temple.
“Green Palm. Damnation, Green Palm.”
“With more of his friends. They were going to a beer tavern, to visit the women. Now, Father, I know what you’re thinking, but there is no chance Ra knows what we’re doing. And he wouldn’t dare interfere if he did.”
“I’m not so sure anymore,” Meren said. Gripping the arms of his chair, Meren pretended to be pleased with Hepu’s reading. “He’s worse than ever, Ky, and losing what little judgment he ever possessed. If he’s heard something or suspects what we’re about, he might try to ruin the plan just to thwart me.”
“I don’t think he knows.”
“I pray to the gods he doesn’t.”
They lapsed into silence, each pretending to enjoy Hepu’s speech. He noticed Sennefer propped against a column, yawning, his head drooping, causing his unmelted scent cone to hit the pillar. Stifling his own yawn, Meren almost smiled when Hepu let the pa
pyrus roll close. Then a servant handed him another. Meren sat back, eyes wide.
“Section twenty-one,” Hepu said.
“Uncle, how many of these wondrous sections are there?”
Hepu inflated his chest and beamed at Meren. “You’re most fortunate, nephew. There are fifty-seven.”
“Fifty-seven!” Isis exclaimed.
Meren gave her a surreptitious kick. He settled back in his chair and whispered to his son, “Ky, get me a cup of that pomegranate wine, a large cup, the largest you can find.”
Chapter 7
Meren walked along the riverbank, careful not to go too near the water, where crocodiles were likely to be lying in wait for the unwary. Kysen had gone ahead with most of the charioteers to assist Nento. Meren was following the giant Nubian, who was a darker shadow against the moon’s silver illumination. As far as he could see up-and downriver, the fields were deserted. Baht wasn’t even visible at the edge of the desert. A few boats had been beached for the night, their owners having gone home to the scattering of modest mud-brick houses overlooking the fields.
The Nubian stopped abruptly, glanced back at Meren, and pointed. Ahead, its long body running parallel to the bank, lay a modest yacht. They were approaching the mooring stake when several men rose up from concealment behind the tall reeds by the shore. The Nubian ignored them. They studied Meren, then returned to their hiding places. Before he walked across the plank connecting the ship to the bank, Meren spotted half a dozen other watchers disposed behind palms or huddled behind dropoffs and irregularities in the shoreline.
Once aboard the yacht, Meren hurried to the deckhouse. The Nubian vanished inside, then returned and lifted aside the hangings that covered the doorway. Without saying a word, he nodded at Meren, giving permission to enter. Meren slipped inside, glancing around the chamber hung with leopard skins and filled with gilded furniture. His gaze found the room’s sole occupant, who was sitting on the floor sharpening the blade of a short sword. Meren took a step, sank to his knees, and touched his forehead to the deck.
The boy looked up from the blade and said, “You’re angry.”
Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing Page 7