Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

by Lynda S. Robinson

  “The family isn’t going to interfere in my life. So you’re saying you spent the entire night at Green Palm.”

  “All of it that I remember.”

  “What part don’t you remember?”

  “How can I know, if I don’t remember?”

  “I grow weary of these evasions,” Meren said. “Your companions had better support your tale, or next time I won’t be so gentle in my questioning.”

  “Have you talked to Bentanta yet?”

  “I will.”

  “Do. I’ll be waiting to see how you manage it. I’ve seen the two of you circling each other like two wary leopards. And, brother, you’re going to be disappointed about me. I left Anhai alive. I know you want me to be the murderer, because it would relieve you of the burden of being reminded of how you’ve cheated me.”

  “I never cheated you, and I don’t want you to be guilty. Why would I want my own brother to be guilty of such a crime?”

  “Then why are you treating me like a criminal?”

  “I’m not, Ra. You’ve just forgotten who I am.”

  “You’re my brother.”

  “I’m the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. Before I am a brother, or even a father, I am the Eyes of Pharaoh.”

  “Poor Meren,” Ra said as he slid down in the bed and covered his eyes with a forearm. “Always so serious, so merciless in duty. No wonder we never got along. Don’t you see how empty you are?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Ra lifted his arm and smiled at Meren. “Your life, brother. There’s so little pleasure. You dislike me for being at ease with women, for knowing how to enjoy living, for being able to laugh.”

  “Did you kill Anhai?”

  “You’re the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. You tell me.”

  Kysen found Meren in the roomy chamber that served as his office on the second floor of the house. Four painted columns with capitals shaped like lotus flowers supported the roof. Estate documents, accounts, and letters lay rolled up and tied in bundles on shelves and in leather cases. A tall ovoid water jar sitting in a corner bore a necklace of flowers. There was a niche in which sat a statue of the god Toth. An ebony-inlaid cedar chair sat on the dais reserved for Meren. Over its back had been thrown a heavy collar of gold. Kysen recognized the gold of honor given by pharaoh as reward for service.

  The collar’s owner wasn’t seated on the dais. He was standing beside a carved alabaster chest. He opened it and withdrew three weighted spheres painted Nile-blue and green. He glanced at Kysen without expression and began tossing the balls in the air and catching them. Kysen made sure he’d closed the door. It wouldn’t do for the noble Lord Meren to be caught juggling like a common entertainer.

  Meren tossed a sphere while he caught another, and a third seemed to hang suspended in the air. “What of the haunted temple?”

  So there was to be no discussion of what had happened between his father and Ra.

  “Before dawn someone approached the valley, but Iry and the men frightened him off. They couldn’t see who it was. Probably a villager. He ran away upon hearing the spirit noises.”

  “Nothing else? No other signs of interest?”

  “None.”

  “I have been thinking,” Meren said as he strolled around the chamber tossing the blue and green spheres. “Anhai can’t have been dead more than half the night. Her body hadn’t stiffened much, and we were able to get her out of the granary. Yet she had to have been dead several hours or she would have returned to her chamber. Anhai wasn’t a fool, and she wouldn’t have risked scandal by staying away.”

  Kysen tapped a sheet of papyrus he held rolled up in his hand. “True. She left some time between the beginning of Hepu’s Instruction and the end of the feast. Unfortunately, there were dozens of guests and servants coming and going, in addition to the family. Reia says that the doorkeepers were busy at the front gate. No one saw her leave the house and go around to the granary court, but it was dark, and there are all those trees between the gate and the house. She could have kept to the shadows.”

  “Which makes me wonder why she would steal away to such a place.”

  “She could have gone down the back stairs and around,” Kysen said.

  “But the servants coming from the kitchen would have seen her.” Meren caught all three balls in succession and put them back in the alabaster casket. “I’ve been trying to remember what I saw of Anhai last night. When she came in with Sennefer, we spoke briefly, and I remember Wah was there. Then Ra came, and she talked to him.”

  “And she had that quarrel with Bentanta.”

  “I don’t remember seeing her after that. I was too busy enduring Hepu’s reading.” Meren went to his chair, picked up the gold necklace, and sat down. Swinging the collar from his fingers, he frowned. “Now that I think on it, Anhai seemed to stir up everyone’s passion in some way.”

  Kysen grinned. “Of course, Sennefer must have been furious at her for allowing Ra to come near her. He was talking to Bentanta but watching Anhai. The unguent cone on his head was just starting to melt, and I remember thinking if he turned much redder, it would dissolve from the heat of his anger.”

  “He may have been angry at her, but Bentanta was furious. She even said she wished she had the courage to kill Anhai.”

  Kysen whistled and came to sit on the floor beside Meren. “Have you spoken to her yet?”

  “I was going to after I saw Ra. But I … decided to gather my thoughts first. I’m worried, Ky. Ra thinks I want to blame him for this disaster, and then there’s Bentanta.”

  “I suppose the gods wouldn’t send us the good fortune to find that the murderer is a servant,” Kysen said.

  “No servant had a reason to kill her,” Meren replied. “Nor can I imagine a servant would dare. Although I might suspect a servant were Anhai at court or allied with the queen.”

  The Great Royal Wife, Ankhesenamun, resented her husband’s return to the old ways and restoration of Amun as chief god. She seemed to have lost her reason, at least in Kysen’s view, when she conceived of a plan to depose pharaoh in favor of a Hittite prince. The plan had failed, and now pharaoh said she seemed to regret her traitorous behavior.

  Kysen shook his head. “No, you’re right. Anhai must have gone to the granary court with someone and been killed there. Ordinarily she wouldn’t go there at all, so she must have gone with one of the guests or the family.”

  “Antefoker was trying to corner her all evening,” Meren said. “And he vanished from the feast with Ra. We’ll have to send someone to his house.”

  “But the only one at the feast who fought with her was Bentanta.” Kysen looked up at his father, who was frowning. “Would you like me to talk to her?”

  “No, my son. I’ll do it. She would rout you in a heartbeat.”

  “I was hoping you’d realize that,” Kysen said.

  They both rose as a high, clear voice floated to them from the stairwell outside the office.

  “Father!”

  “Enter,” Meren called.

  Bener hurried into the room, dragging Isis behind her. Upon reaching Meren, she shoved her sister in front of her.

  “Tell Father what you said.”

  Isis shoved her sister back. “Don’t push me, and don’t tell me what to do.”

  “It might be important.”

  The younger girl smoothed the skirt of her shift and patted a stray lock of hair into place. “You think you’re so quick of wit, but you’re just trying to be important. Father, she’s been annoying Aunt Idut and Great-Aunt Cherit all morning, and now she’s pestering me.”

  “I haven’t time to settle arguments, girls.”

  “Father,” Kysen said. “I think Bener is serious.”

  Bener gave him a grateful smile. “She saw Bentanta and Anhai go out the front door while Uncle Hepu was speaking his Instruction.”

  Kysen knelt in front of Isis. “Is this true?”

  “She should have let me tell it.”

&n
bsp; Throwing up his hands, Meren said, “Then do so.”

  Having gained everyone’s attention, Isis bestowed upon them one of her sunrise smiles. “I was standing near the door to the reception hall pretending to listen to the Instruction.”

  “She was staring at one of Uncle Ra’s friends,” Bener said. “The one with the long face of an ibex.”

  “I was not!”

  Kysen poked his sister’s arm with a finger. “Pay her no heed, Isis. Go on.”

  “I was standing by the door,” Isis said with a defiant look at Bener. “And Anhai came swooping by. You know her manner. She looked as if she owned our house and everything in it. She sailed by me with her nose lifted. She never noticed me, but I noticed her because she looked angry, and Bentanta was following her. Bentanta looked sick. I don’t think Bentanta likes Anhai very much anymore.”

  Kysen glanced up at Meren, who seemed unable to speak. He looked back at Isis. Her small face was alight with curiosity, a childish version of Queen Nefertiti without the air of dignified concern.

  “Did you see where they went?” Kysen asked.

  “They went through the reception room and out the front door. That’s all I saw.”

  Bener put her hands on her hips. “I would have followed them.”

  “That’s because you spy on your elders,” Isis retorted.

  “Enough!”

  Meren’s sharp exclamation made Kysen hurry the girls toward the door.

  “Our thanks, sisters. You’ve been of great help. Thank you, Bener, but Father is beset at the moment.”

  Bener went out the door and turned back to him. “I know. Aunt Idut has ruined our peaceful visit. That’s all Father wanted, and now he’s going to have to solve this mystery instead of spending his time with us.”

  “If Aunt Idut hadn’t invited Anhai here, she would have gotten herself killed somewhere else,” Isis added.

  “We’ll find a way to be together,” Kysen said. “I promise.”

  Bener put her hand on the door to stop him from closing it. “Lady Bentanta is in the garden. I heard her say she’d promised to meet Sennefer there and give him more of her pomegranate wine.”

  “Thanks, sister.”

  Kysen shut the door and faced his father. Meren was toying with a scribe’s palette from a table near his chair. When he lifted his gaze, Kysen nearly winced at the pain he saw exposed and then concealed.

  “I don’t want it to be her. We were children together, Ky, and I don’t want it to be her.”

  Chapter 11

  As he walked into the garden where the family had gathered for an afternoon meal, Meren decided that he’d rather face desert bandits than question Bentanta. He paused inside the gate to survey the tree-shrouded enclosure. Idut was presiding over a small feast under the branches of an old willow. With her were Nebetta, Aunt Cherit, and his daughters, who kept giving him sly glances. Hepu seemed to be giving one of his lectures to the entire group as they ate.

  Everyone had a desperate look, a sure sign that Hepu had been speaking for some time. Only Wah had escaped. He lay on a couch, fanned by a slave, and snored, his food discarded on a tray beside him. Across the garden in a grape arbor sat Sennefer and Bentanta.

  “It must be done,” Meren muttered to himself as he directed his steps toward the arbor.

  “Here he is, come to accuse me of murdering my own wife again,” Sennefer said with his face in his wine cup. His speech was slurred, his eyes wide. “Don’t let him belabor me, Bentanta.”

  “I haven’t come to accuse you of anything,” Meren said. “I would like to speak to Bentanta privately.”

  Sennefer lifted his head, and it wobbled on his neck. “Be most happy to leave you, cousin. Pleasure. Beware, my lady. He’s playing the inquisitor.”

  Standing, Sennefer blinked sleepily at Meren.

  “Don’t stand there staring at me, go eat something,” Meren said. “Look at you. You’re red from drinking, and you can hardly stand.”

  “I’m thirsty.” The wine cup fell from Sennefer’s lax fingers.

  “Drink water,” Meren said as he signaled to a servant. The girl hurried over to pick up the fallen cup and retreated.

  “Water?” Sennefer said, as if he’d never heard the word before. “Yes, water would be good.” He embarked on a wavering course toward the group under the willow.

  Meren watched him stagger over to a chair and almost fall into it. Then he went back to Bentanta, who had remained silent since he entered the arbor. She was sitting on a couch and seemed to be undisturbed when he took Sennefer’s chair and trained a silent gaze on her. She lifted a brow in inquiry, but when he didn’t speak, she turned her attention to the harpist who was playing music for the diners.

  “You were seen leaving the feast with Anhai last night while my uncle read his Instruction.”

  “I’m sure many people left.”

  Irritated at her composure, Meren raised his voice.

  “But only one died, and she was last seen with you.”

  “Don’t bark at me, Meren. I remember you when you were a naked, uncircumcised little boy.”

  “You don’t seem to understand what has happened. Someone has murdered Anhai, and you fought with her and threatened her life.”

  At last Bentanta’s gaze swung to him from the harpist. “You think I killed her?”

  “We may have played together as babes, but that was long ago. We’re almost strangers now, and all I know for certain is that Anhai died shortly after you said you wished you had the courage to kill her.”

  “I spoke to her on the front porch. Then I went for a walk under the trees by the reflection pools.”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes, Meren. I’m not a fool. If there was someone who could vouch for me, I would have said so and saved myself the ordeal of this inquisition.” She stood and walked around the couch so that her back was to him. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe me if I say I didn’t kill her.”

  “I would like to.”

  “Then do so.”

  “Help me by explaining why you quarreled with Anhai.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “I’ve already told you why.”

  “Bentanta, I know there’s more to this quarrel than you’ve said. She had something of yours, something you wanted back desperately. And she was trying to make you do something you didn’t want to do. You failed, and she was furious.”

  For the first time, Bentanta’s composure broke. A flush crept up her neck to settle in her cheeks. Then it faded, leaving her pale and making the kohl that darkened her eyes stand out.

  “Do you always spy on your friends?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, hoping the heat in his face wasn’t noticeable. “I came by this knowledge by accident. Tell me what was between you and Anhai. It was a grave matter, or you wouldn’t have threatened her.”

  “It was a private thing, and I’ll not spew out my secrets to you, Meren. I’ve heard the talk. Idut says you don’t know what killed Anhai. And since you don’t know, you shouldn’t go about making false accusations. You’ve become a suspicious and evil-minded wretch. And you used to be so sweet-natured.”

  Meren rose and walked over to the couch. They glared at each other across it.

  “This ruse of yours won’t avail you,” he said quietly.

  “What ruse?”

  “Since we began talking you’ve done nothing but try to distract me with foolish accusations and insults. You were always stubborn. I remember Djet used to say you had the ka of a donkey.”

  “And I’m not the only one spouting insults.”

  “Forgive me,” he said. “Now tell me what Anhai had that you wanted.”

  “It’s not your concern.”

  Meren threw up his hands. “Listen to me! I’m not your childhood companion anymore. This isn’t the nursery. If you don’t speak, I have to find answers by my own methods, and they are those of the Eyes of Pharaoh.”

  She was looking at him in astonish
ment. Then her eyes narrowed, and her lips curled. His frustration grew as he realized he hadn’t intimidated her at all.

  “It’s easier this way, is it not?” she asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Easier to deal with me as the Eyes of Pharaoh. Ah yes, I see.” She waved her arm in the direction of the family. “You keep them at a distance. You keep everyone at a distance, except your children, whom you command. What frightens you that you must conceal yourself behind rank and duty?”

  He almost let his mouth fall open. Clamping his lips shut, Meren scowled at the woman facing him. She had always been irreverent, full of pride. It came of spending the years of her youth under the tutelage of Queen Tiye and Nefertiti.

  “You know I speak the truth,” Bentanta said. “That’s why you’re speechless. I’m sure no one else has ever dared to confront you with the truth.”

  He was losing this battle, and he didn’t want to hear any more of Bentanta’s false truths. She was trying to vex him, stampede him in the direction she wished him to go. Narrowing his eyes, he studied her. Her hands were curled into fists. He hadn’t noticed before because they were half hidden in the folds of her overrobe.

  “I desire no conversation of so personal a nature,” he said. “Since you refuse to tell me the truth, you leave me no choice but to make more formal inquiries.”

  “Don’t threaten me, Meren.”

  He would have replied, but a crash and shouts sent him whirling around to face the group beneath the willows. Sennefer lay facedown over a collapsed chair. Hepu and Wah were trying to pull him off it. Idut was shrieking, while Bener tried to calm her. Isis stood by gawking, and Nebetta hovered over the men, calling her son’s name.

  Meren broke into a run, rounding the reflection pool and reaching Sennefer as Hepu and Wah lifted him off the fallen chair and laid him on the ground. Shoving Wah aside, Meren knelt beside his cousin. He hardly noticed Bentanta standing behind him.

  Sennefer’s eyes were closed, but he was muttering, calling out. Meren touched his forehead. It was hot, and he was breathing unnaturally. Nebetta, who was kneeling opposite Meren, began to cry.

  Meren ducked as a flailing arm nearly hit him in the face. Sennefer cried out and sat up, hitting blindly. Meren pinned his arms to his sides and shouted orders. In moments several of his men came rushing into the garden.