Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

by Lynda S. Robinson

  “He’s ill with drink. Help me get him to his chamber. Idut, send for my physician. Out of the way, Aunt Nebetta. You do him no good by hindering us.”

  It was a struggle to get Sennefer to the guest house and into his chamber. He fought them the whole way. The physician arrived while Meren and Hepu were trying to keep Sennefer in his bed, but as Nebamun attempted to examine him he subsided. Hepu comforted Nebetta while the physician looked at Sennefer’s eyes, felt his skin, looked in his mouth. Before Nebamun could finish, Sennefer stiffened. Then his body began to jerk, and Nebetta screamed. The physician produced a wooden spoon from the wicker box he’d brought containing his instruments and medicines. This he forced between Sennefer’s teeth.

  “No!” Nebetta cried. “What are you doing to him?”

  Hepu held her back when she tried to swoop down on her son. Meren went over to them and spoke to Hepu.

  “Take her out of here. She shouldn’t see this.” He didn’t wait for Hepu’s agreement. Shoving them, he propelled them outside and shut the door before they could protest.

  He returned to Sennefer’s bedside. Nebamun was removing the wooden spoon from Sennefer’s mouth. The violent spasms had ceased, and he appeared to have lapsed into a stupor. Nebamun pulled a sheet over his patient.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Meren asked.

  “A moment, my lord.”

  Nebamun pulled a papyrus roll, thick with many sheets, from his physician’s box. He unrolled it and leafed through the sheets. His finger ran across lines of cursive hieroglyphs, then paused at a group of words written in red ink. Hesitating, his finger tapped the red script. The finger moved again, down the page. Nebamun flipped through more sheets, reading in silence with constant glances at Sennefer. Finally he closed the papyrus roll and placed it back in the box.

  “Well?”

  “Many illnesses follow similar courses, my lord.”

  “Can you help him?”

  “I think not, lord.” Nebamun knelt beside Sennefer, who hadn’t moved. “I’ve found the sacred writings about this illness. A fever, the possession by visions. The voice of his heart grows weak.”

  “But in the garden it wasn’t,” Meren said.

  Nebamun inclined his head. “He seemed drunk, lord?”

  “Yes.”

  “And his speech was slurred.”

  “Yes, yes. Can’t you do something?”

  “I fear not, lord. These signs are grave, and …”

  “Nebamun, you’re trying not to say something. I’ve no time for vacillation.”

  “I think he’s been poisoned, lord.”

  Meren looked down at Sennefer. “Poisoned?”

  “This illness is too sudden to be an illness, and we’ve found no signs of magic, lord.”

  Meren waved a hand for silence. He walked back and forth by Sennefer’s bed, thinking rapidly. If Sennefer had been poisoned, there was more danger than he’d thought. But why would someone poison Sennefer? And how could it have been done? Sennefer ate the same food everyone else ate. It was prepared in the kitchens and served from large containers, with several people sharing the same portions.

  Meren went back to Sennefer, knelt, and touched his cousin’s arm. They hadn’t been close. Meren and Djet had been like brothers, but Sennefer had been older and had his own friends. They shared blood and childhood memories, nevertheless, and now Sennefer was dying.

  “How long?”

  “His ka will fly to the gods before sunset, lord.”

  Feeling as if he had stumbled into a nightmare, Meren smoothed the sheet that covered Sennefer and stood. “I’ll have to tell his parents. You will remain here, Nebamun.”

  At the door he paused, wishing he didn’t have to perform this ugly task. Beside the door sat a tall jar with a clay seal around its top. Another sat beside it, its seal broken. Meren’s glance fell on the writing that had been incised into the clay before it dried. Abruptly he turned around and searched the room. His gaze fell on a small table bearing a flagon and cup.

  Nebamun darted out of his way as Meren rushed across the room. He picked up the flagon and inhaled its fragrance. Setting it back down, his fingers touched the pool of liquid in the cup.

  “Wine, Nebamun.”

  “Wine, lord?”

  Meren picked up the flagon again. His fingers drummed a rhythm on its side.

  “Yes, wine,” he said. “Lady Bentanta’s special pomegranate wine.”

  Lord Paser was once again satisfied with the cleverness of his heart. Indeed, he was practicing more guile even than his recent unwelcome visitor. He sat beneath the awning near the bow on the small freighter while one of his retainers plumbed the depth of the water as they sailed south. A sailor manned the rectangular sail, and at the stern another man steered with a long, narrow paddle.

  This boat wasn’t yellow and green. It had no paint at all to distinguish it from the dozens of other small craft that swarmed with it upstream. Having been chased away from his pursuit of Kysen, Paser had pretended to sail north toward Memphis. But on the way he’d spotted this little freighter. It belonged to a small temple of the ramheaded god Khnum in an insignificant town near Elephantine. The complaints of a small temple in such a paltry town wouldn’t be listened to, so he commandeered the freighter.

  The captain and his crew hadn’t been happy, especially when Paser shoved the three oxen that comprised their most valuable cargo onto the riverbank and sailed off with their feed. Now he was headed south. Surveying the baked fields, Paser estimated that Meren’s estate wasn’t far off. He rose and went to the prow where the pilot was pulling his pole from the water.

  “We will lower the sail,” Paser said. “What is that village, the one in the midst of those palms?”

  “It is called Green Palm, my lord.”

  “Ah, yes. Not far from Baht. There will be a shore market near the village. We’ll beach there.”

  Paser walked back to the awning, rubbing his bare upper lip. He’d made a great sacrifice, all in order to concoct a clever disguise. No one was going to accuse him of not being quick-witted. Still, it was hard to accustom himself to having no mustache or sophisticated pointed beard. He ran his palm over his skull. He’d even shaved his head. But what he missed the most was his fly whisk, the mark of a man of rank.

  What he went through for advancement! He prayed to Amun, Osiris, and Ra that all these discomforts would be rewarded. Once ashore, he would send a sailor to the village to make discreet inquiries, to listen to the news of the great feast of rejoicing held for Count Meren. It would be one of the signal events of the year for those lesser beings.

  No one was going to tell him to go home. No insufferable know-all was going to tell him that Kysen would leave pharaoh’s side for a mere feast. He knew deep in his bones that Meren would only leave court to spin plots in secret. Something was going on in that peaceful country estate. And he was going to find out what it was.

  All he had to do was be patient. Sooner or later Meren would make a mistake, one Paser could use against him at court. After all, the path to power lay over the bodies of one’s enemies. And Paser’s path to the favor of Tutankhamun, may he have life, health, and prosperity, lay in the rise of Prince Hunefer and the fall of Lord Meren.

  Chapter 12

  The door to Sennefer’s room opened to reveal Nebetta and Hepu huddled over their son’s body. Nebamun stood beside the table with the flagon of pomegranate wine. Meren stepped into the corridor and closed the door. With his back to it, he appraised the sea of startled and agonized faces. Everyone was crowded into the narrow corridor—servants, his sister, his daughters, even Wah.

  Great-Aunt Cherit occupied the threshold to the hall in her carrying chair. And Kysen stood near Bentanta. Meren gave him a wordless signal and glanced at Bentanta. Kysen nodded in response.

  “Well?” Idut asked, her eyes shining with tears. “His ka has flown to the netherworld?”

  “Yes. We’ll have to send him to Abydos with Anhai tomorrow morn
ing.”

  As Nebamun had predicted, Sennefer had died before dusk. Long before this Meren had given confidential orders to his men that the entire estate be searched and all the pomegranate wine confiscated. Their task had been made easier since all the family except Ra, who was still asleep, were keeping vigil in the guest house.

  The family began to talk together in that quiet way people employed at a death. As at Anhai’s death, none of the women fell to wailing and moaning. The only noise of that kind came from Nebetta. The others were too frightened to think of the proprieties.

  A hand slipped into his. He glanced down at Isis and saw fear in his daughter’s eyes. He pulled her against him, and Bener slipped beneath his free arm.

  She pressed against his side and whispered, “This is terrible. There’s some evil loose among us.”

  “I’m scared,” Isis said.

  Meren frowned at Bener. “You mustn’t frighten your sister. Both of you take heart. I won’t let evil come near you. I’m here. Your brother is here, and we have a dozen charioteers to protect us.”

  “They haven’t done Anhai and Sennefer any good,” Bener said. She seemed to have lost her enthusiasm for mystery.

  “I didn’t tell them to protect Anhai or Sennefer, but I am going to order them to protect you. You will be safe.”

  Wah thrust his way past a couple of serving women to approach Meren. “Perhaps I should leave.”

  “No,” Meren said.

  “Oh, of course,” Wah said smoothly. “You need my assistance in this time of difficulty. I am honored to be of aid to my future brother. You have only to tell me what I may do for you. Anything—”

  “Wah, not now.” As he spoke, Meren glanced at Reia, who squeezed past Cherit and saluted him.

  “Idut,” Meren said. “Will you take everyone back to the garden? There’s nothing to be done here.”

  “There’s much to be done,” she said. “I have to look after Aunt Nebetta and Uncle Hepu. They’ll want mourners and ashes, and Sennefer must be prepared for the journey to Abydos. I must summon priests.”

  “Not now, Idut.”

  “Meren, you’ve grown callous, and I won’t—”

  “No!”

  Idut jumped and scowled at him. Before either of them could speak, Cherit held up a wrinkled hand for silence.

  “Idut, you’re a fool. There’s evil rampant in this house, and you’re worried about conventions.”

  Wah sidled over to Idut. “The venerable Lady Cherit speaks with wisdom, my dear. Two people have died suddenly. This is no longer an ordinary matter. Let us all retire to the garden as Lord Meren requested.”

  The family complied, but as Bentanta tried to follow them, Kysen delayed her. Meren joined them.

  “Lady, where is the pomegranate wine you brought with you?”

  “Most of it has been drunk. Why?”

  “You gave some to Sennefer?”

  “Yes, this morning. He was distraught over Anhai. What’s wrong?”

  “But there’s some in his chamber.”

  Bentanta glanced at Sennefer’s door. “At the feast he asked for some. I had two jars sent to his chamber.”

  “When was this?”

  “Early, not long after the feast began. He tasted it and couldn’t stop praising it.”

  “So you instructed a servant to bring jars to his chamber. And the jars were sealed.”

  “Of course they were sealed.” Bentanta looked at him closely. “My pomegranate wine couldn’t have killed him.”

  “Not the wine, no.”

  “I’m not lackwitted, Meren. You think his wine was poisoned, so you suspect me of killing him. Use your own wits, will you? Why would I want to kill Sennefer?”

  Meren glanced at Reia. “Escort Lady Bentanta to her chamber.”

  “I do not allow anyone to send me to my room, Meren.”

  “Then allow me to explain something,” he said. “My cousin is dead from drinking tainted wine that you provided. His wife is already dead after quarreling with you. She held something of yours that you wanted back, which you refuse to explain. You deny any evil-doing, but can’t prove your innocence. This is no longer a matter between friends, Bentanta. It’s an official inquiry into two deaths by the Eyes of Pharaoh, not a plea for help by your playfellow. Go to your chamber.”

  He signaled to Reia, who bowed to Bentanta and indicated the way to her room, which lay on the opposite side of the house. Bentanta pressed her lips together, but said nothing. Turning her back on Meren, she marched out ahead of the charioteer.

  When she was gone, Meren opened the door to Sennefer’s room and summoned Nebamun. Nebetta was rocking back and forth on her knees beside Sennefer’s body while Hepu stood over her. The physician came out holding the cup and flagon of wine. Kysen went in and retrieved the opened jar. Then Meren shut the door on the grieving parents.

  He led the way to the hall, took a chair on the dais, and waited while Kysen set the round-bottomed jar in a stand. “Now, tell me again what’s in the wine.”

  “I’m not certain, lord, but I think it’s been tainted with a poisonous plant, the tekau. It has long, deep-green leaves and purple-black berries. My physician’s book lists the signs that come upon one poisoned with it, and states that it is an illness one cannot treat if too much has been eaten or drunk.”

  “And so far the only wine that’s been tainted is this we have here,” Meren said.

  “Iry has examined all the other jars,” Kysen said. “When she arrived, Bentanta had twelve jars delivered to the kitchen storage. Most of it was consumed at the feast with no ill effects. There were three jars left in storage, and they have been found untainted. It seems the only poison is in this one open jar.”

  Meren rose and bent over the vessel to study the bits of clay clinging to the twine fastened to its neck. “It could have been poisoned before it was sealed, I suppose.”

  “Or someone could have tainted it after Sennefer opened it,” Kysen said. “If he opened it after the feast, in his chamber, someone still easily could have stolen into his room after he was asleep and put the poison in the jar. Anyone in the guest house, that is.”

  Meren went back to his chair. “True. You’ve been invaluable, Nebamun. Please go back to my aunt and attend to her.”

  “She is making herself ill with grief, lord. Shall I give her a draught to calm her?”

  “Yes, if she’ll take it.”

  When Nebamun was gone, Kysen lowered himself to the floor of the dais and shook his head. “I don’t suppose you’ve thought of a way to blame a servant or a slave.”

  “Ky, all of them have been with the family for generations, and most were too busy at the feast to be involved with Anhai’s death. Kasa has worked with my men to account for their whereabouts that night. As for Sennefer, only those who handled the wine or had the opportunity to taint it concern us.”

  “Who brought the wine to Sennefer’s room?”

  “Kasa,” Meren said. “And I don’t think Kasa had a reason to harm Sennefer or Anhai. He barely knew them and had no dealings with either.”

  Kysen turned around and clasped his arms around his knees. “But Bentanta had a reason to harm Anhai, and if Anhai shared her secret with Sennefer, she had a reason to harm him too. What was this great secret?”

  “She won’t tell me, and the search of her chamber and possessions has yielded nothing, especially not torn papyrus.”

  “Then you haven’t seriously tried to make her tell you.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m through being the gentle courtier and hesitant childhood friend. I’m going to her chamber now.” Meren rose and smoothed the pleats in his overrobe. “However, I almost feel like changing into armor.”

  “Fear not,” Kysen said with a wry smile. “Reia will be there to protect you.”

  “You think yourself fortunate, but you, my dear son, are going to question my dear sister’s proposed husband.”

  “Not Wah!”

  “I can’t talk to everyon
e, Ky, and he’s the only stranger who was here for both deaths. Perhaps the gods will bless us, and you’ll find out he’s the murderer of both. Unfortunately …”

  “Ra?”

  “Yes,” Meren said. “Ra was at Green Palm, and he could have stolen back to kill Anhai and poisoned Sennefer’s wine too.”

  “An evil prospect, but how likely?”

  “I’m not sure,” Meren said. “Once I would have said Ra doesn’t care deeply enough about anyone or anything to be provoked into action. But if Anhai used him, and Sennefer laughed at him for it—” Meren threw up his hands. “I don’t know anymore. At times he’s rabid with anger. He thinks he’s been persecuted his entire life, mostly by Father and by me, but he’s fed this grudge for so long that he’s made a habit of seeing injustice toward himself from countless sources.”

  “And he drinks.”

  “Wine has ruined many a man’s judgment,” Meren said.

  Kysen rubbed his chin and stared at the flagon and wine cup. “The doorkeepers for both houses were back at their posts after the feast. Anyone outside would have had to avoid them, and none of them saw anyone sneaking around the grounds. I suppose it’s possible that someone from outside could have used a rope to climb the outer wall and steal up the back stairs to the roof to enter.” He rose and stood beside Meren.

  “You’re going to question Aunt Idut?”

  “Yes, and Great-Aunt Cherit,” Meren said. “I wish you could do it, but they wouldn’t listen to you. And I’ll have to talk to Hepu, and perhaps Nebetta. Gods, this day seems endless.”

  “I’ll visit the temple tonight. You get some rest.”

  “After this day, I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep. I’m not going to rest until I find out who’s killing people in my house. And gods, what a choice of culprits!”

  “You’ve thought of the possibility that Sennefer could have killed Anhai, and someone else killed him in revenge?”

  “Which leads to Ra again,” Meren said.

  “I’ll find Iry and see if his searches have revealed anything else.”