“Ky,” Meren said as his son walked away, “while you’re doing that, assign Reia’s brother Simut to guard Bener and Isis. I don’t think they’re in danger, but I’ll rest easier knowing someone is watching them.”
“I should have thought of it earlier.”
When he was alone, Meren summoned a servant and had him take the wine jar, flagon, and wine cup to his office. They would be safe there with a sentry posted outside the door. He could think of nothing else to do that would delay his visit to Bentanta.
The women’s quarters lay on the opposite side of the house. As he directed his steps in that direction, he realized that he’d been hampered from the beginning of this inquiry. It was almost impossible to intimidate people who remembered him as a muddy, sticky-faced boy. He dreaded demonstrating his power and authority, but his family—and Bentanta—were fast forcing him into a position in which he’d have no choice.
Reia was outside Bentanta’s room with another charioteer. He almost went inside alone but instead gave an order to Reia. Reia left, and Meren paced outside the door while he waited briefly for him to return.
Leaving the second man outside as guard, Meren stepped back from the door to allow Reia to knock and throw open the portal. Bentanta was stalking around the chamber and paused in midstride when they appeared. Her brows drew together as her gaze fell on the charioteer. Reia had a scimitar stuck in his belt and was holding a scribe’s palette and papyrus.
“I’ve told you I didn’t poison Sennefer or kill Anhai. Your trained colts have searched every possession I brought with me. My patience is wearing, Meren.”
Meren didn’t answer. Reia walked past Bentanta, picked up a chair, and brought it to him. Meren sat down, gathering the complicated folds of his robe around his legs. Reia drew his weapon, sat on the floor, and placed it beside him. Then he took a rush pen from his palette and mixed some ink with water. Placing the papyrus on the length of his kilt that stretched between his crossed legs, he dipped the pen in the palette inkwell. All the while, Meren remained silent.
“What are you doing?” Bentanta demanded.
Meren studied her as he would any person whom he had cause to suspect of a great evil, assessing, probing, looking for any sign of guilt. Sometimes this treatment worked, but often, with the quick-witted or those with experience at the imperial court, he was met with a facade of impenetrable innocence. Unfortunately, Bentanta stared right back at him without guilt, but with a bargeload of anger. Ah well, he hadn’t expected her to succumb to simple tactics.
“Lady Bentanta, I’ll send for another witness to this examination if you wish it.”
“Examination?” Bentanta walked over to face him and put her hands on her hips. “You’re going to examine me like a common thief who steals honey from your beekeepers?”
“Then you don’t require another witness,” Meren said. “Very well. We’ll begin, Reia.” He leaned over the side of his chair and glanced down at the charioteer. “Count Meren, son of Amosis, the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, Nebkheprure Tutankhamun—may he have life, health, and prosperity—year five, season of Drought. He speaks as follows: the examination of the Lady Bentanta, widow of Lord Hekareshu the justified, in the matter of the deaths of Lord Sennefer and Lady Anhai.”
He waited, staring impassively at Bentanta as Reia’s pen brushed across the polished paper. She looked from him to the paper and back. Her eyes grew wide, and her hands dropped to her sides. He watched the muscles in her throat work as she swallowed. Other than this movement, her face was still. She’d learned to conceal her thoughts at the side of two queens.
“I’ve told you I’ve done nothing,” she said.
“And I will have Reia record all your answers to me. I remember all of them. But now I will ask you what it was that Anhai and Sennefer held against you. And you will give me the truth.”
Bentanta walked away from him. She paused beside a table laden with cosmetics—kohl tubes, unguent containers, spoons, tweezers, an ivory comb, and a bronze mirror. She touched the polished surface of the mirror. He could almost see the rush of her thoughts. Best not to give her too much time.
“Answer me,” he said.
Her hand jerked back from the mirror. She clenched it and thrust it behind her back. Turning his way, she lifted her chin and gave him a slight smile.
“The Lady Bentanta answers thus. I wish to consult with my family.”
“In time,” he said. Bentanta’s family was a powerful one. In one way or another she was related to Meren’s friend, the royal treasurer Maya, to General Nakhtmin’s wife, to the high priest of Osiris, and to the divine adoratrice of Amun.
“No, Meren. I want to consult my family now. Send for my father and for Maya. Both Anhai and Sennefer provoked anger from many people, and I’ll not submit to your hounding without my family near me to help.” She walked back to him again, her carriage erect, her manner confident.
Drumming his fingers on his chair arm, Meren leaned back and studied her. Suddenly he quit tapping the wood and closed his eyes. He summoned the spirit of warfare, that attitude that allowed him to face his own death and the deaths of friends and remain calm and battle-ready. When he opened his eyes, Bentanta blinked at his expression. Her lips moved soundlessly, but he spoke first.
“I had hoped to spare you humiliation and pain. You refuse to answer, and I will not allow this.” He stood abruptly.
Using the advantage of his greater height, he looked down on Bentanta, unsmiling. “I’ve questioned those far greater than you. If you think I’ll spare the whip and the cane because of our past, you’re wrong. Someone is killing people in my house, and I’m going to find out who it is. I want the truth from you, Bentanta. It’s your choice as to whether I use force to get it.”
She was staring at him, eyes round, body rigid, like a startled ibex. At last he’d force her to take him seriously. He took a step toward her, and she backed away. Nodding to Reia, he went to the door.
“What are you doing?”
“A forced inquiry takes preparation,” he said as Reia opened the door to reveal the sentry. “Perhaps by the time I return, you’ll have realized you have no choice but to answer my questions.”
He left quickly with Reia, before she could protest. For the first time there had been alarm in her voice; perhaps a night spent alone in fear would loosen her tongue. She would start each time she heard a footfall. Her fear would grow at every whisper, every raised voice. He had much to do to keep him busy in the meantime.
Besides, he had no great faith in confessions obtained by force. Often one got only what the victim thought one wished to hear. With his men on guard, there would be no more deaths. He would revisit the granary before dark, talk to Idut and Aunt Cherit. Yes, there was much to do, and he could afford to wait for Bentanta to lose her courage. But if she didn’t, would his be as great when he had to follow through with his threats?
Not wanting to know the answer to this question, Meren left the guest house and walked toward his own. As he made his way through the trees that clustered around the high walls, he heard shouting. People crowded around the front gate, pointing and muttering. Reia strode ahead of him, parting the observers.
As the onlookers stepped aside, the shouting grew louder, then ceased. Abruptly those closest to the center of the commotion scattered, leaving Meren to stare at Kysen and Ra. At the same time, a roar erupted from his brother’s lips. Ra sprang backward. A dagger leaped into his hand, and Kysen drew his own.
“I’ll teach you manners, you lowborn son of a goat!”
Ra’s arm darted at Kysen’s gut. Kysen parried the thrust, and the blades clashed together. Metal slid against metal until the two weapons locked at the hilt. As the two pushed against each other. Meren jumped at them, grabbed Ra’s dagger arm, and jammed his foot into his brother’s chest. Ra flew to the ground, still holding his dagger. Meren stood between his son and his brother and glared at Ra.
“What demon possesses you that you dare attack
my son?”
Ra wiped sweat from his upper lip with the back of his hand. “He tried to keep me from leaving. The cur told me to go back to my chamber as if I were some pubescent girl! He says I’m suspected of killing Sennefer and Anhai, the dung-eater.”
Meren held his ground as Ra sprang to his feet and walked toward Kysen. He grabbed his brother’s forearm, immobilizing the hand that held the dagger.
“You don’t want to fight Kysen,” he said. “You want to fight me. Why don’t you do it?”
Ra jerked his arm free and glared at Meren. Then his lips twisted into a smile. “By the wrath of Amun, I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. Come then, mighty Eyes of Pharaoh, great and powerful Friend of the King, fight me if you dare. I’ll kill you before the sun sets.”
Chapter 13
Kysen hurried over to his father as Meren removed his gold collar, belt, and overrobe. “He came charging out of the house saying he heard you’d forbidden him to leave. I was nearby when he tried to bully the sentry into letting him out of the gate.”
“Did you say he was suspected?” Meren asked. Reia took his jewels and robe.
“Of course not. I said no one was above suspicion, and he took offense.” Kysen glanced at Ra, who was glaring at them from across the clear space formed by the crowd. “This isn’t good, Father. Your wounds aren’t completely healed. Let Reia and the men take him.”
Meren took Kysen’s dagger from him. “No. He has attacked you in front of my people and challenged me. Neither of us can go back, and taking him prisoner would deal him a humiliation he’d never forgive.”
Kysen knew that set look on his father’s face. Meren had made a decision from which he wouldn’t waver. He stepped back, caught the eye of one of the sentries, and gave him a hand signal. The man nodded, pursed his lips, and whistled. Another whistle sounded inside the house grounds, then another.
At the same time, Meren and Ra began to circle one another. The sun hung low in the sky, just visible through the trees. Meren kept his back to it, working his way closer and closer to his brother while making Ra face the light most of the time.
More people joined the crowd—farmers, fishermen, servants. Several charioteers shouldered their way to the front of the throng. Kysen signaled again, and they spread out in a loose ring around the two fighters. Feeling helpless, Kysen moved with them, watching Ra’s dagger. Meren was a warrior, but Ra was seven years younger.
The two drew close enough to strike, but Meren remained on the defensive. Crouched, balancing on the balls of his feet, Ra waved his blade back and forth in front of his brother. Meren refused to look at it, watching Ra’s face instead. Finally losing patience, Ra thrust his dagger straight at Meren’s gut. Meren hopped out of reach, almost forcing Ra to overbalance. He jabbed again, this time from the side. The blade caught Meren at the waist, drawing a thin line in blood.
The crowd gasped, and a woman shrieked. Kysen saw one of the charioteers holding Idut by the arm as she shouted at her brothers. Neither paid her any attention. Ra was smiling after his hit, but Meren ignored it and moved to keep his back to the sun. Ra darted at him, his dagger leading. At the last moment, he tossed his weapon to his left hand and struck. Meren ducked underneath the path of the blade, spun, and shoved Ra, causing him to stumble and fall to his knees.
Kysen wasn’t surprised when Meren simply straightened and waited for his brother to recover. From the beginning Meren’s stance and lack of offensive movements had told Kysen he didn’t intend to fight Ra as he would an enemy. Ra seemed to realize this too, for he jumped up and turned on Meren, his sweating face red, teeth bared.
“Fight me, you cursed son of the Devourer.” Ra walked quickly toward Meren. “I’ll not let you take this from me as you have everything else.”
Before he finished speaking, Ra launched himself at Meren. He crashed into his brother, who fell backward as he grabbed Ra’s dagger arm with his free hand. They landed with Ra on top. Meren pulled Ra’s arm while shoving with his body. Ra toppled to the side, ending up on his face, spitting dirt.
Meren jumped to his feet, turned, and stood over his brother, his chest heaving. “You’ve drawn my blood, Ra. Surely you’re recompensed for any insult.” He lowered his dagger and turned away.
Ra rolled over, wiped dirt from his eyes, and saw his brother walking toward the front gate. Springing to his feet, he sailed at Meren, dagger held high and pointed at his brother’s back. Kysen put his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle that was accompanied by those of the charioteers.
At the sound, Meren whirled around and brought his dagger up just as Ra’s blade descended. Metal slid against metal until the weapons locked hilts. Meren fell beneath the impetus of Ra’s charge, planted his feet on his brother’s stomach, and threw him over his head. Ra hurtled through the air. His head cracked against hard earth as he slammed into the ground on his back, stunned. His dagger flew from his hand.
There was a sudden quiet as Meren got quickly to his feet and went to his brother. Flailing with arms and legs, gasping for air, Ra tried to rise, but ended up looking like a writhing fish tossed on the riverbank. Kysen picked up Ra’s dagger and joined Meren to kneel beside the fallen man.
Meren grabbed a fistful of Ra’s hair and pulled the dazed man upright. “Remember. I wasn’t the one who wanted to fight, Ra. And remember this too. If you ever touch Ky again, I’ll fight you as I would an enemy instead of a spoiled little brother.” Ra slapped Meren’s hand from his head and cursed. “You’re staying here,” Meren said. “You can remain as a guest or as a prisoner. I care not which. Come, Ky. We’ve work to do.”
Kysen had listened to his father’s last words with growing surprise that kept him silent while Meren ordered his men to remove Ra to the house. Always, deep within his ka, there had remained a nagging feeling of disbelief that Meren could hold for him the affection a father held for a son of his blood. To be presented with such overwhelming proof of Meren’s love was like being gifted with perfection by the gods. He didn’t know how to feel or how to respond. Luckily, Meren seemed unaware of the magnitude of his actions. He handed his dagger to Reia, waved a hand to banish the crowd of onlookers, and then glanced at Kysen.
“We can only pray to Amun that my fool of a brother will think before acting in the future. Damnation. Here comes Idut. Delay her, Ky. I’m going to wash. Meet me in the granary. I want to look at it again before all the light vanishes.”
“Aunt,” Kysen said as he stepped in her path. “You don’t look well. Didn’t you enjoy Father’s little game with Ra?”
“Game? That was no game. Meren! You come back here, Meren.”
Kysen danced in front of his aunt as she tried to go around him and thought of a half-lie. “A royal messenger has just arrived. Father must attend to it at once. May I send for beer? You seem overheated, Aunt.”
A messenger had come from the king, but he’d arrived long ago and was filling his belly in the kitchen while he awaited Meren’s letters of reply. Kysen managed to divert Idut long enough for Meren to disappear into the security of his apartments.
Not long afterward Kysen entered the granary court to find Hray in the process of issuing ration payments to the workers. While waiting for his father, he questioned Hray again. No, the overseer had seen nothing out of the ordinary, touched nothing when he found Anhai.
Meren joined them. “But there was one thing out of the ordinary, Hray.”
“There was, lord?”
“Your grinders fought over their querns and grindstones.”
“Aye, lord. They’re a quarrelsome lot sometimes.”
Kysen glanced at the bowed querns and the oblong grindstones. “It appears that several of the laborers have favorite implements. Two of them prefer the same ones.”
“Yes, lord.”
“Indeed,” Meren said. “And when you found Anhai’s body, two of the grindstones had been switched, precipitating an argument. What I want to know is whether the querns and grindstones w
ere left in their proper order after the day’s work.”
“Oh yes, lord,” Hray said, jerking his head up and down. “I make them keep the querns and grindstones matched, and I make the two laborers take turns with the set they both prefer. I don’t tolerate fighting over the tools. Wastes time.”
“And yet the stones were mismatched,” Kysen said. While Meren dismissed Hray, he went over to the awning and picked up a black grindstone, hefting it in his hand. Returning to Meren, he pointed the stone at him. “It’s heavy. Wouldn’t it have made a mark if someone hit Anhai with it?”
Meren took the stone, grabbing it by the end. Something in that gesture bothered Kysen, but he couldn’t decide how. They stared at the black stone together. The surface was smooth from constant grinding and had a dull sheen. Kysen rubbed it with his fingers, but they came away clean. No trace of any substance at all. He returned the stone to its quern.
As he did so, he passed a water jar hanging suspended in a net. The vessel was made of clay, allowing some of the water to seep and keep the rest cool. He picked up a pottery cup and poured water into it. He drank all the water before he rejoined Meren, who was standing at the base of the granary in which Anhai had been found.
While the laborers and Hray filed out of the granary court, they stood contemplating the tall structure.
“Reia and the others have collected reports on all the servants and guests,” Meren said. “We have yet to question Wah, Idut, Sennefer’s parents, and Aunt Cherit.”
“You don’t think Aunt Idut or dear old Cherit—”
“Of course not, but they may have seen something.”
“You spoke to the Lady Bentanta?”
Meren kicked at the door in the base of the granary. “That woman has more boldness and insolence than a she-falcon. I swear when she looks at me she sees a boy with a sidelock.”
Kysen’s glance took in Meren’s greater height and charioteer’s build. “I don’t think so.”
Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing Page 14