Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

by Lynda S. Robinson

  At first he’d been pleased to know that Ra had been indulging in his usual excesses. But Sheftu had ruined his pleasure. Ra could have left the girl in her beer stupor, taken some of the herb, and stolen back to the estate to poison Sennefer’s pomegranate wine. He then could have returned to meet his friends at Green Palm. There he could have feigned sickness so that they would offer to bring him home. When questioned, his friends had said they met Ra at the riverbank the morning after the feast. They had assumed he’d come from Sheftu’s house. He might have, but if Meren couldn’t find someone who saw him there …

  In a nasty mood, Meren reached the skiff that had brought them to Green Palm. He got into the boat and snapped at Reia.

  “Hurry. I’ve done an excellent job of implicating my brother in murder, and now I’m going home to threaten a woman with the whip and the brand. Sometimes I disgust myself, Reia.”

  Back at the main house, Meren went directly to the servants’ block to the rear of the compound. It was here that the charioteers had been housed, and it was here that he’d ordered Bentanta brought before dawn. She had been waiting for him there in a narrow, dark room with no windows and no lamp. The building consisted of a row of similar rooms meant for storage, and one long common chamber with half a dozen beds. In the common chamber Meren put on a leather and bronze corselet that wrapped around his chest, wrist guards of the same materials, and a belt into which he shoved a dagger. Still distracted by his discoveries in Green Palm, Meren failed to hear Reia when the charioteer addressed him.

  “Lord? Lord, are you well?”

  Meren lifted his gaze from the floor to find Reia holding out a charioteer’s whip.

  “You asked for this, lord.”

  “Oh, yes. Where are the others?”

  “Outside waiting, lord.”

  “Yes, yes.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve given them their orders? Good.” He looked down at the whip to find that his hand was trying to strangle it. He loosened his grip. “Yes, well, it’s time, is it not? Come.”

  Outside waited the four tallest and brawniest of his men. With legs like palm trunks and chests as wide as pyramid blocks, they made even Meren feel slight. He walked down the row of doors to the last one and signaled to Reia. The charioteer pulled back the latch silently, then took a step back and kicked the door open with a crash.

  Sunlight pierced the dark void within. Reia took a lamp from one of the men and strode inside. Next Meren motioned for the remaining charioteers to enter. They marched in with spears, nearly filling the room. Only then did Meren follow, stalking in slowly, tapping the coiled whip against his leg. He had drained himself of compassion, separating his ka from all softness, forcing himself to meet this woman as a stranger and an enemy. It was the only way he could carry out this task.

  Bentanta stood inside against the back wall, her arms at her sides. He usually preferred not to notice her appearance, as it further disturbed his comfortable, removed perspective of her. But she wasn’t in the usual elaborate dress of her station, and he was left with nothing to regard except her unadorned appearance. Without heavy paint on them, her eyes still glinted with that annoying look of calm amusement. They were large and tilted up at the outer corners, adding to the impression of cool humor. Her long, heavy hair was loose except for a thick lock at her temple. Unlike many women he’d questioned, she didn’t catch her full lower lip between her teeth to attract attention to her mouth. She simply faced him with the dignity of a Great Royal Wife.

  Acknowledging a salute from his charioteers, Meren took a position opposite Bentanta, directed a frigid stare at her, and almost felt his jaw unhinge. Bentanta’s expression had changed as his men crowded into the small room. Now she was glaring at him as if he were a slave who had disturbed her in a nap beside the reflection pool.

  “I’ve had enough of this bullying. Meren.”

  Recovering from his surprise, he asked, “Are you ready to tell me the truth?”

  “I’ve told you the truth.”

  All at once his shoulder sagged, and he let out a long breath. Touching the bridge of his nose, Meren thought for a moment.

  “Oh, Bentanta,” he said gently. “Forgive me.”

  Bentanta shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “For what?”

  “I am so, so very sorry.” He lowered his gaze to the whip, then wearily looked at Reia. “I must leave this to you.”

  “I will be careful, lord.”

  “I know you will, but it’s difficult.”

  “What is difficult?” Bentanta demanded.

  Reia took the whip from Meren. “It would be best if you went to your chamber, my lord.”

  “You’re right.”

  “Wait a moment,” Bentanta said.

  Meren hung his head. “I must leave, Bentanta. I regret this. I truly do.”

  “I’ll be careful, lord,” said Reia.

  “Very well. I’ve decided you may use the fire.”

  “What fire?” Bentanta asked.

  Meren glanced back at her. “Fear not. I’ll send my physician at once. He’s excellent at treating burns. There might not be scars at all.”

  “You’re leaving!”

  “You were right,” he said. “I can’t bring myself to question you by force. You’ve beaten me.”

  Meren turned his back on Bentanta and shouldered past the wall of charioteers. He slowed his steps as he crossed the threshold. The door closed, and he was left in the sunlight, sweating and shivering. He forced himself to walk to the shade of an acacia, where he whirled around and glowered at the door to Bentanta’s cell. Long, long moments passed. He jumped as a whiplash cracked through the air. He heard a cry, a woman’s cry, but it was one of fury. Then there was a slap.

  “Meren! Meren, you come back here, damn you. Serpent’s spawn! Demon’s whelp! Meren? May the gods curse you if you aren’t out there.”

  He counted to twenty before entering the cell once more. Bentanta was still standing against the wall. Her long obsidian hair hung wildly about her shoulders, and she was breathing heavily. The skirt of her shift had a slice in it from hip to thigh. Reia was beside her, gawking at her, his hand pressed against a red cheek. The whip lay discarded on the floor. Retrieving the whip, Meren glanced at Reia. The charioteer gave him an embarrassed glance, saluted, and left, herding his men before him.

  Standing in a pool of lamplight, Bentanta raked him with her gaze. She gripped her upper arms, and Meren realized that if she didn’t, her hands would tremble. Walking away from him, she suddenly whirled around and spat her words at him.

  “Spawn of a scorpion, you were going to let them torture me.”

  He wasn’t about to admit the truth. “I must find out who killed Sennefer and Anhai. I’m sworn to uphold Maat, the harmony and balance of the Two Lands.”

  “And you’re officious as well. Gods, why have I tried to spare you? You don’t deserve it.”

  “Spare me? Spare me how, Bentanta? No more quibbling, no more maneuvers. Tell me what happened with Anhai. Tell me everything, at once.”

  Abruptly she gave a bitter laugh. Setting her back against the wall, she lowered herself to a sitting position and drew the lamp to her. “Sit down, Meren. This will take a while, and it will be—hard.”

  He sat down so that the lamp was between them. She glanced around the room at the blank walls.

  “No windows, only one door, an isolated building. I suppose I should thank you for providing secrecy.”

  “Get on with it,” he said.

  Bentanta was wearing a thick lock of her hair strung with gold ring beads. She reached up to it with both hands, lifted the bright strand, and began to pull something that had been inserted within the encircling beads—a tightly rolled paper. This she uncurled and smoothed, holding it at both ends. The papyrus had been folded and refolded so that there were tears along the fold lines. Its edges were ragged, but the script that covered the rectangle was dark and readable. Meren had been expecting to see something like it. Ben
tanta gave him the papyrus.

  “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 while, 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.