Slayer of Gods

by Lynda S. Robinson

  They ate in silence, steadily, for it was nearly time to leave for the city. Meren’s sailors and charioteers were busy unloading chariots and horses from the ship, and activity went on all around them.

  Meren forced himself to finish the food set before him, not wanting to risk being scolded by the cook. Then he washed his hands, gave the cook a nod of approval, and stood. Anath was watching Abu supervise the hitching of Meren’s thoroughbreds to his chariot. Nearby stood Meren’s three scribes, Kenro, Dedi, and Bekenamun, who was called Bek. They would supervise the search for documents while Meren and Anath explored the city looking for other likely repositories.

  “Dedi, your team will begin at the magazines at the King’s House,” he said as he walked down the gangplank. “Bek will go to the office of records and tithes, and Kenro, you search the office of the correspondence of pharaoh. That’s where you’re more likely to find the foreign documents you’re so good at translating.”

  The various parties set off, and Meren got into his chariot. Anath was standing with his thoroughbreds, Wind Chaser and Star Chaser. She murmured softly to Wind and brushed her cheek against his soft nose. Meren was about to tell her it was time to go when something jumped into the chariot with him. He gasped and looked down at the floor of the vehicle to find that Anath’s cat, Khufu, had decided to join him.

  Meren scowled at the creature, but Khufu ignored him and calmly began to lick one of his paws. Khufu was named after the mighty pharaoh who built the Great Pyramid, but he reminded Meren of Tcha, a greasy, illiterate denizen of the Caverns. The cat was striped gray, white, and black, and built like a compact baboon. He was disfigured from his many battles with dogs, monkeys, other cats, and anything else that moved. His ears were tattered, his face scarred, and one of his eyelids drooped. Khufu lived to fight, and the only creature he didn’t try to coerce was his mistress.

  “Go away, Khufu.”

  The cat glanced up at him, then dropped into a reclining position.

  Setting his jaw, Meren gathered the reins. “Come, Anath, we’re wasting time.”

  Anath got into the chariot and took the reins from him. “I’ve been cooped up on a ship too long. Driving will do me good.”

  Slapping the reins on the horses’ backs, she walked them across the waterfront and turned the chariot onto the Royal Road. ,Meren kept quiet as they slowed and then stopped. They were beside the Mansion of the Aten, Akhenaten’s royal chapel for the worship of his god. A few hundred yards beyond lay the bridge that Akhenaten had built from the Great Palace to the King’s House, the place where pharaoh had conducted his daily business.

  The Royal Road stretched into the distance, the fencing that had once kept pedestrians safe from passing chariots now slowly decaying. Here in the central city lay most of the royal departments and the Aten temples. To the north and south stood residential areas along with the estates of master craftsmen such as the great sculptor, Thutmose. Farther north lay smaller palaces, and finally, the enormous Riverside Palace, the fortified private residence of pharaoh and his family.

  As they surveyed the city, the north breeze picked up. Debris blew over the Royal Road while here and there doors that hadn’t been removed and taken away slammed back and forth on their hinges. At their feet Khufu gave a low growl and curled himself around Anath’s ankles, and his mistress shivered.

  Meren’s gaze skimmed across the Royal Bridge and lighted on the Great Palace, the formal setting for Akhenaten’s grandeur. Inside, surrounded by lofty columned halls, small courts, and monuments, lay the vast courtyard. Around its perimeter stood colossal statues of the heretic, each a ghastly distortion—splayed hips, emaciated shoulders, brooding, slanted eyes painted a glittering, brittle black. All the brilliantly painted and glazed tiles, the lush scenes of vegetation and wildlife that made the small courts and halls so beautiful, couldn’t erase the bizarre impression of those colossi.

  “Do you know what I remember about this place?” Anath asked quietly.

  “What?”

  “The disjunction between the beauty of it and the fear that was my enduring companion.”

  Meren darted a look at her, surprised that she would echo his innermost feelings. “Yes.”

  A look of pain passed over her features, then she shook herself as if to rid herself of bad memories. “Such symmetry, the balance between the Great Palace on one side of the Royal Road and the King’s House on the other, the soaring reed-bundle columns in the Great Aten Temple, all of it so new and fresh. So unlike the old cities.”

  “We were never afraid in the old cities,” Meren said to himself as he gazed at the King’s House. To the east of it, among the myriad government offices, lay the guardhouse where he’d been tortured. He could still smell the place, the stench of old sweat, his own waste, and fear. His face set in an expressionless mask, Meren said, “Drive on. We’re losing time.”

  Coming out of her own reverie, Anath slapped the reins once more, and they trotted down the Royal Road in the ruts made from the passage of the heretic’s royal chariot. As if by mutual consent they refrained from talking about anything but their search for documents that could reveal a motive for killing Nefertiti. They drove far to the north, to the point where the high desert cliffs marched down to the Nile valley. Here Akhenaten had built the Riverside Palace, a vast complex with its own storehouses, grain magazines, and barracks, the whole of which was surrounded by battlements. They had no reason to search the cattle biers, the stables, or the kitchens, but Anath remembered the half dozen rooms in a building, between the palace and the fortified walls, where records were kept.

  They left the horses tethered in the shade of a colonnade and entered the structure that had once served as an office for the king’s steward. They stood in a large room, the roof of which was supported by four painted columns on stone bases. Strewn about the room were pieces of papyrus, broken shelves, and piles of ostraca, the pottery shards and limestone flakes that served as note tablets. Sand was beginning to form small drifts on the floor. In a few years it would completely obscure the whitewashed packed earth. In a few more this building and most of the others in the city would be choked with the encroaching desert.

  “I’ll start in the secretary’s room,” Anath said, and she disappeared through a doorway with Khufu strolling after her.

  Meren sighed and began to search through a pile of ostraca with little hope of finding anything important. Why had he allowed Anath to persuade him to come here? He should have gone straight to Syene while his men and Anath searched Horizon of the Aten. For his part, all he seemed to do was sink into a morass of nightmarish memories that left the taste of blood in his mouth and the smell of death in his nostrils.

  It took some while to sort through the contents of the steward’s office. Anath surprised him with her diligence. She returned from the secretary’s room with an armload of discarded papyri, which she dumped at his feet.

  “I’ll be back,” she said as she sped across to the doorway opposite the one she’d first taken.

  The morning passed in this manner, with Anath speeding around the palace offices, ducking into corners, and digging through piles of rubbish. She would dump documents and ostraca in front of Meren with orders that he pay particular attention to this text or that, then rush off in another direction. By midday she was almost finished and had settled herself on the floor beside Meren. Her fingers traced lines of cursive hieroglyphs, muttering imprecations against scribes with sloppy penmanship, and tossing useless documents in every direction.

  Meren was reading a list of recipients of the Gold of Honor when Anath drew in a sharp breath. “Meren, look at this.” She handed him a fragment of papyrus, one of many that had been left behind because oil from a lamp had spilled on them. It was stained but readable.

  “It’s from the queen,” Meren said. He glanced at the date. “She wrote this about a month before she died.”

  Anath pointed to a line. “See what she says of Prince Usermontu.”

&
nbsp; Meren read the text aloud. “…the appointment of Prince Usermontu. He has diverted the supplies intended for pharaoh’s garrison at the port of Sumur in the land of the Asiatics. The king’s soldiers go without grain, and I will not countenance it. There is no reward…” Meren tried to read further, but the ink had spread and blurred. “I remember now. The queen was furious with Prince Usermontu, but she didn’t tell me her reasons.”

  “He was diverting supplies to himself, stealing from the army,” Anath said. “And she found out.”

  Meren nodded. “I remember her summoning Usermontu. I had come to deliver documents for Ay, and she kicked him out of the palace. Grabbed a spear from one of the guards and poked his arse all the way from the audience chamber to the pylon gates.”

  “Ha! I wish I’d seen that. Usermontu is a greedy reptile.”

  Narrowing his eyes, Meren studied the letter fragment. “There are many greedy servants of the king, but few angered her like Usermontu did. There must have been something more behind her anger.”

  “Perhaps his stealing caused deaths in Sumur. If the men weren’t paid, they might desert and go home, leaving the outpost undefended.”

  “True.”

  Meren set the fragment aside, and they continued their search until the sun was low in the sky. By then they’d finished going through everything, and had come up with nothing else. A servant had brought roast swan, pelican eggs, date bread, and pomegranate wine at midday, but now Meren was hungry again, and his mood black.

  “You’re scowling again.” Anath rose and dusted off her hands.

  Meren threw a limestone flake on the pile that reached to his knees and got up as well. “This was a waste of time.”

  “I swear by Ishtar and Baal, Meren, you’re miserable company.”

  “I’m not here to entertain you, Mistress Anath. We’re running out of time. Soon now the evil one will realize I’ve returned to the search for Nefertiti’s murderer, and the killing will begin again, if it hasn’t already. Remember Satet.”

  Anath stalked over to him. “You don’t have to remind me of our peril, Meren. I’ve risked bringing myself to the attention of this killer to help you.”

  “Thank you!” Meren’s voice rose, so tense was he with frustration.

  Planting her feet apart, Anath stuck her face close to his. “Thanks like that should come from an enemy, damn you.”

  “All we’ve found is one fragment telling of Usermontu’s cheating and useless ration lists,” Meren said, leaning over Anath and staring into her bright, uptilted eyes. “The whole search has been useless.”

  “You don’t know that!”

  “It’s bound to be,” Meren snapped. “The important records went back to Memphis.” He turned his back on Anath, kicked aside a stack of papyrus scraps, and headed outside.

  Before he got to the doorway Anath caught his arm and swung him around. Few dared to grab Lord Meren, Friend of the King, so her touch caught him off guard, and he jerked around, knocking her off balance. Anath cried out as she fell backward, but Meren caught her and pulled her upright She let out a sound of irritation and shoved him, hard. Meren hit a wall, and his head banged against it. Pain exploded in his skull.

  “Curse it, woman!” He lunged for her, grabbed her by the arms and shook her. “I’m not staying here any longer. Do you hear?”

  Anath’s hair swirled around her face. She shook it away from her eyes and glared at him. Meren was already regretting his loss of temper even while he found himself holding on to Anath. Her skin was smooth, as if she bathed in oil rather than water, and he could feel her body’s tension, hear it in her rapid breathing. Her gaze lifted to his, and something dark stirred there.

  Seldom had Meren allowed himself the luxury of giving free rein to lust. His life depended upon guarding his appetites lest they be used against him. Anath had been forced to do the same; he could see it in her eyes. Beyond the superficial slaking of lust lay the domain of love and desire, but that domain was ruled by trust. And trust was more precious than all the gold in pharaoh’s mines, more rare than the black iron of the Hittites.

  Anath whispered to him, “I have been too long among strangers, Meren.”

  “I also, Eyes of Babylon.”

  Her hand came up, and he held still while her fingertips traced the line of his jaw. “I have seen ancient pain come alive in you. What they did to you lives on in your ka, as timeless as the netherworld. Such pain forces you to be a stranger to all.”

  Meren closed his eyes, afraid she would see how close to the truth she’d come. He felt her fingertips on his lips. Blinded by pain and need, he took her mouth in his.

  Chapter 6

  Surrounded by scrolls and scraps of papyrus, document cases and chests, Kysen sat on the floor of his father’s office beside the chair Meren occupied while conducting business. By now his father should be in Horizon of the Aten. Arching his back, Kysen yawned. He’d started out in the chair, but reading page after page of notes and culling through copies of government ration records made him sleepy.

  He was angry with Reia for making him come home last night, and even angrier with himself for having lost Dilalu’s trail. He’d sent men after the weapons trader, but the man wasn’t at his home. They’d searched the docks and the foreign quarters in as unobtrusive a manner as possible, with no success. Dilalu had vanished.

  Kysen had decided to review once again the information they’d gathered. During his enforced rest Meren had made notes on who might have had the opportunity and power to murder Nefertiti. Kysen dropped the papyrus containing Meren’s notations on Dilalu and other suspects. Meren had continued to receive information from the agents he’d sent in search of old servants and courtiers of the queen. Using his own resources, Ese and the Greek pirate Othrys, Kysen had located almost a dozen former servants.

  Yamen, the army officer they’d suspected, was dead. Meren had been on the verge of contacting the merchant Zulaya when he’d been wounded. The Greek pirate Othrys had suggested they investigate these two men, saying they had the power and daring to bring about a queen’s murder.

  Meren was of the opinion that even if one of these men was guilty, the ultimate responsibility for Nefertiti’s death—indeed, for all that had happened during this investigation—lay with someone at the court. For months he’d pondered the question of who might have wanted the queen dead. A rival? The magnificent Nefertiti had no rivals, not even the minor queens and concubines of Akhenaten’s household. Akhenaten’s only love had been the great royal wife.

  Although Meren could think of few women who might want to kill the queen, there might have been men who wished to do so. During her last years, Nefertiti had thwarted the ambitions of a number of parvenus. These men, whether from the aristocracy or not, had been of no consequence until they caught Akhenaten’s eye. Usually they’d gained favor by impressing pharaoh with their fervor for the sun disk, their skill in ferreting out temple riches hidden by the old priesthood, or they ran royal departments without causing any work for the king.

  One of these was Lord Pendua. He’d been a nonentity at the court only to astound the king by providing expensive stone for twenty altars in the Great Aten Temple. Since Akhenaten had ordained that there be countless offering tables in the open-air courts of his Aten temple, he was mightily pleased. Dozens of courtiers followed Pendua’s example, but Pendua had been the first and reaped the benefit of his creative strategy. He became overseer of the cattle of the Aten, and scribe of the king, two lucrative posts. Another appointment made him administrator of the vineyards of the great royal wife.

  Kysen sighed and rubbed his forehead. He twisted around, lay on his stomach, and grabbed a stack of letters from the queen’s correspondence during her last year. These were among the few that hadn’t been left behind when the court abandoned Horizon of the Aten. One of them mentioned Prince Usermontu, another parvenu who had attracted Meren’s suspicion.

  As a youth Usermontu had been known to make fun of Akhenaten�
�s clumsiness, his horselike face and sagging stomach. Once Akhenaten became heir and later king, Usermontu had found himself outside the intimate circle of royal friends. Then one morning early in Akhenaten’s reign Usermontu had experienced a mystic revelation. During worship at the new sun temple the king had caused to be constructed on the doorstep of the temple of Amun, Usermontu had been seized by a vision. He staggered to pharaoh and fell at his feet, reciting Aten prayers and shivering at the same time. Regurgitating the litany written by Akhenaten, the prince had claimed that the power of pharaoh had possessed him.

  Meren told Kysen the story with the comment that it was lucky for Usermontu that he’d claimed possession by the king’s power rather than the Aten’s. The king reserved to himself all communion with the sun disk, but few had grasped the significance of this nuance at first. Meren had admired Usermontu’s creativity, but he deplored the way the prince had turned on the old gods and helped Akhenaten disestablish the temples and impoverish the priests.

  Prince Usermontu gained the title of Friend of the King as well as the stewardship of several royal estates. Shortly before the queen’s death Usermontu had been given the responsibility of the queen’s horses and for appointing and managing Nefertiti’s bodyguards. Both he and Lord Pendua had survived Akhenaten, but they’d lost their posts in the transition under Tutankhamun. They attended court and constantly sought positions and favor from pharaoh, but each had been too enthusiastic in his quest for riches at the expense of the old gods. Tutankhamun granted them small benefits, but his ministers advised against elevating either Prince Usermontu or Lord Pendua. One of those giving the advice was Meren. Kysen set aside Meren’s notes and reached for an old report on the lesser servants of the queen.

  “You’ve been in here for hours. What are you doing on the floor?”

  Kysen sat up to find his sister Bener coming toward him. She was dressed for work in a plain shift, and a simple faience necklace was her only ornament. She was tall for a girl, almost as tall as Kysen. Meren said she resembled her mother with her quick movements and commanding manner. Bener had a habit of twirling her hair around her finger when she was agitated, but her most annoying habit was interfering in the affairs of her father when she should be concerned with running the house. Kysen frowned at her as she plopped down beside him and began inspecting Meren’s notes.