Then he looked at the goddess, with her pleated and tiered skirt and rounded eyes. Ahiram had felt the need to propitiate a foreign goddess, and yet when he most needed her favor, he’d strewn his possessions all over her altar. Meren shook his head at such conduct. There weren’t any offerings that he could see. No food or wine or incense, and he didn’t think Ishtar would be satisfied with a pen holder. A pen holder.
Slowly, his hand reached out to the tubular case. It was of wood shaped like a bundle of slender papyrus stalks and overlaid with gold foil. He picked it up and shook it. Empty. But hadn’t he just seen another equally as rich in the casket by the bed?
Meren rolled the columnar case between his palms and stared at the wall. Few warriors such as Ahiram had need of enough rush pens to fill two elegant holders. He rested his shoulder against the wall near the statue and examined the pen holder. A sudden image came to him, of many rush pens spilled in the bottom of Qenamun’s casket. Ahiram had Qenamun’s pen holder.
The man had been a fool to purloin the case from Qenamun, as he had Akhenaten’s sandals, but Meren could see that he’d grown more and more distraught after Unas was murdered, until he lost all sense on the day of the hippo hunt. Even on the water waiting for their prey, he’d been anxious, querying Tanefer about how long they should wait for the animal, fussing about the delay, and then nearly getting himself killed.
Meren’s hands stilled on the golden case as he remembered the struggle with the hippo. Tanefer’s huntsman had told them the hippo was ashore, not in the river. Therefore the creature had taken them by surprise, rising up out of the water like a mountain with eyes and toppling Ahiram.
He and Tanefer had tried to help Ahiram, but the hippo had knocked him into the water as well. He remembered plummeting into the blackness, the breath knocked out of him, nearly losing consciousness. Tanefer had come after him.
When they broke to the surface, the hippo was attacking Ahiram again. He had thrown himself at the creature to grab the harpoon sticking from its shoulder, and then Tanefer had lunged at him. Lunged at him and at the same time kicked out, shoving Ahiram beneath those long, yellow tusks.
Shoved him. Meren closed his eyes. No.
“Put it down, brother of my heart.”
Tanefer was standing in the doorway, a dagger strapped to his upper arm, a straight sword in his hand. The blade was wet and red. Soldiers followed him into the room, bearing spears, and took up positions surrounding Meren at a distance.
“Put it down,” Tanefer said.
Laying the pen holder back in the niche, Meren walked toward his friend. “You weren’t trying to save me from the hippo. You were trying to kill Ahiram.” He thrust his sudden grief into the dark pit of his soul as he approached Tanefer.
“Stop. I’m not a fool, to let you get too close.”
Meren glanced at the bloodied sword.
“You killed the porter.” He shook his head and couldn’t keep the broken quality from his voice. “Oh, Tanefer, not you.”
Tanefer’s gaze held bitter amusement. “I knew you were close, damn you. You’ve forced me to move too quickly.”
Meren took another step, but Tanefer jabbed at him with the sword. Spears aimed at him. He halted and lifted his arms away from his body. He remained calm without, while feeling as if his heart had been sliced in half.
“None of this has been about revenge upon Akhenaten, has it?”
Tanefer smiled. “You always were the cleverest of us. No, vengeance was an added but unnecessary sweetness. I needed gold for my men.”
“The Mitanni prisoner,” Meren said as he thought rapidly. “You killed him to stop us from questioning him.”
“Yes, but when my men reported to me that you’d gone to the colossus and to Qenamun’s office, and then here, I knew you were close to the truth. So now I must do what I’d wanted to put off until you were more isolated at court, when you were desperate.”
“What is that?” Meren moved to the side, but Tanefer moved with him, keeping himself between Meren and the door.
“It’s like I’ve been telling you, my friend. The empire is threatened by the Hittites. Without a strong leader, Egypt could fall to them just as my country did. Can you imagine proud, rich Egypt under the whips of those barbarians?”
“No.”
Tanefer moved closer and rested the tip of the bloodied sword on Meren’s broad collar. Meren remained motionless and stared into the too-calm eyes of his friend.
“None of you ever really understood what it was like. My mother was the daughter of a king, sent to a foreign land where she was tossed into pharaoh’s palace and ignored. She should have been chief queen and I the heir, and year after year she endured the insult of giving place to those of less-royal blood. But she raised me in the secret knowledge of the superiority of my heritage.”
“But you’ve had great honors. You never—”
“After she died, well, there was no one to remind me of my heritage, and I was so young. I was content.”
Tanefer’s breathing quickened. “Until I saw my mother’s homeland for the first time. Great cities ravaged, armies defeated, women and children carried into slavery. And the warriors—proud, brave men brought low because of the cowardice of pharaoh. It took me a long time, but I finally realized that I had to act. I tried to tell you that time by your reflection pool. Weren’t you listening to me?”
Meren surveyed his friend, the way his brows drew together, the brightness of his eyes, like the lakes of fire in the netherworld.
“I was listening, but I don’t think I heard the inner meaning of your words.”
“No, you didn’t, or you would have remembered that had Egypt come to my uncle’s aid, he wouldn’t have lost his throne. I could have been king after him, if not for that. With the support of Egypt, I could have had my own empire. But Akhenaten helped destroy Mitanni. His brothers have been no better A line of kings that could allow such destruction deserves to perish.”
“Egypt will never accept a foreign king.”
“Only half foreign,” Tanefer said. “And she will, if I’m married to the Great Royal Wife, and if I have the support of the great ones of the land—if I have your support, Meren.”
“You ask my support while you hold a sword to my heart?”
Tanefer lifted the blade, and Meren turned away from him, pretending to consider what had been said to him.
“I’m giving you a choice, brother of my heart, because of all of them, I can least bear killing you.”
Meren couldn’t bring himself to reply to that. Horemheb would laugh at him if he were here, at his failure to pry deeply enough into Tanefer’s soul. He’d been so furious at Ebana for stoking the fires of their enmity that he had been distracted from perceiving danger in other directions.
Finally he said, “You and Parenefer have been planning this for a long time.”
“Parenefer? That old fool knows nothing of me. I had Ahiram approach him through Qenamun about looting Akhenaten’s tomb. He thought the aim was vengeance upon the spirit of the king.”
“So the foreign stragglers and refugees have come to Egypt at your invitation.”
Tanefer nodded. “I planned well, and yet some evil fiend cursed me when that priest overheard Qenamun and Ahiram at the temple discussing plans for the disposition of the tomb goods.”
“Unas,” Meren said.
“Aye. And when I heard you’d discovered fragments of Qenamun’s cursing bowls, I had Ahiram dispatch the lector priest. Unfortunately, you alarmed him with your constant inquiries and your reputation for discovering crimes.”
“So you arranged to kill him at your hippo hunt.”
Tanefer gave a wave of dismissal. “Necessary. In his state, sooner or later he would have broken.”
“But you failed, and he ran, so you sent some of your Mitanni mercenaries after him.”
“They followed him the moment he left the city. Did he live to tell you anything?”
“Only that you
would betray me as you did him.”
Tanefer smiled. “That’s not true. You and I have been friends far too long. We admire each other And after all, I did save you from being eaten by a hippo.”
Meren shook his head. “You can’t succeed.”
“You don’t know how long I’ve been suborning royal guards and building companies of renegade Mitanni soldiers.”
“You’ve been stocking the military with your minions. That’s why Rahotep has so many under his command. And your renegades, where are they?”
Laughing, Tanefer lifted his sword again, and Meren backed away.
“You can’t think I’d tell you. Not yet, not until you’ve committed yourself to me.”
He had to delay, pretend to be swayed, or Tanefer would kill him. Abruptly, a small detail flitted into his mind.
“Saustatar,” Meren said. “That captured Mitanni kept mentioning Saustatar.”
“Ah, yes, my name among my people. I’ve taken one more suitable than my Egyptian one. You see, Meren, I intend to be as great a conqueror as my ancestor. Greater, for my empire will stretch from Egypt to the Euphrates and beyond. And I hope you’ll consent to join me in creating it.”
“You know how I feel about pharaoh.”
“The boy who has just cast you aside like a soiled loincloth?”
Now was the time. Meren turned his back and lowered his head, hoping Tanefer would take his gesture as resentment against Tutankhamun. He couldn’t fight nine men, especially not if one of them was as good as his friend was.
Tanefer had come close again. “You have great influence and power, brother of my heart, and you command the respect of the royal charioteers, the infantry. And you can help me with Ebana.”
Meren’s head came up.
“Ebana?”
“The priests of Amun have begun to suspect me. Too many deaths. They may balk at the need for my small palace revolt. But if you talk to Ebana—”
“No.”
“Don’t decide in haste, old friend, for your life depends upon your answer.”
He couldn’t appear to capitulate too easily, for his affection for pharaoh was too well known. Time was what he needed, time to be missed. He cursed himself as he realized Tanefer’s men were guarding pharaoh. He and Ay had trusted Tanefer. Biting the inside of his cheek to keep from losing governance of his rage, he shook his head gently, as if wavering because of Tanefer’s forceful arguments.
“I shall give you a few hours to think,” Tanefer said.
He pointed the sword at two of his men. They approached Meren and bound his hands in front of him. Tanefer prodded him out of the room.
“No one will think to look for you here, especially not in the cellar.”
Meren was shoved downstairs and into the black depths of the subterranean room. Tanefer left him there and paused in the doorway at the top of the staircase.
“You have a day, my friend. Consider well. You could be my vizier. I’m going to need one after I kill Ay and Maya.”
“You can’t kill everyone.”
“I grow weary of argument. It’s as well you have a son. As long as you know I have him under my hand, you won’t buck too hard at wearing a harness. A good evening to you, brother of my heart.”
The door closed then, leaving Meren in darkness. He had a few hours at most. During that time, he must accustom himself to the idea of killing an old friend.
Kysen strode into the house followed by Abu and Reia. Servants passed him bearing freshly roasted meat and new bread.
“Mut,” Kysen called.
The woman paused on her way to the great hall with a tray of food.
“Where is Lord Meren?”
“I haven’t seen him, lord. He went out earlier, then returned and shut himself in his office.”
Kysen and his men made their way out of the house, through the pleasure garden, and to the offices. He was tired and disgruntled. He’d spent hours tracking down Rahotep and belaboring him with questions. Hot-bellied with resentment at Meren’s treatment of him earlier at the palace, Rahotep had sparred, jousted, and lashed him with words. Finally he’d refused to answer any more questions. Kysen had lost his temper. If Abu hadn’t stopped him, he would have punched the flat-faced, vain fool.
He shoved open the door to Meren’s office. “Father, you’ll have to talk to that arse Rahotep—”
His steps slowed as he realized the room was empty. Abu came in after him, followed by Reia, and they all glanced around.
“He’s gone out again,” Abu said.
“I thought he said we’d meet here at mealtime,” Kysen said.
Reia nodded. “Aye, lord, he did.”
“He’ll be back soon, then,” Kysen said as he plopped into a chair.
He was up again immediately when his gaze fell on the table bearing Qenamun’s casket. Papyri were strewn over its surface. It was unlike his father to leave important materials in disarray. He went to the table and picked up one of the leather juggling balls that lay on top of the papyri.
Meren was always careful to conceal them, for only common entertainers juggled, not a hereditary prince and Friend of the King. Kysen peered into the casket.
“What is this doing here?” He lifted the silver mirror and turned to show it to Abu and Reia.
“I don’t know” said Abu. Reia shook his head.
“You’ve never seen it?” Kysen asked.
Abu came closer and examined the mirror. “I think it belonged to the lord’s wife. But if it’s the same mirror it’s usually kept in the lord’s bedchamber in a chest.”
Kysen set the minor on the table and glanced at the juggling balls again. Meren had left hurriedly, or he would never have left the juggling balls out. He would have put the mirror away, too. Tapping his fingers on the back of the mirror, Kysen thought for a while.
“Abu, search the house, grounds, and barracks, everything. See if my father is at home after all.”
While he waited, he put away the juggling balls and placed the dream interpretations and other documents back in the casket. Abu returned with Reia.
“Lord Meren isn’t here.”
“Very well, we’ll eat while we wait, but first send men to the offices of the vizier, and to the houses of Unas, Qenamun, and Ahiram, to see if Lord Meren has gone there.”
By the time the sun was setting, his messengers had returned with no news of his father. No one had seen him, and the houses of the dead men appeared deserted. Kysen walked outside with Abu along the path in front of the house.
“I don’t like this sudden disappearance,” Kysen said,
“He took no men with him.”
Kysen nodded and then grimaced. With word of Meren’s fall from favor spreading, someone might have decided to rid himself of a rival at court. Meren’s duties and place in Tutankhamun’s affections had gained him enemies—Prince Hunefer, some of the army generals, now Rahotep. And Parenefer. And Ebana, who had once loved him, possibly hated him most of all. If Meren had discovered proof of the priests’ role in the royal tomb desecration, his life would be in danger.
“Ebana,” Kysen muttered.
Abu turned to him and shook his head. “That way lies danger, lord.”
“Which is why you’re coming with me. Get the men. We must make haste if we’re to find him before he leaves the temple.”
Kysen had Abu and the other charioteers follow him at a distance as they left the quay and approached the temple. Pure ones, laborers, scribes, and Servants of the God streamed forth between the pylons. Boys carrying their student scribe kits over their shoulders chased each other down the avenue and across the long shadow cast by the statue of pharaoh. Kysen approached the temple entrance from a side street and lingered just beyond the avenue at a tall stela inscribed with the great deeds of pharaoh’s father, Amunhotep the Magnificent.
A bread vendor nearly bumped into him because he was standing concealed behind the tall slab of stone. He motioned to Abu, and the charioteers parted, distri
buting themselves at intervals along the avenue. One even leaned against the base of the king’s statue.
Kysen watched as the flow of priests, servants, and slaves crested and then ebbed. Across the river the horizon was catching fire; a brilliant carnelian haze lit the cliffs that marked the beginning of the dead land. Glancing back at the temple gates, he saw two men emerge from their shadow.
Ebana must have had an engagement that required formal dress, for he’d donned a transparent pleated robe over his kilt. Kysen hadn’t recognized him at once, for he wore a long court wig along with a belt and arm bands of electrum and turquoise. A matching broad collar covered his shoulders. The man with him was Tanefer, who rivaled Ebana’s splendor in gold, lapis, and red jasper.
At his side, Abu stirred. Kysen put his arm in front of the charioteer.
“Wait until he’s alone.”
The two men had walked out of the temple in silence. Neither looked at the other. A chariot and driver appeared, rolling up to Tanefer. Tanefer leaned close to Ebana and said something. Ebana shook his head.
Tanefer laughed and held out his hand. His driver placed a whip in it. Tanefer touched Ebana on the arm with the coiled lash, and Kysen drew in his breath as the priest turned on the prince. He couldn’t hear what Ebana said, but whatever it was caused Tanefer to laugh again as he mounted his chariot. The whip flicked out to tease the pleats in Ebana’s robe. Jerking out of reach, Ebana hissed something at Tanefer, who executed an elaborate bow from his chariot, cracked the whip, and drove away.
Ebana walked down the avenue swiftly. Kysen waited until the priest was almost opposite him and slid out into the street. As he moved, charioteers left their positions and surrounded the priest.
“Greetings, adopted cousin,” said Kysen.
Ebana stopped when Kysen stepped into his path, then glanced around as Abu and the others closed in on him. His hand dropped to the gold hilt of the dagger in his belt.
“What do you mean by this display?”
Kysen said, “Do you know where my father is?”
“No,” Ebana said. “Where is he?”
“You haven’t seen him?”
Murder at the God's Gate Page 21