Kysen glanced at Meren’s goblet. “And it would be easy for her to poison Djaper’s wine for the same reason, and then saunter over to the tomb-makers’ village.”
“Where she seduced Woser into returning to the prince’s tomb,” Meren said. “Do you know how she finally persuaded him? She promised him that they would burn the letter Hormin left and replace it with another blaming Hormin and calling down the wrath of the gods on the scribe’s soul, which was already on its journey to the netherworld.”
Kysen sank down in his pillows and groaned. “Fools. All of them, they were fools.”
“I suppose they thought they could deceive the gods.”
“Is that possible?” Kysen asked.
“I don’t know, Ky, but I doubt it.” Meren rose and glanced out at the garden. There was little time left before nightfall. “I must see the king this evening. He requested specifically to be informed about this murder. He’s feeling trapped and restrained again. And there is this matter of the qeres unguent. He’ll have to know about it, even if it proved a coincidence.”
Meren paused, thinking. “Ky, there is evil news from the court concerning the queen. There is danger to the king. I can’t explain it, but I’ve this foreboding, this vague fear that has no real foundation that I can perceive. Tomorrow we must speak of it.”
Kysen nodded as he closed his eyes. “I thought you looked worried. I thank the gods I wasn’t born royal.”
“I do too.” Meren smiled at his son. “Sleep well, Ky.”
Hours later, Meren was admitted into the king’s bedchamber through a concealed entrance guarded by tall Nubians. Tutankhamun was alone except for one body servant helping him undress, who lifted a heavy wig from the king’s head. Tutankhamun sighed and ruffled the curls that refused to be suppressed by weighty headdresses and crowns. Meren went to his knees before the boy.
Tutankhamun frowned at him. “Where have you been? I sent for you this afternoon.”
“Thy majesty is right to chastise me, but I have been pursuing thy enemies.”
“Oh, leave off the ceremony. You’re not hiding from me behind it.”
“Yes, majesty.” Meren straightened and sat on his heels. “I was pursuing the murderer of the Place of Anubis.”
Tutankhamun cast a gold belt at his servant and whirled on Meren. “You caught him! Tell me everything.”
While the king undressed, Meren told the story of Hormin, Woser, and Beltis. When he finished, the king sighed.
“I wish I could have been there for the fight.”
“Gods preserve me from such an occurrence. Thy majesty mustn’t expose his sacred life for such pettiness.”
“My majesty is sick of ambassadors and banquets and especially of harems and wives.”
The king vanished into his bathing chamber, and Meren heard the sloshing of water. Meren glanced about the room for the second time. He always inspected a room as he entered it. One never knew what dangers lay in even the most protected rooms in the kingdom. Bright tiles shone at him from the walls, white and deep Nile blue. Transparent hangings fluttered from the bed canopy. He glimpsed a vigilant royal guard at each corner. They stood in the shadows, spears at the ready, patient, silent.
So few guards. The king must have dismissed the others. And only one servant. Was there greater safety in having many servants or one? Meren and the vizier debated this point periodically. Outside, between the white lengths of two columns, he could see a reflection pool, and beside it a long black shadow reclining in the silver light of the moon’s rays. The king’s leopard—Sa, the guardian.
Meren shook his head. Why was he so on edge? More so than usual after a fight or a resolved mystery. The king emerged from the bathing chamber, a cloth wrapped around his hips, his servants trailing him with pots of oil and unguent. Without glancing at Meren or the servant, Tutankhamun headed for the reflection pool. He dropped onto an ebony and gold couch, sighing as he propped himself on the cushions. Meren caught up with him and sank to the ground beside him.
“Now may we speak,” the king said.
Meren glanced at the servant and recognized him. A Libyan captive, he’d been taken in battle before reaching puberty. He was deaf. The vizier had trained him to serve the king and given him the name Teti.
“I will go to the Controller of the Mysteries tomorrow and spin the tale of Hormin and his concubine,” Meren said.
“Tomorrow I must fight with the High Priest of Amun about taxes. He wants all of mine as well as his. The old jackal.”
Meren hesitated, then said, “You have spoken to the queen?”
Tutankhamun turned on his back and stared up at the leaves of a palm tree while his servant rubbed his legs with oil.
“I did,” he said. “She stared deep into my eyes. Not once did she look away or flinch, and she denied everything. Said it was a plot to keep us apart and prevent us from living in harmony and producing children. Ankhesenamun has always been an excellent liar.”
Teti took one of the king’s hands and began working oil into the fingers and palm.
“You pretended to believe her?” Meren asked.
“Yes.” Tutankhamun glanced at him and grinned. “I’ve learned much since we began. Have I not?”
“Thy majesty possesses the cunning of the hyena and the bravery of the lion.”
“My majesty knows drivel when his ears are covered with it.”
Meren bowed from his sitting position. “Pardon, sire.”
“I pretended remorse at suspecting her of treason and rewarded her with that palace. She was furious, but couldn’t show it, since I was rewarding her. She leaves as soon as we can replace her servants.”
“I suppose the messenger who was caught with the letter to the Hittite king is dead.”
“Killed trying to escape,” the king said.
Meren listened to the king’s tale of the capture of the messenger on the northeastern border. Teti finished with his oil and produced an obsidian jar. Removing its stopper, he inhaled the scent of the unguent. Meren turned toward the young man as he scooted closer to the king so that he could apply the salve to the king’s hands and neck. Teti held the jar in one hand, dipped a small ivory spoon into the unguent, and reached out to the king. Meren sniffed, and smelled myrrh and spice. Myrrh and spice.
With a cry, Meren lurched forward and knocked Teti’s hands aside. The servant fell backward. The jar flew from his hand, crashed on the tiles that bordered the reflection pool, and splintered. Across the pool, Sa the leopard sprang to his feet and loped toward them. The king shot up from his couch as Meren threw himself between Tutankhamun and Teti.
“Meren! Are you mad?”
Guards darted at them even as the king spoke. Meren shoved the king so that his body blocked Tutankhamun from the servant and pointed at Teti.
“Take him.”
Sa joined them and snaked his body around the king’s legs. Teti made gasping sounds as two men grabbed his arms and shoved him to his knees. He darted bewildered glances from his captors to Meren.
“You’re scaring him,” the king said as he peered at the young man from behind Meren.
“A moment, majesty.”
Assured that the servant was under control, Meren went to the edge of the pool and retrieved a fragment of the obsidian jar. He picked up a fallen palm leaf, tore it, and placed the fragment on it so that his skin didn’t come in contact with the unguent. Calling for a lamp, he took it from the guard and read the engraved inscription on the fragment. His lips folded together and he swore under his breath.
Returning to the king, he handed Tutankhamun the palm leaf and jar fragment. He held the lamp so that the king could examine the inscription.
The king read it and handed the leaf back to Meren. “I don’t understand. The unguent is from the treasury of the god Amun.”
“This is qeres, majesty.”
“Isn’t that the unguent—”
“The unguent coveted by the Great Royal Wife.”
“
Ankhesenamun,” the king said.
They both looked at the silently weeping Teti.
Tutankhamun restrained Meren when he would approach the servant.
“Let me. He’s frightened and doesn’t understand.”
Dismissing the guards, the king went to Teti, who fell to his knees and placed his cheek on the king’s foot. The king knelt and raised his servant. While Meren watched, they conducted a silent conversation using hand signs. Tutankhamun gestured several times toward the unguent jar fragment.
When he finished, the king placed his hand on Teti’s shoulder. The servant began to weep again, but kissed the hem of the king’s kilt. Giving the young man several reassuring pats on the shoulder, he sent the servant away.
Tutankhamun rejoined Meren. “He knows little. It’s as I thought. The chief bath attendant is responsible for making sure my supplies of salves and unguents are in place each day. The trays of jars were checked this morning and restocked from the palace storeroom. This jar appeared for the first time then.”
Meren lowered his voice so that only the king could hear him. “Majesty, the queen requested qeres from the treasury not long ago. And there are no stores of it in the palace.”
“I am to be astonished?”
“No, divine one. But we may thank the golden Horus for the queen’s bad luck. If I hadn’t been making inquiries about the unguent for this , I would never have noticed that qeres.”
“It’s poisoned.”
“Perhaps. I think so. There is a bitter smell to it that shouldn’t be there.”
The king’s leopard yawned and strolled away. Tutankhamun lapsed into silence. He and Meren gazed at the pattern of moonbeams dancing over the surface of the water in the reflection pool.
“The queen again,” Tutankhamun said in a whisper.
“Perhaps not.”
“Not?”
Meren shrugged as he stood beside the king. “It came from the treasury of Amun.”
“But to send poison in a container marked with the god’s name, it is too absurd. The high priest would never make such a mistake.”
“Unless he meant to,” Meren said.
They both thought for a moment.
“We will examine the qeres, majesty. For poison.”
“And then put it someplace secret.”
“Yes, majesty.”
“And then tell that old jackal that we have it.”
‘Thy majesty is wise.”
“My majesty wants to live, Meren.”
Meren turned to the king. “The Eyes of Pharaoh will do his best to see to it, majesty.”
They both turned again to gaze out at the light-spattered water. Meren heaved a deep sigh and looked down at the scar on his wrist, his own personal legacy from a dead pharaoh. Keeping the king alive was a far more difficult and dangerous task than solving the murder in the Place of Anubis.
Lynda S. Robinson lives in San Antonio, Texas. This is her first mystery novel and the first in a series featuring Lord Meren and others in the court of Tutankhamun.
Murder in the Place of Anubis Page 19