Drinker Of Blood lm-5

by Lynda S. Robinson

  Always practical, Nefertiti asked, "What did he say?"

  Akhenaten blinked at her. "Why, that I'm his son. That I am the embodiment of the Aten on earth. That the Aten is the one source of power of the universe, creator of all. The Aten brings life, makes mountains, causes rivers to flow. The Aten is fertility and passion; everything comes from him." Large hands waved at Nefertiti. "After the Aten revealed the Truth to me, I understood why I was different. I'm the embodiment of creation. I am the masculine and feminine force. I am the Aten on earth, and all must recognize me as such. So you see, beautiful one, we don't need all these false gods. They're really all imperfect reflections of the Aten. The people don't need Amun. They don't need Osiris. They'll pray to me for eternal life. It is I who can give it to them in the name of my father, the light that comes in the sun disk."

  Again Nefertiti returned to mundane matters. "If the Aten is so powerful, why did he let all the other gods usurp his rights?"

  "Nefertiti!" Akhenaten glowered at her. "Men imagined those gods. They don't exist, I tell you."

  Pharaoh's voice rose. Nefertiti leaned away from her husband, suddenly frightened by the molten obsidian of his gaze.

  "You will honor my words," Akhenaten ground out. "I am the son of pharaoh; I am the Aten personified. You'll believe because I wish it."

  Akhenaten stared into Nefertiti's eyes. Unwilling, she stared back into the eyes of chaos. Her throat and mouth went dry. She felt as if she were a gazelle in the mouth of a lion. She was being choked by powerful jaws. Without warning, Akhenaten's mood changed. He straightened, smiling.

  "Don't worry." The king sat back beside Nefertiti again and took up his goblet. "You'll see the Truth in time. There is no other possibility." Akhenaten put the goblet in Nefertiti's hand. "This is a sacred wine I made with the help of an old sorcerer priest of Ra. It's full of magic herbs and touched with the rays of the Aten himself. I use it to help me commune with my father. Only take two sips."

  Nefertiti took a small drink. It was wine. Wine and something else that burned her mouth. The fumes from the goblet got in her throat and nose. She almost sneezed as she took a second sip. Akhenaten took the cup back and drained it. He said something, but Nefertiti was listening to the buzz in her head. It reminded her of a honeybee. It was a buzz in emptiness, like a bee in a deserted tomb. She swatted at the bee. Akhenaten caught her hand.

  "We will praise the Aten, beautiful one. Say the words with me.

  Nefertiti found that she could repeat the words of praise, even though it was hard to stand with her arms raised to the sun as Akhenaten did. Unfortunately, it was a long hymn with many phrases saying there was no other god. Akhenaten enjoyed repeating that he was the only one who knew the Aten. When they reached the portion in which the gifts of the Aten were listed-all beasts, trees, herbs, birds, ships, roads, fish- Nefertiti yawned.

  It seemed to her that each word took hours to say. She was sure her mouth moved more slowly than cold honey. They praised the Aten's power over the animals and plants, over man, water, and earth, all to the accompaniment of that entombed bee in Nefertiti's head. The buzzing grew louder and hurt her ears, but Akhenaten's voice cut across the sound and made it stop. Nefertiti sighed, then drew back as her husband's face loomed at her.

  "Now you see, wife. My father does love me, for my father is the Aten."

  Nefertiti gave another deep sigh. Her tongue was getting too big for her mouth. She licked her lips. "Your father is pharaoh."

  "No. He's the Aten." Akhenaten steadied her with a hand on her arm. "My father the Aten has spoken to me of you. You are the embodiment of all that is good in our family of god-kings. Beauty and strength, my Nefertiti. It's no accident that you and I are as we are. We complement each other. The Aten has given me another Beautiful Child of the Sun."

  By now Nefertiti's head felt too heavy for her neck. Her skin burned and yet felt numb. How this could be, she wasn't sure. She was dizzy and tired, and bored with communing with the Aten. The Aten was everything, according to Akhenaten, but at the moment Nefertiti considered the sun disk to be an enemy. It burned her eyes and made her heart race.

  Akhenaten was in the middle of a sentence. Nefertiti made a shushing sound and sank down on the pool ledge. She leaned over the water, dipped her hands in it, and fell in. The coolness was such a relief that she decided to stay under the surface until the sun went away. The last thing she remembered before she went into darkness was Akhenaten's hands cutting through the water in search of her.

  Chapter 4

  Memphis, the reign of Tutankhatnun

  Late on the morning of his meeting with Dilalu, Meren was standing in the wake of a breeze created by the undulation of ostrich feather fans wielded by royal servants on the loggia of the royal palace. From the shade beside a slender column carved in the shape of an elongated water lily, he listened only partially while the old overseer of the audience hall went over plans for the feast of Opet with pharaoh.

  This was the daily gathering of the king's ministers and councillors. They stood in groups about the loggia, deep in discussion, some in argument. Maya, the treasurer, who loved ceremony and merriment, was one of the few paying heed to the overseer of the audience hall, along with the king's uncle and chief minister, Ay. Prince Djoser's presence was a courtesy on the part of pharaoh, and perhaps an attempt to find a vocation more suitable to the young man than soldiering. He was standing beside a table loaded with roasted duck and pigeons and sharing jokes with Lord Pendua.

  The two military men, Generals Nakhtmin and Horemheb, formed another enclave, guarding a tall, curved wine jar set in a stand and draped with garlands. Ordinarily Meren would have been drawn into conversation, for he liked both Maya and Horemheb, but his meeting with Dilalu weighed on his heart. He stared out across the court, in which lay an azure reflection pool large enough to carry several pleasure boats. Ancient sycamores and palms formed shady avenues around the water, while beds of exotic flowers were interspersed with rows of spice trees.

  A black shadow caught Meren's eye. Beside the reflection pool and a patch of sunlight, Sa, the king's black leopard, lifted his head. Golden eyes opened and stared at him. Sa's tail flicked lazily back and forth, as if he were debating whether Meren was prey or not. Meren whispered the cat's name. Sa blinked, then yawned and got up, padding slowly to a shady spot under a myrrh tree.

  Sa made Meren think of the merchant's cat. A greater contrast he could not imagine. Yet as he recalled the encounter with Dilalu, Meren grew more and more uneasy. Kysen's pirate friend Othrys had been wary of Dilalu, and according to his son, there was little that frightened Othrys. The fool who had presented himself before Meren wouldn't frighten a bean goose.

  The scattered councillors began to move. Meren dragged his thoughts back to matters at hand. Pharaoh had called his name. He walked back to the king, who was seated on a chair of polished cedar decorated in red sheet gold. Bowing low, he took his place beside Ay while Maya shuffled through a stack of papyri on a nearby table.

  "About this matter of the Hittite," the king said. "My majesty sent a royal messenger to King Suppiluliumas as you insisted, Meren."

  "Thy majesty is wise," Meren said.

  The king's young face, usually impassive when dealing with matters of government, flushed. His dark brows drew together. "My majesty likes not having to explain myself to that barbarian."

  "His emissary was killed by an Egyptian, majesty."

  "I wanted to kill Mugallu myself." The Hittite emissary had insulted pharaoh, and Tutankhamun hadn't forgotten.

  "Yes, golden one, and thy patience is wondrous."

  The king glared at him in frustration. "My patience is forced on me by you, Meren. I have no choice in the matter."

  "Majesty," Meren said with the reproving tone of a father, "you have chosen the wisest course, which is not the same as having no choice."

  "It is with you and Ay here to remind me of my duty night and day."

  Tutankhamun's fingers were w
rapped around a jeweled pen case. He slapped the cylinder against his palm, and Ay hastened to distract the king with a matter of property ownership to be settled between two princes. Meren schooled his features so that he didn't betray his amusement. The golden one seldom allowed his temper such freedom before his less intimate councillors.

  Egypt was fortunate to have Tutankhamun, who embodied the ideals of what pharaoh should be in both body and character. Tutankhamun's face was as handsome as his mother's, the great and powerful Queen Tiye. He had inherited her large, dark eyes, heavy-lidded, thick-lashed pools that reflected a ka too sensitive for the burdens of a god-king. At the same time and despite his youth, the king's courage was unquestioned. Indeed, Meren was having a difficult time restraining pharaoh's desire to test himself in battle rather than in training exercises.

  Meren felt a pang of sympathy for the boy. Not yet fifteen, Tutankhamun had inherited the throne of Egypt when he was only nine, after the divisive reign of his heretic brother. Having come of age lately, Tutankhamun found himself caught up in the aftermath of Akhenaten's disastrous policies. He had to control the virulent hatred of the priesthood of Amun, who lusted after the riches and power of which the heretic had robbed them.

  Corruption had spread, plaguelike, among temple personnel and government officials, threatening Egypt from within, while the Hittites perched at the edge of the northern empire, ready to strike. Such were the burdens of pharaoh, a youth who walked with the dignity of his ancestors, the pyramid builders, and possessed a compassion born of grief for the dead brother and sister-in-law whose names he dared not speak.

  While Ay was talking to pharaoh, Horemheb wandered over to lean against a column near Meren. "You've had reports about this troublemaker among the petty kings of the north?"

  "The one called Pilsu?"

  "Aye, that's the one."

  The king turned to Meren again. "Ah, you're together. Then we will speak of the disturbances among the towns near Ugarit."

  Horemheb nodded. "We have read the reports, majesty."

  "So, does this carrion threaten the trade routes?" the king asked.

  "Not yet, majesty. At the moment Pilsu busies himself by stirring up discontent among the chiefs of the towns."

  Tutankhamun sighed. "Another of these interminable disputes."

  "As long as they squabble among themselves, they have no time or strength to give trouble to thy majesty," Meren said smoothly.

  "Just see to it that Pilsu grows no stronger than he should," Tutankhamun said. "I'll not have trade interfered with."

  Horemheb bowed. "Thy majesty's word is accomplished."

  "Do you think Pilsu is a tool of the Hittites?" Meren asked the general.

  "Have you heard it?" Horemheb countered.

  "No, but it wouldn't be the first time the Hittites have fed the fires of a petty dispute and then interfered on the pretense that their interests were threatened."

  They both looked at the king, who cast an inquisitive glance at Ay. The old minister shook his head. Everyone went silent. The king picked up a token from the game board sitting on the table beside his chair. Toying with the carved ivory, he spoke slowly.

  "Perhaps it's time my majesty recalled one of the royal spies from the north."

  Meren exchanged a wary glance with Ay. Summoning an agent from his sphere of duty was a great risk.

  "Majesty," Ay said, "when such a one is recalled, there is always a chance-"

  Tutankhamun slapped the ivory game piece down on the table and gave a sharp sigh. "I know that. I've seen what happens." The king turned suddenly to Meren. "Have I not, Eyes?"

  "Indeed, majesty." There had been times when the king escaped Ay's vigilance and exposed himself to peril, involving Meren along the way.

  "Then my majesty has spoken. Ay, recall one of your own at once."

  "Yes, majesty."

  "Now, what remains?" the king asked.

  Ay shook his head, as did Horemheb. No one else seemed ready to speak until Maya looked up from a stack of papyri in his hands.

  "A small matter, golden one. Last night a royal guard was killed in the menagerie."

  At this remark, the councillors broke up into groups again. No one was interested in the death of a common guard. Maya was rolling the papyri and placing them in a document case when the king spoke.

  "Which guard?"

  "Oh," Maya said. He furrowed his brow and glanced at the document case. "Oh, yes. He was called Bakht, majesty."

  Meren was thinking about Dilalu again. Something wasn't right, and he was going to find out what it was. At once. Tonight. He would send Kysen to the foreign quarter of the city.

  "Meren!"

  Waking from his deep concentration, Meren bowed to the king again. "Majesty."

  "I said that this Bakht was pleasing to me. For years he has told me stories of his adventures in Nubia and in the north. He has-had even gone across the great sea to the Mycenaean Greek cities. Maya says he was killed in the baboon pen. He fell in."

  "A terrible accident, majesty."

  "Bakht didn't like baboons, Meren."

  "The males can be fierce, golden one."

  "I don't understand why he would be there," the king insisted. "Bakht avoided them."

  "If he was afraid of the baboons and happened to fall into their pen by accident, his screams might have enraged the males."

  Tutankhamun looked unhappily at Meren. "I suppose you're right."

  "I am sorry, majesty."

  "Still, my majesty will rest better once you have inquired into the matter. And Maya, Bakht is to have a good embalming. Let the priests of Anubis be informed."

  The council session broke up with a wave of the king's hand. Not wanting to be waylaid by pharaoh and forced to set a date for taking his majesty on a military expedition, Meren slipped inside the palace. He hurried through corridors made bright by the exquisite wall paintings of the king's artisans.

  Since discovering that Queen Nefertiti had been murdered, Meren had been trying to recall the events surrounding her death. Unfortunately, his heart had been scoured of many memories of that time. His years at Horizon of the Aten had been filled with fear. He'd been so young when his father had been killed-eighteen. The fear had acted as a burnishing stone on papyrus, polishing away unwanted ugliness.

  Now, when he needed those memories, he was finding it difficult to reconstruct them. He was thinking of writing what he did remember in a secret record. The act of writing usually helped him recall tasks he had to complete; it might help his memory. He could always destroy the record. He would have to destroy it, for it would be too dangerous a thing to have about him for long.

  Walking past lines of royal bodyguards, Meren found his way to his chariot in the forecourt of the palace and took the reins from a groom. Wind and Star, responding to his voice, trotted down an avenue lined with sphinxes. Now that his duties at the palace were over for the day, he could plan how best to find out more about Dilalu.

  Whatever the method, he didn't want the merchant to know he was being scrutinized. Kysen was the best man for that task. His adopted son had been born to a commoner family of artisans from the royal tomb makers' village in Thebes. His accent wouldn't betray him in the unsavory sections of the city known as the Caverns. While Meren could pass himself off as many things, he had difficulty hiding his aristocratic origins from native Egyptians. In addition, he was too well known in Memphis. No, skulking around the dissolute taverns and perilous streets of the Caverns was an activity at which Kysen was far more accomplished.

  Abu, Lord Meren's aide, slid along a dark street, his back pressed to a wall that seemed to consist mostly of cracked plaster or exposed and crumbling mud bricks. He dragged with him an odorous little man who squealed and grumbled with every step.

  "I was coming, me. Would I ignore the command of the great Lord Kysen? Got lost, I did. Terrible twisty and winding is these lanes."

  Abu paused long enough to cuff his charge on the ear. "Close your
mouth, Tcha. The gods alone know how such a babbling dung-eater came to be a thief."

  "Thief! Tcha is no thief. Ask Mistress Ese. Ask anyone."

  "Another word, and I'll stuff you in a refuse heap and undertake this task myself."

  Evidently Tcha believed Abu, for he clamped his mouth shut and allowed himself to be dragged through the winding, cramped, and littered streets. They hurried down an alley. On one side rose the high wall of a house that marked the beginning of the foreign district. At the corner of the house a shadow separated itself from the darkness in front of Tcha, who immediately yelped. The shadow lunged at him, and a hand fastened over the thief's mouth.

  Kysen shoved the struggling Tcha against the opposite wall of the alley and hissed, "Silence, you simpleton! I don't enjoy touching you, but I'm not letting go until you're quiet."

  When Tcha nodded vigorously, Kysen stepped away from him and tried to make out the thief's features in the moonlight. He could see little, but he knew Tcha, an emaciated little wretch who more resembled an embalmed corpse than anything alive. With his bowed legs and scars from numerous punishments from the authorities, Tcha was a leather-skinned, gap-toothed witness to the harshness of the life of a poor Egyptian. Kysen sniffed and took another step away from the thief. Unlike most Egyptians of whatever wealth, Tcha seemed to dislike bathing. Kysen knew that in daylight Tcha's body would be covered with dirt that seemed to have ground itself into his skin, while his hair would lie in greasy plates issuing from the crown of his head. They would snake over his ears and forehead, and down the back of his neck.

  Kysen said without much rancor, "I told you to meet me here at full darkness, Tcha."

  "Got lost."

  Abu loomed over the thief. "You know every crack in every wall of this city."

  "I thought you would be eager to be allowed to rob a rich man without fear of arrest for once."

  Tcha began to sidle away from Kysen. "O great master, gracious of heart, divine of beauty, my poor talent is of no use to one so powerful."