Kenro cocked his head to one side and looked at pharaoh. Nefertiti went sick at the dreamy expression on the man's face. She'd seen that look on Akhenaten's face when he made love to her.
"Well?" Akhenaten questioned impatiently. "Come, divine father, tell me where the treasure is. If you tell me, I'll have you killed quickly. Otherwise I'll have Kenro apply his more sophisticated instruments to you."
The priest was so weak his head had to be lifted. Through lips cracked and bleeding he whispered the name of a village in the Hare nome. "In the house of the doorkeeper of the chapel of the god Toth." The man's words ended on a sob.
Nefertiti stood up, steadying herself with a hand on pharaoh's chair. She could barely wait for Akhenaten to leave this room of horror with its blood and gilded furniture. The nobleman with the wine tray left, along with Mery-Re, Nefertiti's guards, and the fan-bearer. Nefertiti followed Akhenaten to the door while the scribe remained to finish his notes. She looked back to see that Kenro lingered beside the priest, his eyes sliding over what had once been the man's skin. Kenro wasn't going to kill his prisoner. Nefertiti knew it. She touched Akhenaten's arm.
"Majesty, the priest has defied you, yet he has suffered for it. Please, send him to the netherworld."
Akhenaten frowned at her. "You have sympathy for Amun and his followers?"
"I have sympathy for a man in pain, my husband. Is this wrong?"
"Yes. He deserves agony without end for defying me." Pharaoh suddenly ripped the dagger from his belt. "Kill him yourself. Show me your devotion, little warrior."
If she hesitated, Akhenaten would leave his victim with Kenro. Nefertiti took the dagger from pharaoh's hand- quickly, before she had time to contemplate what must be done. She sent Kenro and the Nubian backing away from the priest with a sharp command. She wasn't tall enough. She stood on a stool so she could aim at the priest's heart. Turning her back to pharaoh, she gripped the weapon and drew back her arm. The priest lifted his head. His eyes opened as he whispered words of thanks.
Nefertiti whispered, "May Hathor await you. May Osiris receive your ka." She dared not wait. She drove the blade between muscles and ribs into the heart of the priest as he smiled. Her hand met the scored mass that used to be a chest. She jerked the dagger out of the body and hopped back off the stool. The man's bowels released their contents, and the odor of feces and urine mingled with the smell of blood.
Nefertiti turned to Akhenaten, but Kenro was beside her. "If thy majesty will permit thy servant."
Gentle as the touch of a snake's tongue, Kenro's hands bathed hers with a clean, wet cloth. The dagger was wiped and given back to her. Wet fingers touched the back of her hand, and Nefertiti shivered. Not daring to think of what she'd just done, in an agony of spirit, she joined her husband.
"I didn't think you'd do it," Akhenaten said. Pharaoh studied Nefertiti as if she were a stranger. "You are indeed my little warrior."
"What is the name of the priest, majesty?"
"I've forgotten. It doesn't matter. He won't have a grave, and his name will be wiped out. This is one heretic whose ka will die permanently."
Nefertiti resisted when pharaoh attempted to guide her from the room. "I've never killed before."
"Do you want his hand?"
"I want no battle trophy, my pharaoh. That was no barbarian. If you will allow it, I would like to know the name of the first man you ever asked me to kill for you."
"Kenro knows."
Kenro spoke from somewhere behind Nefertiti. "His name was Montemhab, majesty. Superintendent of the god's treasury of Amun in Thebes."
Nefertiti thanked Kenro and Akhenaten. She followed the king out into the sun. The royal bodyguard formed around them. As she walked beside the king, Nefertiti made a great effort to listen to pharaoh's discussion of the hidden wealth he was determined to ferret from the temples. All the while another part of her heart vowed to find some way to help Montemhab's ka survive without a body. Pharaoh was going to have the corpse burned.
She managed to get herself through the next few hours without collapsing. Once she had regained the refuge of her own rooms, Nefertiti sank to the floor and lay there trembling and sobbing. She had killed. For mercy, it was true, but the act itself defiled her.
She lay on the floor for a long time, in darkness no blacker than the misery of her ka. As she lay there in desolation, at long last Nefertiti began to hate her husband. Behind the great vision of one shining god lay intolerance, ignorance, and cruelty. She had failed to banish them from her husband's character with her beauty and guidance. Such a thing had never been possible. Tiye and Amunhotep had been wrong to make her think it possible. Hope of moderation was dead, as dead as that poor priest.
It was a madness of the sun, like when he told you about the Aten coming to him in the desert. It was sun madness. May the gods help you if you ever provoke the demons that possess his ka.
That night, the evil dreams began.
Chapter 14
Memphis, reign of Tutankhamun
Disaster had come without warning. To Kysen it had been like reliving the nightmare of his childhood before Meren had bought him from his father-sudden violence without reason. In the middle of the night soldiers of the king had forced their way into the house, dragged him from his bed, and held him, Bener, and his men at spearpoint. They had searched every cubit from rooftop to cellar and carried away all correspondence, all records, anything written, even Bener's household accounts. Now Kysen realized why his father had instructed the scribes to get rid of any records relating to Queen Nefertiti. During the search a confused and disbelieving Maya came to tell them that Lord Meren had tried to kill pharaoh and had fled the country.
Kysen's protests had been useless. Royal sentries guarded the house, the stables, the charioteers' quarters, the cattle pens, service yard, servants' block, even the well and the gardens. The only place they hadn't invaded was the women's quarters. That was why Kysen had taken refuge in his sister's chamber after the invaders left. Kysen and Bener sat on a long cushion beneath a niche in which a statue of the god Bes rested and shared an evening meal, although neither was hungry. Fearful and enraged at the invasion of troops, Bener had turned on him, alternately cajoling and browbeating him for an explanation. He would never have told her the truth if it hadn't been for her last remark.
"You listen to me, Ky," Bener had said. "If I'm going to be killed, you at least owe it to me to tell me why."
She had voiced his greatest fear, and he'd confessed. Now that he'd finished telling her everything, he regretted his weakness. Father would be furious. If he was still alive. Even now Horemheb might be headed back to Memphis with Meren's body dragging behind his chariot. Kysen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to avoid the image.
"So," Bener said quietly. "What are we going to do?"
Kysen's eyes flew open. "Do? You're going to do nothing. If you haven't noticed, there are guards around every corner. There's even one in the chapel."
"I know that," Bener snapped.
"And I can't get word to Abu or Reia, because no one is allowed to leave, and anything I write is read before it's sent."
There was a tray of food between them, and Bener was spreading date paste on bread with an ivory knife. "I've been thinking about that."
"They'll read your letters too, want-wit."
Bener nibbled at her bread. "There are some things into which even royal guards dislike sticking their fingers."
"Oh?"
"Tell me, Ky. When you were married, did you inquire into the details of your wife's monthly time?"
His jaw unhinged as he stared at his sister. Bener returned his look of horror with a nasty little smile.
"Sometimes men are so stupid," she said.
"I–I don't see-"
"We can send messages through my laundry maid, concealed among bloodied cloths."
"But-
"I'm not going to hear about your weak stomach, am I?"
Kysen licked his lips and shook
his head.
"Good. Because I've already arranged things."
"Have you, by the gods?" he asked faintly.
"I had to," Bener said. "They're watching you too closely, and the only charioteers we have left are inexperienced." She made a little sound of disgust. "That Irzanen and the other one, Amenthu. We have to stop Abu and Reia from coming here."
"They won't. If they get as far as Memphis without being arrested, they'll hear of the trouble and avoid the house."
"But that means we won't know where to find them," Bener said.
"They'll go to Father."
Bener surveyed her date-covered bread. "Out of Egypt."
"Perhaps."
"Wherever they are, we're on our own," Bener said. "And we need help."
"No one at court can help us without being accused of treachery."
Bener brushed crumbs from her gown and said in a matter-of-fact tone, "Then we shall look for aid outside the court."
Kysen eyed her suspiciously, then shook his head rapidly. "Oh, no. That is madness."
"It is not. Ebana is perfect. Even Horemheb won't suspect."
Kysen rested his head in his hands and groaned. "I never should have told you."
"Nonsense," Bener said cheerfully. "Who better to help solve the mystery of a woman's death than another woman?"
He would have argued with his sister, but someone pounded at the door to Bener's chamber. His head shot up as a maid scurried in from another room on her way to open the door. Before she could reach it, the portal was bashed open to reveal a Nubian guard.
Kysen got to his feet as he recognized Mose, the counterpart of Karoya. The king's Nubian bodyguards intimidated not only because of their height and muscularity but also because they affected a severe, brooding silence. Kysen had never heard more than a few words pass Karoya's lips, and less from Mose. When the Nubian did speak, it was with an accent that belied the fact that he'd spent most of his life in Egypt. Behind him stood six more of his fellow bodyguards, their wrists and ankles encased in leather studded with gold, their belts of electrum, carnelian, and malachite, their spears tipped in gold.
Ignoring the maid, Mose stalked over to Kysen. "Pharaoh summons Lord Kysen." Without another word and with no acknowledgment of Bener's existence, the bodyguard turned on his heel and marched out of the room.
With a glance at Bener's alarmed face, Kysen followed him. As he reached the door, Bener called out to him.
"Kysen?"
He smiled at her. "I'll return soon."
It was a lie. He wasn't sure he'd return at all.
Meren threaded his way through the groups of laughing, chattering, and drunken patrons of the Divine Lotus. Two days ago, when he'd sought refuge with Othrys, he hadn't thought it possible for him to walk freely among men as he did. That was before Othrys persuaded him to allow the pirate to turn him into a Mycenaean Greek.
Meren had been handed over to the pirate's trusted aide and scribe, Naram-Sin, who summoned tailors and hairdressers and maids. With their help, the scribe accomplished the transformation with the ease of practice. To Meren's dismay, Naram-Sin made him wear a wig of curling locks that hung over his shoulders and down his back. It was of that strange hair color-a gleaming dark brown tinged with red. The scribe was pleased with the results, but by then Meren had had enough of him. Naram-Sin took entirely too much pleasure in his new duties as a body servant. He wore an expression of mocking humor that Meren suspected to be at his expense.
Meren's disguise was completed by a new wardrobe. He'd been furnished with tunics of foreign design cinched with braided belts and embroidered with geometric or leaf designs at the neck and short sleeves. Worst of all were the leggings. They were tight, and they itched.
While Meren was being disguised, Othrys sent men to rescue Wind and Star and take them to a safe hiding place. The stallions were too noticeable to be brought into the city. The pirate also sent agents in quest of Abu and Reia, but nothing had been heard from them. They did bring word that Meren's family was being guarded. He'd expected it, but the news that his children were imprisoned and watched still sent him into a fit of helpless rage.
Shouldering his way through the crowd around a couple of dancers spinning to the music of flute, cymbals, and drum, Meren stopped short when an Egyptian woman stepped into his path. She was dressed in the Greek fashion of flounced skirt and tight bodice cut to reveal the breasts, and was obviously one of the owner's servants.
"Greek," she said. "Do you miss your homeland? I can give you a taste of it."
Othrys had instructed Meren in a few words of the language. He responded with them, but the woman wasn't deterred. When he tried to go around her, she moved in his way again.
"All merchants and sailors speak my language, tall one." She came closer, took his hand, and put it on her hip and held it there.
He pulled his hand free and shook his head. Once more he tried to move away, but she blocked his escape, frowning.
"By the charms of Hathor, another one who likes not women. You have no interest in me, but I know a young man who's as pretty as he is talented, tall one."
Annoyed, Meren bent and whispered to her, "I have nothing to pay you, so be off."
"Ha! Now you speak." The woman whirled around, clamped her hand on the arm of a Babylonian merchant, and began her entreaties again as if Meren had never existed.
Resuming his search, Meren glanced around the main room of the tavern. There was a round central hearth with a blaze going to keep out the night chill. The air was hazy with smoke and thick with perfume and the odors of beer and wine. Cushions and mats were scattered around the great chamber for the customers, and there was a long table on which had been set tall wine jars and vats of beer. Wealthier clients sat at small tables, but those who wished to avoid expense or revealing light kept to the shadows along the walls. Customers came and went through the front door and up the stairs to rooms on the second level.
Still searching, Meren edged out of the crowd around the dancers and finally saw what he wanted. He went to the serving table, where the attendant handed him a cup of beer. Othrys had an arrangement with Ese, the tavern owner, which afforded his men a share of her hospitality. Meren sought the shadows against the wall opposite the dancers. Walking slowly by clusters of Ese's less illustrious and law-abiding clientele, he reached the corner and lowered himself to a cushion between Abu and Reia.
"I wasn't sure you'd think to come here."
When they didn't answer, he glanced at them. They were staring at him.
"Lord?" Abu searched his face.
"It's a wig, you fool."
"Of course, lord, but you look like a-"
"A womanish Greek!" Reia exclaimed.
Meren glared at his charioteer. "Another word from you, and you'll be the one who's womanish."
"Sorry, lord."
"Follow me."
He left the main room through a guarded door in the back stairwell. It led to a courtyard that had been turned into a garden. Dark and deserted, it afforded a secluded place to talk. Meren found the blackest shadows under a spreading fig tree. Once they were alone, Abu and Reia pleaded for an explanation.
"They hunt you from Nubia to the delta, lord."
Meren told them all he knew, but when he was finished, it was obvious that he knew too little.
"Someone saw me leave camp, stole my weapons, and used them against the king," Meren said.
Abu asked, "One of the war band?"
"I don't think so," Meren said. "But anyone can be corrupted if offered something he dearly wants, or if he has a shameful secret. Everyone was celebrating that night. Vigilance was lax and drink plentiful at pharaoh's order. No doubt the guards at pharaoh's tent fell asleep from too much drink and afforded the traitor the opportunity to attack and escape while they were floundering in drunken confusion."
"And you say Karoya was wounded, so he wasn't with the king," Abu said.
"Pharaoh was generous and allowed all the men to
celebrate at once. I should have objected."
Reia's soft voice came from a shadow. "Horemheb should have known better, too."
"Enough of this," Meren said. "I can't remain here much longer. What did you find?"
Abu came closer and lowered his voice. "The matter is grave, lord, for the plan was quite simple. Not long ago a traveling barber stopped in the village near Baht to ply his trade. Eventually the doorkeeper at Baht went to him, and after this barber trimmed his hair, the doorkeeper says he revealed himself as a secret messenger from you."
"From me," Meren repeated. "Why would I send messages to my doorkeeper through a barber?"
Abu and Reia exchanged glances.
"Forgive me, lord, but there have been times when I've traveled as a wood chopper, a faience maker, even a slave."
Reia cleared his throat. "And the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh is well known for his use of indirection and concealment."
Meren waved his hand. "Go on."
"The barber said that you'd sent a parcel to be hidden at Baht until you came for it and gave the doorkeeper a sealed wooden box."
"The gold," Meren said.
"Aye, lord," said Abu. "The doorkeeper took the box and put it among dozens of others in the kitchen storage room at Baht."
"Where it was discovered by the king's men," Meren said. He leaned against the trunk of the fig tree. "And the barber has vanished."
"We think he probably waited long enough to send an unsigned message about the gold to the mayor in Abydos," Abu replied.
"Have you learned nothing of where this cursed barber went?" Meren asked without much hope.
Reia stirred and said, "He has truly disappeared, lord. Which means that once his task was finished, he ceased to travel as a barber."
"Aye," Abu said. "I asked the doorkeeper to describe him. Unfortunately, his description is of little use-a man of middle height with a shaved head, of middle years. He had a few scars on his left arm, but other than that, there was little to set him apart from any commoner."
Meren said nothing and closed his eyes at this latest piece of ill luck.
Abu went on. "It's fortunate that I continued to question him, for then he began to complain of the barber's lack of skill. The doorkeeper said that he cut hair as if he was trying to do battle with it-grabbing hunks and slicing. His method of shaving was no better, and the doorkeeper swears the man was trying to cut his head off."
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