Meren refilled Horemheb's goblet with beer from a straining vessel and handed it to the general. "Whatever brings you here must be momentous to draw both of you to my house so early."
Maya exchanged glances with Horemheb. Meren had always liked the treasurer. Born into an old noble family, Maya had never been one of those men ready with a vicious tongue and betrayal in his heart. His love of efficiency had claimed advancement for him when his lack of ambition might have hindered him. Maya's real interest was gossip and meddling in the lives of his friends for their own good. He swore that Meren was too serious, too wary, and vowed that his friend spent too much time in royal service and not enough in his own. He'd given Meren the name Falcon long ago, saying that it described his predatory attitude toward pharaoh's enemies and his vigilance in defense of the king.
"Well," Meren said. "What have you come to say to me? If you're going to try to arrange a match between me and another of your cousins, Maya, enlisting Horemheb's aid won't help."
Maya popped a date in his mouth and held up a finger. "Ah, speaking of matches, my Falcon. Are you mad to try to seduce Princess Yia? Of all the women at court, Hunefer's wife, by the gods! Pharaoh, may he have life, health, and prosperity, is not pleased."
Scowling at his friend, Meren didn't answer at once. Although somewhat younger than Meren, the treasurer had a face that looked like the wind-scoured floor of the desert. Scarred by some childhood illness, the skin of his cheeks was stretched tightly over thin bones. He had a narrow-lipped mouth and eyebrows that seemed to form a horizon supporting an expansive forehead, upon which lines had been grooved as if by a master jeweler. Nevertheless, the entirety of his features combined to fascinate. Perhaps this was because of Maya's artless charm and easy manner, and perhaps it was because his eyes always seemed lifted at the corners from mirth. However, charming though Maya might be, Meren had no intention of allowing his friend to intimidate him into a meeting with yet another eligible relative.
"I have spoken to his majesty about Yia already," Meren muttered.
Horemheb's voice rumbled forth. "Damnation, Maya. You're delaying on purpose. Get on with it." He rose from his chair and put a hand on Meren's shoulder. "I don't believe any of it, my friend."
"Any of what?" Meren looked at Maya, who was studying another date as if it were made of gold. "Maya." The word came out sharply, for Meren's temper was shorter than ever after seeing Kysen nearly killed because of Yamen and saying farewell to Isis.
"All right," Maya cried. He bent and rummaged through a leather document case he'd brought with him, producing a thick roll of papyri. He held them in his lap with both hands, as if afraid the documents would start flapping their sheets and take wing.
When the treasurer stopped again, Horemheb threw up his hands and made a disgusted sound. "You're a coward, Maya. I'll tell him. We've found that Nubian gold that was stolen." The general walked around to face Meren, his arms folded over his chest. "It was discovered at your country house outside Abydos. The mayor of the city heard rumors that it was there and applied to Maya to investigate."
It had been years since Meren had been taken off guard in such a way. Baht, his country estate, the home of his childhood, was a place of peace and rustic charm. He found himself staring at his friend and blinking like a sleepy cow.
"I had to do it. It's my duty to—but you know this. And that's not all, Falcon." Maya was on his feet now, holding his documents against his chest like talismans. "The new steward at your delta estate near Tarrana has absconded with a boat full of conscripts assigned to the temple of Amun in Thebes. He says it's your custom to do this, that you've been doing it for years. He only got caught because he's new and was stupid enough to try to steal from the king of the gods rather than a minor deity."
Rising from his chair, Meren went past his friends, down the steps of the master's dais, to lean against a painted column. His gaze rested upon a graceful wall painting of dancers and musicians at a feast.
"Meren?" Horemheb's voice came to him from the dais.
"Falcon?"
He turned, shaking his head. "Have you told anyone other than pharaoh?"
Maya shifted uneasily. "We told Ay."
Meren nodded. Of course they would have spoken to Ay.
"We know there is some explanation," Horemheb said. "You had some reason for doing these things, something to do with your duties as Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh."
"No," Meren said.
"What do you mean, no?" Horemheb demanded.
"Oh," Maya said with a groan. "I knew it. He's going to be noble, offended, and disdainful. Look at him. He isn't going to tell us anything."
"There is nothing for me to tell," Meren said with an irritated look at Maya. "I've done nothing."
"You didn't take the conscripts or the gold?" Horemheb asked. "Then what were they doing in the possession of your servants?"
Meren strolled up the steps of the dais, faced the general, and in a light tone said, "Do you really think I will allow you to question me? We're old friends, Horemheb. You should know better." He whirled around at the feel of Maya's hand on his shoulder.
"Falcon, if you had nothing to do with these crimes, say so, and we'll punish the guilty servants. That will be the end of the matter."
Brushing off Maya's hand, Meren went to a table and picked up his beer goblet. With his back to his friends, he said, "You'll punish no one."
"I have to do something," Maya said, wringing the papyri in his hands.
Meren didn't answer. He was thinking furiously. He'd never indulged in the corruption so common among some councillors and great men. Such grave transgressions had to be deliberate, which meant that someone wanted him disgraced. Why now? Such traps could have been sprung years ago. But years ago he hadn't contacted men he suspected of killing a queen.
"It's no use," Horemheb said. "He's going to be stubborn, and that cursed pride of his is going to keep his mouth shut."
There was movement beside him, and Meren found Maya regarding him with apprehension.
"Listen to me, Falcon. I know your name has always been as clean as new linen, but you have enemies at court. Prince Hunefer would love to see you brought down, especially now. His cronies, those such as Lord Pendua and Prince Usermontu, would all rejoice should you be cast aside by pharaoh. You must do something."
"I'm grateful to you both for coming to me," Meren said, "but I have no intention of answering such absurd charges."
"My Falcon, you must, and soon. Pharaoh commands your presence tonight at the evening meal."
Horemheb stomped down the dais stairs and joined them. "I don't suppose you'll talk to us now, so that we can return to pharaoh with something other than your silence. No, I didn't think so." Horemheb drew closer so that Meren had to look him in the eye. "Damn you, Meren. Being the Eyes of Pharaoh has warped you. This is no time to keep secrets."
Meren met Horemheb's troubled gaze with a bland mask of unconcern, then turned his back on his friends. "In this case, I have no secrets to keep. Good day to you both. I'm sure I'll see you this evening."
Not moving until he was certain the two were gone, Meren then sprang into motion and raced out of the reception hall. Walking swiftly through the grounds, past the pleasure gardens, he crossed the practice yard. There he signaled to Abu and Kysen, who were examining a new team of hinnies that had just been delivered by Dilalu's grooms. They met in the central room of the barracks block. Several charioteers were there, mending harnesses and going over reports from the Memphis police watch. Meren dismissed them. He snatched up a chariot whip and began to twist its leather in his hands. Kysen and Abu were both looking at him in alarm.
"What's wrong, Father?"
"Lord?"
Pacing the length of the room, Meren yanked the leather hard, causing a snapping sound. He could feel a rage building in his heart. A cauldron of liquid metal bubbled in his chest, burning away all reason as it churned, feeding on its own heat until his only recourse was action—foolhardy, dangerous action.
"Father!"
Kysen was in front of him, his hand on the whip. Meren looked down to see his hands tangled so tightly that the leather cut into his skin. He stared at them, the conflagration in his heart still scalding his wits. His son pulled at the leather, loosening it. He had freed one hand when Bener opened the door, stepped in, and slammed it behind her. The bang cut through Meren's fury, and he fastened his gaze on his daughter.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Go away," Kysen said as he freed Meren's other hand. "This isn't a matter for women."
They both went silent when Meren spoke in a rough voice. "Let her stay."
At the sound of his voice, Kysen and Bener dropped their combative stances, and Abu drew nearer. Meren began to twist the whip in his hands again.
"Father, tell us what happened."
"It has to do with Maya and General Horemheb," Bener said.
"Were you listening again?" Kysen demanded with outrage.
Bener drew herself up. "Don't speak to me in that accusing tone."
"Silence!" Abu exclaimed. So seldom did the aide exert his authority that both shut their mouths at the same time. Abu turned to Meren and held out his hand for the whip. "Lord, give it to me. Your hand is bleeding."
Meren felt mild surprise as he noticed the crimson line across his palm. He relinquished the whip and leaned against one of the pair of columns in the room. Slowly, keeping a distance between the words and the rage they provoked, he told his family and aide what had passed. When he finished, no one spoke. Bener began to pace as Meren had, her head bent, her hands clasped behind her back. Kysen scowled at the opposite wall while Abu rubbed his chin. Then Bener stopped abruptly.
"It's Hunefer," she snapped. "That evil pig dung. He's afraid he'll lose his wife, so he's spreading these lies."
Kysen rolled his eyes. "Hunefer isn't clever enough to have designed these traps. This isn't just a case of rumor, Bener."
"I know that.'"
Meren squeezed his eyes shut as their voices rose. He couldn't speak freely with Bener in the room. She didn't know anything about the murder of Nefertiti, and for her protection, he couldn't tell her.
"Bener, we're to go to the palace tonight," he said. All argument ceased. "Do you think your clever heart is up to the challenge of a visit to the great royal wife?"
A mischievous grin was his answer.
"Are you certain? You know she's an enemy, and she'll try to trick you into betraying any secrets you might hold."
"I think she regrets her intolerance," Bener said. "My friends and I have noticed a great improvement in her manner lately."
Meren raised one brow. "How fortunate."
He was skeptical of Ankhesenamun's change in character. It was more likely that she realized she'd come near to getting herself accused of treason with all her plots against her own husband and had decided upon a more conciliatory approach.
"Very well," he said. "Bener will see what news she can gain from the queen. Abu, you will go to Baht and handle this matter of the Nubian gold. Take men with you and find out how it got into my house. My sister must be frantic if the estate has been invaded by pharaoh's emissaries and soldiers. Send Reia and Simut and the rest of the men to the delta to deal with this new steward who has taken it upon himself to steal for me."
"Yes, lord, but that will leave few here on duty."
"Leave two men. That will be enough. Lord Irzanen and one other."
Abu inclined his head. "And what of the matter of the royal guard Bakht?"
"Bakht?"
"The royal guard who was killed in a fall into the baboon pen in the menagerie, lord."
"Ah, yes.
"There are suspicious aspects to his death," Abu said. "His wounds didn't seem to me to be ones from the fangs of a monkey."
"Have you ever seen such wounds, Abu?"
"Not from a baboon, lord."
"We'll deal with the guard when you return," Meren said. He turned to Bener. "Daughter, if the charioteers are to journey so far, they will need provisions."
"I'll see to it at once," she replied.
Meren walked with her to the door and opened it for her. "I am blessed to have a daughter whom I can trust with such secrets."
"Don't worry, Father. I'll keep my lips closed. And I can deal with the great royal wife, too."
Meren shut the door after her, turned, and sank against it to regard Kysen and Abu. "You understand what this means?"
"We've frightened someone," Kysen said.
Abu threw the whip onto the table. "Dilalu or Yamen."
"Perhaps," Meren said. "Whoever it is, we must find out quickly. I can't leave Memphis. It would look like a guilty retreat. Kysen must stay with me for the same reason." Meren went to Abu and put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I must leave this in your hands, old friend. And there's no one I'd trust more."
"I understand, lord."
"Find out who was on duty when the gold appeared. Find the ones responsible, and then—"
"Find their master."
"Yes," Meren said.
"But be careful," Kysen said. "Remember what happened to Othrys's men when they asked questions."
"I have no intention of being poisoned," Abu said with a grim smile. "We'll leave at first light. And, lord?"
"Yes, Abu."
"None of the evildoers will escape."
"I need them alive."
"Of course, lord."
Abu left them alone, and Meren started pacing again.
"Father, you have to tell pharaoh now. Once he knows you're looking for Queen Nefertiti's murderer, he won't listen to the lies or believe the traps."
Meren paused, throwing up his hands. "Don't you see, Ky? It's too late. If I tell him now, it will appear as if I'm making up some fantastic tale to save myself. The man who told us of the murder is conveniently dead, and he died on my ship. My ship. Who can vouch for my words? My own son? A tavern owner? A Greek pirate? None of you will be believed as disinterested witnesses." Meren sighed. His head throbbed, and he rubbed his temples. "The king trusts me. He calls me friend. He won't condemn me because of some baseless lies."