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."
"A man better trained in violence than grooming," Meren breathed.
"A soldier," Reia added.
"From Yamen," Meren muttered.
Abu nodded. "Or a mercenary."
"Employed by Dilalu," Meren said on a sigh. "By the wrath of Amun, we must find this barber."
"He's disappeared, lord," said Abu.
Meren held up his hand. "What of this new steward of mine at the delta estate, Reia?"
"Your sister hired him by letter on the recommendation of a friend, lord. I talked to the steward, who is arrogant beyond his station and a fool. I think he's puffed up by having gained such an influential position with a great one. He assumed you conducted your affairs as did his last master, cheating where you could. He takes credit for obtaining necessary labor for you and faults the priests of Amun for objecting to a slight delay in getting the conscripts."
"So you're not certain whether the timing of this discovery is purposeful or just ill luck," Meren said.
"As you say, lord."
"Who was the friend of my sister who recommended this steward?"
Reia's smile was knowing. "Prince Hunefer's sister, my lord."
As if by signal, Meren and Abu cursed at the same time. Slowly Meren sank to the ground, crouching on the backs of his heels. He felt as if the tentacles of some hideous netherworld demon were closing around him, blocking his every escape attempt, squeezing him until his chest collapsed and he strangled.
Don't give in to the fear. Confusion of your wits is a greater danger than this unseen enemy
. He drew in a long breath and let it out. Lowering his head, he traced patterns in the dirt at the base of the tree trunk while he thought. Neither Abu nor Reia spoke. Both were accustomed to his long silences.