Authors: Lynda S. Robinson
Kysen lounged on the roof of Golden House, his expression carefully pleasant, his attitude one of amused attention as Bener
told Zulaya tales about her sisters and Kysen’s son, Remi. Beneath his calm facade he was furious and couldn’t wait to flay
Bener with his tongue the moment they were alone. He hadn’t intended to make this man a familiar, but Bener hadn’t consulted
him. She’d welcomed their unexpected guest as if he were a personal friend when Kysen had brought him home. Then she’d launched
into an imitation of a grand lady, mistress of a noble house, and invited Zulaya to the evening meal.
Having discussed Kysen’s purchases, Zulaya had been persuaded to spend time in Meren’s private garden, one of the most luxurious
in the Two Lands. Kysen conducted his guest down the avenue of pomegranate trees that led to the refuge, all the while keeping
their conversation innocuous. They discussed the cost of ebony and the amount of time it would take to receive a shipment
of cedar from Byblos. When the tour of the garden led them to the arbor covered with grapevines Zulaya talked about the merits
of Syrian wine.
“Your travels take you across vast distances,” Kysen said, hoping to begin his questioning without being detected. “Such interminable
journeying must become wearisome. I hope you’re comfortable in Memphis.”
“Indeed, most honored lord,” Zulaya said as he touched a grape leaf.
Having failed to elicit where the man was staying in the city, Kysen tried again. “Is there one place in which you remain
for long? To rest, that is?”
“I am fortunate to have a house in Byblos,” Zulaya said.
“But you’re half Egyptian, I hear.”
Zulaya turned to smile at him. “Yes, lord. My mother was Egyptian, but of humble stock. My father came from Babylon, a trader
in wool and fine ceramic wares. He came to Egypt with a caravan one year, and returned with my mother. They built a house
near the ziggurat, and prospered under the benevolence of the goddess Ishtar.”
“So you spent your youth in Babylon.” Kysen walked with his guest toward one of the pavilions.
“I lived there until I finished school, but then I traveled with my father.” Zulaya kept pace with Kysen, and his robe whipped
about his ankles as the north breeze picked up. “I confess I prefer the excitement of the journey to remaining always in one
place, seeing the same sights endlessly.”
He paused as they reached the pavilion and glanced around the garden with its orchard, its forest of acacias, willows, perseas,
and tamarisks. “However, to remain in this place…” He gave Kysen a rueful glance. “I thought that the weight of years would
change me, and such beauty as this
is
tempting, but eventually I would long for the sight of the sea you call the Great Green. I hunger to see the endless line
where the water meets the azure sky.”
Kysen nodded and directed his steps along the edge of the largest of the reflection pools where a talapia fish darted between the papyrus reeds. “Then I wonder that you bothered to purchase land in Egypt.”
“A desire to own a small portion of my mother’s birth land,” Zulaya said. “It’s a small estate near the town of Hebenu.”
“Ah, not far from Horizon of the Aten.”
Zulaya wrinkled his forehead. “Yes,” he said slowly, “but there is little to be said for it now that pharaoh lives here.”
“My father said it was glorious in the days of the heretic.”
“It must have been,” the merchant said in an offhand manner.
Kysen stopped and met Zulaya’s passive gaze. “I would have thought you’d seen it often, since so much trade shifted there
after the city was established.”
“Those were days of great unrest among the kingdoms in Syria and Canaan. My caravans met raiders at every mountain pass, and
I was preoccupied with the task of protecting them. I never went farther than the delta after year four of that reign.” Zulaya
gave him a wry look. “I almost lost my fortune at least three times, to bandits under the protection of worthless city chiefs.”
“But the gods protected you,” Kysen said as he headed out of the garden.
“I sacrificed to them many times a day for several years.”
After they returned to the house, servants swept Zulaya away to be bathed and perfumed. By the time the sun set Bener had
taken charge of them and led the way to the roof where the smell of roasting meat greeted them. By now Kysen had been in Zulaya’s
company for several hours, during which he’d assessed the man.
The merchant was a strange mixture of foreign and familiar. He dressed expensively and wore jewels of Asiatic and Egyptian
origin. Gold bracelets encircled his arms, each engraved with Babylonian motifs—rosettes, bees, and dogs, the symbol of the
goddess Gula. Yet from Zulaya’s neck hung an Egyptian pectoral necklace bearing the symbol of the moon, a hollow rectangle
of gold beads into which had been mounted an electrum moon disk floating on the crescent new moon.
The mixture of Egyptian and Asiatic went deeper than ornamentation, however. Zulaya had the long, narrow head of an Egyptian,
as well as a slight stature, but his hair curled in ringlets rather than waves, a more Asiatic trait. Kysen hadn’t noticed
his accent when they first met, but now he could detect it by the slightly more guttural sound to his speech. Beyond the physical,
Kysen had marked Zulaya’s assured manner. Kysen had puzzled over this easy demeanor since meeting the man, until he realized
that Zulaya moved among the trappings of nobility as if he belonged there. He didn’t gawk at Meren’s ebony and gold furnishings,
at the luxurious garden filled with priceless myrrh and frankincense shrubs, at the house that was nearly as large as a palace.
As Kysen observed his guest with Bener he realized the man was older than he’d first seemed. His hair was sprinkled with silver.
Delicate lines spread like solar rays from the corners of his eyes. He sprinkled his conversation with humor in a manner that
made him seem younger. He certainly had no trouble entertaining Bener. She had drawn her chair closer to her guest, and her
gaze seldom left him as Zulaya related some tale of a pirate raid on one of his ships.
“We shot flaming arrows onto the deck as they tried to come alongside. That usually fends them off, unless they risk firing
them first.”
Bener was wide-eyed. “Do they?”
“Sometimes.” Zulaya leaned toward her, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It isn’t wise to set fire to the ship that carries
the very thing you wish to steal, but some pirates have the wits of oxen.” He popped a grape in his mouth. “Whichever ship
survives the fire is the ship I take into port.”
“Amazing,” Bener said with a rapid flutter of her dark lashes.
Kysen eyed her as Zulaya bowed to her from his chair. After a quiet moment he suddenly asked, “And the pirates?”
Zulaya waved his wine cup. “Most of them are killed.”
“No prisoners?”
“Oh, a few,” Zulaya said lightly. “When I began to have trouble with them I devised a method for dealing with them. Those
who attacked and lived I divided into three groups. The first I flayed alive while the others watched; the second I hung from
the bow of my ship by their feet as an example to all who saw them; and the others I released to spread stories of the fate
of their companions.”
Bener swallowed hard and turned to pick among the dessert cakes on a tray.
Kysen merely nodded. “Effective.”
“Not as effective as my other method.” Zulaya grinned at him. “I found a pirate named Othrys and paid him to keep the others
away. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
Meeting Zulaya’s gaze with an open and blank look, Kysen shook his head. “No, but there are so many lawless men at sea.”
“True.”
The night was growing cooler, and from the roof flickering points of lamplight sprinkled the
city.
Near the river, torches sent rippling sprays of gold across the water.
Zulaya gazed out at the city and sighed. “I regret I must take my leave. I have promised to attend the high priest of Ptah
early tomorrow.”
The merchant thanked Bener for her hospitality, and Kysen walked downstairs with him.
“I regret not having the honor of being presented to Lord Meren,” Zulaya said as they walked across the reception hall. He
stopped and turned to Kysen as they neared the master’s dais with its costly chair of cedar, ebony, ivory, and gold. “I confess
to a great admiration of your father, Lord Kysen.”
Kysen was taken aback. “Oh?”
“Indeed. Lord Meren’s skills are celebrated throughout the empire and in every land, of course, but I particularly appreciate
your father’s fine grasp of the intricacies of the power struggles among great men. We humble merchants are greatly affected
by quarrels and strife among the mighty, you know.”
“I had no idea that foreign merchants took such an interest in Lord Meren.”
Zulaya inclined his head. “Among my people it
is
rare to come upon a nobleman whose loyalty to his prince isn’t motivated by greed—for riches or power. Your father’s character
is well known, Lord Kysen. Of him it is said that he cares for the pharaoh of Egypt out of reverence, never seeking the Gold
of Honor or other rewards. Everyone knows that Lord Meren honors justice and order, and allows neither high place nor sentiment
to sway him from his principles.”
“Yes,” Kysen said. He led the merchant to the front door. “My father is a man of great honor, but I’m surprised that his reputation
has spread as far as you say.”
“When so rare a man is found, word of his existence travels far.”
With a low bow, Zulaya was gone. As the porter shut the door Kysen shook his head. He didn’t think Zulaya was the kind of
man to try to squirm into his favor with flattery. The man had meant what he said, which was surprising, given Zulaya’s ruthlessness
and proven ability to amass a fortune by less than honest means. His association with pirates like Othrys wasn’t simply one
of convenience. Zulaya bought looted goods from them and passed them off as legitimate. Perhaps the merchant’s admiration
was that of a powerful man who respected the strength of another.
Kysen headed for the roof again, deep in thought. Zulaya was formidable. He’d just spent hours in Golden House without revealing
anything of importance, despite Kysen’s probing questions. Without flattering himself, Kysen could claim great skill at eliciting
information from suspects, yet the most to which Zulaya would admit was consorting with pirates. Such verbal fencing was worthy
of a royal emissary, of Meren himself. Indeed, Zulaya and his father had much in common—skill at intrigue, charm, ruthlessness.
Kysen reached the roof intent on taking Bener to task for her interference with Zulaya, only to find the eating tables deserted
except for the serving maids. He searched for her, but she’d gone to her chamber. Before he could hunt her down, his son appeared
with his nurse. Kysen spent the rest of the evening with the boy. By this time it was too late to fight with his sister, so
he went to bed feeling cheated of his opportunity to tell Bener what he thought of her.
His sore head kept him awake so that he slept late the next day. It was mid-morning by the time he had break-fasted, and there
was still not word on Dilalu. He wanted to talk to Bener, but she had gone out. He spent the rest of the morning conducting
the business of the Eyes and Ears
of
Pharaoh, all the while fuming at the delay in taking his sister to task. He wanted to see her before he set out to find the
pirate Othrys. When she finally came home with several servants trailing behind her carrying goods from the market, Kysen
met her in the reception hall.
“Where have you been?” he snapped.
Bener raised her eyebrows, and Kysen bit off his next comment. She dismissed her servants and poured herself a cup of water
from a jar draped with a lotus garland.
Kysen waited for the servants to leave before speaking again. “Where have you been?”
“To the market, obviously.” Bener took a long sip of water and sighed as she sat down on the edge of the master’s dais.
“I want to talk to you about last night.”
“Aren’t you interested in where else I’ve been?”
“No,” Kysen said.
“You should be.”
Kysen narrowed his eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been visiting Lady Wenher.”
“Pendua’s wife! Curse you, Bener. You can’t do that.”
“Nonsense,” Bener replied as she wiped perspiration from her brow and chin. “I can, and I did. Wenher has a great store of
herbs and is well versed in their use in cooking and medicines. Everybody knows that. Did you ever think of that when you
considered whether Lord Pendua might have—”
“Shh!” Kysen glanced around the hall, then motioned for Bener to follow him. He led the way to Meren’s office, past the charioteer
on guard there, and shut the door. “Now, what were you saying about Lady Wenher?”
Bener shrugged. “Just that she knows a lot about herbs, including the tekau plant you said was used to poison…” Bener lowered
her voice. “… to poison the queen.”
Kysen rolled his eyes, speechless.
“You asked her about the tekau plant?” he said with a groan.
“No, you fool. I asked her for a remedy for your aching head. I told her you were injured practicing close combat with the
charioteers, and she had lots of advice.” Bener’s eyes lit. “You mix frankincense, cumin, fresh bread, goose fat, honey, and
sweet beer, strain it and drink it for four days.”
“Bener.”
“You can also make an unguent of cumin with moringa oil, myrrh, lotus flowers, juniper berries, and—”
“Bener!”
She grinned at him. “There was tekau hanging in the room Wenher uses to dry her herbs.”
Uttering a wordless sound of frustration, Kysen made no objection when his sister sauntered out of the room. Just then a document
case full of royal dispatches arrived, but he was still fuming an hour later when he heard noise coming from the roof. It
sounded like Bener, so he climbed the stairs to investigate.
When he got to the roof he followed the sound of her raised voice and found her hanging over the roof ledge waving and laughing.
Kysen slowed as he drew near, for Bener was wearing her best robes and jewelry. She’d painted her eyes, reddened her cheeks
and lips, and wore her most elaborate wig. As he gawked at her Bener gave a rippling laugh and threw a lotus flower to someone
below. Kysen looked down, and watched a young man in a chariot catch the lotus and bow to his sister.