Authors: Lynda S. Robinson
The trip back to Memphis took over two weeks in spite of the swiftness of
Wings of Horus
. Meren stopped at Horizon of the Aten only long enough to pick up his men and found that the scribes had collected more boxes
of documents but hadn’t examined all of them. Then he sailed north again, adding the strength of his oarsmen to the powerful
rush of the Nile’s current.
The return voyage hadn’t been as restful for either Meren or Anath. Meren’s temper grew short with the realization that he
hadn’t made a great deal of progress. Nefertiti’s murderer was still roaming free. Anath had tried to distract him by playing
her lute and singing to him, by making him play long games of senet, and by telling him stories of the people she’d met in
the northern empire and Babylon. Yet he still remained distracted and anxious, putting aside his worries only at night. Then
he needed the strength of Montu, god of war, to keep up with Anath and respond to her creative inclinations. She teased him
that he’d become entirely too proper and scrupulous.
“You’re fortunate, Meren my love, that I came home when I did. Another year and you’d have ended up as rigid as the red granite
of Syene.”
“And you would have languished abroad for lack of an Egyptian consort worthy of you,” Meren had replied, no longer disturbed
by Anath’s references to his reserved manner.
When the ship docked at the capital Meren followed Anath down the gangplank. Anath was wearing a red gown and a long gold
belt that wrapped around her hips and hung down to her feet. A filigree headband of rosettes kept her wild hair out of her
face. As they walked down the plank she glanced up at Meren, a slight smile on her lips.
“You needn’t escort me home, you know. I have servants and guards enough to protect a royal princess.”
“But you don’t seem to know what is due to you as a lady of rank.” Meren helped her step into his chariot. “You may know how
to wring secrets out of Asiatic ministers, but you have little conception of decorum and protocol.”
Anath poked him with her forefinger. “Are you saying I’m uncivilized?”
“I prefer to say unschooled in proper Egyptian etiquette.”
“Meren, you’re a foul toad. I know you, and I know what you’re saying. You think I’m only half civilized and contaminated
by foreign influence.”
He grinned down at her. “A few months at home should cure you.”
They set off with one charioteer preceding them as an escort. Having succeeded in provoking sparks of irritation in Anath,
he argued good-naturedly with her most of the way to her house. It was on the outskirts of the foreign district in an area
favored by traders from Cyprus and Byblos. Anath seemed weary, and Meren was anxious to go home and find out how Kysen’s investigation
was proceeding, so he took his leave after seeing her safely through the gate.
By the time he reached Golden House the sun had set. The compound sparkled with torchlight, and he heard lively music, the
beat of drums and laughter. Kysen and Bener were entertaining. Meren stepped down from his chariot and handed the reins to
a groom. People were walking around the twin reflection pools in front of the house and mingling on the loggia. He saw Prince
Djoser and several of the daughters of the old king, Amunhotep the Magnificent, as well as Maya, the royal treasurer. Speaking
briefly with each, he tried to maintain a pleasant demeanor in spite of his irritation. Kysen shouldn’t be entertaining in
his absence. The last thing Meren wished for after his long journey was a house party at which he would have to be charming.
He went inside and worked his way around the crowded reception hall. It was filled with luxuriously dressed aristocrats. Some
lounged on couches and chairs, others lay on cushions on the floor while servants poured an endless stream of imported wine
and domestic beer. The air was filled with the scent of spices and roasted meat. He couldn’t see either Kysen or Bener. Kysen
was most likely moving around the house making sure his guests were well fed and happy.
And Bener was probably in the kitchens directing food preparation; she wasn’t as sociable as her sisters, and Meren was beginning
to worry about her future. She seemed to have little inclination to marry, which wasn’t natural. Women married and had children.
They were the foundation of life, and without children who would provide for her in old age? Who would furnish food and drink
for her spirit once she was dead? After he solved this murder, he resolved he would speak to her about her future.
Meren thought he glimpsed Kysen in one corner of the room. He threaded his way through the guests but his progress stopped
at the wide, muscled back of a tall nobleman who reeked of frankincense and wine. He heard a high, soft voice. Not a woman’s
voice, merely a high man’s voice. There was only one young man in Memphis with the build of a wrestler and the voice of a temple
chantress, and that would be Lord Rudu, Usermontu’s son. He was flirting with a painted and bejeweled young woman who had
her head half averted. She was giggling and simpering in a most obnoxious manner. She plied a hand fan and even tapped Rudu
on the forearm with it. Meren spoke as she began to purr and coo at the object of her blandishments.
“Lord Rudu,” Meren said, hoping to get by with a nod.
Rudu turned. “Lord Meren, by the blessings of Amun, you’re home.”
“Father!”
The painted and bejeweled simperer stuck her head around Rudu’s massive shoulder. Meren stared at Bener.
“Daughter?” he said faintly.
“You’ve returned,” she said, swallowing hard and edging around Rudu to touch Meren’s cheek with hers in greeting.
“Yes, I’ve returned,” Meren said. “At a most favorable moment, it seems.”
“Indeed, Lord Meren.” Now Rudu was simpering. He tittered at Meren and inclined his head. “A most favorable moment, would
you not agree, Bener my little bean goose?”
Bener dragged her gaze from Meren. “What? Oh. Yes, my great warrior. We’re blessed by Hathor.”
Meren scowled at Rudu, then at his daughter.
“Lord Meren,” Rudu piped. “Mistress Bener has invited me and my father and mother to sail on your pleasure yacht tomorrow.
I hope you’ll be there too.”
Meren blinked at Rudu. The young fool was inviting him aboard his own ship. The wine fumes and heavy scent coming from Rudu
sparked an ache in Meren’s head. A vein throbbed at his temple. Bener had no use for Rudu. She’d primped herself and wooed
the idiot as some sort of scheme to investigate Prince Usermontu. If Usermontu really was guilty of murdering Nefertiti and
discovered the ruse, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill both Kysen and Bener.
Gritting his teeth, Meren managed a smile. “Alas, I’m too weary from my journey. Perhaps another time, Lord Rudu.”
“Of course,” Rudu replied.
Meren took Bener’s hand and squeezed it firmly. “Bener, my dear, where is Kysen?”
Bener gave Rudu a nervous smile, tugged her hand out of Meren’s, and pointed to a group of chairs on the other side
of
the master’s dais. “Over there, Father.”
Meren politely excused himself, gave a severe look to Bener, and joined a group of men sitting in a small circle around a
table laden with wine flagons and food. Kysen was one of them, and sitting to his right was Prince Usermontu looking as pleased
as if he’d received the Gold of Honor from pharaoh. Meren greeted the two and nodded to Maya, General Horemheb, and the royal
high steward, Amunhotep. A slave brought Meren’s chair from the dais, and he sat between Usermontu and Maya.
The prince had never been a modest man. He had a commanding air and attitude of entitlement that had always irritated Meren.
His sharp gaze spoke of a calculating intelligence.
Of
middle stature, with drooping eyelids and the remnants of pleasing looks that had once fascinated court ladies, Usermontu
had aged since his days of influence at Horizon of the Aten. He’d developed a tremor in his hands that he concealed by keeping
them clasped, but he seemed in great good humor this evening.
“I saw you come in, Meren,” said Usermontu. “I’m glad you’re back, because something of great import has happened in your
absence.”
Meren raised his eyebrows at Kysen, who was abnormally silent. His son barely met his gaze before looking down at the cup
of wine in his hands.
“What might that be?” Meren asked.
Usermontu beamed at him. “Can’t you guess? You were speaking with my son and your daughter not a moment past.”
Meren turned and looked at the two young people. Bener leaned up to Lord Rudu and laughed as she swished her transparent overrobe
and tossed her elaborate false tresses. Her lashes fluttered, and Rudu’s chest swelled.
Looking down to conceal his horror, Meren cleared his throat and straightened in his chair. “I see. Indeed, this is a surprise.
A pleasant one, to be sure, but one best discussed privately. I’m sure you agree, prince.”
Usermontu gave him a look of knowing familiarity that made Meren want to cuff him. The man was a brute to women, and Meren
had never invited him to Golden House because he detested such barbarity. Now here he was wallowing in the reception hall,
smirking. And he had the presumption to think that Meren would—Best not pursue that thought.
“Kysen,” Meren said lightly. “I would have a word with you regarding family business.” He rose and bowed to the guests. “You
understand, my friends. Matters that can’t be delayed after so long an absence.”
Maya gave him a sly look. “Naturally. I’m sure there are things that have come up that are quite urgent.”
“Urgent,” Horemheb repeated with a grin that turned into a laugh. Sending a scowl in their direction, Meren left with Kysen
on his heels. He sought the comparative privacy of a dark corner behind three tall jars of beer in stands. Rounding on Kysen,
he hissed.
“Explain yourself, my son.”
Kysen winced and said with a rush, “I’m sorry, Father. Bener began this little play of hers without consulting me. I came
upon her hanging over the roof ledge goggling and simpering at Rudu, and the next day he was in our garden. He loafed there
half the day with Bener, and after he left, I told her she couldn’t invite him here anymore. But she had already asked him
again. She said Prince Usermontu was ecstatic with anticipation at the possibility of a match between her and his son. After
that, I couldn’t think of a way to get out of the situation without offending the prince, so I decided to wait until you came
back.”
“I cannot believe this,” Meren muttered.
He collected his thoughts while Kysen eyed him with anxiety.
“This whole pretense was unnecessary, curse it. I’m going to begin open questioning of Usermontu, Lord Pendua, and Dilalu.
Has Bener learned anything?”
“I don’t know,” Kysen said unhappily. “She’s says she’s too busy to talk, but I think she’s been avoiding me.”
“She won’t be busy much longer,” Meren snapped.
Kysen sighed and said, “I might as well tell you she also visited Lord Pendua’s wife.”
Meren stared at him open-mouthed. “By the gods, Ky. I have to be able to leave without you two mismanaging my affairs.”
Kysen nodded, his half-moon eyes sad. “I have failed you.”
Relenting, Meren clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s not so bad. Bener is difficult, and you’re easygoing.”
Looking past Meren, Kysen pointed. “I may be, but Lord Irzanen isn’t.”
Meren turned to see one of his newest charioteers lurking near Bener and Lord Rudu. He’d noticed Irzanen’s interest in Bener,
and it was apparent that the young man took offense at Rudu’s attentions to Bener. He directed knifelike looks at his rival
through eyes narrowed to slits. He prowled around the two, moving from group to chattering group, craning his neck and muttering
to himself. If the room hadn’t been so crowded he would have attracted attention.
Meren sighed and started for the young charioteer. “At least Irzanen is from a family of decent character. I know you think
he’s too trusting.”
“He’s simple,” Kysen said as he followed Meren to where Irzanen stalked his unsuspecting quarry.
“Not simple. You mistake his straightforward manner and lack of diplomacy for stupidity.” Meren slowed and came to a stop
in the middle of the hall. “What is this?”
A long line of servants approached from the anteroom, each carrying a basket or some other burden. As they snaked their way
toward Meren they nudged, bumped, and shoved guests with their burdens. At their head was a short, squat man with a bumptious
manner and jewelry too big for his small frame.
“Pendua,” Meren said in disbelief.
Kysen groaned. “I forgot Bener had invited him.”
Lord Pendua marched up to Meren, his chest stuck out, his head held as high as it would go. He beamed at his hosts like a
great general returning from a victory against the wild tribes of Kush. Pendua was one of those men who made up for lack of
height by acquiring great strength. He exercised
so
much that even his chin seemed muscled. Unfortunately all those muscles made him seem wider rather than taller, giving him
a simian appearance. When he walked he bounced on the balls of his feet as if he expected to be attacked and would be disappointed
if he wasn’t.
Indeed, among his equals Pendua was always ready for fights that seldom developed. He had a quick temper, and a habit of overdoing
whatever he attempted. Meren looked askance at the dozens of servants crowding the hall and resigned himself. Nodding when
Pendua bowed to him, he gave Kysen a covert glare and welcomed his guest.
“May Ra shine favorably upon your house, Lord Meren.” Pendua glanced around the room to make sure everyone had stopped talking
and was watching him. Then he proceeded. “I come to your feast bearing gifts of appreciation for the new friendship that has
sprung up between the ladies of our households. Where
is
that servant? Oh, there you are. Well, come on, come on.”
A serving man came forward with a square ivory box ornamented with gilded hieroglyphs symbolizing life and health. He lifted
the lid to display sixteen compartments, each bearing a small gold or silver vessel.