Slayer of Gods (23 page)

Sometimes minor snarls indicated a larger problem, one involving the corruption of royal officials. Meren hoped this wasn’t
the case, because he was growing weary of chastising wrongdoers. Many of his friends felt the same way—Maya, Horemheb, Ay.
His old mentor had seen much in his life, including the long reign of Amunhotep the Magnificent, and that of his successor,
Akhenaten. Corruption was an ever-present threat, a disease that had to be exorcised lest it rot the kingdom from within.
Sometimes Meren felt he was fighting a war for harmony and balance while almost everyone else seemed undisturbed by chaos
and perversion.

He dropped the dispatch on a pile near the master’s dais. A high, loud wail rolled toward him from somewhere inside the house.
It was Remi, Kysen’s little son, protesting some correction from his nurse, but the sound penetrated Meren’s body like a spear.
The cry reminded him of the sounds of grief made by mourners at a funeral, Nefertiti’s funeral, when Tutankhamun was little
more than a babe and had been called Tutankhaten.

The day they entombed the queen had been as bright and cloudless as any other. Dust blew across the sun-blasted plain in which
Horizon of the Aten lay, but the funeral procession was not what Nefertiti would have chosen. Instead of a journey by funeral
boat across the river to a tomb in the west, the land of the dead, her magnificent coffin was being taken east, in the direction
of the rising sun.

As he trudged along behind the royal family in their golden chariots, Meren heard again the long eerie moan, the sound of
thousands of voices raised in grief for their queen. Stylized, slow of rhythm, it rose from the city and sailed upward, carried
on the air to rebound off the cliffs as if the ghosts that inhabited the desert had risen to welcome another soul. An answering
wail came from the princesses and their attendants, but Akhenaten, resplendent in his chariot, remained silent. This was his first public appearance
since the death of the great royal wife.

The journey to the royal tomb was long, and the route took the funeral cortege up the gradual rise of barren ground behind
Horizon of the Aten and into the cliffs that marked the high eastern desert. The solar orb glared its light and heat directly
above the mourners by the time the queen’s coffin arrived at the entrance to its new abode. Meren had to squint in order to
watch the priests maneuver the funeral sledge toward the mouth of the tomb. As befitted a queen and pharaoh, Nefertiti had
been encased in gold and precious jewels
.

Not long ago he remembered her saying, “Meren, I would trade all I possess, down to the tiniest jewel, for the return of just
one of my daughters from the netherworld.” Now she was going to join them
.

At the tomb entrance Akhenaten was performing ceremonies to ensure his wife’s rebirth. He chanted a prayer detailing her journey
to join the Aten. Nefertiti would have wanted the traditional rites so that she could make the perilous journey through the
netherworld to the Hall of Judgment. But the old ways were not permitted, the old gods ignored. Meren only hoped the old ones
would see the queen’s true heart and save her ka before Akhenaten’s heresy destroyed her soul
.

He heard a child crying. Little Tutankhaten was frightened, and Meren could see his nurse trying to quiet the child. Ay motioned
to him, and Meren swiftly walked over and picked the boy up. Tutankhaten protested, but Meren put his hand on the back of
the child’s head and guided it to his shoulder. The boy snuffled into his neck for a moment, and then subsided. Ay nodded
his gratitude as another wailing refrain issued from the princesses
.

As Meren watched, Ay closed his eyes and bowed his head. Then Akhenaten finished his prayer, and to Meren’s astonishment he
barked at the women. The mourners’ cries went silent, and the king raised his voice in praise of the Aten. Meren kept his
expression carefully reverent. On his shoulder Tutankhamun slept. He gave the boy back to his nurse.

Just then Ay lifted his bowed head. Meren had expected to see grief; he hadn’t expected rage that contained within it the
horrors of the netherworld. Ay tore his gaze from the golden prison to which Nefertiti’s body had been consigned. It rose
and settled on Akhenaten, and the pain and rage magnified. His creased face seemed to fold in on itself, and he staggered
against the side of the tomb entrance. Smenkhare, Akhenaten’s brother and heir, supported Ay as Meren moved swiftly to his
aid. The prince left Ay in Meren’s care as the ceremonial procession headed inside the tomb and down the long, rock-hewn corridor
to the burial chamber.

The last of the mourners vanished inside before Ay could stand. He leaned on Meren, took a step, and stopped to mutter under
his breath. “I killed her.”

“What?”

“As surely as if I had driven a dagger into her heart.”

Meren shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault she became ill.”

Ay paused before the first step down the long ramp that led to the burial chamber and met Meren’s eyes. In spite of the dim
light his gaze shone with a radiance born of near madness
.

“Be silent, my son,” he hissed. “I could have prevented all of this. And now I curse the day I agreed to wed my daughter to
the son of pharaoh. Nefertiti died because of my ambition.”Ay’s voice rose. “I am responsible, and the gods will rightly punish
me for my sin!”

Meren roused from his memories when Anath and Bener entered the hall followed by servants bearing chests and baskets. Anath
gave him a smile as she sailed by him on her way to a guest chamber. Bener gave directions to the servants, her brow furrowed
with some lingering distress. Meren watched her, noting the way she clasped her hands tightly, how her stance had become rigid,
her eyes sorrowful. She’d been far more cheerful before she left with Anath, but now her fear had returned. Bouts of distress
would no doubt occur, which worried Meren and made him feel powerless, which in turn fed his fury at the evil one responsible.

Bener finished giving instructions and came to him. “Father, I want to talk to you.”

“You’re not going to change my decision,” he said. “You’re going to be watched for your own good.”

“I know, but—Kysen!”

Meren turned to see Reia and Abu carrying Kysen’s limp body. Meren rushed to them as they lowered him to the floor.

“He’s unconscious, lord,” Reia said before Meren could speak. “We went to a tavern called the Heart Scarab and met a man called
Marduk, who had been a servant of Dilalu. Lord Kysen drank with him to discover the whereabouts of the merchant. Marduk was
leading us to him when Kysen fell ill.”

A feeling of unreality settled over Meren as he searched Kysen’s face for signs of life. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t
face another threat to a beloved child.

“I’ve sent for the physician,” Abu added.

Meren touched Kysen’s neck with the tips of his fingers, searching for the
voice
of the heart. He felt it, quick, but faint. Without a word he picked up his son and strode out of the hall. He reached Kysen’s
bed, lay his son down, and whirled around to snarl at Abu.

“Where is Nebamun?”

“I’ve sent for him, lord. He’s on his way.”

Bener hurried in with a bowl of water and a cloth. She began weeping as she bathed Kysen’s brow, and Meren swallowed hard
as he watched his two children.

So recently banished, the horrific feeling of impotence crushed his heart. Ignoring it, he snapped at Abu. “Take men and find
this Marduk. Bring him to me. Don’t come back without him.”

“Aye, lord.”

Abu left, but returned at once holding a folded and sealed note, his expression grave. “Another message, lord. Given by a
little boy paid to deliver it.”

Meren stared at the blank seal, then broke it and read.

Now you endure the punishment for disobedience. My hand is around his heart. If I desire it, he dies.

The papyrus dropped from Meren’s stiff fingers. Dazed, he neither spoke nor moved when Bener picked up the message.

“Oh,” she gasped. Tears streamed over her face, and she took Kysen’s hand in both of hers.

From deep in her chest rose a long, keening wail, and for the second time that day Meren was back in a desert tomb, pierced
by the mourner’s cry.

Meren stood beside Kysen’s bed listening to his physician. Abu had gone in search of the one called Marduk, still hampered
by the need for secrecy. Meren had debated the risk, considering that his earlier efforts at secrecy had failed, but desperation
overruled caution.

Bener still sat near her brother and held his hand. Kysen remained in a deathlike state, his face paler than desert sand,
the voice of his heart faint. Meren watched Kysen’s chest rise slowly, then fall. Each pause between movements caused him agony.

Without taking his gaze from the shallow movement he said, “So you don’t know what’s wrong?”

“He has been given a poison of some kind, lord. Not poison of the tekau plant, but there are many herbs that could produce
this state. Unless I’m certain of the cause, treating him might do harm. If he were awake I would make him vomit to rid his
body of the evil it swallowed. For now, it is safer to watch and wait. He’s strong; his ka will fight the poison if I perform
certain rites in his aid.”

“Do so at once,” Meren said.

As Nebamun busied himself with the contents of his physician’s box Reia came in and saluted.

“You sent for me, lord?”

With a last look at Kysen, Meren moved away from the bed. “Tell me what happened from the moment you left this house.”

The charioteer related the day’s events, and Meren stopped him after he told of the visit to Othrys.

“He saw the pirate alone?”

“He said it’s difficult to see Othrys at all, and having a charioteer at his side would make it impossible.”

“He’s right,” Meren said. “But he told you he had wine with Othrys.”

“Yes, lord, but he didn’t become ill until after drinking with that Asiatic.”

“What else did he say?”

Reia glanced at Kysen’s prone body, and a spasm of remorse passed across his face. “When he left the pirate’s house he was
agitated. He said he’d discovered that Othrys had been at Horizon of the Aten when the queen died. He said that—”

Meren cursed. “You’re certain?”

“Yes, lord. He was disturbed, and said if we didn’t find Dilalu soon we would return and tell you about it.”

A wave of chill dread passed over Meren, and the panic he’d fought against so long raged unchecked. “Damn you, Reia, if Othrys
has been lying all along, and Kysen found out—”

“The pirate,” Reia said.

Their eyes met, and they both sprang for the door. Meren got there first and flung it open. He ran through Golden House with
Reia at his heels, his heart burning with thoughtless rage. He burst onto the loggia and came to a sudden halt. Reia nearly
ran into him. He stood still, distracted and uncertain. The pirate had never entered into his evaluation of the queen’s murder,
and Othrys knew too much. If he was guilty, he posed a lethal threat. Reia was watching him anxiously.

“I can’t take the chance,” Meren muttered. He glanced at Reia. “But I can’t rush to attack and risk him dying before I force
him to tell me what he’s done to Kysen.” He ran his hand through his hair. “We’ll do this another way.”

Hurrying to his office, Meren penned a courteous note requesting a visit from Othrys. Reia left to give it to a porter. When
he returned Meren gave him quiet instructions and returned to Kysen’s bedside to watch Nebamun cast spells of protection and
healing. It was dark by the time Othrys arrived.

Meren received the pirate on the master’s dais in the hall. Striding in as if he were walking across the deck of one of his
ships, Othrys stopped at the steps of the dais, planted his hands on his hips, and gave Meren an annoyed scowl.

“Greetings, Egyptian. What news have you that I must leave my table and my guests and rush across the city to hear it?”

Meren made a concise motion with his hand, and charioteers appeared at every door to the hall. Othrys looked at them and narrowed
his eyes.

“What game is this?”

Leaning forward in his chair, Meren spoke softly with a calm he didn’t feel. “My son has been poisoned. He lies near death,
and if you are responsible, I will have the remedy from you or by all the gods I’ll tear your heart out with my bare hands.
You have until the count of ten to confess.” Meren sat back. “One.”

The charioteers began to close in on Othrys. His gaze darted from one group to the other.

“Two.”

“You’re mad,” he snarled.

“Three.” The charioteers surrounded Othrys.

“Four.”

“I did nothing!”

“You failed to reveal your presence at Horizon of the Aten when the queen died. Five.”

“It wasn’t important,” Othrys cried as the charioteers grabbed his arms and legs.

“Six.” Meren stood. “Every scrap of information you gave to me could have been designed to lead me away from you. Seven.”