Authors: Lynda S. Robinson
Meren stood and looked down at Kysen. “He hasn’t moved since I lay him there. The physician says he can do nothing.”
The king searched his face, then nodded at Meren’s sleeping daughter. “This is the work of the same one who abducted Lady
Bener?”
“Aye, majesty.”
“Meren, you look like you’ve been through battle and lost.”
“Thy majesty has great perception, and since Kysen was looking for the merchant Dilalu, it could be that he is the evil one
we seek. But I’m not sure, and I dare not send anyone to hunt him right now. I’ve already captured the pirate Othrys, whom
I suspect, and I shouldn’t have done it. If he’s the murderer, Kysen may suffer for my recklessness.” They both studied Kysen
for a few moments.
“When I thought you’d tried to kill me I sent for Kysen,” Tutankhamun said quietly. “I tried to make him betray you. A useless
attempt, I admit. He told me I might as well kill him, because he wasn’t going to help me. I remember thinking how much I
admired him for refusing to abandon you. One with a lesser heart might have tried to save himself.”
Meren almost smiled. “Bravery has always come easily to him, majesty. The first time I saw him I was surprised to find so
great a heart lodged in the body of one born so low.”
“The gods choose certain men and endow them with extraordinary gifts,” Tutankhamun said. “Like those who rose from the common
ranks to become great architects or physicians. He will make a fine staff of old age for you, an admirable successor.”
“If he lives,” Meren whispered.
Just then Anath and Nebamun came in with one of the king’s physicians, and at their entrance Bener woke. Meren told his daughter
to get some rest, and the physicians began to examine Kysen again.
Meren schooled himself to watch his son fail to react to the prodding and handling.
“Meren,” the king said. “You’re doing no good here, and we must talk. We’ll go to your office. Come, Anath.”
Once in the room, Tutankhamun began prowling around, picking up a scribe’s palette and setting it down, toying with a wooden
penholder in the form of a hollow tube. Meren stood steeped in anxiety beside the master’s dais. Threatening Othrys had been
a stupid thing to do. He was allowing his fear to govern him, and Kysen could well lose his life because of it. Anath tried
to comfort him, but her touch only increased his agitation. Setting his jaw, he refrained from snapping at her and took her
hand from his arm.
Tutankhamun paused near them and tossed the penholder onto a document case. As if from a distance Meren saw that his hands
were shaking. He should have remembered that pharaoh was suffering too, and trying hard to conceal it.
“Yet another attack on you,” the king said in a voice that shook. “We must find this criminal before he murders your whole
family. My majesty cannot allow such insolence.”
Meren shook his head wearily. “I can do nothing more until Kysen
He couldn’t go on. He was afraid to voice his hope. It was too fragile to bear being put into words. Anath again touched his
arm gently as she murmured words of comfort. This time he didn’t move away.
“I took a chance in grabbing Othrys because I was desperate, and it gained me nothing.”
“Had I been faced with such a threat,” the king said, “I would have captured those most likely to be guilty as you did. Besides,
I doubt Othrys is the culprit in this case. From what you say about him, he’s too clever to do the poisoning himself. But
I don’t understand why the killer would poison Kysen at all.”
“He sent a message saying this was punishment for failing to do as I was ordered,” Meren said. “Kysen was in the Caverns looking
for Dilalu.”
“But why attack your children?” Tutankhamun said as he wandered over to a stack of notes. He picked them up and began going
through them. “If he’s so desperate to prevent you from finding out who he is, the most certain remedy would be your death.”
“Ah, but majesty, what would happen if the criminal did kill Meren?” Anath asked.
Tutankhamun looked up from reading a papyrus and considered, his features becoming blank. “I would close the gates, shut down
the docks, and rake this city from one end to the other for anyone suspicious. Then I’d hand anyone I caught to General Horemheb
for questioning.” He smiled. “The general’s methods aren’t as subtle as Meren’s but they’re effective. I wouldn’t release
the city from my grip until I was satisfied.”
“Thus ruining many an illicit enterprise,” Anath said. “This drinker of blood has a network of interests, many located here,
if I’m correct. To avoid bringing down thy majesty’s wrath, he must go carefully.”
“I didn’t do as he wished, however,” Meren said.
“True,” Anath replied. “But if you had, someone else would have been blamed for the death of Queen Nefertiti, pharaoh would
have been satisfied, and the drinker of blood could operate safely.”
The king leafed through another stack of papyri. “And all these threats began the moment you returned from Horizon of the
Aten.”
“And the moment Kysen and Bener began their investigations of Prince Usermontu and Lord Pendua, majesty,” Meren said. “I long
to drag each suspect into a cell and beat them until I get a confession, but I dare not for fear there’s some antidote Kysen
needs that the criminal is withholding.”
“Yes,” the king said. He looked down at the records he was holding. “So instead you’ve been wading through old documents.”
He sighed and read the top sheet of papyrus. “By the mercy of Amun, look at these. It all seems so long ago, a lifetime. This
is from year fifteen of my brother’s reign, a record of cattle from the temple of Ra given to Usermontu for his loyal service.
I was almost five.” His eyes held a distant memory. “I haven’t seen old Usermontu in years. The last time was just before
the queen died, I think. Yes, I remember she gave him an audience, and berated him as if he were a disobedient monkey for
falsifying some kind of record.”
Meren drew closer. “Thy majesty never told me.”
“I had forgotten until I saw this.” The king pointed to the document he held. “I didn’t understand the details, but I remember
the violence of their quarrel. I had never heard a servant raise his voice to a member of the royal family before, and Usermontu
was so furious he was spewing his words along with quite a bit of spittle.”
“What did her majesty do?”
“I don’t know,” Tutankhamun said, his gaze growing clouded as he tried to recall. “I’m not sure, but—yes, I think she became
ill before she did anything to him.” Tutankhamun’s head drooped, and he allowed the document to fall to the floor. “Then she
died, and I was alone.”
“Usermontu,” Meren said. “I never did like him.”
Anath said, “You’re not alone.”
“You think he could have killed the queen to prevent her from exposing him?” Tutankhamun asked.
“It’s possible, majesty,” Anath replied. “He seems to have been the most corrupt of her servants.”
Meren tried to evaluate what the king had told him, but his heart was back in the sickroom with Kysen. Nothing mattered, not
even Nefertiti’s death, as long as his son was in danger. The reason and clarity that usually governed his thoughts seemed
to have vanished. In its place terror ruled, and now that old burning feeling in his chest had returned, the feeling he got
when he’d missed something important. He nearly swore aloud as the agitation over this failure combined with the fear to make
his state almost unbearable. He roused from this state of dazed misery when the king spoke to him.
“I must go,” the boy said. “You’re distracted and miserable, and nothing I can say will help.”
“Majesty, thy presence has been a great comfort.”
“I think not.” Tutankhamun drew near and searched Meren’s face. “Is this the torment a parent endures when his child suffers?”
“Yes, Golden One. There is no worse pain.”
“Ankhesenamun is with child.”
Anath smoothly stepped into the small silence. “We rejoice with thy majesty.”
“Indeed,” Meren said. “Amun be praised.”
Tutankhamun nodded gravely. “I will intercede with the god, my father, on Kysen’s behalf.”
At that moment Bener rushed in, barely able to contain herself long enough to kneel when she saw the king.
“He’s awake!”
Everyone rushed to Kysen’s room, including the king. Meren hurtled to the bed, and dropped to his knees.
“Ky?”
Kysen opened his eyes briefly, then closed them. “I feel so odd.”
He opened his eyes again and tried to get up. Meren grabbed his shoulders and pushed him down again.
“Nebamun says you mustn’t get up yet.”
“What happened?”
“Someone poisoned you.”
“Marduk! Ow, my head.”
Nebamun appeared with a cup of water. Meren held it while Kysen drank. After a few sips he sighed and lay back.
“There’s something I must tell…” Kysen’s eyes closed, and his voice faded.
Meren shook his son. “Kysen!”
“Fear not, lord,” Nebamun said as he steadied his patient against Meren’s frantic shaking. “This is a natural sleep, not one
induced by poison.”
With relief Meren released Kysen, rose and turned to find that the king had slipped away.
“His majesty felt you needed rest now that Kysen is out of danger,” Anath said.
Meren walked to the end of the bed and stood gazing on his son. He didn’t know how long he spent measuring the depth of Kysen’s
breathing, his coloring, his posture. Eventually he was able to believe the physician’s happy pronouncement. Anath waited
patiently beside him, and at last he smiled at her. With Kysen out of danger it was as if his heart had been suddenly freed.
His thoughts became clearer, and at the same time that grating sensation of having forgotten something rose to prominence.
“I wish pharaoh hadn’t left,” Meren said to Anath. “Something he said bothered me.”
“About Usermontu?”
“I’m not sure,” Meren said. He gazed at Kysen for a few moments, then realized he wasn’t doing any good here. “Come,” he said
to Anath. With a last glance at Kysen, they left the bedchamber.
“What did pharaoh say that disturbed you?” Anath asked as they walked.
“I wish I knew. For weeks now I’ve felt I’ve missed something important. If I could only remember what it is, I might have
the key to this whole mystery.”
“You’re tired,” Anath said as they walked into the reception hall. “Why not go to bed and think about it tomorrow when you’re
refreshed?”
“No,” Meren said. He walked around the dais, his head bent, his thoughts released from their prison of fear. “No, I can almost
see it. It will come to me, but not if I sleep.”
Anath folded her arms and watched him. “If you must push yourself to exhaustion, at least get some air. You’ve been cooped
up in the house too long. No wonder your thoughts hide from you. Your heart is choking on stale humors.”
Rolling his shoulders to ease the ache in them, Meren sighed. “You’re right. Sitting around will do no good. We’ll take my
chariot.”
“Good, then you can drive me to my house. I promised Bener some resins she wants to use for a healing incense for Kysen.”
It didn’t take long before they were driving out of the gates of Golden House. The chariot clattered over ruts in the street,
and Wind Chaser and Star Chaser snorted and tossed their heads in the chill air of early morning. Meren welcomed the drive.
Guiding the chariot, allowing his hands to feel the mood of the horses through the reins, these familiar activities allowed
his heart the freedom to open to any drift of memory, any small eddy of thought that might spark the key recollection. Unfortunately
the trip wasn’t long enough, and he was still preoccupied as they walked into the house.
Anath vanished in the direction of the kitchen, and Meren wandered through the house. He stepped around a couch made of ebony
and decorated with bands of gold and passed several chairs of the finest cedar. Brilliantly colored hangings covered the walls,
and in a side room he glimpsed serving vessels of silver. He wandered onto a loggia that afforded a view of a reflection pool
the size of a small lake.
If he couldn’t resolve this matter of the queen’s killer soon, he might have to resort to the king’s methods and seal the
city, apprehend all the suspected ones, and interrogate them until one of them broke. He desperately wished to avoid such
a course, for the search would take days, during which his family would be at risk no matter how he protected them. Allowing
his thoughts to roam freely was the best way to encourage the spark of recollection.
Something in that conversation with the king and Anath had provoked that burning feeling in his chest, that feeling of having
almost glimpsed the solution. Not the part about Usermontu. Something else. There had been a discussion of the reasoning behind
Bener’s abduction and Kysen’s poisoning. Meren leaned against a column and lifted his face to the north breeze as his thoughts
drifted.
The king’s praise of Kysen had been small comfort while his son had been in danger, but now he could enjoy the fact that pharaoh
had a good opinion of him. Tutankhamun admired strength, to a certain degree. He didn’t admire strength that pitted itself
against him, and he was highly suspicious. That was why he remarked upon the fact that Meren’s troubles began the moment he
returned from Horizon of the Aten. But Meren had learned over the years that just because two things happened around the same
time didn’t always mean they were related.
It was unfortunate that Tutankhamun had been so young when the queen died, for his clever heart would have been of great help.
He might have understood more about the quarrel between the queen and Usermontu. But the king had been a child. What had he
said? He’d been five in the fifteenth year of Akhenaten. Pharaoh had been reading through those records—the old tallies of
foreign tribute, the orders for rations for slaves belonging to the Aten temple, that transfer of deed for the land old Thanuro
never lived to enjoy.
His thoughts slowed, and Meren pushed himself away from the column, his gaze fixed on a stand of reeds in the lake. Like a
leopard crouched in tall grass he waited while a piece of information from one place, and a fact from another drifted together
with inconsequential remarks from yet another source. Not daring to move, hardly breathing, he held still while his view of
certain events shifted with the suddenness of a whip stroke.