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Memphis, Year Five of the Reign of the Pharaoh Tutankhamun
Beauty the goose shuffled slowly through the forest of legs that blocked her way. She fixed her shortsighted gaze on the hard packed earth in search of the occasional cricket. Around her, in the breezy coolness of late evening, servants gossiped in the kitchen yard. Oblivious to the sounds of lute, harp and flute that floated from the house, Beauty never paused in her quest even when she encountered feet arrayed in a line in front of her. Above her women's voices droned on, chattering and laughing. Beauty's small, flat head and beak remained pointed toward the ground. She took another step and pecked at a bare toe. The owner of the toe gasped and moved. Never lifting her beady gaze from the spot directly in front of her, Beauty took two more waddling steps, eyed another set of toes and snapped at them. They danced out of her way. She continued down the line of toes, never lifting her head, never varying from her course, certainly not avoiding the feet, until she reached the back gate. There she nipped at the ankle of the porter in one last ill-tempered and satisfying attack before she sauntered beyond the high wall that enclosed Golden House, the great mansion of Lord Meren, the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, Friend of the King and advisor to the young ruler of the Egyptian empire, Tutankhamun. Had she been a young, fat goose, Beauty would have soon ended up stewing in a pot. Since she was a pet, everyone had to put up with her menacing ways. She lived up to her name, however. The boldly patterned plumage on her head attracted attention. She had a black crown, hindneck and facial marks against a white face, a black lower breast and russet cheek patches and upper breast. Her short, thick neck was no hindrance to her bullying ways, nor was her small bill. * * * Not long after the goose terrorized the kitchen staff the animal's owner came into the yard, her pace quick in spite of swollen joints and frail bones. "Beauty, where are you? Come to your mother, my little daub of honey." Satet passed among the servants congregated in the kitchen yard. She questioned many, always receiving a point in the direction in which the goose had traveled and receiving as well complaints from those ambushed by her evil-tempered pet. "You know she's aged," Satet replied. "You should get out of her way." Hurrying toward the gate, Satet nodded at the guard. "You're not supposed to go wandering," he said. "You know Lord Meren dislikes it." "I'm not wandering," Satet retorted. "I'm searching for Beauty. She can't have gone far. I'll return quickly." Before the guard could reply Satet scurried into the dark street. It was late in the fourth month of Inundation. The furnace-like heat of day had at last ebbed from the packed earth beneath her feet, and Satet's mood lightened. She was weary of being confined to the grounds of Golden House. True, it was a great estate within the city of Memphis, but Satet liked to travel about, visit the markets, docks, the temples and the wells at which people congregated to exchange news. Ever since Lord Meren brought her here from the country Satet had taken advantage of the opportunity to see the sights of pharaoh's greatest city, the capitol of the vast Egyptian empire. Looking for Beauty when she wandered too far served as the perfect excuse. Satet glanced up and down the street. Moonlight showed nothing to her left, but to her right she glimpsed something on the ground. Satet picked up a scrap of flat bread, the remnants of someone's meal devoured in a hurry in the street. Beauty was following a trail of food. Setting off down the street, Satet shook her head and grumbled. "Wouldn't have to sneak off to enjoy myself if that boy would leave me alone." She always called Lord Meren "boy", ever since they'd first met in her sister's old house. Lord Meren was interested in her sister because she'd been Nefertiti's favorite cook just before the poor queen died. Now Hunero was dead too, along with her husband. Only last night that boy had been after her again to recall the old days at Horizon of the Aten, the heretic's city. She always called Lord Meren "boy", ever since they'd first met in her sister's old house. Lord Meren was interested in her sister because she'd been Nefertiti's favorite cook just before the poor queen died. Now Hunero was dead too, along with her husband. Only last night that boy had been after her again to recall the old days at Horizon of the Aten, the heretic's city. "Can't help it if I don't remember. Hunero was always bragging about her service in the queen's household, but that was years ago. Who can remember all her boasts?" Satet turned into another street. This one was wider, with old houses on either side that leaned toward each other. Seven houses down it opened into a wide space in which lay one of the city's many wells. Ahead of her someone stepped into a house and closed the door, leaving the street deserted. If she shouted for Beauty, she'd rouse the whole street and get into trouble, so she half whispered half hissed. "Beauty!" A flap of wings answered her, and Satet caught sight of Beauty as she snapped up something from the street and gobbled it down. The little beast had almost reached the well. Satet hurried down the street. Being nearly seventy, she had to stop a couple of times to catch her breath. The second time, she slowed her pace because Beauty was busy eating something beside the well. No sense hurrying now. She might get back to the house and have to talk to that boy again. He'd been around too much lately. Wia, one of the family servants, said it was because he'd been wounded fighting a traitor. The wound had festered, causing fever, and demons of infection invaded his body. No doubt the traitor's evil ka, his soul, had tried to avenge itself upon Lord Meren. Whatever the case, the boy had been confined to his bed, and the whole family had descended upon Golden House. Fear reigned for weeks, but he was strong, his ka equal to the challenge of fighting off the demons of disease. Now he was recovering, which meant that he had the strength to pester Satet. After being subjected to several sessions of meaningless questions, last night Satet had lost her temper. "Why do you keep asking me these things? I don't know if Hunero spoke to any strangers during the queen's illness. Why don't you ask her?" When Meren reminded her the Hunero was dead, she'd fended him off. "Then why don't you go to Syene and ask the queen's bodyguard? Sebek ought to know more than anyone. Quit pestering me, boy." Satet was proud of herself for remembering Sebek. He was probably dead, but going the great southern city of Syene would take the boy away from the house, and she wouldn't have to listen to him for a good long time. Of course, his daughter, Bener, would try to stop him. She wanted him to rest. She said he wasn't well enough to walk around his garden much less go on a journey. When her father wouldn't listen to her and insisted on joining his charioteers in the practice yard, Bener had brought in an ally. Lady Bentanta had come, spoken a few words only Lord Meren could hear, and he had left the practice yard at once. "Wonder what she said to him," Satet muttered to herself. Whatever it had been, it was powerful enough to keep the boy in his bed. Lady Bentanta had remained at his side for almost a week, and during that time what they did most was fight. Thirteen days ago shouts had erupted from the boy's chamber. Lady Bentanta burst out of the room, turned around and yelled. Satet had never heard anyone yell at Meren. For some reason everyone held him in awe and quite a few feared him. But not Bentanta. She'd stood in his doorway with her hands on her hips and shouted. "If you don't rest, I'll be back!" "A fearsome threat," came the bellowed reply. "To avoid another of your visitations, I'd stay in this bed as still as a corpse on the embalmer's table for a year!" After that scene Meren's mood got worse. That's when pharaoh sent a troop of musicians to cheer his friend. They'd been so successful that Bener now had them play every night until her father was lulled to sleep. Satet hoped they stayed until that boy was truly well. Once he'd regained his full strength he'd be off chasing murderers and other evildoers, and he'd leave her alone. The possibility cheered her as she reached the well. This wasn't one of the largest wells like those at the temples or the palace, but it was of a good size. A wide, brick-lined circular pit served as the access, into which had been set a spiral staircase to a platform. From the platform one could lift water by means of a rope tied to a jar. It was so late that no one was around the well, except Beauty. Satet joined the goose beside the well and saw that her pet was feasting on crumpled fig bread. Someone had been careless, probably some child entrusted with buying fresh bread who had dropped a loaf on his way home. Beauty was almost finished. Satet tried to pick up a piece of the fig bread, but the goose nipped at her fingers and honked at her. "Naughty girl!" As she bent to try again, she heard something behind her. Satet turned her head only to encounter a moving shadow. It swooped at her, and her head burst into dazzling pain. Beauty screeched and flapped her wings when Satet fell beside her. The bird scuttled out of the way before her owner hit the ground. Dazed, aware of little but the agony in her head, Satet felt her body leave the ground. She opened her eyes, glimpsed the yawning blackness beyond the spiral stairs, and felt her body drop. She cried out as her head banged against the side of the well. Darkness deeper than that of the well enveloped her as she hit the water. In the street above, Beauty the goose fussed and flapped and attacked bare toes. She honked and launched herself out of the way when her opponent tried to bash her with a long-handled weapon. The blow landed on packed earth with a crack. Beauty spread her wings and sprang into the air to fly out of reach. The weapon was withdrawn. The attacker cursed at the goose, looked over the edge of the well at the body floating in the water and faded into the shadows. * * * Meren rose from his bed, shoved aside the sheer curtains that hung from the frame surrounding it. The vent in the roof above the bed caught the night breeze and funneled it into the room as he listened to the silence. In a house of this size, with its gardens, kitchens, stables, barracks and servant's quarters, silence was a rarity. An old nightmare had torn him from sleep. In it he was back in that cell, and Akhenaten stood over him watching as Meren was branded. Belting a kilt around his hips, Meren rubbed the white scar on his inner wrist. It was in the form of the Aten, the heretic pharaoh's god. A solar disc bore sticklike rays that ended in stylized hands. He covered the scare with a leather wristband and slipped out of his chamber. After he'd been wounded the king had ordered his room guarded, but after a while Meren had persuaded pharaoh that his life was no longer in danger. So now he could slip out of the house with a brief command to his own guards to be silent regarding his absence. During his enforced rest he'd taken to going on long walks during the hours before dawn so that his daughter Bener wouldn't try to stop him. Arguing with her tired him as no exercise could. This would be his last walk, a test of strength before he went in search of Nefertiti's favorite bodyguard, Sebek. His persistence and patience with old Satet had borne fruit unexpectedly. He'd been surprised that the old woman remembered her sister's remark about the man's whereabouts. Sebek had been one of many former royal servants he'd been unable to locate. Perhaps the guard would be the one to finally provide the key that would reveal the identity of the murderer of Queen Nefertiti. He left the house and walked down the avenue between the two reflection pools to the gate. One of his guards let him out, and he set off in the direction of the temple of Ptah, the god of the city. His sleep was haunted by discord caused by the burden of searching for the queen's murderer. Oh, he knew who had supplied the poison to the cook Hunero, but someone else had conceived of the idea of killing the queen. Nefertiti had been engaged in a dangerous attempt to reconcile her heretic husband with the old gods of Egypt, the one's he'd abandoned for his new god, the Aten. The queen had been an anchor tethering her husband's wayward craft, keeping it steady when it threatened to break loose and crash against the rocks of chaos. Loosing her had nearly sent Egypt into chaos along with her pharaoh. That had been more than eleven years ago. Tutankhamun's brother, Smenkhare, had been next in succession when Akhenaten died in year seventeen of his reign, but the new pharaoh had died after only two years. Now Tutankhamun was king, and bore the burden of heeling Egypt's open wounds. A heavy burden for a boy not yet fifteen. Meren shook his head as he remembered pharaoh's determination to become a warrior. That raid against the bandits, the boy had taken too many risks. Tutankhamun was the incarnation of the king of the gods, but he was still mortal. A bandit's arrow could kill him in an instant, and then what would happen to Egypt? Turning down the avenue that led to the temple, Meren breathed deeply, taking in air laden with moisture. The floodwaters of the Nile were receding, and soon pharaoh's surveyors would spread across the land to remeasure field boundaries and estimate crop yields. During inundation the population of Memphis swelled with laborers from the country ordered into the service of temple and government projects. Royal granaries and supply houses dispensed vast quantities of grain and commodities to pay such workers who would otherwise have little to do. Unfortunately, along with this burst of activity came suits and complaints that clogged the courts. This was because noblemen, priests and bureaucrats raided each other's labor supply. Meren avoided his mentor, Ay, at this time of year because as the king's chief minister he was overworked and irritable. Of late, however, he had another reason for not wishing to deal with his old friend. He didn't want to face Ay and have to tell him his beloved and beautiful daughter, the queen of Egypt, had been murdered. He's spoken to pharaoh, who agreed with him that little good would come of causing his minister more grief. Thinking hard, Meren turned down a side street, away from the temple's massive pylon gate with its carved and painted reliefs and giant doors covered with gold. He would make his way around the walls that surrounded the temple complex and return home. Before some unknown enemy had tried to kill him a couple of months ago he'd been on the track of three suspects, men powerful enough to have arranged the queen's death. One of them was dead, Yamen the army officer. Another was Syrian Dilalu, who sold weapons to anyone with the gold to pay for them. The last was Zulaya, an elusive merchant from one of the Asiatic kingdoms, perhaps Babylon. This was one of the reasons he'd asked that one of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh stationed abroad be summoned home. He needed to speak with one of the royal agents whose task it was to keep an eye on people like Dilalu and Zulaya. Yamen had been killed before Meren could question him about the queen's murder. An unseen, unknown enemy was always there before him whenever Meren discovered someone who might shed light on the mystery. That someone had caused the deaths of the cook Hunero and her husband. He'd brought Hunero's sister to Memphis in the hope that she might remember something of use, but her memory faltered often. Meren was of the opinion that Satet deliberately forgot things that were inconvenient or frightening to her. Turning a corner Meren paused, realizing he had taken a wrong turn and ended up in an unfamiliar area. The neighborhood around the temple was old, as old as the ancient ones who built the pyramids that loomed in the distance on a clear day. Over the years the houses and storage buildings had multiplied and expanded, taking up parts of streets and creating a network of roads that dead-ended, alleys that zigzagged and looped back on themselves and burrowed into the warrens of mud brick that served as combination dwellings, mangers and workshops. Having taken one wrong turn, Meren now found himself in a narrow little alley that ended in a blank wall. At one time an exterior stair had been built against this wall. Now it consisted of five mud brick steps leading nowhere. Meren backtracked only to find himself in a street hardly wide enough for one person to pass, and this took an abrupt turn that went back the way he'd come. Meren sighed and stopped. He would have to find another stair, a complete one this time, so that he could climb high enough to see where he was from a rooftop. Luckily he spotted one a few houses down. He reached it quickly and set his foot on the bottom step. "Out for a stroll, is we?" Whipping around, Meren found the way blocked by a man with the mass of temple column. Although light was beginning to permeate the darkness of early morning he could make out only a skewed smile filled with broken teeth and eyes the whites of which had yellowed. Meren's hand went to his side. Where the scabbard for his dagger should have been there was emptiness. He hadn't brought a weapon. What madness. He always carried a dagger. That cursed nightmare must have disturbed him more than he'd thought. Meren planted his feet solidly and said, "Go away." "Not before I get my hands on that pretty belt. Give it to me." Sighing, Meren waved the man away. "I've no patience with thieves. Leave before I decide you're worth the trouble of dragging you to the city police." He should have realized the thief was too dim-witted to recognize authority when he encountered it. His rank protected him most of the time. Few commoners would dare speak to him much less steal something from him. But he'd wandered into the Caverns, the disreputable area of the city near the docks the denizens of which recognized no higher authority than the edge of a blade. If he hadn't been thinking so hard he would have realized the danger. As it was, his new friend responded to the dismissal by drawing a knife. "You got one last chance to be reasonable. Gimme the belt." As he finished speaking the man waved the knife at Meren, who grabbed his arm and jammed it against his knee. The thief grunted but didn't let go of the blade. He rammed his fist into Meren's jaw and kneed him. The blow caught Meren in the side at the spot where the arrow had pierced him. It was healed, but still sore. He cried out as his knees buckled. He caught himself by planting his palms on the ground, but fell when his attacked rained blows on him from above. He felt a knee on his back, twisted and grabbed the thief's arm as the knife came at him. Staring at the tip of the blade, Meren felt his arms quiver from the effort to hold off the man's full force. Just when he thought his strength would give way a dagger blade descended from nowhere and settled against the thief's throat. The man went still, his eyes protruding while he made a high-pitched squealing sound. "Be good enough to stop that, if you please," said a low, easy voice. Meren felt the thief remove his weight. He sat up as a dark figure herded the thief away from him. The man backed away from the dagger, eyeing the newcomer. Suddenly he growled and took a threatening step toward his enemy. The dagger snaked out and carved a neat X on the thief's belly. He yelped and clutched his stomach. "Run along now, or I'll have to kill you, and that would be so tiresome." The thief staggered away from his tormentor, turned and ran. Meren was too surprised to move. He sat on his ass, his hands braced on the ground and gaped as his rescuer cleaned the dagger, stuck it in a scabbard and whirled around to offer a hand. "Rescuing the great Lord Meren. A most edifying experience after my long absence from Egypt." Speechless, Meren stared at the small hand with its immaculate nails and the row of gold bracelets above it. He followed the delicate line of an arm to a curved shoulder, and finally his gaze found a smiling mouth of dusky crimson and eyes that tilted up slightly at the outside corners. His amazement grew as he took in a small-boned frame taught with disciplined musculature. His rescuer wore a gown of the finest and softest wool. Red with a blue border, it fastened over one shoulder and cinched at the waist with a belt of lapis lazuli and gold beads. There were few in Egypt who dressed in such a foreign style. Meren felt a flush burn up his neck to his face. "By all the gods of Egypt. Anath." "Greetings, Meren." Before he could get up, Anath grabbed his hand and hauled him to his feet. To cover his embarrassment at being rescued by a woman, even this woman, Meren busied himself brushing dirt from his kilt. Then he faced her, his features composed. "Welcome back to Egypt, Eyes of Babylon." Anath cocked her head to the side, planted her fists on her hips and studied him. Then she laughed at him. "You should have seen yourself squirming in the dirt. You've grown soft lolling about here in Egypt." Feeling his face heat again, Meren decided not to respond to Anath's teasing. She hadn't changed in the two years she'd been away. She found humor in the oddest places. She was the daughter of a nobleman called Nebwawi by a concubine. Neglected by her elderly father, Anath had been different from most girls. She had roamed the city without escort and turned up in odd places like the royal docks and temple schools to which only boys were admitted. Nebwawi had been a friend of Meren's father, and Meren had watched Anath grow up. She loved horses, spending more time in the stables than the house, and she could commune with almost any creature-cats, dogs, birds, monkeys, even the royal lions and leopards. A leopard, that's what she reminded him of, a diminutive hunting cat. Anath had inherited her mother's wildly curling black hair, but her light, gold-brown eyes were unique. Nebwawi came from a family prominent in the Delta, one that had mixed blood from Greeks and Mittannis. Whatever its origin, Anath's uniqueness served her better than beauty. Small yet athletic, she could out shoot many of his charioteers at the bow, and certainly had as much skill in driving a chariot. Still, Meren had never understood what had prompted Ay to train her to be one of the Eyes of Pharaoh. That had been at Horizon of the Aten. Anath had spent several years under Ay's tutelage. She had avoided the notice of the unpredictable Akhenaten, but at the end when pharaoh's behavior became even more unpredictable than before Ay had sent his protégé to Memphis to complete her education. Later she had gone to Tyre, then Byblos, and finally Babylon. Not yet thirty, Anath was one of the most successful of the Eyes of Pharaoh under Meren's direction. She resided in great foreign cities as the widow of an Egyptian trader. She had inherited her husband's fleet of ships that stopped at ports like Mycenae in Greece, the trading ports of Cyprus and of the Egyptian empire in Canaan and Palestine. Meren remembered her as an awkward girl in Horizon of the Aten. Always by herself, neglected and allowed to wander, she'd rush into rooms, late for meals or receptions, sweaty and smelling like horses. That was all long ago, and now she was looking at him the way she did a lame horse, the way his physician did during an examination. Meren straightened his spine and muttered his thanks for her timely intervention. His charioteers would chuckle behind his back for weeks when they found out he'd needed rescuing by a woman. Irritated, Meren forestalled the questions he could see Anath was going to ask. "What are you doing in the Caverns at this time of night?" Anath glanced up at the brightening sky. "I docked yesterday, and I was on my way to see how my horses faired after the long journey home. You know I rise early." "I remember you hardly slept." "I sleep," she said with a toss of her head. "I just don't sleep long. Life is too interesting to waste it sleeping, Meren." Somewhere nearby a donkey brayed, and they heard the scuffling and muted tap of dozens of sheep's hooves. The new day was beginning. Anath put one hand on the hilt of the dagger at her waist and swept the other in a gesture indicating that Meren should precede her. "I think I should escort you home. You shouldn't be wandering the streets in your condition." "How did you know-never mind," Meren said. He shook his head as he led the way out of the alley. "I forgot with whom I was speaking." "Pharaoh told me you ferreted out a traitor and took and arrow," Anath said as she followed him. "It seems I've come home just in time." As he walked he looked back at her, scowling. "I asked pharaoh to summon someone, Anath. You're not here to rescue me, by the gods." As he finished he stepped into an intersection and nearly ran into the path of a woman with a tall water jar balanced on her head. Anath grabbed his arm and pulled him back just in time. Meren tightened his mouth and watched the woman walk by with that steady, smooth gate required to balance a heavy jar. Then he heard Anath chuckle. Setting his jaw, he launched into the street with a quick stride. He would leave her behind. Three streets later she was at his heels, and he was the one out of breath. He gave up and slowed down. Anath drew alongside him, unperturbed. "You must be greatly troubled," she remarked mildly. "Why do you say that?" "Why else would you ask me to come home? We both know the king of Babylon is hatching plots with the Hittites, and I'm not going to find out what they are from Memphis." "You have an able assistant, as I remember. He'll manage until you return. I need to …" His words faded as they came upon the public well near his house. Several men were hefting the sodden body of an old woman up the stairs. Without a glance at Anath Meren hurried to the crowd that had surrounded the body as it was laid on the ground. Meren broke through to see the pale, flaccid features of Satet. "Stand back," he said to those around him. "Who found this woman?" "I did, lord," said a woman carrying a water jar. She made a sign against evil and cast a fearful glance at the well. "Poor Satet." "You knew her?" Meren asked. "She would come to the well and visit with those who drew water," said the woman. "I came a few moments ago and found her when I got to the bottom of the stairs. She was under the water, just hanging there." The woman swallowed hard. "I knew it was too late. She was face down, and didn't move." "I see," Meren said as he knelt beside the body. Behind him he heard Anath talking to the men who had brought the body out of the well. He lifted a length of soggy white hair. There was a wound on Satet's forehead that might have come had she stumbled on the stairs and hit her head. He'd warned the old one about wandering around the city alone, but she'd managed to slip out by herself again. Shaking his head, Meren stood and gave orders for the body to be taken to his house. His physician, Nebamun would examine it, but there was little doubt that Satet had drowned. The blow to her head wouldn't have killed her, unless she was more fragile that Meren had thought. Still, with Nefertiti's killer still free, he could never be certain that a witness like Satet hadn't died by design. Someone could have hit her and dumped her into the well. So many he'd questioned had ended up dead that he couldn't afford to assume that Satet's demise was an accident. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more suspicious he became. He didn't believe in convenient accidents or coincidences. Satet's body had abrasions on it where the face and shoulders had scraped against the well, probably as it floated in the water. Or were these signs of a struggle? Nebamun might know. Whatever the case, his enforced rest was now at an end, no matter how much his family might object. Meren walked around the well, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Anath joined him. "No one heard her cry out," she said. "No one heard her fall. Her body was stiff?" "Yes. I think she died a few hours ago." "She was a servant of yours?" Meren leaned against the wall that surrounded the well and surveyed the trampled ground. "You might call her so." He narrowed his eyes as something gleamed in the growing sunlight. "What's that?" Anath followed the direction of his gaze, picked up an irregularly shaped piece of light colored pottery and turned it over. "I don't know," she said. Meren took it from her. It wasn't pottery after all. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was a piece of ivory. "What is this doing here?" he murmured to himself. Anath gave the shell a glance and shrugged. "It's litter, Meren. Like that piece of basket over there, and those shards of pottery." "Perhaps." Meren slipped the ivory in his belt and shoved away from the wall. As he did so the woman he'd questioned hurried to him and bowed. "Lord Meren, what will we do? We can't take water from the well." "Have a magician priest purify it," Anath said. Meren nodded. "I'll send someone when I return home." "The lord is most kind and generous," the woman said. As he and Anath left the woman was surrounded by her friends and plied with questions. Anath glanced at them over her shoulder, then shook her head at Meren. "It seems to be dangerous to live in your household." "Satet might have tripped on the well stairs, Anath." "You don't believe that." Her demeanor was calm. Unlike more sheltered women, death didn't disturb her. "She might have tripped," Meren repeated. "But you're right. Since I began to investigate a certain crime, too many people have been killed." Meren glanced at Anath's calm expression. "Have you ever read the inscriptions on the pyramids of the ancient ones? There is one that speaks of great evil-the sky darkens, the vaults of the heavens quiver, and the bones of the earth tremble. If I can't find the one whom I seek, he will cause all that to happen. I fear for the harmony and balance of Egypt." "One man will do this?" He stopped and looked down at the Eyes of Babylon. "One man, Anath, succeeded in banishing the gods of Egypt. I no longer ask what one man can do if he has the courage, or the madness with which to accomplish evil." END CHAPTER |
