Slayer of Gods Page 11

  Taharqa spoke of the increase in traffic from south to north since pharaoh began restoration of the temples. He asked after Meren’s family and plied Anath with questions about Babylon. Then the herbalist arrived, a gray-haired Egyptian woman whose thick hands were stained and roughed from years of pounding roots, leaves, and seeds with mortar and pestle.

  “There you are at last,” Taharqa said. “I’ve nearly collapsed from the pain while you took all this time to make a simple tincture. Give it to me.”

  Undisturbed, the herbalist handed her master a tiny cup filled with a greenish liquid. Taharqa drank it in one gulp and sighed.

  “I can feel its power already.” He rubbed his temples, then waved his hand. “Go away. Having you stand there scowling at me will bring back the ache.”

  With a snort the herbalist took back her cup and left.

  “I swear by Isis and Hathor that woman is the most disagreeable wretch I’ve ever employed. Do you know she had the temerity to tell me I imagine these aches in my head? I have consulted many physicians and Nubian healers who all say I am beset with evil spirits that cause my suffering. And I do suffer, in my feet, my back, my belly. Truly I am greatly afflicted, and if she weren’t so talented I’d have sent the woman back to Thebes where I found her.” Taharqa waggled his fingers at the servants plying fans. “Faster, curse you. Those feathers are hardly moving.” Without a pause he turned and eyed Meren. “I may speak freely?”

  “The Eyes of Babylon knows more secrets than both of us,” Meren said.

  “Does she? What I want is for you to explain yourself, Meren. I hardly hear from you in months. Then suddenly I am deluged with letters full of demands. Do I know a certain half-Nubian called Sebek, once a royal guard? Where is he? Can I find him? Can I keep him safe? Tell me why I’ve stirred myself and risked a terrible ague or worse.”

  “Now, Taharqa, you know I can’t. I told you in my first letter that this is a secret matter.”

  “That’s your answer after all my trouble?” Taharqa brought the back of his hand to his forehead and sighed. “I am unappreciated. After all those years at court when I was your confidant and friend, I am reduced to a stranger, a runner of errands. My heart is broken.”

  “Have another tincture. I’m sure your herbalist has one that will mend your poor heart.” Meren tossed his bread back on the table.

  Taharqa squinted at him over his hand. “It has something to do with the court at Horizon of the Aten.” When Meren said nothing, he continued. “This Sebek was the queen’s guard. Did he steal? Was he a heretic?”

  Anath rose, set her wine aside, and went to Taharqa. She sat beside him and started to rub his temples with her fingertips, causing her host to moan and sink down on the couch. After a few minutes of her massage, Taharqa was nearly asleep. Meren watched quietly as Anath began to talk to his friend.

  “Did you find the guard Sebek?” she asked in a gentle tone.

  “Of course. He furnishes donkeys to the caravans that go to the desert gold mines and amethyst quarries.”

  “He is here, then.”

  “No, he took some animals to one of the mining camps to replace ones that died. I was waiting for him to come back when Meren sent that charioteer.”

  “Yes,” Anath breathed as she placed her palms against Taharqa’s forehead and massaged.

  “I told him all he had to do was wait for the wretched man to come back from the mining camp, but he scampered off to meet Sebek on his return route. Neither of them has come back yet.”

  “Damnation,” Meren said, setting his cup down quickly. “Why didn’t you say so? We have to find them.”

  “Nonsense. Press a little harder, Mistress Anath. Ah, yes. That’s the spot where the fiend is trying to bore a hole through my skull.”

  “Taharqa,” Meren ground out, his patience gone.

  “Listen, my friend. They should be back tomorrow. If they aren’t, then we can look for them. Or rather, you can. I’m not trotting off into the desert. Now run along and let my servants tend to you. I must take my afternoon nap, and then we’ll have the evening meal. I’ve sent for dancers from my tribe. You’ll like them.”

  The next day came and went with no sign of Sebek or Meren’s charioteer. Meren prowled Taharqa’s compound and cursed himself for not hurrying south, even though there was no certainty that Sebek would be there when he arrived. The following morning saw Meren in the street with his chariot preparing to set out with guides and his men when an old man in a dusty kilt and headcloth appeared in the company of his charioteer. The two trudged wearily down the road, slowly closing the gap between them and Meren. The charioteer saluted, and his parched lips moved with difficulty.

  “Lord, this is the one called Sebek, whom you seek. We would have been here sooner, but we encountered a small party of Nubian raiders. The garrison escorts ran them off.”

  Anath stepped into the street, heard this and asked, “What escort?”

  “I provided a letter to the garrison commander asking his assistance,” Meren said. He turned to the charioteer. “Excellent work.” He handed the old man a leather water bottle and motioned for another to be provided to the charioteer. “Abu, see that they are fed. Then bring Sebek to me in my chamber.”

  Meren watched Sebek walk slowly into the compound, then motioned to one of his men. “This interview will be recorded. Send Intef. He’s not as quick at recording as Bek, but he’s accurate.”

  “What are you doing?” Anath appeared at his side as he headed for the house.

  “Preparing to question Sebek, of course.”

  “But a formal interview might endanger him.”

  Meren stopped on the front steps and regarded Anath solemnly. “Anath, my sweet, Sebek will be in danger until he talks to me. After that, he’ll be much safer because it will be too late to prevent him from revealing whatever it is that the evil one wishes to conceal. You know this.”

  “Oh, I suppose you’re right. It’s just that I trust no one, not even your famous charioteers.”

  Glancing around to make sure no one was watching them at the moment, Meren bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re worried about me, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not certain I care for this ability of yours to read my heart,” Anath said with a wry smile.

  “Fear not,” Meren said. “This drinker of blood has tried many times to get rid of me and failed. I’ll wager he’s stopped trying.”

  Anath gave him a disgusted look and continued up the steps. “Meren, I’m the Eyes of Babylon. Please don’t say fatuous things to me.”

  He watched her progress, the curve of her hips as they moved beneath the dark blue of her shift, the gold-brown smoothness of her bare arms. “Forgive me,” he called with a note of amusement in his voice. “I forgot to whom I was speaking.”

  She didn’t answer or turn around. Meren grinned and followed her inside. A little over an hour later he was seated in his chamber beside Anath when Sebek was escorted into the room. The old man must have had close to six decades. His silver hair was close-cropped to frame a face like a brooding jackal. He had the superior height of his Nubian mother, but his skin was like the Black Land after it lay beneath the summer sun—faded brown and parched. Deep furrows lined his brow and formed crevices that went from his nose to the outside corners of his mouth. Yet despite these signs of age Sebek’s body was well muscled. His body had not begun to sink in on itself as many did with age.

  Meren accepted Sebek’s humble greeting. Anath remained silent and watchful.

  “Finding you has been difficult,” Meren said.

  “I beg forgiveness, lord.”

  “It is recorded that you received a grant of land near Heliopolis, but you never went there. Why is that?”

  Sebek glanced around the room at the charioteer who was serving as scribe, at the guards who stood beside the door, at Anath. Meren watched as a familiar shuttered look passed over the old man’s face.

  “I found that I missed my homel
and, lord.”

  Meren rose, causing Sebek to bow his head. He drew near the old man and said quietly, “Come with me.” He crossed the room to the farthest corner, out of earshot of anyone. Sebek stood before him with his gaze lowered. “Lift your gaze, Sebek.” When the guard looked directly at him, he went on. “I have come about the death of the great royal wife Nefertiti, the justified. I think you know why.”

  Sebek’s eyes widened, but he remained silent.

  “Sebek, I have a great deal of patience, but in the last few months I’ve nearly been killed several times and the experience has made me irritable and impatient. Therefore I will be more direct than is my custom. I have discovered that Queen Nefertiti did not die of the plague as was thought. She was poisoned.” He stopped at the garbled sound that came from Sebek.

  “By all the gods of Egypt, I knew it!” the old man said in a low, urgent voice.

  Chapter 10

  Gratification flooded Meren. At last he’d found someone who’d witnessed the events surrounding the queen’s death and had lived to speak of it.

  “Pharaoh, may he live in health and prosperity, has ordered me to pursue her killer, and this I will do. I must know what you know, and you must tell me quickly, for the evil one responsible for her majesty’s death has great power. He has killed many to preserve his secret. If he knew I wanted to speak to you, he’d have killed you. Your safety lies in telling me everything you know. Once you’ve spoken, there is no profit in killing you.”

  Sebek wet his lips. “I… never knew for certain what happened, lord. To speak against great men, it is impossible for a low one such as I.”

  “Sebek, I haven’t time for your humility. Pharaoh commands that you speak.”

  “Yes, lord.”

  Meren nodded and returned to his chair. Sebek sat on the floor facing him. Meren glanced at Intef, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor with a sheet of papyrus stretched over his kilt. The charioteer dipped his rush pen in black ink.

  “Regnal year five,” Meren began. “Under the Horus of Gold, Who Elevates the Crowns and Satisfies the Gods, King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Nebkheprure, Son of Ra, Tutankhamun, given life.” He glanced at the scribe. “Write the date, Intef, and say, ‘On this day, thus testifies the guard Sebek before Meren, hereditary prince, the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh.’ ”

  Meren inclined his head at Sebek. “Begin as you will, and speak of the events surrounding the illness of the great royal wife, Nefertiti, justified.”

  Sebek glanced around the room at Meren, at the charioteer serving as scribe, the others beside the door, and finally at Anath. His brow wrinkled as he beheld her, and he almost spoke, but seemed to think better of it. Turning his gaze back to Meren, Sebek cleared his throat and embarked upon his testimony.

  It was year fourteen of the reign of the pharaoh Akhenaten, the heretic. The day the queen fell ill I was standing guard outside her rooms, waiting for her majesty to appear for a great reception. This was after pharaoh had scandalized the whole of the Two Lands by making the great royal wife king at his side. Such a thing had not been done before, to make a wife king while pharaoh lived. All of us were amazed.

  I remember the confusion among us guards. How were we to conduct ourselves before a woman who was a king? I puzzled over this, prayed to Amun to guide me—secretly, because, of course, to pray to Amun was forbidden. The god did not answer, and I could tell that her majesty’s heart was full of confusion too. For a full day after pharaoh told her what he planned she kept to her rooms and refused all nourishment.

  Finally the priest Thanuro came to us bearing instructions from the minister Tutu. We were henceforth guards of a king. The ceremonies and rights of a pharaoh were to be performed for the great royal wife. Such orders did nothing to dispel our confusion, for a king is a man. That is what the word means. How can a woman be a king?

  We did as we were ordered. Pharaoh’s word was accomplished, but we were unhappy. Queen Nefertiti was great of heart, a defender of order, harmony, and the old gods. Her dismay failed to ebb as the days passed.

  On the morning of the great reception of the viceroy the queen—I must call her so, for that is what she would have wished—the queen was agitated. A guard hears things, you understand, and I was there when she spoke of her reluctance to appear yet again in the raiment of a king. Her hands shook, and she was flushed. She even raised her voice to her women, something she hardly ever did. She refused to eat until one of the noble ladies, one who was a close friend, persuaded her to sample a dish of lamb in a dill sauce. The queen complained of a queasy stomach, and sent for her physician. The physician gave her a tonic, but her majesty found it bitter and didn’t finish it.

  After an hour of ministration the queen felt able to dress. I was outside her bedchamber while she readied herself for the ceremony. At last she appeared. It was a sight I will never forget, for she seemed aflame. Her eyes glittered with the brightness of Ra, and her skin was as red as carnelian. Her neck seemed too fragile to hold up the double crowns of a pharaoh, and she swayed slightly as she walked.

  The Lord Meren was there when she entered the audience chamber and collapsed. Many were there. We carried her majesty back to her bedchamber and summoned the royal physicians. They stared and poked and mumbled. Then they gathered in a corner like a flock of pigeons and fumbled with medical scrolls and argued.

  Meanwhile I sent a guard to pharaoh’s quarters and set more men around the queen’s rooms to make sure no one came in who didn’t belong there. Her women tried to persuade her to take an infusion ordered by the physician, but all the queen would take was water.

  Days passed during which her majesty seemed to get better only to grow worse. When she improved, her women could persuade her to take food. There was a little maid, a favorite of the queen’s, who could always convince her to eat a small meal in the morning. Until she grew worse. Once the plague took hold for good, the queen ordered herself moved to the smaller palace where she wouldn’t be a danger to pharaoh and her daughters.

  My men grew afraid, but I told them if anyone tried to leave, I would kill him. The great royal wife had been good to us, given us increased rations to feed our families, sponsored our sons in the army and navy, given rich gifts at births and marriages. She defended us against complaint and interference. When had any of us served such a mistress? The queen even sent her physician to my wife when she was dying. Never has there been such a queen.

  And so we stayed. Some of her women were afraid to attend her. They pretended to be sick to escape the duty. Most remained, though, even when it was clear that the queen would die. The weaker the queen grew the fewer people she received. She sent Prince Tutankhamun away as soon as she became ill. The priest Thanuro annoyed the queen, always had, and she refused to see him at all.

  I remember how hard it was to stand guard. To see the parade of physicians dwindle as hope faded. The palace was filled with whispers and chants against disease demons.

  Two days before she died the queen summoned me and ordered her bed carried into the sunken garden. My men and I obeyed and set the bed between two columns facing the greenery. The queen smiled at the sight of the poppies and cornflowers growing there, and one of the women started crying. The laborers crept around the garden watering the flower beds and weeping silently.

  The next day a noblewoman sent a dish prepared by her own hand, but the great royal wife was too ill to do more than taste it. Prince Usermontu came several times from pharaoh to inquire after her majesty. The last time he stayed but a moment and hurried away. Then pharaoh came, and we remained on duty throughout the night. The maids said that the queen had sunk into a stupor from which no one could wake her, not even pharaoh. We knew then that her end approached.

  I was almost asleep on my feet early the next morning when a great wail startled me. I rushed into the queen’s chamber and saw the living god throw himself across the body of the great royal wife. Lord Ay was holding the queen’s hand. He just sat there staring at
nothing while pharaoh wept. Suddenly the king rose up over her, threw back his head, and bellowed like a fiend of the underworld. Then Prince Usermontu came in and shouted at me to leave. Soon after that the priest Thanuro appeared with a company of pharaoh’s guards and dismissed the queen’s guards. I never saw the queen again.

  A long silence filled the room after Sebek finished speaking. Meren watched Intef’s pen brush across the papyrus, listing the names of the witnesses.

  “A good accounting,” he said. “And now, Sebek, I have questions. The first I think you already expect. Do you know who poisoned the great royal wife Nefertiti?”

  When Meren asked the question all movement in the room ceased. Intef’s pen froze in the middle of a word. The other charioteers hardly blinked, and Anath became still.

  “No, lord,” Sebek said. “I don’t know who might have poisoned the great royal wife.”

  Meren studied the old man. Sebek had been Nefertiti’s most trusted bodyguard. The great Queen Tiye had appointed him. Meren knew he’d gone everywhere with Nefertiti. But Sebek had retired as soon as he could after the queen died. He hadn’t transferred to another royal household even though he would have been welcome. Tutankhamun had a great affection for those who had served Nefertiti well, and Sebek would have been assured a high place under the boy king.

  Sebek’s voice vibrated with emotion when he spoke of Nefertiti. The queen had liked and trusted the guard, who had not been afraid to tell her the truth when asked. Sebek’s story was the truth, Meren decided, but not the complete truth. As he watched the old man Meren toyed with the wide band of gold on his wrist. Hinged so that it formed two curved halves, the bracelet was inlaid with crystal and amethyst. His fingers stilled, then he lifted his hand and signaled to Abu.

  “This interview is concluded.”

  The charioteers left, and Sebek rose to go as well.