Slayer of Gods Read online

  Tutankhamun stared into Meren’s pain-filled eyes, nodded, and lapsed into a thoughtful silence. Then he raised his gaze to Meren’s once more. “It makes no sense, this attempt to force you to give up your search. Surely the evil one expects you to do as you propose, make a pretense of complying while secretly proceeding with your inquiries.”

  “Thy majesty is wise,” Meren said. He drew an unsteady breath. “This abduction is more than it appears. It is a message to me. I am to understand that the evil one can harm me through my family at any time should he find it necessary.”

  “Can he?”

  Meren looked away from the king’s steady gaze. “Yes.”

  “Such power implies great wealth and cunning.” Tutankhamun studied his heavy electrum signet ring. “Too much wealth, too much cunning. My majesty cannot allow such a subject to go free. You understand this, Meren.”

  “I do, Golden One.”

  “You have seen to it that the rest of your family are protected?”

  “Aye, majesty.”

  Tutankhamun frowned. “You must have threatened him in some way for the evil one to resort to abduction.”

  “I’ve done little, majesty. I went to Horizon of the Aten, then to Syene to question the royal bodyguard Sebek. I think this abduction was planned after the evil one failed to ruin me in thy majesty’s eyes. What I’ve learned of late isn’t remarkable.” Meren gave the king a report of his activities.

  “Prince Usermontu, the two Asiatics, and Lord Pendua,” pharaoh said. “I cannot imagine Pendua is the font of all this evil intrigue. He isn’t known for his subtlety or the refined intelligence of his heart.”

  “Yet such a character would serve as excellent concealment for criminal activities. No one would suspect such a man.” Meren shook his head and sighed. His head felt like it was stuffed with papyrus pulp. “Thy majesty’s advisors were right to withhold favor from those whose avarice caused suffering under the old pharaoh. I’ve been reviewing a few records from the last years of the reign. Many of them had already received rewards of land, cattle, even gold in amounts far beyond any given for the kind of services they performed. Usermontu and Pendua certainly did. In fact, they were given more than most.”

  Tutankhamun ran a finger along the chariot’s handrail. “What are you saying?”

  “That Queen Nefertiti threatened to cut off their source of riches, and one of them might have killed her for it.”

  “Killing her did no good,” the king said. “They lost their positions at court when I came to the throne.”

  “But the murderer couldn’t have foreseen the death of Akhenaten and Smenkhare or thy majesty’s actions.”

  Tutankhamun drew nearer and asked quietly, “What will you do now?”

  “The hardest thing I have ever done, majesty. I shall do nothing. It may drive me to madness.” He flinched when the king put a hand on his arm and squeezed.

  The touch of the living god conferred great honor and favor. It also provoked the enmity of jealous courtiers, but all Meren could think of was how useless his intimacy with the king was in the face of Bener’s disappearance.

  “My dear friend,” Tutankhamun said in a low whisper. “I shall call upon my father Amun to protect you and Bener and all your family. I like your daughter. She can weigh hearts on the balance scale and isn’t often fooled by liars or charlatans. She doesn’t stare with her mouth open or titter and simper at me like so many noblewomen do.”

  Meren managed a brief smile. “She’s the most practical and sensible of my daughters in many ways, but she isn’t sensible about her proper sphere. It may have been her meddling in my affairs that provoked this abduction. She came to the evil one’s attention by interfering in my investigation.”

  “It is unwise to allow women too much power, it’s true.”

  Tutankhamun’s gaze grew unfocused, and Meren wondered briefly if he was thinking of Queen Ankhesenamun. He reflected painfully that Bener would disagree with their opinion.

  “Not all women are as wise and clever as the great Nefertiti, majesty.”

  “I know,” the king said.

  “If thy majesty will permit, I will return to Golden House,” Meren said.

  “To do nothing.”

  “With elaborate care, my king.”

  “Very well,” Tutankhamun said. “But, Meren, remember. This drinker of blood must be exposed and destroyed.” He searched Meren’s face and went on. “No matter the cost.”

  Meren felt his heart contract painfully. “Yes, Golden One. No matter the cost.”

  At home Meren did as he’d planned. He refused an invitation to a feast that arrived by messenger from the high priest of Ptah. When Maya arrived full of concern and curiosity to inquire after his health, he hid in his bedroom and protested his inability to receive visitors due to extreme fatigue. Out of sight in his office he conducted the business of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, receiving royal messengers from all parts of the empire, studying reports from the city police of Memphis and Thebes, dispatches from the desert police, royal garrisons, the army and navy. He looked at dozens of papyri until he realized he was reading words without comprehending them, listening to heralds and messengers without hearing, signing documents without understanding them.

  The hours crawled by, each moment made hideous with fear for his daughter. As night fell and the moon rose Kysen returned from the Caverns wearing that pungent mixture of odors characteristic of that area—beer, dust, and goat dung. Meren thought he caught a hint of the exotic perfume he connected to the Divine Lotus. Kysen wiped sweat from his brow, put his back to one of the columns in Meren’s office, and sank to the floor with a sigh.

  “Othrys has heard nothing about Bener. Neither have Ese or that wretch Tcha. Whoever took her has kept a closed mouth about it.” Kysen’s head listed backward, and he closed his eyes. “Dilalu’s house is still deserted, but all his belongings remain. Tcha thought he glimpsed the bastard once near the docks, but he isn’t sure how long ago.”

  “Tcha is a thief,” Meren said as he signed the last of a series of letters and handed them to Bek. “He has no occasion to mark his days in any manner except by how much he’s been able to steal.”

  “But at least we know Dilalu is still in the city.”

  “He was near the docks. The merchant could have sailed to Cyprus by now.”

  Kysen opened his eyes and sat up with a grimace. “Tcha said he was scurrying down an alley away from the docks.”

  Meren dropped the rush pen he’d been using, leaned forward in his chair and said, “The docks.”

  Kysen met his gaze. “Abu went with the men who searched that area. If Bener were there, he would have found her. You know that, Father.”

  “Yes, but…” Meren shook his head and sat back. “You’re right. And I dare not go myself, although—”

  “You’d feel better if you could tear every warehouse and shed apart with your own hands,” Kysen said.

  Meren nodded.

  “I have been out there searching, Father. All it does is make me feel useless and powerless.”

  “But at least you were doing something.”

  They spent a few more hours going over everything they’d found out in their investigations. By the time they finished Meren was in a peculiar state of agitation and exhaustion. Kysen studied him covertly, as if he expected his father to collapse. When Meren ordered Kysen to get some rest, he wouldn’t go until Meren also promised to shut his eyes. So as early morning approached Meren bathed and lay down. The house was silent except for the hollow deep-toned croaking of the frogs in the reflection pools.

  Usually this rhythmic serenade lulled him to sleep, but his eyes were open in the darkness long after Zar had extinguished the alabaster lamps and retired. That irksome feeling of having forgotten something had returned. His chest burned, and no matter how many times he went over every piece of information, he couldn’t identify anything that might be the source of this nagging sensation. If only he could figu
re out what he’d overlooked or forgotten, he might discover the identity of the murderer.

  But what good would it do now? Knowing who the evil one was wouldn’t save Bener. All he could do was wait, and wait, and wait. He groaned and sat up. Donning a kilt, he padded out of his rooms, across the reception hall, and across the front courtyard. There Abu stood talking to the men he’d posted at the front gate.

  “Lord,” the charioteer said. “You should be resting.”

  “I can’t.” He wondered if Abu could read in his voice the panic that threatened to engulf him.

  “There is no word of her, lord. At least lie down. I will come to you the moment I know anything.”

  “Don’t tell me to rest,” Meren snapped.

  He flung himself away from the group by the gate and strode toward one of the reflection pools that lay between the perimeter wall and the house. If he didn’t master himself, he would do something reckless or worse, go mad.

  “Lord Meren!”

  Meren turned to find Irzanen rushing through the gate, and after him, holding his hand, stumbled a slight figure.

  Without a word Meren raced toward them, his heart pounding. He lunged, caught Bener in his arms, and squeezed her so hard she let out a squeak of protest. He babbled at her, demanding to know if she was well, what had happened to her, why she didn’t cry out, and a thousand other fervid questions. After a long while he calmed enough to be able to put her down, but kept hold of her. She was trembling and crying silently.

  “Did they hurt you?” he asked again with a fierce, rough tone.

  “No, Father.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Through her tears Bener said, “I ought to know whether I’m hurt or not, Father.”

  If she could make such a retort, she was well. The relief that flooded his body nearly turned his legs to water. His throat knotted, and he could do nothing but stand there and hold Bener.

  Abu appeared, grinning. “I posted men on the streets around the house to watch for her.”

  “She just appeared around a corner,” Irzanen said, hovering near Bener. “There was no one with her.”

  Bener’s voice shook. “They took me to the square near the temple of Ptah and set me free, so I came home.”

  Meren silently thanked all the gods at once, then spoke to the jubilant Irzanen. “Go to Lord Kysen and tell him his sister has been released.”

  Holding Bener at arm’s length, he examined her from head to foot before speaking again. “Who took you?”

  “May the gods damn him to oblivion,” Bener said as she wiped her eyes on the hem of her gown.

  “Who was it?”

  “I don’t know! I was mad at Irzanen and wanted to walk awhile before I returned to the guests, so I went down the path to the garden, and he grabbed me. He was hiding in the shadows beside one of the incense trees.”

  “Did his voice sound familiar? Was he a big man? Did you see or hear anything while he held you?”

  “Father, please.” Bener threw up her hands. “He dropped a foul-smelling sack over my head and held a knife to my side. I had no chance to see anything then or later. Afterward they kept me in a room with shuttered windows. Most of the time I was bound, gagged, and blindfolded.” She bit her lip and sobbed. “I couldn’t see, I couldn’t see anything, and I thought they were going to kill me. He told me to give you a message.” Her voice rose, quivering. “He said—tell Lord Meren that my reach is as long as the Nile, my vision like the falcon and the owl, my power greater than pharaoh’s. I could reach her if you sealed her in the mightiest pyramid.”

  She sobbed again. Meren cursed and picked her up. Holding his weeping daughter, he shouted over his shoulder. “Abu, send for the physician.”

  Chapter 14

  Kysen had seldom seen his father in a rage. The Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh was known for his brilliance, for his mastery of intrigue and diplomacy, but above all for his precise self-control. For years Kysen had tried to emulate his father’s discipline, and he marveled now that Meren could restrain his fury at Bener in order to question her about her abductors.

  The sun was up by the time the physician Nebamun had examined her. She had washed and eaten, and now she was resting on a couch beneath an arbor in the garden. Anath had joined them, and she and Kysen were watching Meren guide his daughter through another description of her or-deal His gentle queries were designed to prod her memory, but there was little to be gained.

  “Take time to think,” Meren said. “You heard nothing unusual while you were being held? No other voices, no animals, no children, no sounds like someone grinding grain or paddling through water?”

  “I’m sorry, Father. I suppose there was no unsealed window or vent in the room.” Bener’s eyes were red from weeping, but she was calmer. She looked tired and unhappy.

  “And you’re certain you’ve never previously heard the voices of the ones who held you.”

  “Yes, I’m certain, but there were three of them, I think.”

  “Were they voices of young men or old ones?”

  “Neither.” Bener sighed. “They could have had twenty years or forty.” She brightened and sat up on the couch. “But they weren’t noblemen.”

  Meren approached her and asked, “How do you know?”

  “They spoke more like Kysen did when he first joined the family,” Bener said.

  Kysen said, “That’s hardly surprising. There are far more commoners than nobles.”

  “But it does mean they weren’t foreigners,” Anath said, “which eliminates Dilalu and Zulaya, who employ Asiatics for the most part.” She sat down beside Bener and hugged her. “I was so worried about you.”

  Bener rested her head on Anath’s shoulder. “I thought they were going to kill me.”

  Kysen watched Meren as he walked away, his arms folded over his chest, his head down. Meren strolled among the flower beds for a while, and then slowly walked back to the group under the arbor.

  “You should get some rest, Bener,” he said. “But before you go I give you this command. You are never again to involve yourself in my work.”

  Bener jumped to her feet. “But, Father, it’s not my fault that I was taken.”

  “Perhaps not, but had you remained within your proper sphere, the idea of abducting you might not have occurred to the murderer.”

  “But—”

  “Silence!”

  Meren’s roar made Kysen jump. Anath gave a start and scowled at Meren. Bener skittered backward and would have stumbled had Kysen not steadied her. Meren’s glittering gaze fixed on his daughter, and Kysen was suddenly glad he hadn’t been the one abducted.

  “I have spoken, and there will be an end to your defiance,” Meren said, his voice vibrating with suppressed anger. “And to ensure your compliance I’m assigning a bodyguard to watch you.”

  “Father, no,” Bener said, her eyes filling with tears.

  “Now, Meren,” Anath said, rising from the couch. “I know you’ve been badly frightened and that your fear prompts you to do this, but you must see that Bener wasn’t at fault.”

  “Stay out of this,” Meren snapped.

  Anath’s eyes narrowed, and Kysen held his breath. The Eyes of Babylon didn’t tolerate dismissal well, but to his surprise she seemed to relent. Her gaze softened. Indeed her whole body seemed to soften. Her voice lowered and took on a sensual quality Kysen had never heard.

  “Meren, my love, please,” Anath said.

  She approached his father with a hip-swinging walk that astounded Kysen. He watched the golden girdle on her hips sway, noted the way the long strands of gold and turquoise beads that hung from it swished between her legs. She stopped beside his father, regarded him with her hands clasped behind her back and her head tilted up to meet his gaze.

  Meren barely looked at her, and Kysen could see that he’d grown wary.

  “What?”

  “If you’re determined to have your poor daughter watched, allow me to do it. Better a woman than one o
f your hulking charioteers.”

  Meren’s mouth had settled into a straight line, a sign of determination, but Kysen watched the line slowly curve. It wasn’t a smile, but it was close.

  Kysen glanced at Bener, who gave him a pleading look. He said, “It’s a good idea, Father. Anath can watch her more closely than a man could.”

  “You give your word she won’t escape your attention?” Meren asked.

  “Of course,” Anath said. “I’ll stay here for a few days. She needs someone right now.”

  Meren brooded silently, then nodded. “Very well.”

  “Good,” Anath said. “Come, Bener. We’ll go to your room. I have a potion from a wise woman of Babylon that will help you get some sleep.”

  As the two women left Kysen went to stand beside Meren. “Father, what was that all about?”

  “What?” Meren asked as he watched the women.

  “Meren, my love? I’ve never heard a woman address you like that.”

  “I am happy to have provided you with a new experience,” Meren said.

  Kysen waited, but Meren said nothing further. It was useless to ask any questions. When his father decided to be circumspect, only a royal command could make him reveal anything. Something had happened between Anath and Meren on the journey to Syene. There was a subtle intimacy in the way they talked to each other, an almost tangible and equally intimate tension between them. Kysen raised his brows and gave his father a sideways glance, but Meren refused to meet his eyes.

  There had been other women, of course, but Meren had never allowed any of them to behave toward him as Anath had. An unspoken assumption lay between the two that each had a certain right to the other. It was this understanding that was the source of Kysen’s amazement and which convinced him, as he left his father in the garden, that Meren and Anath were more than lovers.

  The waning of the day saw Kysen in his guise as Nen enter the house of Othrys. Othrys had saved Meren’s life not long ago, and he was privy to their search for Nefertiti’s killer. The pirate lived in a labyrinthine dwelling of Greek design with a hall dominated by circular central hearth and a clerestory window high above it. Two muscle-burdened guards became his intimate friends the moment he appeared, watching his every movement, preventing him from straying. A steward guided him through the maze of rooms and corridors, on to a loggia and into a garden. Soft, haunting music was coming from somewhere, and the farther they went into the garden the closer they came to the source.