Lynda Robinson: Slayer of Gods

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 concubine, fathered by a nobleman called Nebwawi. Neglected by her elderly father, Anath had roamed the city without escort and turned up at odd places like the royal docks and in 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, where Greeks and Mittannis intermarried with Egyptians. Whatever its origin, Anath’s uniqueness served her better than her beauty did. Small yet athletic, she could outshoot 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 managed to avoid the notice of the unpredictable Akhenaten, but when pharaoh’s behavior became even more erratic, Ay had sent his protégée to Memphis to complete her education. Later she had gone to Tyre, then Byblos, and finally Babylon.

Not yet thirty, Anath was now one of the most successful of the Eyes of Pharaoh under Meren’s direction. She lived in Babylon most of the time, posing as the wealthy widow of an Egyptian trader. She had inherited her father’s fleet of ships, and they plied their trade at ports like Mycenae in Greece, the cities in Cyprus, and those in the Egyptian empire in Canaan and Palestine. Her wealth gave her power, which in turn gave her access to foreign courts and kings. However, Meren still 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 fared 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 an 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 to help uncover a murderer, 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 gait required to balance a heavy jar. Then he heard Anath chuckle. Setting his jaw, he launched into the street with a quick stride. With luck, he would leave her behind. Three streets later she was still 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. Meren hurried to the crowd that surrounded the body as it was laid on the ground. He 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 floating there.” The woman swallowed hard. “I knew it was too late. She was facedown, 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 her soggy white hair. A wound on Satet’s forehead 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 than 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 witnesses 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 certain 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.

“No one heard her cry out,” Anath said, as she rejoined him. “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.