Lynda Robinson: Slayer of Gods

Vague dissatisfaction settled over Meren. At first he’d thought Zulaya was taunting him, trying to confuse him by saying he ought to know who was really behind the queen’s murder. Now he wasn’t so certain. Something was missing. Before he could follow this line of thought Anath suddenly moved into his arms and gave him an imploring look.

“Forgive me, Meren.”

Meren took her wrists and gently disengaged himself. “You told me what was between us was false.”

“Not all of it. I have always been fond of you, my love.”

“I don’t think so, Anath. One seldom contemplates killing one’s true love.”

“That was a mistake. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

Shaking his head, Meren said gently, “Anath, I think you’ve always known what you were doing. Right now you’re worried I’ll seek to avenge myself upon you, and you must have a low opinion of me if you think I’ll succumb to you a second time.”

“Ah, Meren.” Anath faced him squarely, her gaze forthright. “You’re wrong to think I have no feeling for you. I do admire you. How can I help it when we’re so alike?” She sighed, her eyes filling with tears. “You’re right. You’re not a fool. But I would have won this battle of ours had it not been for a cat and a monkey. I think I wanted that victory more than anything I’ve ever wished for in my life. So you see, I do love you, in my way.”

“I beg you to spare us both,” Meren said in a choked whisper. Unable to bear watching her anymore, he signaled the royal guards. He kept his gaze fixed on a beer jar until he was certain she’d gone.

He was still staring at the jar when he heard an exclamation. Tutankhamun was kneeling on one knee beside Zulaya’s body. Meren hurried to his side and dropped to the ground. Zulaya’s robes were wet with blood, and through the hole left by the knife he could see part of a gold pendant suspended from a chain. A narrow shaft of gold ended in a stylized hand. Meren pulled the chain so that the necklace came free, knowing what he would find. Beneath his clothing Zulaya had worn the old symbol of the Aten-the sun disk with rays radiating from it that ended in those stylized hands. He exchanged startled looks with the king.

“After all these years,” Tutankhamun said. “Why would he still carry the Aten disk?”

“Perhaps he was a true follower of thy majesty’s brother, Golden One.”

Tutankhamun pulled the necklace over Zulaya’s head, rose, and stood examining it. The sun disk had been set in a hollow gold frame, and several of the stylized hands and rays were smeared with blood. The boy’s eyes took on that distant look of one who is lost in memory, and his hand closed over the sun disk, squeezing it hard.

“It is unfortunate that he was killed so quickly,” the king said. “An easy death hardly serves my majesty’s justice.”

“He will face the vengeance of the gods in the Hall of Judgment, majesty.”

“No!” Tutankhamun hurled the necklace to the ground. “I am pharaoh. It is for me to condemn and destroy traitors. I wanted him to face my vengeance!”

Meren bowed low as the king swore, got into his chariot, and drove out of the market, his face set. He thought about following and trying to ease the boy’s temper, but the shine of the gold necklace caught his eye. He picked it up. Slowly, with hesitation, he removed the wristband that covered the scar on his arm. He gazed at the white flesh distorted into the same hated symbol as the one Zulaya had worn.

I am pharaoh. It is for me to condemn and destroy traitors. Had Akhenaten been pharaoh, Meren would have been the traitor, not Zulaya.

“Pharaoh,” Meren muttered to himself. Then the necklace dropped through fingers gone suddenly cold. “Pharaoh!”

Around him soldiers helped vendors right overturned stalls. Others guided Anath’s chariot away, but Meren saw nothing. Zulaya had been telling the truth. Meren had known who was behind the murder of the queen all along.

Many had a reason to fear the great royal wife, but there had been one whose fury would have been unparalleled. The one whom she betrayed. The one who had already killed the old gods of Egypt, and thus would not hesitate to order the death of a mere queen.

“Akhenaten,” Meren whispered.

Zulaya had said it himself as he died-Nefertiti betrayed pharaoh by reconciling with Amun. Zulaya had found out and told the king, and Akhenaten had ordered him to kill his wife. Meren knew only too well how Akhenaten dealt with members of his court who failed to adhere solely to the Aten.

The murder had been designed so that the manner of her death concealed how his own wife had betrayed pharaoh. And Akhenaten had played the devastated royal husband with sickening accuracy.

No wonder Thanuro had left the royal court and arranged his own death. He had feared Akhenaten, and with good reason. No king would tolerate the existence of one who knew such a secret. Undoubtedly Akhenaten had been quite willing to see Thanuro go.

Feeling ill, Meren heard his name called. Kysen was coming toward him accompanied by several royal bodyguards. He lifted a hand in salute. Everything around him seemed unreal. It was the shock of the truth that made him feel as if the ground was crumbling beneath his feet. What was he going to tell Ay? He’d meant to tell his old mentor everything once he’d exposed the murderer. Could he tell the fragile old man that the husband he’d chosen for his daughter had ordered her death?

“Wait,” Meren said as Kysen walked up to him. He held his hand up for silence and walked away. He went back to the beer stall, picked up a jar with a strainer, and poured beer into a cup the beer seller held out to him. He drained the cup and wiped his lips.

For years he’d suspected that Ay had had knowledge of Akhenaten’s sudden and unexplained death. Had Ay discovered his daughter had been murdered and avenged her? Meren griped the edge of the stall while he followed this line of reasoning. Ay might have known all along that Akhenaten was to blame. This explained why he’d sent Meren away, so that he could devise the death of a pharaoh.

And Meren dared not ask him for the truth. All he had was suspicion. He had no real proof that Akhenaten had been the one who commanded Thanuro to kill the queen. Meren closed his eyes, and his shoulders drooped.

His inquiry must come to a halt. To pursue it further risked chaos, and Egypt had suffered enough. Tutankhamun had endured too much. Meren wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that the murderer of Nefertiti was Akhenaten, Slayer of Gods.

Drawing himself up, Meren straightened and walked back to the waiting men. Kysen searched his face, and Meren smiled bleakly. As he gazed at his son, the weight on his soul lifted. The long ordeal was over, and justice of a sort had been accomplished. He might have played the fool along the way, but personal humiliation was nothing compared to restoring rightness and order. Anath’s betrayal was a raw wound, and he needed a healing salve.

“Kysen, I’m going to visit Tefnut. We’re all going. With any luck, I’ll reach her in time for the birth of her first child.”

“A great event,” Kysen said.

Meren grasped Wind Chaser’s bridle and stroked his nose. “Indeed, my son. And one that will renew my ka, which has been sorely tried of late.” They got into the chariot, and Meren slapped the reins. “Oh, and Ky, remind me to send someone to drag old Dilalu out of hiding. If I forget, he’ll stay underground like a fat old scorpion and then escape completely.”

Turning the chariot around, Meren drove out of the market leaving the body of Zulaya to the royal guards, and the flies.