Lynda Robinson - Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

Wah had looked up from the document and said, "Ah, young Lord Meren, come see what I've done."

He shoved the papyrus, causing it to unroll across the room. An assistant stopped it and placed a weight on the end. With a sweep of his arm, Wah indicated the endless lines of cursive hieroglyphs.

"It's nearly finished, the accounting of the estates of the old gods. I'm working on the decree of transfer."

Meren said nothing, but Wah took no notice.

"Think of it. The whole of the vast estates of Amun will soon be transferred to the service of the one god, the Aten., Think of it." Now Wah seemed to have forgotten Meren and began speaking to himself. "I'll be overseer of the cattle of the Aten."

"All of them?" Meren asked. "You're taking the estates of all the gods? What will the priests do? And the artisans, the laborers, their families? They can't all work in the temples of the Aten. How will they live?"

"I'm busy, Lord Meren."

Yes, Wah had been one of the busy officials of the new order. He had prospered, receiving estates and offices for his labors. Uncle Hepu had also prospered. Unlike his brother Amosis, Hepu had measured the ruthlessness of the heretic pharaoh accurately and conformed, eschewing all other gods but the Aten. Meren remembered Hepu's devotion. It had seemed as convincing as his current devotion to the old gods. But then Akhenaten had died, and the wrath of the kingdom fell upon those most directly connected with the disestablishment of the old gods. Self-serving as ever, Hepu had retired from court before the storm of retribution broke. Wah hadn't been as clever. He'd been trying to get his place at court back for five years.

Meren was one of those Wah had importuned in his efforts to regain favor. Having few good memories of his time at Horizon of Aten, he wasn't anxious to further the career of a man so closely allied with the heretic king. Akhenaten had killed his father, nearly killed him. Meren still had nightmares in which Akhenaten's black eyes appeared, staring at him with that eerie look of obsidian fire. And always there was that secret burden of guilt over Akhenaten's death. He had allowed Ay to send him away from court when he suspected a movement to rid the kingdom of Akhenaten. When he returned, pharaoh was already dead. Ever since, Meren had wondered if he could have prevented the king's death if he'd stayed. Would he have tried to save Akhenaten, or let him die? Did he really want to know?

As Meren replied to Wah's inquiries about his family's health, he was conscious of renewed annoyance at the way Idut had ambushed him with this feast. Of all the guests, this one made him the most uncomfortable by inciting haunted memories. But even if Wah hadn't reminded him of old wounds, he was still tiresome.

He didn't like Wah. He didn't even like the way the man looked. His ears looked like a pair of dates. His cheeks had pronounced folds that deepened into caverns when he smiled, and there were folds over his eyes that made his deep-sunk eyes almost vanish when he smiled, He was so long and thin he had to fold himself into chairs, and his knees stuck up high when he sat on a stool.

Worst of all, Wah had a nasal voice and eyes that watered so that the kohl around them was always streaked. However, the habit Meren couldn't forgive was the way the man kept a pouch or basket filled with dates about his person and continually popped the fruits into his mouth. He was constantly chewing, so that conversing with him was like talking to a cow.

Meren's luck improved when Idut appeared just as Wah finished his long list of inquiries.

"Ah! Here's Idut." He was already leaving the porch as his sister joined Wah. "My apologies, Wah, but I just remembered I have some royal correspondence to attend to. Idut will give you a proper welcome."

Ignoring his sister's warning looks and Wah's open mouth, Meren scurried through the reception room and the central hall and back to his rooms. He darted around a slave carrying a tray of used dishes. Shoving open the door, he was about to close it when a thick-fingered hand planted itself on the portal and shoved it back open.

"There you are," said Hepu. He called over his shoulder, "You were right, my dear, he's in his rooms."

Meren pushed at the door. "I'm busy, Hepu."

Hepu pushed back, catching Meren off balance. "Not too busy for your old uncle and aunt."

Meren tried to shove the door and Hepu without success. Nebetta crowded in behind her husband, and the battle was lost. Retreating into his bedchamber, Meren summoned Zar and requested his scribe and the cases that contained his correspondence.

"You have to forgive me, uncle, but I've much work to do. I've just received letters from pharaoh, may he have life, health, and prosperity. They must be answered at once."

Nebetta waddled over to Meren's favorite chair, one of those Sit-Hathor had designed for him, and settled herself in it. The woven seat creaked, making him wince.

Hepu, who had an armful of papyri, handed a few rolls to his wife and said, "You're being most negligent in your duties as a host, nephew."

"I told you I have correspondence."

"Dear, dear Meren, we're worried about you," said Nebetta in her breathy, too-sweet voice.

"Yes, my boy," Hepu said. "I see you're still favoring your shoulder. No doubt it's those wounds that make you so discourteous to your elders. Aunt Cherit complains that she hasn't seen you since you arrived." Meren tried to speak, but Hepu held up his hand and plunged on. "No, no, no, don't beg my forgiveness. In a way, your conduct has benefited me and soon many others, because I'm going to write an Instruction on the proper behavior of a noble host."

"But that's not what we want to speak to you about," Nebetta said. "I think you suspect our little plot already. Come, you can't pretend you didn't know we want you to marry again."

Meren stared from Nebetta's lumpy face to Hepu's self-satisfied one. Nebetta was one of the few people he knew who might undergo the judgment of the gods in the Hall of the Two Truths and utter the negative confession without protective spells. As far as he knew, she had never done crimes against anyone, blasphemed a god or robbed the poor, killed or damaged offerings in the temples, or committed any of the other sins that could get one fed to the Devourer.

But if she or Hepu passed the weighing of the heart against the feather of truth and were admitted into the netherworld, he would throw himself to the Devourer. He'd rather be eaten by that monster, part lion, part crocodile, than spend eternity with these two.

Nebetta left her chair to stand beside him, touched his arm with a cold, damp hand, and regarded him with faded eyes. "Dear, dear Meren, it's been a long time since Sit-Hathor went to the West. And you're still alone. It's time you married again. End this lonely existence."

"Yes," Hepu said as he set his bundle of papyri down on a table. "I've made a list of suitable alliances. It's in here somewhere. Of course, we were hoping you'd think of Bentanta. After all, her family is connected to Treasurer Maya's and contains royal blood as well. Distant royal blood, but royal nevertheless."

What little tolerance he possessed was obliterated under this tide of muck. Meren turned his back on Nebetta, went to stand on the dais that contained his bed, and gripped one of the gilded poles that supported the canopy around it. "We had this conversation years ago. I'm surprised the memory of it faded so quickly. Do you recall what I said to you about interfering in my affairs?"

"Now-now don't curse the cool north breeze, dear Meren," Nebetta began.

Hepu was scowling at him. "We're only thinking of your welfare."

"And think of the strong sons Bentanta could give you," Nebetta said. "Why, hers are healthy and handsome, and-"