Lynda Robinson - Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

"Come back here," he said angrily. "Stay behind the trunks, or someone may see you."

The visitor loomed half a cubit taller than Meren, who looked up to meet his eyes. For a moment neither man spoke. The Nubian contented himself with folding his arms over his chest so that the muscles bulged as large as those in Meren's thighs. Undisturbed, Meren scowled at him.

"Please tell me you've brought a letter."

He got a head shake in reply.

"A spoken message?"

No reply. Meren felt his body grow cold, and scorpions seemed to sting a path down his spine.

"Then I'm right?"

A low rumble signaled the Nubian's first words. "Yes, lord."

"By all the fiends of the desert." Meren shut his mouth and thought furiously for a few moments. "I cannot believe you've done this. Leave. Before someone sees you. Meet me at the dock tonight. I'll come as soon as this cursed feast is over. You know about the feast, I assume."

"Aye, noble one."

"Very well. Go, and pray to all the gods you don't pay for this with your life."

"I already have, lord."

Meren hastened back inside the gate, instructed Reia and Iry to have the charioteers ready, and headed for his rooms. By now Kysen would be there. At least he'd be able to share this terrible new fear. Unfortunately, neither of them could control its source.

Kysen was waiting for him, but they weren't able to talk privately until Zar had been allowed to dress Meren for the feast. With his patience strained near to breaking, Meren hastily garbed himself in a transparent, pleated robe of the finest Egyptian linen. He slipped into gilded leather sandals and tried to stand still while Zar loaded him down with a gold necklace, heavy bracelets of gold and lapis, and the thick tresses of a court wig. He waved the servant away when the man approached with a garland for his head.

"I've got gold hanging from my arms, legs, shoulders, and ears, Zar. That's enough. Now go away."

Once the servant was gone, Kysen said, "I couldn't believe it when you wrote about Idut's feast."

"Forget the feast. You're late."

"Lord Paser was following me. I almost had to sail to Abydos, but he broke off his pursuit. He never did have much patience."

"Curse it. I thought he'd gone."

"You saw him too? I sent men after him to make sure he keeps sailing north."

"Good, because we've another difficulty-no, not a difficulty, a disaster." Meren threw up his hands. The gold and jewels on his body glittered in the lamplight. "Just now I found-"

His chamber door banged open. Meren shut his mouth as his sister swept into the room along with Bener and Isis.

"I knew you'd be here instead of in the reception hall where you're supposed to be. Come along, because I'm not leaving without you."

"I'll be there in a moment," Meren said, but Idut snatched his arm and dragged him along in her wake. Bener grabbed his other arm, while Isis grasped Kysen's hand and started chattering.

Idut pulled him out of the room. "Now, Meren."

He soon found himself standing amidst his family in the reception room, performing the ceremony of greeting for an unending procession of guests. The soothing strains of a harp filtered in from the central hall. Servants decked each guest in garlands. Others offered scent cones, those coveted unguents that, when placed on the head, melted and spread soothing oil over the guest. In this season of unremitting and desiccating heat, the unguent provided relief and soothed the skin.

Meren breathed in the scent of myrrh, lilies, and frankincense as Great-Aunt Cherit hobbled over to him on the arm of a slave.

"I want to talk to you, boy."

"Blessings of the gods, Aunt. May you feast well this night."

"Nebetta told me what you said to her. It's time someone took you in hand."

Meren glared at the slave. The woman tugged on her mistress's arm, and Idut intervened by draping a garland around Cherit's neck.

Kysen slipped away from Isis to stand beside him and stare at the group coming toward them. "By the gods, she's invited the Antefokers. Isn't that the family that's brought suit against Anhai?"

"Smile, my son. Yes. She cheated them on the weighing of the final payment for some land. Used false weights to make the copper deben seem more then they actually were. Unfortunately for Anhai, Antefoker has Syrian merchant's blood and can smell a false weight like a crocodile scents prey, and he'd rather lose his sons than one-tenth of a deben of copper. He almost attacked our cousin's dear wife. Ah, Antefoker, Mistress Nofru, how good of you to bring all three of your sons and your daughter."

Antefoker, a robust man with the square build of a block statue, hardly bowed to Meren. "I want to talk to you."

"Of course, my friend, talk, eat, drink, dance. We'll make merry the whole night. Have an unguent cone. Kysen, our good friend Antefoker and his family are here."

"Where is that woman Anhai?" Antefoker demanded.

Meren didn't answer. Turning to greet the next arrival, he was taken by surprise. Bentanta walked over to him with her graceful stride that always reminded him of the long-legged pace of a Nubian warrior. But something about her was different. Richly dressed for the feast, she wore gold ring beads threaded through her hair and an elaborate pleated robe. No, it wasn't her dress that seemed different. Usually she disturbed him with her air of calm amusement, but as they spoke, he realized that her salutation was carried out in a distracted manner. She hardly looked at him or at Kysen when his son addressed her. Then Sennefer came in with Anhai, and he forgot his curiosity.

"Don't look so disgusted, Meren," Sennefer said. "I don't see how you can when you're surrounded with such beauty."

Anhai gave her chimelike laugh. "He means his own wife. Do you not, Sennefer?"

Sennefer's smile became fixed.

"Pay her no heed. I mean all these ladies with smooth skin and, and…"

Sennefer's words faded as he encountered Meren's gaze. Bentanta had been talking to Kysen, but both broke off at the abrupt silence.

"I'm sure your compliments are intended for your wife," Meren said at last.

He would have continued, but Wah bustled into the room and swooped down on them. He was forced to introduce the man to the others.

"I know Wah," Anhai said. "He was Queen Nefertiti's steward at the North Palace when I attended her."

"Yes," Sennefer said. "My wife has spoken to me of you often."

The mention of Akhenaten's queen brought a glance from Kysen. Wah opened his mouth, but snapped it closed as Anhai praised the dead woman. Nefertiti had been a woman with the beauty of Hathor and a wisdom blessed by Toth. The delicacy of her face had masked the power she wielded through her influence over Akhenaten.

For years she had advised moderation and caution when the king wished to embark upon some mad course demanded by his god. But finally Akhenaten's appetite for extremity devoured her. She lost favor and was banished to the North Palace at Horizon of Aten. There she lived for a while, until one of the plagues sweeping across the kingdom from Syria took her. And with her went any hope of curbing Akhenaten's excesses.

Wah shifted from one foot to another like a giraffe with sore hooves. "Good lady," he said, interrupting Anhai, "I'm sure Lord Meren doesn't wish to dwell on death tonight."

"Meren lives with murder and death," Anhai retorted. "He likes killers, plots, and blood. Our poor queen's illness isn't likely to disturb him." She continued with her account.

Left to his own thoughts again, Meren recalled his gratitude to the queen. He'd always suspected that

Nefertiti had spoken to the king on his behalf after his father's death, and that it was her influence as much as her father Ay's that had saved his life. He had mourned the day she died, and long after. So many at court had been taken by that plague, which had come to ravage Egypt.