Lynda Robinson: Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

"I hate to remember her like that," Anhai was saying. She had moved next to Wah and plucked a date from the basket he carried. "You remember, Wah. The plague turned her skin red and dry, like she'd been staked out in the desert. You could hear the voice of her heart, and she had visions from her fever."

"Let us not dwell on unhappy memories." Wah smiled at Anhai, revealing his slightly brown teeth and the tip of his tongue.

Anhai examined the date and went on unperturbed. "But we all have happy memories of the Great Royal Wife Nefertiti, don't we, Wah?"

"But we're here to rejoice at Lord Meren's homecoming," Wah replied.

"I agree," Meren said. "Come, my friends. I think it's time to go in and partake of that ox my sister had sacrificed. And I hear she's brought in wine from the vineyards at Buto."

Waving the whole group forward, he herded them toward the central hall and the other guests. Inside waited tables heaving with roasted quail, beef, heron, and duck, along with grapes, stewed figs, cakes, and melons. He paused just before entering the hall, sighing and wondering how he was going to avoid being ambushed by his various relatives and the importunate Wah.

All at once there was a great crash behind him. A crowd of young men beating hand drums, barking with laughter, and stumbling over their feet invaded the room. One had fallen over a water jar stand. Another tripped over the fallen man and landed in the water, unable to right himself because he was beset with giggles. More young men streamed toward Meren, uttering hoots and imitating the cry of a hawk. Several paraded around the room with garlands and streamers of flowers. Last of all, borne on the shoulders of his comrades, brandishing a golden goblet, and singing a hunting song, came the leader of this band of drunks.

"Carry me to my host!" the leader shouted.

Meren glanced over his shoulder to find that half his guests had crowded out of the hall to witness the drunken arrival. The newcomer slid off the shoulders of his bearers to land on his feet, but his knees buckled, and he sat down hard.

"Goat's dung! My ass will be sore for a month."

Eyes red and watery, mouth slack, hard body turned flaccid with drink, he leered up at Meren and stuck out his hand.

"Help me up, O great lord, O noble prince, O Sole Companion, O great one, Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh."

Meren grasped his hand, yanked the younger man to his feet, and said coolly, "I didn't think you were coming to my feast of rejoicing. Welcome, dearest brother. Can it be that you're drunk with the happiness of seeing me again?"

Meren stared at his brother while Ra's friends staggered past them to join the guests in the hall. The women returned to the cushions and chairs reserved for them on one side of the room, while the men went to the other side. This separation wouldn't last, and the more beer and wine were consumed, the more convivial the two sexes would become. Idut called for the acrobats, and the two men in the reception room were left to themselves.

Meren gestured to a servant who had been clearing away the broken fragments of the water jar. The man vanished. So did the porters at the front door. Folding his arms over his chest, he waited for his brother to speak. Ra gulped down the last of his wine, turned his back on Meren, and went to a stand upon which rested a round-bottomed wine jar. Lifting the pottery jar, he filled his goblet to the brim. When he brought the vessel to his lips, some of the wine spilled down his chest and onto the floor.

Still sipping, with the goblet obscuring his view, he swayed a few steps. He thrashed about with his free hand. It hit a column. Using it for support, he took another couple of steps and bumped into it. Frowning at the pillar, he put his back to it, bracing himself there as he slowly sank to the floor, drinking all the way down. Once he was seated, he held out the goblet to Meren.

"Get me some more, will you?"

Meren walked over to stare down at his brother. "I thought you weren't coming."

"I wasn't, but I heard that my favorite relative was going to be here, so I changed my mind."

"What favorite?"

"Anhai," Ra said, waving his goblet. "That lovely scorpion Anhai. Poor Sennefer. He never should have married a woman with more wit than he, and certainly not one more ruthless than a Hittite."

Ra pointed with his goblet to the scene in the hall. Through the open double doors the women's side of the room could be seen. Anhai was seated among the ladies on a chair carved of cedar and inlaid with ivory. From the wary glances she elicited from the other women, Meren could tell that she affected them like a hawk among pigeons. Meren could sympathize, for Anhai's character was disturbing.

Cool, humorous, articulate, she could hold an audience's attention with her stories and jests. Yet beneath her humor lurked viciousness that could lash out without warning. Once aroused, Anhai used her tongue like a scorpion's stinger. Once Meren had seen her reduce a princess to tears with an offhand remark of unexpected malevolence.

Her extraordinary character was matched with an ordinary appearance that belied her power to attract attention. Her hair was plain brown rather than glossy black, her eyes the same. Her nose was neither too long nor too short, but sharp, like a sparrow's beak. Of middle height, she never caught interest because of either long legs or diminutive stature. And yet despite her modest looks Anhai had attracted Meren's brother.

A maid placed an unguent cone on Anhai's gleaming black wig while the lady sniffed a lotus flower. She glanced up from the petals, her eyes meeting Ra's directly and without any pretense that the exchange was an accident. Ra gave her a loose-lipped smile. Meren had seen enough. He unfolded his arms and stepped in front of his brother, blocking the link between the two.

"You're interfering with a married woman, your cousin's wife?"

Ra gave him a resentful look. "She understands my burdens and trials."

"What burdens?" Meren could feel exasperation building inside him. Just receiving one of those I-have-suffered-so-much looks from Ra was enough to make him want to kick his brother. "What burdens, Ra? Having to visit three taverns a night? Enduring the trials of hunting and fowling instead of serving in government or the army or the priesthood? Those burdens?"

"Unlike you-"

"I offered to sponsor you in any office you cared to pursue. I did sponsor you, but when you entered the charioteers, you refused to accept training. A charioteer does have to train, you know. Otherwise he gets himself and his fellows killed. You're not stupid; you could achieve anything, if only you'd work."

"Why should I? You didn't. All you had to do was get born first."

Meren dropped down beside Ra and stuck his face in front of the younger man's. "How many times must I say this? I worked; I work now. All the time. You may not remember because you were so young, but I spent my whole life studying and training, and Father noticed every mistake I ever made. While you were playing with your friends, he was screaming at me that I was worthless. I worked, Ra. I trained as a charioteer, apprenticed myself to great warriors and ministers." Meren snatched the goblet from Ra's hand, stood up, and glared down at him. "My success isn't due to magic, dear brother, only to ordinary, unending hard work."

Rising, Ra appeared abruptly sober. "And perhaps it was also due to catching the eye of Nefertiti and Queen Tiye. Did you bed them to get what you wanted?"

Meren cursed, swooped at Ra, and hit him across the face. Ra stumbled backward against the column, laughing. "Someday that flapping tongue will get you killed," Meren said. "The gods will hear you and punish such obscenities."