Lynda Robinson - Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

Meren dropped his gaze to the whip he'd discarded. Picking it up, he threaded the lash through his fingers.

"So, this old folly is the reason you quarreled with Anhai."

"Yes, and when I couldn't make her return the letter, I left her alone on the front loggia."

"I see."

"Then you must see that I wouldn't kill Anhai over it."

"I'll tell you what I see," he replied. "I see that you have the letter now. Yet Anhai had it the night of the feast. She had it in her bracelet."

"How did you know?" Bentanta asked in a faint voice.

"You weren't careful enough when you took it out of the bracelet. A piece tore from the corner." Meren pulled the letter from his belt and used it to point at her. "Tell me. Did you take it before or after you killed her?"

Meren waited for Bentanta's answer, all the while feeling as if he'd been raped across the distance of more than a dozen years. But he couldn't succumb to confusion and misery now. Now he needed to find the truth. Thus he performed a monumental effort of will-one that would cost him later-and set aside in a tiny, dark vault in his ka his bewilderment and renewed grief.

"You're surprised," he said. "You gave yourself away by tidying up after you dumped her in the granary. I knew someone had interfered with the body and searched it for a reason. The only sign I found was a scrap of papyrus. Since my men never found the rest of it when they searched Baht, I knew someone had it on them or had destroyed it."

"I grow weary of repeating that I didn't kill Anhai. How could I carry her up those stairs to the granary?"

"Fear makes one strong. If you'd ever been in battle, you'd know this."

Bentanta picked up the lamp and came over to him. Holding it up so that she could study his face, she curled her lip. "You still want me to be the murderer. That way you're rid of me, if not of the past. I hate to cause you grief, but I'm innocent. And you have to believe me, because I know who did kill Anhai."

"Oh? How beneficial for you."

"Just before he was murdered, Sennefer told me he killed Anhai."

Lifting a brow, Meren said, "Indeed. And why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Because you were convinced I was a killer, Meren. You wouldn't have believed me, not without me revealing the whole story, and I didn't want to tell you about Djet."

"Tell me the whole of it now."

Lowering herself to the floor, Bentanta set the lamp down again. Meren crouched a few cubits from her, near enough to see her face, but not too close.

"The night of the feast, while Hepu was speaking, Anhai and I quarreled again, but I left her. As I came back inside, I saw Sennefer go out, and I decided to follow him to see if he was going to give in to Anhai. If he had, there would be no reason for her to keep my letter. When I reached the loggia, they were already sneaking away in the shadows along the wall that runs from the corner of the house to the outer wall to form the front of the granary forecourt. All the doorkeepers were busy at the front gate or elsewhere because of the feast, and no one saw them go inside. I waited, thinking to intercept them when they returned, but they never came out. After a while, I crept up to the forecourt gate and looked in. It was deserted, so I went to the opposite gate and saw Sennefer coming down the steps of the last granary."

"And you didn't see Anhai or anyone else?"

"No," Bentanta said. "He was coming in my direction, so I hid behind a stack of wicker boxes. When he was gone, I went into the court and up the granary stairs. I could see the whole court, and Anhai wasn't there. Then I noticed that the granary cover was ajar. I don't know what made me open it. Perhaps it was only seeing Sennefer up there, in a place he would have no reason to be."

"And you found her."

"Yes, she was on her side with her uppermost leg drawn up to her head."

"And you searched for the letter, found it, and straightened her body and clothing afterward."

"Yes, and the rest you know."

"I don't know what he told you before he collapsed."

"Isn't it enough that he's dead? Why stir up more ugliness?"

Meren leaned forward, holding her eyes with his. "Because you haven't convinced me you're telling the truth." He gave her a slight smile. "After all, you could have planned the murder with Sennefer." Bentanta only gave him a disgusted look.

He remembered opening the granary cover the morning they'd discovered Anhai. Sennefer had been stunned. If he'd simply dumped his wife in the granary, it would have been a nasty surprise to find her lying neatly on her side, her clothing and wig perfect. "Did Sennefer tell you exactly how he killed Anhai?"

"You're an ass, Meren. You work hard to be good at it."

"Just tell me what he said."

"He was quite drunk."

"He was suffering the effects of poison," Meren said.

"His speech was slurred, but I understood him well enough. Still, I don't think he would have told me without a lot of wine, or perhaps it was the poison that loosened his tongue. And he was frightened of you. He told me Anhai had asked him to meet her in secret again, and when they found a place where they wouldn't be heard, she threatened him again. Only this time, she used a weapon she must have been reluctant to use, considering the results. I think she may have suspected how dangerous using it could be."

Bentanta paused, her eyes growing sad. "You see, she'd been hinting at it for weeks, and he'd been growing more and more desperate."

"What threat could she have made that would disturb him so? He didn't seem worried to me."

"He concealed his fear, just as he concealed his secret, Meren. Because Anhai was hinting that she was going to tell everyone the truth-that Sennefer was impotent."

"Impotent."

"Cursed by the gods, he said."

Meren thought back over the last few days. When Anhai had insulted Sennefer about her lack of children, he'd assumed it was just another of her sudden and malicious attacks, lacking any real foundation. Then he recalled Sennefer's many boasts and the rumors of his conquests. Had it all been a facade? Sennefer had been diligent in his pursuit of a reputation for sexual mastery-perhaps too diligent.

Unwilling to admit he believed her, he said, "Go on."

"This time, Anhai said that if Sennefer didn't do as she wanted, she would tell his whole family he was less than a man, and that she'd do it while everyone was gathered for your feast of rejoicing."

"By the Devourer," Meren said.

"You knew she was vicious. Sennefer fell into a rage then, and they fought. She picked up one of those grindstones and swung it at him, but he grabbed it. She rushed at him, and he fended her off with it, holding it lengthwise like a sword. He hit her in the chest. He said she grunted and dropped like a duck hit by a throw stick. He tried to rouse her, but she was dead."

Meren was shaking his head. "Not from one blow to the chest."

"That is what he told me. He said he didn't understand it, that he hadn't meant to kill her. He had been trying to make sense of it, but he couldn't."

Drawing his legs up to his chest, Meren propped his arms on his knees while he thought. Bentanta's story made sense. It accounted for all the signs he'd discovered-the too-neat arrangement of the body, the scrap of papyrus, the disposal of the body in the odd location, the timing during Hepu's Instruction-everything except…

"Even if I believe you, there's still the question of Sennefer's death. He was poisoned with your pomegranate wine."

Bentanta uttered a gasp of aggravation. "I had no reason to kill Sennefer."

"None to which you've admitted. Perhaps Anhai had shown him that letter you've been hiding for sixteen years."

"Someone else killed Sennefer, Meren, and you know it. You're just afraid you know who it is. By the gods, you'd rather condemn me unjustly than face the possibility that Ra killed Sennefer out of jealousy and revenge."