Lynda Robinson - Murder at the God's Gate

"You still haven't managed that fourth one," Kysen said as he poured beer.

Meren stooped and picked up the balls, storing them in a cedar box. "Not when it's thrown at me."

"Did the juggling settle your temper?"

"What temper?"

"Come, Father, I saw your expression this morning. And Ebana always manages to stir you to hornet madness."

Meren shut the lid of the cedar box and picked up his goblet of beer. 'The inquiries at the temple, what of the death of the priest?"

"Some day you must tell me about him."

Meren took a long sip of beer before speaking. "The priest."

"I'm not sure whether he died accidentally or not. Ebana might have been trying to goad you," Kysen said. "Unas appears to have been an excitable little moth of a man, over-diligent and clumsy as well. Most likely, he missed his step and fell through his own carelessness. There are no marks to betoken a struggle."

"However?"

"However, if someone did discover his connection with you, well, this could be Parenefer's way of warning you to keep away. And there is a difficulty."

"What difficulty?"

"Unas's wife said that he went to the statue early because of a message given by a boy from the master sculptor asking for the meeting. Yet the sculptor says he sent no message. I believe him, for he's the one who brought the accident to our attention, and he has a reputation for straight dealing and honor."

"Have you found this boy messenger?"

"No. He's vanished."

Meren set his cup aside. "It could be that the wife is lying, or she may have been mistaken about who sent the message."

"I've sent Abu to see her again. He's good at scaring the truth out of people."

"If Unas didn't fall by accident, the murderer would have to be someone who knew the arrangements for work at the temple, those of the guards, the porters, the priests, and the royal artisans as well."

"In other words, someone from the temple, or his wife or her lover."

"Lover?" Meren asked.

"Yes, a man much younger than Unas, who no doubt attracts the attention of many women."

"I see," Meren said. "Yet another example of the delights of marriage." He went to his chair and slumped into it. "God, I'm sick of questioning everyone's motives, of suspecting even the slave who pours water over me in the bathing stall."

He looked up at Kysen, who was regarding him with surprise. "Even I can grow weary of stratagems and machinations, Ky."

"Is that why you took me for your son? To have someone so beholden to you that you could trust him completely?"

"No."

They held each other's gaze, and Kysen finally lowered his.

"Forgive me, Father."

"You shouldn't listen to Ebana. His ka is poisoned."

"I won't listen to him if you won't," Kysen said with a grin.

"Insolent colt."

"About the priest. The wife, Ipwet, is but a girl, one of spirit and pleasing. And the lover seems to have been on his way to the royal workshops when the priest died. If Unas was murdered, we may never know whether it was because of his family or because of his service to you."

Meren was listening to Kysen's view of the situation when Abu appeared, leading in the porter of the temple of Amun, Huni. The man fell to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor in front of Meren, who backed away as a pungent odor reached him. The man's hair was greasy and stuck to his scalp. His skin bore a layer of dust matted with grime. Beneath the smell of refuse Meren detected a whiff of cheap beer.

"Look at me," Meren said.

Huni raised his head. The whites of his eyes were discolored with a network of red veins, and he blinked at Meren slowly, as if he'd just swilled a few buckets of beer.

"Did you see the pure one Unas fall from the statue of the king?"

"No, lor'. Didn't see nothin'." Huni's fingers plucked at his kilt and his hair as if he were trying to repair his disheveled appearance.

"Because you were asleep," Kysen said as he walked around to stand beside Meren.

The porter sat back on his heels and placed his hands on his thighs. Huni's glance slid away from them as he fell to studying his broken and dirty fingernails.

"I never," he muttered, "sleep on duty."

"I have reports that it's your most skilled accomplishment," Kysen said. "I hear that if there were tournaments for sleepers, you would win the gold necklace."

"False reports," Huni whined.

Meren raised his glance to Abu, who instantly approached the porter, gripped his neck, and pulled him erect. He lifted the man by his throat until he balanced on his toes, gurgling and choking.

"I have no patience with mewling lingerers," Meren said. "Admit that you were asleep or tell me what you saw. Raise your right hand if you slept through the whole thing, porter. Ah, you slept. Then you will tell me who allowed you to serve as porter. Release him, Abu."

Huni dropped to his knees again and crouched there gasping. Finally he was able to speak.

"Wasn' a porter no more 'til a few days ago. The chief of porters took me back an' put me on night duty."

"Why?" Kysen snapped.

"Don' know, lor'. But now I'm banished forever to the refuse gangs. It's a terrible punishment. Terrible."

A fresh whiff of the man's odor sent both Meren and Kysen back several steps. Meren put his hand over his nose and gestured to Abu. "Get him out of here, and leave the door open."

When the two had gone, Meren looked around the office for a fan, but found none.

"Damnation," he said. "I'll have to have the whole chamber freshened."

"I think he was telling the truth," Kysen said.

"With Abu choking me, I would. By the gods,

Mutemwia has been straightening in this room again. No wonder I can find nothing." Meren left off his search for a fan. "I must order circumspect inquiries about the posting of Huni to the god's gate at night."

"Ebana isn't being forthcoming."

"I should speak to him again," Meren said.

Kysen agreed, but neither held much hope of prying anything from Ebana. Had Unas's death been an obvious murder, Meren would have requested from pharaoh the power to order his cousin's compliance. Without such power he could only request it, and Ebana's cooperation was doubtful where Meren was concerned.

If Meren pushed his cousin too hard, he could incite a quarrel that would embroil the entire court. His position would be precarious in such a battle. And perhaps that was what Ebana had wanted all along.

Meren and Kysen continued to discuss Unas's death and how to handle the priests of Amun throughout the afternoon. When a servant announced the arrival of Ahiram, Meren put aside the matter of Unas's death, for the moment.

"Come," he said to Kysen. "You should be thankful you weren't in the audience hall when Ahiram tried to strangle Rahotep."

They met the first of their guests in the pillared main hall, where servants had set out chairs, cushioned stools, and low tables laden with baskets of fruit and bread. A maid was pouring wine from a tall jar into a goblet for their guest. Ahiram barely glanced at them and uttered no polite greeting. Meren could tell he was still angry: when disturbed, he had a distinctive habit of speech.

"I'm in no mood for revelry, me."

Meren laughed. "Then I won't send for my harpists and singers."

"Ahiram, you jackal, how is it that you tried to choke Rahotep?" Kysen asked as he offered their guest a chair.

Meren shoved a basket of fruit into his son's hands and said, "Not now, Ky. We've just spent most of the day quarreling. This meal is for the respite of my friends."

"Respite!"

They all looked up to find Tanefer parading to the threshold, a cup of wine in one hand, a flagon in another. He moved loosely, with abandon and ease. As was his habit, he wore his dagger in a scabbard on his upper arm.