Lynda Robinson - Murder at the God's Gate

"So I think Ahiram put the cobras in Qenamun's box, but the servant who helped him was killed with his master. So far there are no others who witnessed his actions. The porter only knows that he and one other servant were told not to go near the wicker baskets."

They were sitting on the floor with a lamp between them. Horemheb had dismissed his men. The general handed Meren a cup of beer and grunted.

"So, you think all three deaths and the discord at court are connected."

"Aye," Meren said. "But I can't weave the pieces into whole cloth. No one would admit to having seen anything on the morning the pure one was killed. We never found the boy who carried the message for Unas to go to the temple before dawn. When nothing happened, I almost decided that the death was an accident.

Then Unas's house was ransacked by a tall, shaved man who smelled of cone scent."

"It could have been the lector priest."

"You'd never make a good inquiry agent, Horemheb. You assume too much."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the description is too vague and could fit many men, even you, or my cousin Ebana, or that too-friendly neighbor, Nebera. So we spread the rumor that Kysen had found those pottery shards."

"To flush your quarry," Horemheb said.

Meren nodded. "But if it succeeded, it succeeded too well, for when Kysen went to examine Unas's house, someone tried to kill him."

"By the gods! Did you catch him?"

"No, and I thank the gods Kysen wasn't hurt. I had questioned Qenamun earlier. He seemed honest, open, ingenuous."

"Doesn't sound like a priest of Amun."

"No," Meren said. "And what's worse, it was shortly after this questioning that the attempt on Kysen was made. I like it not that Qenamun, Ebana, and also Rahotep were nearby when someone tried to drop part of a wall on my son's head. Kysen was so furious that he confronted them about the attempt on his life."

"Rahotep. Our prince who knows all, who never quibbles at telling us so, who thinks he's more royal than he is."

They stared at each other quizzically.

"Later that same day, Qenamun was killed," Meren said.

"The cobras," Horemheb said. "I didn't do it. If I want to kill a man, I use a more direct method."

"But you had dealings with him."

"Qenamun gave good dream interpretations."

Meren smiled at his friend. "So think Djoser and Rahotep was with him when he was killed. So was Ebana, again. It was just before I heard of Qenamun's death that the rumors about you began."

"By the balls of Set, I've done nothing!"

"Calm yourself. I accuse you of nothing. Anyone who knew Qenamun's habits could have entered the temple on the day he left early and concealed the snakes. Of those with such knowledge, several are of high rank-Djoser, Rahotep, Ahiram, and you, among others."

"Me again."

Meren sighed. "Will you allow me to continue? How can I think if you're barking at me? I should have gone home to do this."

"No, no. I'll be quiet."

"And all this while you and I and pharaoh's other advisors have been arguing about the unrest in Syria and Palestine, about the Hittites, and about whether the king should campaign. You know fugitives from the Mitanni empire are reaching our borders, renegade soldiers. Tanefer warned me that trouble was approaching, and now he's proved right."

"But what does that have to do with these murders?"

"Nothing. It's just that the court was already unsettled, seething with rumors and unrest, and then Ahiram vanished. After the hippo hunt. I think he killed Qenamun and then lost his courage."

"That doesn't sound like Ahiram."

"I know, but considering what he was hiding, it makes sense. Perhaps he thought the gods were angry, and that was why he almost got eaten by the hippo."

"Aye," Horemheb said. "Even I would lose my wits if I'd robbed and desecrated a pharaoh's eternal house."

"And before I could reach him, he was murdered by disguised mercenaries." Meren stared at the lamp flame. "And this last murder opens the whole affair, because whoever killed Ahiram must have done it to keep him from exposing his fellow criminals, especially whoever is their master. That person has a long reach, long enough to chase down and kill Ahiram, and the boldness to risk all to strike at a dead king."

"We both know who that is. Parenefer."

"I told you not to assume, my friend. There are too many gaps, too many things we don't know. Who killed Unas and why? It could have been Qenamun, or Ahiram, or another. If he was guilty, what was the real reason Ahiram killed Qenamun, and why did he run away when I gave no sign that I suspected him?"

"Meren-"

"Yes, Horemheb."

"Your job is much harder than mine. I only have to fight wars. You have to peer inside men's souls and foretell the future."

Meren gave him a wry smile. "Your words are a great comfort to me."

"You say Maya is behind these rumors about me?"

"No, he heard it from someone else, but Tanefer interrupted us about Qenamun's death before I could ask him from whom."

Horemheb rose and offered his hand to Meren. "I think I'll go find Maya."

"He's at court." Meren gripped his friend's hand and pulled himself to his feet. "But don't jump out at him as you did me. He'll shriek so loud the palace roof will fall in."

He went outside to find the boy he'd almost run over holding his chariot in the shade of an awning. He drove home slowly this time and tried not to lapse into thinking until he was there. He arrived to find the house quiet.

Even that small terror, Remi, was quiet, but that was only because he was napping. Meren grabbed bread and meat from the kitchen and went to his office. Grooms hurried into the stables. Charioteers fell to sharpening javelin points and swords as he passed them. His scribe ducked into the records room.

He was wary by the time he saw Kysen waiting outside his office. After a few moments of listening to his son, he was furious.

"What fiend put it into your head to allow Tanefer to translate?"

"It happened before I could stop it. I was going to refuse, but he started without my permission. I should have been more alert."

"By the gods, you should have." Meren stalked over to a table where a jar of beer and its strainer rested along with cups. He grabbed one, then thought of the danger to which Kysen had exposed himself in that fight in the dark. Something cracked. Kysen cried out, and Meren blinked. He'd thrown the cup against the wall. A splinter of pottery had ricocheted off the wall to hit Kysen in the cheek.

Swearing, Meren grabbed a cloth from the table and went to his son. "No, remove your hand and let me see."

He found a tiny piece of the glazed cup embedded in a cut high on the jaw. "Hold still."

Drawing his dagger, he carefully used the tip to remove the splinter, then dabbed the cut with the cloth. "Forgive me, Ky."

"You didn't do it on purpose."

"I don't care. There's no excuse for hurting you."

"What's happened?" Kysen took the cloth and held it against the thin line of blood on his cheek. "Something's gone wrong. I can tell."

Meren related the morning's events. Kysen's eyes filled with dread at the tale of the king's wrath. He tried to say something, but Meren went on to speak of Horemheb. Kysen's brow furrowed as he heard the story of his father being waylaid.

"You said someone with power is behind these deaths and the-the great crime." He set the cloth aside. "Forgive me, Father, but it could be Horemheb, and he could have been trying to deceive you."

"He isn't."

Meren looked away from the blood on his son's cheek. On that day long ago when he'd seen Kysen's scars and bruises and bought him from his blood father, he'd vowed never to use brutality against the boy.

"Don't," Kysen said.