Lynda Robinson: Murder at the God's Gate

Kysen was shaking his head. "Then Qenamun was the dung-eater who tried to kill me."

"Yes," Meren said. "But Qenamun's foolhardiness and our inquiries caused Ahiram to become overwrought, so he killed Qenamun, only to find he'd aroused Tanefer's fury by calling attention to the first murder. Tanefer tried to rid himself of Ahiram at the hippo hunt and failed, and Ahiram fled, thus exposing their intrigue. That was when I finally searched in the right direction." Meren gave his cousin a pained smile. "And that direction leads from Tanefer, through Ahiram, to the priests of Amun."

"We knew nothing of this foul plot against pharaoh," Ebana said at last.

"Why should I believe you?"

Ebana remained silent while he unstrung his bow. Then he began winding the bowstring. "I saved your life."

"Yes," Meren said. "Now tell me why."

Ebana came closer and glanced at Meren's wound. "Perhaps I didn't want you to die."

Meren lifted his brows and waited.

"Perhaps I thought you and pharaoh easier to deal with than Tanefer."

"You were right. Eventually Tanefer would have killed you as well as me."

"And of course, I'm telling the truth. The temple of Amun never plotted against the life of pharaoh."

"What do you want, Ebana?" Kysen asked.

"A bargain."

Meren exchanged glances with Kysen and nodded for Ebana to continue.

"Let us declare a truce between the temple and the court, cousin. We offer an end to all this hidden warfare in exchange for-how shall I phrase it-a cessation of these awkward inquiries of yours. Qenamun was the only priest among the evil ones who have so disturbed the peace of the living Horus."

"Why should I make this bargain?"

"For several reasons," Ebana said. "One is that you've no proof that anyone else from the temple has committed any transgression."

Ebana eyed him as he said this, but Meren wasn't about to agree or disagree.

"Another reason is that with the threat of the Hittites growing and the invasion of all these renegade soldiers and bandits, you can't afford to be at odds with Amun as well."

Meren began to scowl as he realized the truth of Ebana's reasoning. Then his cousin lowered his voice and stepped nearer so that he could almost touch Meren.

"And also, my suspicious, cynical, and jaded cousin, because I might have saved your life simply because it was yours."

Meren studied Ebana, his gaze traveling over that lean jaw, the thin white line of the scar. What real evidence did he have that the priests of Amun had been involved in the desecration of Akhenaten's tomb? Words spoken to him by Tanefer, who was now dead, and who had confided in no one left alive. Fragments from a bowl with mere traces of writing that could be explained away by anyone as clever as Ebana. The murder of Qenamun by Ahiram implied that they had participated in the crime together. Yet without the capture of the actual thieves who had dug into the royal tomb, he could hardly expect the powerful priesthood of Amun to admit guilt.

So far none of the search parties sent after the thieves had found them. Meren suspected that they'd fled by way of the Red Sea already. To accuse Ebana or Parenefer he needed more, and the priests seemed to have concealed their actions well, even Qenamun. Qenamun! The gold pen holder.

"Well, cousin?" Ebana said.

Leaning on Kysen, Meren turned to the house. "Come with me."

He led them back to Ahiram's bedchamber and to the shrine of Ishtar. Releasing his hold on Kysen, he plucked the pen holder from the niche. He swayed a bit, causing Kysen to slip his arm around his waist. Summoning his remaining strength, he opened the top of the case and tipped it. Nothing fell into his hand. Meren stared at the blood drying on the back of his knuckles, then gave his head a little shake. He slipped a finger into the tube and drew out a papyrus wound into a tight roll. He handed the pen holder to Ebana.

"No doubt you recognize this?"

"No," Ebana said.

"Come now. You must have seen it many times in the House of Life."

"Don't be irritating, Meren. I assume you mean this is Qenamun's."

Meren was unrolling the papyrus. He skimmed the flowing script that filled the sheet, studied the name written at the bottom, and lifted his gaze to Ebana's.

"I should have expected him to blame Ahiram and Tanefer and keep silent about-"

Ebana stopped him by reaching out and grabbing his forearm. "Don't say it. You've no evidence, so don't be foolish."

Meren yanked his arm free and handed the papyrus to Kysen, who read it aloud.

"I, Qenamun, lector priest of Amun, call upon the good god as my witness. Amun came to me in a dream and said unto me: Go forth and cause me to be avenged upon the great heretic for his sacrilege. I have done this, with the aid of Prince Ahiram." Kysen broke off. "There's more about Akhenaten's heresy, but no mention of anyone else at the temple."

Wincing, Meren leaned against the wall. "I think he meant this as a record of his greatness, possibly to be put on his tomb." He glanced at Ebana. "But such a text could only be inscribed if someone else besides pharaoh or his heir ruled Egypt."

"Or if pharaoh one day changes his opinion about his brother," Ebana said. "Qenamun might have had a dream about that also."

"By the gods, Ebana, you don't expect me to allow this evil to pass without consequence."

"I expect you to report to pharaoh that Prince Tanefer plotted a revolt against him, that he suborned Ahiram and Qenamun into helping him loot a royal tomb to pay for his war and his treason, and that there's no evidence against anyone else from the temple."

"The divine one will never believe that Qenamun acted alone, that he hired mercenaries and bandits on his own."

"What the golden one suspects concerns me not. Only his actions are of import at the moment. Do you want a truce or not, cousin? And take care that you answer as pharaoh's advisor."

Meren pressed a hand over his wound. The bleeding had stopped, but he needed to see his physician soon. His eyelids felt as heavy as ingots, and he was so weary. But he had to think. A truce between the temple of Amun and the court would allow Tutankhamun to grow to maturity without threat from the only power to rival pharaoh in Egypt. The boy needed time, time to gain strength and wisdom, to build alliances with other princes, other temples, the army.

A truce would make no difference. He would still watch the priests, still not trust them. But perhaps the danger would recede for a while. Certainly Parenefer would cause no more trouble, for fear of provoking pharaoh's wrath again and getting himself killed. Yes, Parenefer and Ebana would live in fear from now on, always wondering when Tutankhamun would decide to retaliate against them. Perhaps a truce would be a good thing.

"I shall consult pharaoh," Meren said. "The welfare of the Two Lands depends upon harmony and balance between the servants of Amun and the son of the god."

He shoved himself away from the wall and stumbled. Kysen was beside him instantly and pulled Meren's good arm around his shoulders. Meren cursed, his eyes closing as he tried to keep his legs from folding. Someone slipped an arm around his waist. He opened his eyes and found Ebana supporting him. His cousin began helping Kysen walk him out of the house.

"Don't look so astonished," Ebana said. "If you die of this small wound, who will speak to pharaoh on my behalf?"

On the third night after he'd killed Tanefer, Meren was in a palace chamber near the royal apartments with Ay and Horemheb. The general was striding about the room while Meren rested on a stool beside Ay. His wound was itching where Nebamun had cleaned and stitched it. Egypt was famed throughout the world for its medicine. Meren just wished the physician didn't insist upon using a needle fresh from a white-hot flame; he could have done without the magic of the fire. They were going over the precautions taken in rounding up Tanefer's nest of traitors, including the guards he'd placed near pharaoh. Rahotep had been given the task of finding the enclave of mercenaries lurking in the desert.