Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

by Lynda S. Robinson

  “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.”

  He’d had enough. If he stayed, the misery he was hiding might escape and reveal itself. Getting to his feet, Meren opened the door, stepped outside, and kept his gaze away from Bentanta. She followed him. Reia was waiting for them.

  “Take the Lady Bentanta to her chamber. Set a guard outside her door and see that she remains there.” He kept his gaze trained on the palm tree.

  “I’m going home in the morning, Meren.”

  “You’ll leave when I give permission.”

  “If you try to stop me, I’ll tell your family about the letter.”

  Meren looked at her then. “I might have believed that threat if it had come from Anhai. I don’t believe you.”

  “Did you know you’re one of the few people I’d like to kick?”

  “Take her to her chamber, Reia.”

  He didn’t watch her go. He was too busy praying he wouldn’t give way to misery and confusion before she left.

  Late the same afternoon Meren stood beneath the awning of the deckhouse of Wings of Horus. Kysen was talking to Nebamun not far away. After the interview with Bentanta he’d sought refuge here, hiding like a wounded antelope. Flooded with remorse, he had relived the grief of Djet’s death. Now he understood Nebetta’s and Hepu’s animosity on account of Djet, but he also blamed them for Sennefer’s impotence. Hepu had beaten and sneered at his sons almost from infancy, and Meren was certain that this mistreatment had robbed Sennefer of his manhood. His aunt and uncle were like two demons sent to spawn evil and spread it throughout the family.

  It had taken him a long time to regain his composure, but he’d climbed out of the refuse pit into which he’d fallen. He had to, because it was urgent that he confirm Bentanta’s tale of Anhai’s murder. He’d sent for Kysen and told him what had happened at Green Palm and in Bentanta’s cell. Kysen was now giving a censored version of the tale to Nebamun.

  “So there it is,” Kysen was saying. “He jammed one of these into her chest.” He hefted the oblong grindstone.

  Nebamun took it, his arm sagging under the weight. He held it in one hand and thrust it against the palm of the other. Meren watched him for a moment, then beckoned Kysen.

  “You said Nento is growing more and more agitated at the haunted temple. Should I send him away?”

  “I’ll go again tonight. If he’s no better, you can dismiss him in the morning. Father, you don’t look well.”

  “I feel as if I’ve brought a curse home with me.”

  “Anhai is the one who brought the curse,” Kysen replied. “If she hadn’t been so vicious, Sennefer wouldn’t have fought with her.”

  Meren turned his face to the north breeze, but even that beneficent wind couldn’t banish the deathly heat. Nebamun set the grindstone down on the deck and approached them.

  “What say you?” Meren asked. “Could my cousin have caused his wife’s death in such a strange manner?”

  “My lord, I think it is possible.”

  “Why?”

  Nebamun pointed to the casket he’d brought with him, in which were stored his medical texts. “The wisdom of the ancient ones has been passed down for countless generations. Wisdom learned from the study of our brothers, the cattle, the ox, the goat, and others, as well as experience from great healers such as the great Imhotep.”

  “I know that, Nebamun. You don’t have to convince me.”

  “Yes, lord. And we also know that the heart is the house of the soul. Within it resides a person’s reason, his character and feelings. The gods speak to us through the heart, and through it they let us know their will. But also, from the heart issue channels linking all parts of the body. These channels convey blood, air, tears, sperm, sustenance.”

  “Nebamun, all I want to know is whether a sharp blow could kill Anhai.”

  “That is what I’m trying to explain, lord. The heart is the center of the soul, the crux of all channels in the body. A sudden blow could disrupt the flow of blood, air, everything.” Nebamun held up a finger. “And such a blow could murder the ka in its house.”

  “Then Sennefer could have killed his wife with one strike.”

  “Aye, lord. I think it possible.”

  Meren nodded and walked away to stand at the ship’s railing. He heard Kysen thank Nebamun and dismiss him. When his son joined him, he was leaning on the railing watching a royal trading vessel sail by, its decks laden with incense trees, several baboons climbing on its mast.

  “Bener was looking for you this morning,” Kysen said. “She accused Isis of flirting with poor Simut.”

  “Was she justified?”

  “I’m afraid Simut isn’t wise in the ways of young women. He’s caught between the two and wishes to be relieved of his duties as their bodyguard. He said he’s suffering greatly.”

  “I’ll ask Aunt Cherit to supervise them. They won’t be able to fool her.”


  “I can already hear Bener’s howls of dismay,” Kysen said with a smile. Then the smile faded. “Now what do we do?”

  “This tale of the grindstone, I’ve been thinking about it. Even if Nebamun agrees it’s possible, I can’t justify believing Bentanta without something more to confirm what she says.”

  “You could, but you won’t.”

  “Please, Ky, not now. I’ve been thinking about that night at the feast, and what various people have said about how Sennefer behaved.”

  “Even Wah noticed him,” Kysen said with a grimace of distaste. “After hinting that your brother and Bentanta were guilty, that is. He said he saw Sennefer after Hepu finished speaking.”

  “Which doesn’t help verify Bentanta’s tale.”

  Sighing, Kysen propped his forearms on the railing and gazed out at the deep blue water. “I know, especially since Wah offered a convincing detail. He said he was able to spot Sennefer because he had a fresh unguent cone on, and it was lopsided.”

  “Then I don’t see how—” Meren turned to look at his son. “An unmelted scent cone?”

  “Yes.”

  “But not much earlier, the one he had on was already melting.”

  They looked at each other.

  “Between the time Bentanta and Anhai quarreled and when Hepu finished his interminable Instruction, he used two scent cones.” Meren turned back to gaze across the river at the desert.

  “Why would he do that?” Kysen asked on a note of suspicion.

  “He may have lost the first one.”

  Kysen said, “In a struggle.”

  “Perhaps. I must think about this, Ky.” Meren closed his eyes. “But it’s as I said. If Sennefer killed Anhai, then who killed Sennefer, and why?” Meren opened his eyes reluctantly to face his son. “And since we’ve been so astute in confirming what Bentanta has told us, we’ve just increased the likelihood that my brother is a murderer. Ra is the only one I’ve been able to link to Sennefer’s death except Bentanta.”

  “Even if she’s told us the truth about Anhai’s death, she still might have had a reason to kill Sennefer. One we don’t know about. And anyway, from what you’ve told me, I wouldn’t put it past Hepu to kill Sennefer rather than allow anyone to find out his son was a murderer.”

  Meren straightened and eyed his son. “By the gods, Ky, you’ve grown as suspicious as I am.”

  “I’m only using the reason Nebamun says is one of the properties of the heart. Hepu is bloated with pride in his virtue. His heart is unbalanced near to madness with it. I can imagine he would fear for his sacred reputation enough to get rid of a son who was both impotent and a murderer. You have said he is violent.”

  “But if he thought Sennefer killed Anhai,” Meren said, “Ra could have murdered him out of revenge. You forget that I had Sennefer confined immediately after finding Anhai’s body. Ra would know that such an action meant I suspected him.”

  “I only meant that Ra isn’t the only one who had a reason to kill Sennefer.”

  Meren smiled bitterly. “And there’s still Bentanta. She feared the discovery of her adultery. Who knows what her husband’s family would have done had they found out? She was right. An adulterous woman can lose everything, including her life.”

  “What are you going to do?” Kysen asked.

  Turning to gaze downriver in the direction of Memphis, Meren breathed in deeply and exhaled. “I’m going to set a trap, Ky, a trap for my own brother. Come with me. We’ll stop by my chambers and then go to the garden.”

  It wasn’t long before they were ensconced on couches in the shade of a stand of palms. Two slaves waved tall fans over them while a servant appeared with a tray full of fruit dishes. This was set on a low table between Meren and Kysen. Meren picked up a copper bowl that had been set beside his couch and put it on the tray. As he did so, Ra came toward them accompanied by Reia.

  “You sent for this lowly prisoner, O master of all?” Ra said with a sneer.

  Meren waved Reia aside. “Curb your tongue. I sent for you in order to beg your forgiveness.”

  “You never begged for anything in your life,” Ra snapped.

  “I was wrong to begin that fight, Ra. I ask your forgiveness.”

  “Are you ill?” Ra asked. “Or is this some kind of trick?”

  “No. I’ve just discovered that Sennefer killed Anhai.”

  “Ha! I knew he did it.” Ra planted his fists on his hips and gloated. “For once the mighty Eyes of Pharaoh has made a fool of himself.”

  “I knew you’d be happy.”

  Ra laughed, went to the table, and poured himself a cup of wine. “I feel like celebrating.”

  Meren grinned at him. “I am truly sorry, brother.” He picked up the bronze dish. It was filled with shiny black berries the size of grapes. “Here. Have some fresh berries.”

  Ra was gulping down his wine. He tilted the cup and finished the last of the brew, wiped his lips on the back of his hand, and glanced at the berries.

  “I have no appetite.”

  “You will if you taste these.”

  “They’re good? Give them here.”

  Ra snatched the dish from Meren’s hand, grabbed a handful, and stuffed them in his mouth. Meren and Kysen jumped up at the same time.

  “No!” Meren cried. He pounded him on the back as Kysen slapped the dish from Ra’s hand. Ra gasped and spewed out berries and curses. Meren thrust a water flagon to his lips. “Did you swallow any of them? Good. Rinse your mouth and spit.”

  Ra complied and then turned on Meren. “What in the name of Amun are you doing?” He looked at the scattered berries and swore. “Those are poison. You tried to poison me!”

  “You know what they are, then,” Meren said.

  “From the way you’re acting, they must be poison. That’s twice you’ve tried to kill me.”

  Meren rolled his eyes. “Do you know what kind of berries they are?”

  “Poison berries.”

  “Ra, you’re going to drive me mad,” Meren said through clenched teeth.

  “They’re the same kind we found in Sheftu’s house,” Kysen said as he picked up berries and put them back in the bronze dish.

  Understanding dawned on Ra’s face. “You’ve been spying on me, Meren.”

  “I found the same poison used on Sennefer there,” Meren said. “And I wanted to know if you knew what it was.”

  “I do now.”

  “I thought that if you ate them, I would prove your innocence.”

  “By killing me?”

  “I didn’t let you eat them. Unfortunately, you seem to have managed to cast suspicion on yourself anyway.”

  “What! You nearly poison me and still accuse me of murder?”

  “You said the berries were poison.”

  “Because of your reaction, O clever one.”

  “I’m trying to be fair. I’m trying to prove you innocent.”

  Ra threw out his arms. “Don’t. Don’t try to help me. The next time you do, I might end up dead.”

  “I have to do something, brother, because all you do is dig a deeper hole for yourself. You didn’t tell me about Tabes and Aset, and you especially didn’t tell me about Sheftu, her grandmother, or their preparations and potions.”

  “Everyone knows about Green Palm and its tavern, and anyone who has an ailment goes to Sheftu’s grandmother.”

  Meren sat down on the couch and said quietly, “You could have stolen back here from Green Palm with poison from Sheftu’s house and put it in Sennefer’s wine jar.”

  “I was so drunk my friends had to bring me home!”

  Kysen set the bronze dish on the table. “You could have been feigning illness.”

  Ra walked over to Meren and looked down at him. “And I suppose that vomit you saw was a pretense.”

  “I’ve witnessed stranger things,” Meren said wearily.

  “You’ve spent too much time at court,” Ra replied. “It has corrupted your reason.”

  Lifting his g
aze to Ra, Meren said, “Perhaps my reason has only been sharpened. I learned long ago how to dissemble and conceal my true ka behind a guise as blank as a death mask. We share the same blood, Ra. If I’m capable of such deceit, I would expect my brother to be as good at it as I am.”

  “Then you have a problem,” Ra said. He bent over Meren and whispered in his ear. “By that kind of reasoning you could ask yourself another question. Are you capable of murder?”

  Meren felt an inner jolt as Akhenaten’s death flashed through his thoughts.

  Ra gave him a taunting smile, stood erect, and walked away. “The answer to that question should tell you if I’m guilty. Don’t you agree?”

  Chapter 17

  Standing in the haunted temple in the midst of shrouded coffins and canopic chests, Kysen listened once again to Nento’s complaints. He’d arrived several hours after sunset but wished he hadn’t been forced to leave Meren, who was still reeling from the day’s discoveries. But someone had to attend to the sacred guardianship; Nento hadn’t proved to be much good at it. He could barely make the required sacrifices and recite a proper spell.

  “And then last night I was certain I heard footsteps,” the man was saying. “Your aide said I was imagining it, but I insisted he send the men out to search the rocks and the valley slopes. I’m sure the demons who inhabit this place are angry at us for invading their refuge.”

  “But the guards didn’t find anyone.”

  Nento bobbed his ostrich-egg head. “If it was a demon, they wouldn’t.” He tugged on his oiled mustache. “I tell you, we should light fires to frighten evil spirits away.”

  “We’ve discussed this dozens of times. Campfires would be seen. Everyone has amulets for protection, and you’re qualified to do the appropriate rituals of warding.”

  Waddling closer, Nento crowded Kysen with his melon-shaped bulk. “Torches, then. Small ones, like when pharaoh—may he have life, health, and prosperity—came to us.”

  “No, Nento. That was a matter of extremity. We’re not going to do it again. If you don’t like it inside the temple, join the men.”

  “Listen! You can’t tell me that’s just the breeze.”