Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing

by Lynda S. Robinson

  Wincing at a particularly vivid scene his imagination had called up, he dropped the reports on the floor and brought out his juggling balls. Tossing one in the air, he threw another from one hand to the other and caught the falling sphere. The rhythm established, he began to walk around the office while he concentrated on the balls.

  He was desperately worried. The family was furious with him for the way he’d treated Ra and Bentanta, Idut especially. Nebetta still wouldn’t speak to him and continued to blame him for Sennefer’s death. And he hadn’t found Sennefer’s murderer. That is, he didn’t think he’d found him. Or did he simply not want to admit he’d found him? If he didn’t solve this murder soon, he was going to send the women to Memphis. Bener wouldn’t like it, but she would have to go. He couldn’t take any more chances with the murderer, not when this new danger threatened.

  He needed more time, and now that the secret at the haunted temple was threatened by that worm Paser, he wasn’t going to get it. Paser was part of Prince Hunefer’s faction. Could Hunefer have found out about the desecration of Akhenaten’s tomb? Secrecy was vital if another atrocity was to be prevented. There were still many at court who would love to deprive the king’s brother of eternal life by destroying his body. He must make Paser speak. And he would, of that he was certain. Paser wasn’t just dull-witted, he was a coward. It wouldn’t take long to break him, once he woke.

  Until then, he would do what he shouldn’t—try to think of anything that would cast suspicion of Sennefer’s murder elsewhere than on Ra. His plan to prove his brother’s innocence hadn’t worked as he’d thought. True to his contrary nature, Ra had cast even more doubt upon his own innocence.

  He returned to the casket that held his juggling balls. Catching the three he’d been using, he took out a fourth. He held two balls in each hand, then began to toss the two in his right hand. Then he started with his left. When he had the rhythm going, he tried the exchange and missed. He grabbed for balls in two directions. They all fell.

  Sighing, he picked them up and set the fourth ball aside. Soon he was juggling three again. Trying to add a fourth made him feel as frustrated as he’d been at the feast of rejoicing. He recalled that burning irritation, that trapped feeling he’d suffered while surrounded by bickering relatives. His temper was already short, and now Paser had added a new dose of disaster to his already overflowing cup.

  Meren’s hand froze in mid-toss. Balls dropped to the floor and skittered across the room. Virulent suspicions returned. Paser’s invasion might be related to Sennefer’s death. No, Kysen was right. Too many years at court had driven him to suspect that every event had a hidden meaning, every person a secret design. Sennefer had never been important at court. No one at the feast had been influential.

  It was true that Anhai had once served the Great Royal Wife Nefertiti, as had Bentanta, but neither was high in the favor of Tutankhamun’s queen, Ankhesenamun. Wah had been Nefertiti’s steward for a brief time before her death, but Wah had no place at court. He had no power, and Meren didn’t think Wah even knew Paser.

  But still, he didn’t like it that Paser and his spies appeared at the same time he was hunting a murderer. And there was something bothering him, something about the night of the feast, about his relatives, all gathered around him talking, talking, talking. Ra talking to Anhai. Bentanta whispering with Sennefer. Wah whining at him. Hepu moralizing. Meren was certain he’d missed something, something important.

  Bending over his ebony chair, Meren fished beneath it to grab a juggling ball. He was feeling sorry for himself when Sennefer was the one to be pitied. Sennefer had lived in fear of having his impotence exposed. At the feast, he must have been terrified when Anhai threatened him. No wonder he drank so much pomegranate wine, both before and after her death. And when he’d been poisoned, Meren had assumed he was only drunk or ill … only drunk or ill. Holding the one juggling ball, Meren suddenly sat down in the ebony chair.

  “By all the gods of Egypt,” he murmured. After a long silence, he began to toss the ball in one hand, slowly, as he cast his thoughts back to the feast of rejoicing one final time.

  Chapter 18

  Kysen hurtled upstairs to his father’s office and burst through the door. He started talking at the same time Meren thrust himself out of his chair and spoke.

  “Paser’s awake, and he says he’ll only talk to you.”

  “Ky, I was wrong about the poison.”

  “What?” Kysen stared at Meren, breathless.

  Meren hurled a juggling ball into its casket and brushed past Kysen. “There’s no time. Curse of the gods, I hope I haven’t endangered anyone else.”

  Kysen ran down the stairs after Meren. “Wrong about the poison! How wrong? Father, wait.”

  Meren vanished around a turn in the stairs, and Kysen didn’t catch up with him until they ran down the hall to stop before Ra’s chamber door. At the threshold squatted a doorkeeper who cradled his head in his hands.

  “Where is my brother?” Meren snapped.

  The man groaned. Suddenly cries issued from the central hall. This time Kysen was right behind his father as they ran into the chamber. The family was supposed to be partaking of a morning meal. Now they and several servants had gathered in a huddle around Aunt Cherit’s carrying chair like geese around bread crumbs. At the rear door of the long chamber an ovoid wine jar had been tipped from its stand. Its shards littered the floor, and wine stained the mats.

  “What’s happened?” Meren asked as they reached the group. “Ra is missing.”

  Cherit was patting Nebetta’s hand as she wept. “He came charging through here like a netherworld fiend, and he would have escaped except that your men blocked his way when he tried to go through to the front.”

  “He went out the back?” Kysen asked.

  Cherit nodded. “Simut and the other guard ran after him.”

  Kysen moved toward the rear entrance, but Meren put a hand on his arm. He glanced around the group. Cherit was muttering imprecations against foolish young men who ruined good wine. Isis was calmly munching on a slice of melon while Nebetta snuffled.

  “Where are the rest?” Meren said.

  “Why aren’t you chasing that murderous brother of yours?” sobbed Nebetta.

  Kysen grew alarmed at the killing look Meren gave her.

  “Isis, where are the others?” Meren asked.

  “Uncle Hepu is working on a tribute to Sennefer in his chamber. Aunt Idut and Wah left before Uncle Ra came, and Bener followed them.” She finished the last bite of her melon and continued. “She was going to spy on them. I told her not to, but she never listens to me.”

  “The guards let them go?” Kysen asked.

  “They were only going to the garden for a moment, and they promised to come back quickly,” Isis said. “You know how Aunt can be. She wouldn’t leave poor Simut alone until he consented. Then, when Simut and the other guard chased Uncle Ra, Bener stole away.”

  Kysen heard a lurid curse from Meren, who was already through the door. Kysen ran after him, calling over his shoulder, “All of you, stay here.”

  Racing out of the house, he caught up with Meren as he shoved open the garden gate. They charged inside only to come up short at the sight of Idut screaming at an acacia tree that grew next to the side wall.

  “Bener, you contentious, wretched girl, come back here at once!”

  They sprinted over to Idut.

  “Where are they?” Meren asked.

  Idut threw up her hands. “This is what comes of your soft discipline, Meren. That girl has been sneaking around the house for days, spying on everyone, asking impertinent questions, implying things.”

  “Idut!”

  Even Kysen jumped at Meren’s roar. Idut cried out, then glared at her brother, but she stopped babbling.

  “Where did they go?” Meren demanded.

  “He said the walls of the house were crowding in on him. He’s sensitive, you know, what with all this death. They’ll be back in a mom
ent.”

  “Idut,” Meren said as he jumped up to catch a limb of the acacia, “you have the wits of an oryx.”

  Kysen swung himself up into the tree after Meren and joined him on top of the wall. This section of the wall was also the outer privacy wall for the compound. From it they looked past a couple of sycamores and a vegetable garden. Beyond them ran the canal that fed water from the Nile to fields that marched past the house. Meren pointed to a leaping figure in a shift. Bener flew across a field at a diagonal to the canal. Her course would allow her to intercept a skiff being paddled rapidly toward the river.

  “We have to catch her before she reaches him.”

  “Who?” Kysen asked, but Meren had already leaped from the wall.

  Kysen measured the distance to the ground, then lowered himself over the side of the wall before dropping. His caution put him behind Meren and forced him to put on a burst of speed to catch up. For the second time in less than a day, Kysen found himself hurtling across a field littered with stubble and hard clods of earth baking in the sun.

  As he ran, he saw the skiff reach the junction with the river and turn toward the dock and Wings of Horus. Bener reached the bank while the occupant of the skiff paused, then stood up, balancing with the long pole used to shove the little boat along in the water. Kysen got his first good look at the man and nearly tripped over his own feet.

  Without warning, there was a shriek from the deck of the ship. Paser stood at the railing, one hand on his injured head, the other pointing at the intruder in the water below. At the sound, the intruder hefted the pole, swung it, and bashed Paser in the head. Paser dropped like a fishing weight over the side. At the same time Bener stooped, picked up a clod of earth, and hurled it at the attacker. It hit the man square in the back.

  Both Meren and Kysen cried out a warning as the man was thrown off balance and almost fell into the water. Meren hurled himself at Bener at the same time the attacker turned on her. Kysen shouted a warning as the pole swung at Bener’s head. Meren pushed his daughter out of the way, ducked under the stone-crushing blow, and grabbed the pole. He jerked it toward himself, then jammed the end into the attacker’s chest.

  “Huh!” The man doubled over, still gripping the pole. Meren jerked on it again and pulled the assailant off his feet. He landed half in the water and half on the bank, where he scrambled for footing. He thrust his upper body up out of the mud. Kysen palmed his dagger and stuck the tip of it under the man’s dirty chin.

  “Quitting our hospitality so soon, Wah?”

  Wah went still as he felt the point of the dagger. His kilt and chest were caked with mud.

  “Get up,” Kysen said.

  Meren pulled Bener behind him. “Slowly, if you value your life.”

  “What madness is this?” Wah asked as he complied.

  On the dock, charioteers had jumped from Wings of Horus and were running toward them. Sailors were fishing Paser from the river. Women who had come to the river to do laundry, fishermen, and travelers began to gather at a discreet distance and stare.

  Bener poked her head around Meren’s bulk and beamed at him. “You see, Kysen. I knew it. I knew I’d discover who the murderer was if I was vigilant.”

  “Be quiet!” Meren turned on her. “What madness possessed you to take such a risk? You should have come to me, not chased after him yourself. He tried to kill you, you lackwitted goose.”

  Bener pointed at the skiff. “He might have escaped if I hadn’t followed him.”

  “Father,” Kysen said with a nod toward the curious onlookers. “Shall we retire to the ship?”

  Meren glanced at the fishermen and the women with their laundry, then glared at Bener. “Go home, daughter. I’ll speak to you later.” Without waiting to see if he was obeyed, Meren turned and marched toward the dock.

  Kysen shoved Wah in front of him, and soon they were on board and surrounded by charioteers and sailors. Kysen held his dagger on the prisoner while Meren went over to the soaked heap of flesh and linen being guarded by several men. He bent over Paser for a moment, then returned to confront Wah.

  “He’s dead.”

  Meren turned and walked to the deckhouse awning. He took a seat in a folding chair of carved cedar. Kysen pushed Wah over to kneel in front of his father. Then he signaled the charioteers. They lined themselves around the perimeter of the awning so that neither Meren, Kysen, nor Wah could be seen. Wah glanced at the wall of soldiers as he wiped mud from his face and chest.

  “What folly is this, my lord?” he asked. “I but wished to take a bit of respite on the cool water after being cooped up inside those walls for so long.”

  “And murder Paser along the way?” Kysen asked as he sheathed his dagger.

  “Oh, that was an accident. Idut told me you’d captured him for some reason. I thought he was trying to escape when he cried out, so I tried to stop him.” Wah gave Meren an uneasy glance, but when his captor remained silent, he went on. “And then—and then your daughter startled me by hitting me with a dirt clod. I—I reacted without thinking.”

  Kysen gave me an impatient laugh. “Wah, you’re a fool if you think we’re going to believe that tale.”

  Wah gushed with a deluge of protests, but as he babbled, Kysen was distracted by Meren. His father had remained silent far longer than expected, and he was sitting there absently rubbing his sun-disk scar. Kysen could tell from his distant expression that Meren wasn’t listening to Wah at all. Then he caught a glimpse of something in Meren’s eyes, a haunted look of dread that appeared and vanished in less than the space of a breath. Finally Meren stirred and beckoned Kysen. Kysen went to his father and bent down to hear his whisper.

  “We must question him alone. No guards, no one else except us.”

  In moments Kysen had snatched Wah and thrust him into the deckhouse. Charioteers and sailors alike responded to Meren’s command and left the ship. Only Reia remained on board, standing guard at a distance from the awning so that he wouldn’t hear anything said inside the cabin.

  Once the ship was almost deserted, Kysen followed his father inside the deckhouse. They hadn’t brought a lamp, and the only light filtered in from the high, rectangular windows. Wah was facing the door, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looking from Meren to Kysen and back.

  “I don’t understand this rough treatment, my lord. I swear by the feather of truth that I—”

  “Wah.”

  Meren had spoken barely above a whisper, but Wah broke off with a cry and backed away from him. Kysen almost felt sympathy, for Meren’s manner was disturbing.

  “You’ve been under a great strain for a long time, haven’t you? Keeping unspeakable secrets, fearing retribution, in terror of discovery. And finally, when you were beginning to think yourself safe again, my garrulous sister told you about seeing Paser,” Meren said calmly. “That’s why you lost your sense and ran. You knew I had him, and that I’d force him to talk. You were afraid of what he’d say.”

  “Paser had the wits of a goat!” Wah cried. “He was trying to ingratiate himself with Prince Hunefer by spying on you. The ass was stumbling around and keeping you alert and wary when I was trying to gain your favor. That’s all there is to this matter.”

  “Keep quiet for a moment,” Meren said in that same calm, pitying tone. “There will be no more dissembling, Wah. I know there’s more to this than Paser’s blundering. Do you understand what I’m saying? Ah, I see that you do. Then you know I cannot allow you to continue. I hope you understand that well enough to abandon this absurd pretense.”

  Kysen was growing more and more uneasy. He knew Meren had discovered that Wah killed Sennefer, but that didn’t account for his father’s gravity, or his carefully concealed fear. Meren was frightened, and that made apprehension crawl down Kysen’s spine on scorpion’s legs. Wah was mumbling more protests, but they faltered when Meren continued to look at the man as if he were already dead and lying in a sarcophagus.

  At last Wah stumbled against
the back cabin wall and asked in a weak voice, “You know?” He swallowed hard as if he might vomit at any moment. “How did you find out?”

  “I remembered the conversation between Anhai, Sennefer, and you at the feast of rejoicing.” Meren glanced at Kysen. “But I haven’t had a chance to tell my son, who doubtless already has concluded that you murdered my cousin.”

  “But why?” Kysen asked.

  Meren walked back and forth in front of Wah. “You weren’t there when Wah arrived at the feast, but Anhai and Sennefer were, and Anhai remembered Wah from the days when they both served in the household of the Great Royal Wife Nefertiti.”

  “But what has that to do with Sennefer or Anhai?”

  Meren’s path took him back to Kysen, where he paused and asked, “Do you remember how Sennefer died? The fever, the mad visions, the loud voice of his heart, and then the stupor that ended in death? He died so unexpectedly that I failed to relate the features of his illness with any other event. Anhai’s death was different from his. And Paser’s spy was killed by a crocodile in a seemingly unrelated matter. But I am suspicious, as you have pointed out, and when Paser and his men appeared, I couldn’t help suspecting some common influence might be responsible for the other deaths. I began to go over what had happened at the feast, but I found nothing odd until I remembered Wah speaking to Sennefer and Anhai.”

  Meren glanced at Wah, who was looking at his captor in horror. “You see, Ky, they had been making conversation about Nefertiti and mentioned her death. But it wasn’t until just before you came to my office that I realized that the queen’s plague closely resembled Sennefer’s poisoning.”

  Wah whimpered, and Kysen turned a wide-eyed stare on him. The kohl around the man’s eyes had smeared yet again and streaked his face. In spite of his lankiness, he seemed to be shrinking.