Sliding into the footwear, he said, "Othrys wants to be rid of me because he fears for his own head. That's why he's so anxious to help."
"He considered giving you to pharaoh," Naram-Sin said softly.
Meren paused in running his fingers through his wet hair. "Oh?"
"But I convinced him that in doing so he would invite inconvenient royal attention. I said that pharaoh is wise beyond his years and might ask himself why you sought the protection of a man who is supposed to be but a Greek ship captain and trader."
Meren didn't reply at once. He studied Naram-Sin, trying to divine the man's motives. Was his obvious interest that of one who preferred men, or was it but a ruse?
"What do you want, Naram-Sin?"
"Only for the lord to allow me to aid him."
"And in return?"
Meren stiffened as Naram-Sin came closer, but the scribe stopped when he was within a pace of him.
"In return," Naram-Sin whispered, "I want… friendship."
Turning, Meren walked to the door and opened it. "I can't be the friend of a man whose very name is a lie."
"Kysen told you my name is that of an ancient king," Naram-Sin said.
"Yes."
"But that doesn't mean that the spirit of the name is a lie."
"I have no time for or interest in this game," Meren said. He pushed the door open wider. "Wait outside while I finish dressing."
With Naram-Sin out of the bathing chamber, Meren put on a new wig that the scribe had provided, along with a clean loincloth. Meren would have traded either for a dagger or scimitar. Outside, Naram-Sin was draped across Ese's sleeping couch. He got up as Meren entered and spoke before they reached the antechamber.
"If you live…"
Meren glanced at him and lifted a brow. "Yes?"
"If you live, perhaps I'll tell you my real name. If that will bring your friendship."
"I don't care what your real name is. I'm going to find Ese and arrange to sleep here tonight."
Naram-Sin shook his head. "Othrys commands that you return to his house. You can be better concealed there. I know a safe route that runs through the houses of friends."
"As long as I don't have to step in any more dung piles."
Meren followed Naram-Sin downstairs and into the main tavern room. They were passing the great circular fireplace when someone crossed their path. Flame light touched a robe of crimson sewn with roundels of gold. A hand burdened with rings of amethyst, green jasper, and chalcedony flashed out and caught Naram-Sin by the shoulder. Meren was forced to stop behind his escort.
"Naram-Sin," said the owner of the hand. "May Baal and Ishtar bless you."
The scribe bowed with the ease of the finest courtier. "Zulaya. Good fortune to you. We thought you'd gone to Byblos."
"I'm honored that Othrys speculates upon my whereabouts."
"Only in passing," Naram-Sin replied with another bow. "Your pardon, but I'm on an errand for the master."
The scribe moved, but Zulaya stepped into his path and waved at Meren with the cup of wine he was holding. "Othrys has a new servant?"
Meren kept his mouth shut. He didn't trust his ability to play a common Greek sailor before this well-traveled merchant. Naram-Sin glanced over his shoulder at Meren as if he'd forgotten him.
"New servant? Oh, no. This is Tros, a friend." Before he could react, Naram-Sin wrapped a hand around his arm and pulled Meren against him. "Tros is from Mycenae. His family is high in the favor of the prince."
"Ah," Zulaya said as he bowed to Meren. "I have many dealings with other Greek cities, but not Mycenae. Perhaps we could share wine and speak of trade?"
Meren opened his mouth, but Naram-Sin spoke first.
"A most tempting invitation, but we have promised to be elsewhere, and it's getting late. Perhaps another time?"
Zulaya inclined his head and stepped aside. As Meren passed, he said, "It's a dark night, Tros. Be careful."
Meren nodded and hurried after Naram-Sin. He caught up with the scribe as he stepped outside. One of Othrys's guards was waiting. Meren kept silent until the guard led them into a deserted house. Then he stopped Naram-Sin.
"Where did Zulaya come from? How long was he in the Divine Lotus tonight?"
Naram-Sin gave an impatient sigh. "By the earth mother, you demand the impossible, lord. I cannot know everything, even for you."
The guard suddenly became interested in the plaster on the wall in the next room as Meren stalked closer to the scribe.
"I've practiced the patience of Isis with you, Naram-Sin.Give me an untwisted answer before I tie your legs around your neck."
Holding up his hands, Naram-Sin chuckled and said, "I obey, great lord, but you won't like my answer. No one knows when Zulaya arrives or when he leaves, not even Othrys."
"So he could have just arrived. He could have been in the streets earlier in the evening."
"He could have been in the netherworld," Naram-Sin replied, "and neither you nor I would know it." The scribe lowered his voice. "It is said that Zulaya's power comes from demons of that place."
"Power comes from wealth ordained by the gods, Naram-Sin."
"And birth, lord."
"Do you know a well-born man without wealth?" Meren made a slashing motion with his hand. "I've no time for useless speculation. You've ruined my plans for this Zulaya. He's seen me, and now I can't make his acquaintance as Lord Meren."
"In truth, lord, you're more likely to gain Zulaya's trust as a Greek. He leaves the trading matters here to his underlings and has few dealings with Egyptians."
"When will he come to the Divine Lotus again?"
Naram-Sin shook his head and gave Meren a smile that irritated its recipient with its familiarity. "His visits to the city are brief and rare. A merchant prince must travel ceaselessly, for he trades in countless places. As for finding him again-"
"I must find him again," Meren said.
The scribe hesitated, his brow furrowing as if he struggled with some elusive thought. "Lord, Zulaya is like the desert storm-winds; he appears from nothing and vanishes into nothing."
"Nevertheless-"
Meren went silent and raised a warning hand to Naram-Sin. They had been standing in a narrow room, the roof of which was supported by a single column. The house itself had no second story, and the roof served as a living area. He'd heard a distant thump on the roof, as if someone had landed on it from the second story of the building next door. Meren signaled to their guard. The man hurried through the house to the rear door, but as he disappeared Meren heard scurrying from above. Launching himself after the guard, he burst past Naram-Sin.
"Come, quickly!"
He ran through the house to the rear door, which stood open. Throwing himself beside the portal, he grabbed Naram-Sin before the other man could run outside. The guard reappeared, beckoning. Meren slipped out of the house, followed by Naram-Sin. Keeping their backs to the house walls, they hurried for the shelter of an alley shrouded in blackness. As they gained concealment, Meren glanced back and saw movement on the roof of the house they'd just left. Then a shout cut through the quiet.
"They've gone out the back.'"
Naram-Sin grabbed Meren's arm and whispered furiously, "Follow the guard. I'll go separately, and they'll have to chase us both."
"It's too dangerous," Meren said as Naram-Sin began to push him toward the guard. "If they catch you-"
"If they catch you, Othrys will kill me. Now go!"
Naram-Sin whirled and ran back the way they'd come. At the same time, the guard grabbed Meren's arm and hauled him down the alley into another passageway. As they ran, Meren heard more shouting, then the sound of running, closer and closer. The guard stopped and shoved Meren ahead of him into a doorway.
"Stay still," the man hissed. "Not a move until they pass." The guard stepped into the middle of the alley, turned his back, and looked over his shoulder as their pursuers came into view. Then he fled. Meren pressed himself against dry old wood and h
eld his breath as five men with knives and scimitars hurtled toward him.
Chapter 19
Thebes, the independent reign of the pharaoh Akhenaten
A year, an entire year-Inundation, Emergence, Harvest- and she still lived. Nefertiti sat in a small audience chamber and stared blankly at one of the frescoes in the Theban royal palace. Her little girls were gone, one by one. All but Merytaten and Ankhesenpaaten. Gone. First Meketaten had caught an ague that worsened until she could no longer breathe. Then a plague had swept out of the northern empire to strike Egypt, taking her youngest ones, even the littlest, Setepenre.
That plague had scourged Nefertiti's heart and left her empty and writhing in agony. All her prayers, those of the priests and physicians, had come to naught. The gods had abandoned her.
Ay had convinced Akhenaten that she needed to get away from the palace and the city where she had lost her children, and so her father had brought her to visit her sister. Nefertiti cared not where she was. The pain was the same. Ay fussed at her, urging her to eat, to go out, to sail in the royal barge. These things she could not do. There was no reason to do them.
Her father had taken on many of her duties, as had Merytaten. Akhenaten sent an endless stream of letters full of worry, full of comfort, all useless. His grief did not touch her, and for that she felt guilty. He had loved the girls as much as she, and without her, he had no one with whom he could share his torment. But she was empty and exhausted. If she had to endure his clinging sorrow, she would go mad.
The gods had abandoned her. What other explanation was there for the loss of so many innocents in so short a time? She had prayed to them all-Amun, Mut, Osiris, Ra, but especially to Isis, the mother of all the gods. Her babies had died anyway. And only now, months past that time of destruction, was she beginning to understand the reason the gods had abandoned her. She and her husband had rejected the origin of all existence, the power from which all creation issued- Amun, the hidden power of life, the unknowable source. Without the king of the gods, she was doomed, as were her remaining children. All was blackness and chaos.
She heard a noise and glanced up to find her father walking toward her. She hadn't noticed his arrival, although her attendants must have announced him. Forcing herself to pay attention to him, she even managed a partial smile of greeting. Ay didn't smile back. He marched over to her.
Mooring himself in front of her chair, he said, "Daughter, I love you too much to allow you to commit self-annihilation." When she merely sighed, he continued. "You're still a mother, and more important, you're still queen of Egypt. Like you, Akhenaten is submerged in his grief, but unlike you he has sought refuge with the Ateri. His withdrawal grows with the days, and Egypt suffers." Bending down, Ay put his hand on hers. "You're stronger than this, stronger than pharaoh."
Nefertiti shook off her father's hand. "There's nothing inside me. My ka is empty." She scowled at Ay. "Besides, I've had enough of standing between pharaoh and the world. Why must I be the shield and bear the burdens, take all the blows?"
"Because you are the great royal wife, and pharaoh will heed no other in all of Egypt." Ay crouched before Nefertiti and bent on her an intense, urgent look. "Your lot has been hard, your grief as immense as the desert, but you must accept what has happened and continue with the tasks we've set for ourselves."
Nefertiti closed her eyes. "I can't."
"Remember that priest, the one you mercifully dispatched? I know you had his name secretly carved on a wall in Amun's temple. Because of you, his ka won't perish." Ay put a hand on her cheek. "Without you Egypt will suffer; children like your own will suffer. Something must be done to bring order before the kingdom drowns in chaos. Remember those who suffer because the temples have been closed."
She looked away. "Yes. I remember, Father. But I have no strength inside me."
"Shall I bring a few hungry children to the palace?" Ay asked. "Perhaps the sight of their protruding ribs and great, dull eyes will give you strength."
"The gods have abandoned me. They've abandoned Egypt."
Abruptly, her father stood and shouted at her, "Then what will you do about it?"
Nefertiti started and blinked at him. It had been many years since anyone had dared yell at her.
"Do about it?"
Ay didn't answer.
"Do something about it," she repeated. Her fingers drummed on the arm of her chair, and an almost imperceptible glimmer of light entered her ka. She fixed Ay with a sharp stare. "You know what you're saying?"
He nodded.
"Then arrange it. It must be done now, while I'm in Thebes and away from pharaoh."
Three days after the confrontation with her father, Nefertiti feigned illness from lack of food and took to her bed. That night Ay's most trusted guards were ordered to duty at the palace, with Sebek in command. When the moon set, Nefertiti rose and dressed, donning a cloak and a short wig that made her look like one of her personal maids. Sebek and another guard were waiting outside her quarters. Her head bowed, she followed them through the quiet palace, into the pleasure gardens, and out of the royal precinct.
They went to the river, where a yacht awaited them. Nefertiti led the way across the gangplank, and as she stepped on board, her father came out of the deckhouse to meet her.
"You weren't followed?" he asked.
Nefertiti glanced back at Sebek, who shook his head.
"Come," Ay said.
They entered the deckhouse, and Nefertiti was visited by memories of her childhood. The chamber was furnished much as it had been then, with intricately woven mats on the floor, wall hangings embroidered in the city of Babylon, and an abundance of floor cushions. Ay's chair stood beside a table, and there was the little folding stool she'd used. Its seat was crafted of ebony and ivory to resemble a leopard skin. Nefertiti contemplated the spots while her finger traced the slick ivory.
Ay left her in the deckhouse, alone except for a slave, one who had been with her family since before Nefertiti had been born, to fan her and serve food. The slave held out a tray laden with beef, mutton, and spiced duck. Nefertiti shook her head and dismissed the woman.
She wished she could sit on the folding stool, but her place was in Ay's chair. Throwing her cloak over her shoulders, Nefertiti sat and arranged her gown around her legs. With the ease of many years' practice, she assumed the posture of a queen, arms draped along the chair arms, chin high, expression distant.
The door opened, and her father came in with a man dressed in a kilt and frayed overrobe, the pleats of which had long ago lost their fine edge. The visitor's head was devoid of hair except for wispy strands of silver that stood up from his scalp and fringed the side and back of his skull. His eyes were small, and his nose jutted forward. It dominated the receding mouth and chin. Small ears hugged close to his head. The rest of him was thin and frail.
Nefertiti felt a sting of pity, for the man was quivering like jostled yogurt. "You may speak."
"Great queen, I am from the Hidden One." The man shrank back and trembled more violently.
"Fear not," she said. "We're safe here."
The priest seemed to try to melt into the deck. "Danger is never far from servants of the Hidden One." He licked his lips. "I am Shedamun."
Shedamun was chief lector priest to Amun. Nefertiti glanced at her father; she hadn't recognized the man, he had changed so in appearance. He'd lost hair, flesh, and much of his old assurance. She had thought Shedamun was hiding or dead.
One of the holiest of the god's servants, Shedamun was known throughout the Two Lands for his powerful magic. To him went the privilege of reading from the sacred texts of the god. From the reading of the words came power of the gods hidden in deep antiquity. Shedamun's reading was imbued with sanctity.
Nefertiti could remember Akhenaten's father saying that no royal endeavor would succeed without a favorable reading from Shedamun. When Amunhotep had been ill, the lector priest's voice brought ease from suffering. Shedamun was one of the few who
knew the secret words by which Amun was invoked.
"There was a rebellion in Nubia once," Nefertiti said. "The pharaoh Amunhotep said your words brought the magic of Amun to bear upon the rebel tribes."
"What? Oh, yes, majesty. Are you sure we're safe?" Shedamun's gaze searched the cabin for listeners. "Great royal wife, I come from the high priest. There are so few of us left that he had to send me."
The man must be woefully short of priests if he sent this quaking, unworldly scholar. Of course priests of Amun were scarce now.
Nefertiti nodded to give the old man courage.
"I memorized the message," Shedamun said after a final look around the cabin for spies. He pitched his voice in a singsong manner that almost made Nefertiti smile.
"The high priest of Amun to the great royal wife, mistress of the Two Lands, Nefertiti, may you live in prosperity, health, and in favor of Amun, king of the gods. I say to Amun, keep the queen in health." Shedamun cleared his throat. "Thus says the high priest. Great royal wife, the priests die. Those who live dare not shave their heads nor perform lustrations, nor make any worship of the Hidden One. In the Two Lands the thief becomes a lord, and the sinful man rules the temple. Wretched Asiatics and Nubians threaten from north and south. The land is not fruitful.
"Thus says the high priest. For many years I have watched the sickness grow within the body of Egypt, and I have great sorrow. For many years I have heard of thy piety. Thy mercy has come to me on the tongues of priests and workmen."
"Stop," Nefertiti said. "The pharaoh Amunhotep always said the high priest used five words where one would do. Can you omit some of them?"
Shedamun grinned. His eyes became distant as he mentally thumbed through the pages of the letter. "Let me see." Shedamun cleared his throat again. "The House of Amun suffers. We have no more tribute from the vassal towns of Syria. Our herds are confiscated. We no longer own fields and gardens. This year alone we lost ten thousand slaves. All of our storehouses have been seized: the treasure of the god- gold, silver, lapis lazuli, malachite. In one treasury, three hundred twenty-seven vessels of electrum, gold, and obsidian. We have no galleys or barques, no black bronze, no woven robes, incense, or honey, no precious wood." Shedamun paused and wet his lips. "The list goes on, majesty, but you understand the point."
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