Slayer of Gods (26 page)

At last, his heart racing, he whispered, “Damnation.”

“There you are.” Anath walked onto the loggia holding a small cloth bundle. “I found the resin.”

“
Damnation, Anath
.” Meren was still staring at the reeds.

“What is it?” she asked, staring at the lake. “I don’t see anything.”

He looked at her then, and she went still.

“What?” she said with a sharpness that woke him from his stunned trance.

“By the gods!” He slapped the column. “It was there all along, and I didn’t see it.”

“Meren, you’re not making sense.”

“The transfer of the deed to Thanuro’s land. The gift from pharaoh.” He grabbed Anath. “The transfer was recorded in year
sixteen of Akhenaten’s reign.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Anath, Thanuro died in year fifteen.”

There was a small pause. Then Anath said lightly, “No, I don’t think so.”

“I’m certain of it. I’ve been over those cursed documents too many times. Even the script is engraved in my memory. The deed
was finalized a year after the priest was supposed to have died. Which means either someone took the land pretending to be
him, or he never died at all.”

“It’s merely a confusion,” Anath said. “There are thousands of such transfers every year, and some of them are bound to be
wrong.”

“Ordinarily I’d agree,” Meren said. “But not this time, because two things happened the year before that transfer. Thanuro
died. And Zulaya appeared in Egypt.”

“So did many people.”

“You still don’t understand. Remember what Yamen told me about his murderer when he was dying? He said, ‘He’ll sacrifice you
as he does all who know him.’ ” Meren clapped his hands in excitement. “And then he said something that has always bothered
me. He said, ‘He is in my heart. There is no other who knows him.’ That phrase always seemed familiar, but I didn’t place it
until just now. Then I remembered that not long ago the king was reading Akhenaten’s hymn to the Aten.”

Anath’s brow wrinkled and she shook her head.

“Don’t you see? Those are Akhenaten’s words, written about his relationship to the Aten. Yamen was telling me that the guilty
one made sacrifices and recited Aten hymns. He was a priest. Thanuro.” Meren prowled the loggia as he thought, murmuring to
himself. “And Thanuro is Zulaya.”

He stopped, staring out into the painful brightness of the garden. Suddenly years dropped away, and he was back at Horizon
of the Aten, and memories, obscured by pain and deliberate forgetting, cleared to the definition of a newly painted fresco.
He was walking through the royal courts, the temple gateways, the queen’s palace, glancing at a priest, then moving on, concerned
with his own survival, giving the man little thought. This man whom the queen distrusted, this priest, like all others, shaved
his head, his eyebrows, his face. He wore the garb of a priest, and affected the stately demeanor of one who dealt with a
god.

Meren heard Anath speaking to him, but he held up a hand for silence. He’d only seen Zulaya once, briefly, and then it had
been in a dark, crowded tavern. Could it be? Meren tried to fit the image of the priest with that of the merchant. Zulaya
was older than the man Meren remembered. He no longer shaved his head, eyebrows, and face. He wore the raiment of a foreigner,
even the hairstyle of an Asiatic. The difference was just drastic enough to conceal an identity no longer of any use. Meren
felt Anath’s hand on his arm and dragged his attention back to her.

“You’re certain Zulaya is the priest Thanuro?” Anath’s confused smile faded. She held Meren’s gaze for a long time. “Yes,
I can see that you are.”

“Of course I’m certain. Don’t you see it too?”

Anath dropped the resin bundle and shook her head. “Oh, my dear love. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. None of us noticed the discrepancy in the dates.”

She walked toward the doorway that led to the reception hall, turned, and looked at him sorrowfully. “No, Meren. I’m sorry
you noticed it at all. Father?”

A tall shadow appeared in the doorway, cast by a figure approaching from the lamplit hall. Meren took a step back as Zulaya
neared, followed by half a dozen armed men. Zulaya was holding Khufu, stroking his patched fur as he regarded Meren. Looking
from Anath to Zulaya, Meren’s eyes widened. Pain followed his confusion, then he smothered his emotions. In the space between
one heartbeat and another Meren went from elation to misery and fury, and on to battle readiness.

Zulaya inclined his head. “I trust your son has recovered by now, Lord Meren.”

Meren transferred his gaze to Anath, his heart pounding as he stalled for time. “Your father is dead.”

“My mother told me who my real father was when I was six,” Anath said. “Did you really think a man as aged as Nebwawi could
sire a child? He was an arrogant fool to believe it, but then, he never bothered to wonder about anything having to do with
my mother or me.”

“None of this is relevant to our problem of the moment,” Zulaya said.

Meren eyed the men who had moved around him to form a half circle. “Now I understand your habit of elusiveness while you’re
in Egypt, Zulaya, although I don’t think anyone would recognize you in your present guise. You’re the Aten priest, Thanuro.”

“That’s not important.”

“True, Zulaya. What’s important is that you bribed the steward Wah to poison the great royal wife Nefertiti, and for that
you will die.”

Zulaya stroked Khufu and said, “My dear Lord Meren, you’re in no position to speak of who is going to die.”

Bener carried a bowl of soup and a wooden spoon into the house from the kitchens, her spirits light with relief at her brother’s
awakening. Kysen’s illness had frightened her as much as being abducted. She paused to blow on the soup, for it was too hot
to be consumed. Chunks of heron meat floated in the broth along with cabbage and beans. Kysen liked heron, and she’d ordered
the soup prepared hoping to tempt him. He’d rested after Father left with Anath, but he was awake now.

She paused in her cooling efforts to look over her shoulder. A charioteer lurked at a distance, her ever-present companion
when she wasn’t with Anath. Who was it? Bener scowled as she recognized Lord Irzanen. That arrogant son of a sow had ruined
her plans to charm incriminating admissions out of Lord Usermontu’s son. It was beyond her understanding why he thought he
had a right to interfere. Besides, if she hadn’t been forced to take him to task for his rudeness, she wouldn’t have been
captured by that enormous dark creature with the knife.

No, don’t dwell upon it
. Her sleep was invaded by demons, her dreams bizarre versions of the endless hours spent in that tiny, airless room. Bener
swallowed hard to rid herself of tears that would betray weakness. She’d never contemplated dying, never really known what
it was to fear for her life until she was abducted. Now she understood why Father was always so concerned for her welfare.
But the trouble hadn’t been her fault. Father’s enemy was far more clever and powerful than any he’d ever fought. That was
the crux of the matter.

It wasn’t fair. In spite of the ordeal, Bener knew she could be of help if everyone would stop treating her as if she was
lackwitted. All her efforts to help Father had come to ruin because of the abduction. No one would remember her clever heart
now that she’d nearly gotten killed, and Father was too frightened of losing her to admit she had been making progress. If
she’d continued with her investigations, she would have discovered the most secret of secrets Pendua and Usermontu possessed.

Now she wouldn’t be allowed even to read royal dispatches, much less do anything adventurous. Bener scowled at Irzanen, who
reddened and looked away. Turning her back on the young man, she blew on the soup again and proceeded through the reception
hall. As she passed the master’s dais she saw a small wicker box. Setting the soup down she picked it up and opened it to
reveal the piece of bone Father had found at the well where poor old Satet had drowned. Bener sighed, thinking of the lively
old woman whose goose still terrorized the kitchen yard. Neither Kysen, nor Bener or Meren, were willing to believe Satet
simply fell into the well, but so far no witness to the contrary had been located.

Bener closed the box lid, slipped the container under her arm, and took the soup to Kysen’s room. Her brother was sitting
in bed with his back propped against the headboard of polished cedar inlaid with ivory. Bener handed the soup to Kysen. When
he’d finished half of it, she produced the wicker box and lifted the lid.

“I found this in the hall.”

Kysen glanced at the fragment. “Father told you not to interfere.”

“I’m not interfering. I want to know where to put it.”

“Give it to me.”

Bener put the box on top of a chest. “You don’t need it. Nebamun said you wouldn’t be able to remain awake for long, and I
can see you’re already tired from holding the soup bowl.”

“I may look tired, but I can’t sleep,” Kysen said. “I’m weary of sleeping. I’ve done too much of it.”

Bener regarded him for a moment. His face had lost most of its color, and his eyes seemed twice as large as they’d been before
his illness, probably because of the hollows under them and in his cheeks.

“I’ll play for you,” she said. Then she smiled. “You always told me my music put you to sleep.”

Kysen looked embarrassed. “Sorry.”

“I think I saw Anath’s lute outside Father’s rooms.”

Bener hurried down the corridor that led to the master’s suite, retrieved the instrument, and returned to find Kysen had lain
down again. She sat on a cushion beside him and strummed the lute. Sooner or later she was going to persuade Father to speak
of his relationship with Anath. She liked the Eyes of Babylon, who had the kind of adventures for which Bener longed. But
Anath had changed since her last stay at home. She seemed more deliberately charming and far more biddable than Bener remembered.

To put Kysen at ease Bener played an old tune said to have been composed in the time of the pyramid builders, a slow, soft
melody. Then she played one her sister Isis had composed. As she finished she shifted the lute to a more comfortable position,
and something caught on her gown. The body of the instrument had been constructed from a large tortoise shell, and when she
reversed the instrument she found a jagged hole in it.

“Son of a she-goat!”

Kysen jerked and opened his eyes. “Huh?”

“Look at this.”

She thrust the lute at him and jumped to her feet. Snatching the wicker box, she grabbed the piece of bone, took it to Kysen,
and fitted it into the hole in the tortoise shell.

“It’s tortoise shell,” she said.

They looked at each other.

“Anath,” Bener whispered. “Remember the night Satet was killed? I’d commissioned those musicians to play for Father again
to help him relax and rest.”

“You think she concealed herself among them?”

“But why would she kill the old woman?” Bener dropped the tortoise shell fragment and looked at Kysen. “Oh, no.”

Kysen pounded the bed. “Where is she?”

“Father took her home to fetch something.”

They exchanged horrified glances. Kysen shoved the lute away and struggled to get out of bed. Bener grabbed his shoulder.

“No, you’re too weak.”

“I have to—”

Bener gave him a hard shove. “I’ll do it.” She ran to the door and spotted Irzanen, who came alert at her sudden appearance.

“What’s wrong, lady?”

“Find Abu and Reia. Summon every man.”

“But—”

Bener wasn’t Lord Meren’s daughter for nothing. She pulled herself up and lowered her voice an octave.

“Summon the charioteers at once, or by all the gods I’ll see you condemned to the farthest desert mine in the empire!”

Irzanen vanished, and Bener returned to Kysen. Her brother was trying to get out of bed. Cursing under her breath, Bener helped
him stand, and they began to walk to the hall.

“He hasn’t been gone long,” she said as they walked.

“We must go carefully,” Kysen said. “Father is safe as long as she doesn’t know we’ve discovered her crime. Gods, Bener, what
evil do we confront that perverts even the Eyes of Babylon?”

“She’s in the pay of the murderer, and she’s been spying on us all along. Think about it. No wonder Father came upon her that
morning. She’d been here all along to kill Satet.”

“I’ll go to her house,” Kysen said as they entered the hall. “You stay here in case we miss them and they come back. I’ll
leave Irzanen and Reia with you.”

Bener opened her mouth, but shut it again when she read the expression on Kysen’s face. It wasn’t long before she was standing
at the front door watching chariot after chariot clatter along the avenue and through the gates. She waved dust out of her
face. Biting her lip, she sat down on the top step and fixed her gaze on the street beyond the open gate, and waited.

Meren said nothing as Zulaya stared into his eyes with a hungry excitement that was as disturbing as the peril to which his
folly had led him. He had always liked Anath, and her years of expertise and proven service had made him trust her from the
first. Lulled by friendship and trust, his habitual wariness had failed to warn him against her, and he’d succumbed to a seduction
so obvious he blushed to remember it.