Tutankhamun gave him a skeptical look. 'Is that so? Then why didn't you let me go on that raid against the sand dwellers last month? Ha! The whole kingdom thinks I rule unchallenged when the truth is I must obey far too many people. Well this time my wishes shall prevail.'
'Of course, majesty.' Meren bowed before the king.
'Oh, stand up straight, Meren. There's no use pretending you haven't already decided to let me do this.'
'As thy majesty wishes.'
'Humph.'
The trail of blood led straight to the base of the cliffs that rose at least thirty cubits high above the desert floor. They formed undulating vertical shafts like pleats in a linen robe, and the cliff face was riddled with hollows and caves. The trail ended abruptly about thirty paces from the cliff base, but Meren was able to discern dragging footprints that took him to a fan of debris. He climbed over the rocks with the king and his bodyguards close behind only to find nothing but a blank wall with a spray of boulders in front of it. They stared at the area for a few moments before Meren noticed a shadow. Walking between two of the boulders, Meren found the mouth of a small cave, and lying in the sand before it was a dagger. The king stooped, his hand outstretched.
'Majesty, no!' Meren thrust his arm in front of the king. 'There is contamination here, and evil. Pharaoh must not touch the blade of a murderer.'
Meren explored the small cave and found more footprints and signs of a struggle between two men. Evidently a fight started in the cave and continued outside. Together he and pharaoh knelt to examine the weapon. The bronze blade was encrusted with blackened blood, but what surprised Meren was the quality of the object.
'Majesty, this isn't the blade of a commoner.'
'I know. Look at the engraving on the blade.'
The maker had etched a central grove down the blade that ended in a palmette design. The hilt was dusty and smeared with more blood. A bodyguard handed Meren a rag, and he cleaned the weapon as best he could.
'The hilt is ebony,' the king said.
'Aye, majesty, and the pommel alabaster that was once carved and stained with black and red ink to bring out the design.' Meren held the weapon up to the light. 'There may be words engraved in the alabaster.'
Meren called for the scribe of charioteers, who provided ink and water. In a short time he was smearing black ink on the alabaster pommel. Holding the dagger to the light again, Meren read, 'The good-something-lord- something-valor, Nefer-khep-something.' Meren looked at the king, who met his gaze in silence, his eyes wide.
'Meren…'
'I know, Golden One.'
The king drew closer and lowered his voice. 'What is this blade doing here?'
'I know not, majesty.'
Meren turned the blade over, but could see no other distinguishing marks. It mattered little, however. The words engraved on the alabaster pommel were fragmentary but more than enough. Both he and the king possessed daggers engraved with similar phrases. In the king's case, almost identical. The alabaster pommel had been carved with the formal phrase, 'The good god, lord of valor, Nefer-kheperu-re.'
Nefer-kheperu-re was a throne name, the name a king took upon his accession to the throne of Egypt. Tutankhamun's throne name was Neb-kheperu-re. But this name was slightly different, Nefer-kheperu-re, and that difference was enough to send dread racing through Meren's body. For Nefer-kheperu-re was the throne name of the king's dead brother, the reviled and cursed heretic, Akhenaten.
On the east bank of the Nile in Thebes lay the massive temples of Amun and his goddess consort, Mut. Protected by high walls and pylon gates, within gold and electrum encrusted doors, rested the statues of the gods. On the west bank, between emerald fields of grain and the barren mountains soared the mortuary temples of Egypt's greatest pharaohs. Within these offerings were made to deceased kings like Thutmose the Conqueror, who had extended Egypt's empire far to the north and south. In the mountains nearby, in a steep-sided valley, was the Place of Truth, the site of the secret burials of the kings of Egypt. Just south of the mortuary temple of Amunhotep III, the king's father, sat the glorious palace of pharaoh. Surrounding it were lesser palaces of the chief royal wife as well as those of the household of royal women. The dwellings of those who served the king and his family clustered close to the walls of the royal enclosure along with barracks and workshops.
In the royal precinct Meren had just arrived at one of the servants' houses where Kar, the dead man, had lived. He'd seldom had occasion to go into so modest a dwelling, and for Meren the experience was enlightening. He was in the tiny reception area, no more than an empty space before the living room, and he already felt cramped. This place was less than a tenth the size of his town house.
Yesterday after he returned to the palace with the king he'd sent his adopted son Kysen to find out who the dead man was and to investigate the circumstances of his death. It turned out that Kar belonged to a family in service to pharaoh, one of thousands spread throughout the kingdom. Kysen and Meren's chief aide, Abu, had been investigating all morning. So far no one knew what Kar was doing in the desert last night or how he came to be stabbed with a dagger that had once belonged to the heretic king. Because of the dagger, the death had taken on much more importance that it would ordinarily have had. Meren was by nature suspicious, and the link to the royal family must be followed.
Walking into the deserted living area, Meren examined his surroundings. Along the far wall there was a low platform upon which rested a table with a water jar and clay cups. Reed mats served as rugs, and the roof was supported by a central column. An interior stair probably led to a bedroom. Meren heard voices, and Kysen walked in with Abu from the kitchen that lay beyond the living area.
'Ah, Father. You persuaded pharaoh not to come,' Kysen said.
'Indeed. I explained that his appearance would cause a riot and impeded the investigation. The Golden One was most annoyed.'
Kysen grinned. 'We've talked to Kar's family and friends, what few of them there are. Did you know his brother is assistant to the master of royal unguent makers? What was his name, Abu?'
'Onuris, lord.'
'And the parents?' Meren asked.
'The father's name is Wersu, lord. He used to be an unguent maker. The mother is Qedet.' Abu nodded toward the kitchen. 'They are in there. The woman is weeping, and her husband is staring at her.'
'I hope you have something to tell me. All we got from the scene at the cave were imprints of palm sandals, and there are tens of thousands of those in the city.'
Kysen leaned against the central column and sighed. 'There's not much to be learned. The parents were at home all night, and thought Kar was home sleeping too. Since he was probably killed late last night, he must have slipped out unseen. He was a sweeper and doorkeeper with the royal women's household. The steward had assigned him to watch the garden gate from late afternoon until about three hours past sunset. But the parents say he lost his position there a few weeks ago. Before that he was a tender of animals at the royal menagerie, and before that an assistant to one of the royal unguent makers like his brother.'
'And what about the dagger?'
Abu shook his head. 'Neither of them know where it came from. They swear they've never seen it before.'
'We were going to talk to Onuris,' Kysen said. 'He's at work in the royal workshops.'
'Very well. I'm going back to the palace after I'm through here. I'll talk to the steward who oversaw Kar.'
Kysen presented Kar's parents to Meren before he left. Wersu was sitting on the floor in the kitchen at a low table. He was tent-pole thin, with a few wisps of silver hair remaining on his head, and a few brown teeth still left in his head. His wife was younger and retained some of the agreeable features of youth. Her hair was thick and curly, her skin soft from the application of oils. Qedet had a wide face and large, heavy-lidded eyes, and Meren could imagine she had once commanded admiration from many men. At the moment, though, she was squatting on her heels, rocking back and forth and moaning. Her eyes were red, and she kept wiping them with a length of a large piece of linen. Qedet was cleaning the linen by dipping a corner of it in a solution of water and natron salt and rubbing it to get rid of an ink stain.
Wersu shook his head over and over. 'He wouldn't listen to me, Lord Meren. He just wouldn't listen. Just wouldn't listen. Paid me no heed at all. Just wouldn't listen.'
