no one thwarted the progress of a man wearing leather-and-bronze chest armor with a scimitar and dagger at his side. Especially not a charioteer, who was usually well-born and experienced in battle.
Abu was almost as giant as Karoya, Tut's Nubian bodyguard. His build was heavy and his muscles seemed to live a life of rippling activity beneath his skin. A few years younger than Meren, Abu rarely smiled, and when not on duty went on sprees of wine drinking that rivaled any indulged in by warriors half his age. Kysen had never dared inquire as to the cause of Abu's melancholy or his drinking lapses.
He scowled up at Abu, who gazed down from his advantage of four fingers'-width of height. 'He sent you.'
'Ky, know you who this Unas was?'
'I'm not an apprentice at this,' Kysen said. The throbbing in his head was making him irritable. 'Father wouldn't have sent for me if this pure one hadn't been important. An informer? One of yours, I assume.'
Abu was wearing a warrior's short wig. He wiped perspiration from beneath it as he nodded.
'The lord sent me to assist you.'
'There's no sense lying. Ebana has baited him again, and Father is seeing plots and threats in every word and movement.'
'The lord has great perception, and he's usually right in his suspicions.'
'Yes, but this death appears to have been an accident, Abu. Qenamun said that the priest was an excitable man, anxious to succeed, and clumsy when agitated.'
Abu lowered his lashes. 'True, and he hadn't sent word of any danger to me, nor have I heard that he knew anything of import that could have gotten him killed. Nevertheless, Lord Ebana accused your father of having suborned Unas and would have stirred up trouble with the king had he not been prevented.'
'Why?' Kysen held up his hand to forestall an answer. 'Either to bring embarrassment upon Father, or… No sense concocting imaginary tales when I don't know the whole of it. Come, and don't pretend you haven't been sent to guard my back, Abu.'
They went to the house. Abu banged on the closed door, stepped back, and crossed his arms over his chest. Kysen rolled his eyes, for he knew the charioteer did this to make his arm muscles swell. He was flexing the sinews of his thighs as well. Whoever opened the door was going to be startled by aggressive flesh and gleaming bronze.
The door creaked, and a bent, leathery figure appeared. Another wail boomed out at them. Kysen beheld a fragile old man with wisps of silver hair and a kilt that sagged on his bony frame. Watery eyes blinked at Abu. Dry fingers gripped the door.
'The agent of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, the noble lord, Kysen, son of Meren, inquires of the family of the Osiris Unas,' said Abu.
At this formal announcement, with its customary reference to the dead, the old man stepped back, allowing them to enter. He made obeisance to Kysen, bending and lifting his hands.
'I'm the father of Ipwet, wife of Unas, lord.'
Kysen nodded but was distracted by the body, which took up most of the space in the small reception room. Beside it squatted a woman who rocked back and forth on her heels and sobbed into her gray hair, which was strewn with ashes.
'My wife,' the old man said. 'Word came only a short while ago from our daughter. Unas was my wife's cousin, lord.'
Kysen glanced over his shoulder at Abu, who maneuvered both husband and wife away from the body. Kysen knelt beside it. Unas had been placed on his back on a litter for transport, and no one seemed to have touched the body yet, for it still bore a film of dust.
Unas had been a hollow-shouldered man, light of frame, like most Egyptians.
What distinguished him was his shaved skull, which came to a rounded point at the back. The left side, at the back, had been cracked, leaving a hole that exposed the meat of his head. Kysen could see blood-smeared pulp. The flesh surrounding the wound was ravaged and flecked with pebbles and dust.
Though wrinkled, the priest's kilt was hardly soiled except where he'd landed on it. His hands were empty and bore no traces that would signal a struggle. The man appeared to have sailed off the scaffolding so suddenly that he hadn't even had time to grab for support.
Kysen brushed flies aside as he noted the pallor of Unas's skin. It was waxy, and blood had collected in the portions of the body closest to the ground. His eyes had already flattened, and he was stiff. Kysen's gaze swept over the figure. His nose twitched as he caught the smell of loss of bowel control. His bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed, blood pounding in his temples. He stood up before the smell made him spew his stomach contents over the body. Cursing Tanefer for urging him to drink the better part of a flagon of wine, he stood and signaled to Abu.
'I see no signs of violence.'
'The embalmers have been sent for,' Abu said. 'They will come at any moment.'
Kysen hesitated. He would like to have the assurance of his father's physician that Unas had indeed died from a sudden fall, but interfering with Unas's embalming would draw the attention of Qenamun and Ebana and incite another confrontation between the temple and his father, and for little cause that he could see. He would have to trust to his training; provoked, the priests would throw up blockades to further inquiries.
'Allow them to take him,' Kysen said. 'Where is the rest of the family?'
'There's only the wife, Ipwet. She and Unas hadn't been married long, a little over a year. The parents arranged the marriage in order to see Ipwet settled before they died. She's their youngest. I believe she has seventeen years.'
Kysen looked down at Unas. The priest must have had two score years at least. Not unusual, considering how long it took a man to acquire the means to set up his own house. Many years were spent by most men in this quest, so that they could earn the privilege of taking a wife and begetting a family.
'Look about the house,' Kysen whispered to Abu, 'but be discreet. We can't justify acting as if this death were other than an accident.'
Abu barely nodded his head. 'The wife is in the bedchamber.' The charioteer pointed toward the back of the house.
Kysen found the chamber empty except for two low wooden beds and a few furnishings. A portable lavatory sat in one corner. Against a wall sat a chest filled with clothing. Another, smaller box contained cosmetics. The floor was covered with woven rush mats. Beneath one of the beds, partially concealed by a cover that hung over the side, sat a wicker box.
Stooping, he retrieved the box and opened it. Empty except for a few buff-colored flecks of pottery. He closed the box and replaced it under the bed. Where was the wife?
He left the chamber, glanced at the common room, and then headed for the kitchen. As he approached, he heard a sob. A woman's voice floated out to him.
'Poor Unas. Poor, poor Unas.'
Unas's wife was in her kitchen, but she wasn't alone. Kysen paused just to the side of the doorway to watch a young man drop to his knees beside the woman called Ipwet. Gathering the sobbing woman into his arms, he muttered soft words into her hair. Kysen remained still and quiet.
The young man couldn't be much older than himself. Where Unas had been hollow of shoulder, with a splayed belly and pronounced knees, this man could have been a royal archer. Nor would he lack for admirers among women. The clean lines of his body and his obvious vitality must have intimidated a skittish and aging man like poor Unas. Poor Unas indeed. Kysen entered the kitchen.
At his appearance, the young man looked up. His eyes, under straight brows, widened, taking in Kysen's rich garb. Ipwet stirred, then gasped as she beheld him. For a moment Kysen felt a twinge of guilt. Once, he had been one of those who started with fear at the appearance of a great one. He knew what it was to dread the wrath of those whose mere birth had placed them in control of his very life.
'I am Kysen, agent of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. I've come to inquire into the circumstances of the death of the pure one called Unas. I offer condolences to the wife of Unas.' He glanced suddenly at the man. 'Who are you?'
Blinking rapidly, the young man hesitated before answering. 'I am Nebera. I–I am, was, a friend of Unas. I live next door.'
