so disturbed Ebana that he'd brought the matter to court. Now Kysen was in the midst of inquiries that would pit him against Ebana and possibly Parenefer.
Far more powerful men than Ky had lost their lives in such struggles. There had been sudden deaths by poisoning, purported accidents that cut a life short, unexpected scandals that ruined reputations. The reach of the temple of Amun was high and deadly.
Djoser rose abruptly from his kneeling position beside the king, distracting Meren from his worries. The king's brow furrowed as he directed his stare at Djoser. Meren could see that he was confused by Djoser's lack of zeal for battle. Raised in the tradition of warrior pharaohs, Tutankhamun hadn't the experience to under-stand a man who preferred tranquility and the rhythmic cycles of the farmer to the glory of court and battle.
Meren sighed and rubbed the sun-disk scar on his inner wrist. He caught himself and shoved a thick warrior's bracelet down over the wound. He bore much of the blame for the king's headstrong desire for conquest. Knowing how great was the Hittite threat, how easily barbarians could invade Egypt and prevail over a people so used to peace and good living, he had taken care to train the king for battle.
The king's father, Amunhotep the Magnificent, had built great temples and ruled by divisive manipulation of allies and enemies alike. Thanks to his neglect and that of Tutankhamun's older brother, however, such tactics would no longer suffice. The time for war was coming.
So now he was faced with a young stallion kicking at the stable door, who threatened to injure himself in his efforts to gain freedom. Meren rubbed his chin and stared down at the plastered floor. He stood in the middle of a painting of a reflection pool. A yellow-and-blue fish goggled at him from between reeds of deep green.
His attention snapped back to the group surrounding the king. Ahiram of Byblos and Prince Rahotep were arguing-again. No matter the issue, they were never on the same side. Ahiram had made a point for the war side, which Rahotep immediately rebutted.
Ahiram balanced on the balls of his feet. He was a small man, but powerful of build. He wore his curly hair longer than Egyptians did and cultivated a pointed beard that grew at the tip of his chin. Meren had always thought it gave him a goatish appearance, but had spared Ahiram his opinion.
Not so Rahotep, who criticized anyone except pharaoh with the brutal honesty of a child of four. No matter who was offended, Rahotep would offer his views.
Perhaps Rahotep disliked Ahiram because of their similarities. Both felt the sting of imagined insignificance, Rahotep because of his peasant mother, Ahiram because of his foreign birth and lost throne. With natures based on such weak foundations, neither man seemed capable of reaching peace of the ka.
A warning trumpet blew in Meren's head when Rahotep suddenly jumped to his feet. Ahiram stuck his thumbs in the belt of his kilt. His bearded chin jutted forward so that the tip pointed at his adversary.
'Such maidenly aversions cost my father his life, and me a throne.'
Rahotep narrowed his eyes and sneered at Ahiram's beard, the essence of civilized Egyptian disdain. 'Watch your tongue, barbarian. My ancestors were exacting tribute from your kind while your family was still raising goats in the wastelands of Syria.' He made a point of staring at the beard as he said goat.
Meren edged closer to the group as an abrupt silence fell. Even the king stiffened and dropped his hand to a ceremonial blade in his belt. The air crackled with the threat of bloodshed.
'You well know Byblos is an ally. Speak not of tribute when you mean trade, fool.'
Meren darted a glance at the king's chief Nubian bodyguard, but Karoya was already moving to Tutankhamun's side. At the appearance of the towering warrior, Ahiram broke off glaring at Rahotep. Danger ebbed from the moment, and Meren glided between the two men.
'All of us are weary from a long morning of duties, and the divine one still must receive merchant emissaries from the Mycenaeans and the Libyans.'
'As always, Meren plays the arbiter,' Prince Tanefer said as he smoothly drew Ahiram away from Rahotep.
'It's possible we won't have any peace until we drive the Hittites back into their forsaken mountains and take their children as hostages the way Ahiram was taken Rahotep said, almost earning a kick from Meren.
'My father sent me to Egypt willingly for training. I was never a hostage!'
Ahiram lurched out of Tanefer's grip. His hands fastened around Rahotep's neck. Meren shouldered Djoser aside, grabbed one of Ahiram's fingers, and bent backward. Ahiram yelped, his hold broken, and Meren changed his grip so that he could bend the man's arm backward and pinch flesh and tendons against bones. The whole movement lasted less than a heart's beat, and then Meren stepped back and smiled lazily at Ahiram.
'Govern yourself in the presence of the golden one,' he said. 'You know better, my friend. It's not like you to chance rousing Karoya.' Meren jerked his head in the direction of the royal bodyguard.
Ahiram's head swiveled around in the same direction. Karoya had drawn a knife. He'd cocked his arm back, the blade gripped in his fingers, aiming at Ahiram. The foreign prince flushed and raised his empty arms away from his body in a gesture of compliance.
His dark face expressionless, as if killing Ahiram meant no more to him than stepping on a beetle, Karoya glanced at Tutankhamun. The king's hand made a slight, sideways movement. Karoya sheathed the knife.
'Divine one,' Ay said. 'Lord Meren is right. Duties await thee.'
'Very well,' Tutankhamun said, and waved his councillors permission to retire.
Meren spoke under his breath to Tanefer. 'Bring everyone to me. We all need a good meal and relief from this heat.'
Tanefer nodded as he left.
'Lord Meren will attend my majesty.'
He was surprised to find the king studying him intently. Ay passed him on his way out and gave him a look of sympathy. Karoya had retreated to his station behind the dais upon which the king sat. Approaching the king's gold and ebony chair, he dropped to his knees and bent his head.
'Oh, be done with that,' the king snapped. 'What use is it for you to kneel to me when you know well that I am the one who must obey, who must perform and follow tradition and orders?'
Meren straightened, but didn't get to his feet. He raised a brow. 'What is thy will, divine one?'
'You've been quiet all day. When Ay argued for caution and pointed out how young I was for a campaign, you said nothing. When Horemheb and Tanefer scoffed and spoke of the ravages of the Hittites, you remained silent.' Tutankhamun rose from his chair and threw up his hands. 'Curse it, Meren. It's not like you to straddle a boundary stone. What do you think?'
Meren sank back on his heels and stared up at the king, who was pacing back and forth like one of his pet lions. At last he shook his head and spoke.
'It is my misfortune to think two things at once, golden one.'
The king halted and stared at him. Meren rose.
'If we allow the Hittite menace to go unchallenged, we invite a powerful enemy to camp at our very borders. Our armies and allies have been neglected. Their faith fails them, for they have seen their pleas for aid ignored and have needlessly shed blood because of it. They need a warrior king to lead them.'
'I knew it,' the king said. 'I knew you understood.'
'And if you plunge into battle with them before your time and are killed, no victory, no amount of land or tribute, will make up for the evil that will befall Egypt.'
'But you've said my skills are great.'
'They are, as is your heart and courage,' Meren said.
'But have I not also said that the span of a warrior's training is as the length of the Nile? Consider, majesty. How long is the reach of your arm compared to mine? Try to touch me.'
The king reached out, and Meren darted forward, arm outstretched as if gripping a short sword. His hand tapped against the gold and lapis beads of the king's broad collar. He drew back in silence as Tutankhamun's gaze darted from his chest to Meren's arm. A flush crept over the king's cheeks.
'Damnation to you,' Tutankhamun muttered.
'Had I been a Hittite, I could have sliced your heart in half.'
'Get out!'
Meren bowed and backed away.
'Wait.'
Tutankhamun gripped the back of his golden chair. Meren cocked his head to the side as the king pressed his
