Egyptian lotus and papyrus. Above and below the figures were groups of bows.
This device, the representation of Egypt's traditional enemies, meant that the wearer trod his foes underfoot.
Few men wore such a device. It was usually reserved for royalty, but not for foreign princes like Ahiram. With growing alarm, Meren searched his memory for the last time he'd seen this sandal.
It was too large to be the king's, and most of pharaoh's footwear was gold. Some of it resembled this one, but none bore the lozenge pattern in red-and-gold foil on the strap across the instep. But Meren had seen this sandal once, long ago. He closed his eyes and strained for the memory, one he had deliberately thrust into the darkness of his ka.
He had been in a cell, enduring whippings ordered by Akhenaten because he wasn't a believer in pharaoh's chosen god, the sun disk Aten. He was on his stomach, his cheek pressed to the packed earth of the floor. The air stirred, and he opened his eyes to see a foot beneath the hem of transparent linen, a foot encased in this gilded sandal. A foot that trod upon the enemies of Egypt-that of the ruler of the Two Lands.
'Bloody demons and everlasting fire,' Meren murmured.
'My lord?'
Meren grabbed Abu's arm and pulled him farther away from the others. He thrust the sandal at Abu, who examined it.
'This isn't Prince Ahiram's.'
Abu was looking at him now, wary and alert. 'Yes, lord?'
'The last time I saw this sandal, it was on the foot of the old king.'
'But…'
They stared at each other, each thinking back over five years. Akhenaten had died without warning, a victim of one of the plagues that had swept the kingdom out of Palestine, Syria, and the kingdoms of the Tigris and Euphrates. That is what the court knew. That is what Ay had told Meren. Akhenaten had been struck down shortly after naming Tutankhamun's older brother, Smenkhare, coregent so that he could share the burdens of governing with a younger man.
The whole of the Two Lands had grieved-if not deeply or long. And then Akhenaten had been buried, contrary to tradition, in a tomb east of his heretic capital rather than on the west bank of the Nile, soon to be followed by one of his daughters and the young Smenkhare as well. The crown of Egypt had gone to the sole male heir, the youngest of the three brothers, Tutankhamun. Meren might have believed that Akhenaten's death had been caused by the plague if he hadn't seen the results of the real sickness in Smenkhare. Akhenaten's death had been much more sudden, with no fever, no lingering, nothing.
But the kingdom needed stability, not strife caused by suspicions of regicide. Tutankhamun, a child of nine, had needed his support, his vigilance, his protection. So he attended the burial of Akhenaten, king of Egypt, and watched the priests and attendants pack away all pharaoh's possessions in rich caskets and boxes. These had been placed in the tomb Akhenaten had designed for himself but never completed.
Necropolis officials had sealed the tomb for eternity after the funeral. Time passed. The old gods of Egypt clamored for restoration and repair of the damage wrought upon them by the heretic king. The decision was made to abandon the parvenu capital and return to the royal city of Thebes.
The court quit the heretic city, leaving a skeletal staff in charge of the royal tombs in which were buried the fanatical Akhenaten, his incomparable queen Nefertiti, and several of their daughters. And it was there, in the deserted capital, deep underground in the royal tomb, that this sandal should have been.
'The king's sandal,' Abu said in a whisper.
Meren's thoughts were leaping ahead, searching for explanations. 'You know what I'm speaking of. We both know the virulence of the hatred borne for Akhenaten. So many had their livings taken, their lives ruined. Ahiram's own father died because of Akhenaten.'
Abu shivered as he looked at the sandal. 'He had the names of the gods stricken from their temples and brought the wrath of Amun down upon all our heads. Plagues, famine-'
'The wrath of Amun!' Meren stared at Abu.
'Lord,' Abu said, 'are you saying-'
'Don't speak of it,' Meren snapped. He thrust the sandal at Abu. 'Put that somewhere out of sight and say nothing of it to anyone. Not to anyone. We're leaving.'
'But, lord, the others haven't returned.'
'Abu, look at that bandit. He's no peasant criminal. He's a warrior who hasn't taken much care to conceal himself. Leave one man to wait for the others. They're to bring any prisoners to the docks. We're going back to the ship at once.'
'At night?'
Meren wasn't listening. He turned and raced back to his chariot. Abu ran after him and jumped in as Meren slapped the reins across the horses' backs. While Abu shouted instructions at the men still at the skirmish site, Meren turned the chariot in the direction of the desert road they'd abandoned.
Abu nearly fell out of the vehicle when it bounced over a stone. He landed on his knees and clutched at the sides of the chariot.
'Where are we going, lord?'
'To a place I thought I'd never see again,' Meren said as he pulled the reins to the right to guide the team south. 'To a place of great beauty, and of death-Horizon of Aten.'
Chapter 14
Six days later, at dawn, Meren drove his chariot up a side valley of the royal wadi outside the heretic's city of the sun disk, called Horizon of Aten. Charioteers, priests, and guards followed him at a trot, their faces contorted more from fear than from exertion. Meren stopped at the entrance to Akhenaten's tomb, a hole guarded by four men who stood gawking while he threw his reins at a puffing priest.
He didn't expect to see anything, but he strode past the sentries anyway and down a series of steps, into darkness. The chief mortuary priest followed him inside, fumbling with a lamp. Meren waited, his whip slapping against his thigh as the man lit the wick. Then he turned and resumed his descent.
After a few steps, he came up against the blank face of a wall over which plaster had been smeared. The seal impressions of the necropolis. Tracing the impressions of a recumbent jackal over nine captives, and the cartouche of Akhenaten. None had been broken. The impressions were as clear as the day he'd watched them being pressed into the wet plaster.
'You-you see, lord,' said the mortuary priest. 'Untouched. I am most diligent, er…'
Without a word, Meren turned and ascended the steps. The entrance to Akhenaten's tomb faced east and the rising sun, his god. Meren blinked as he emerged from the tomb and surveyed the valley and the surrounding hills. Pharaoh's tomb lay at the end of a long passage that descended into the hillside. A foot track led up the side of the hill.
His appearance was greeted with a sudden silence from the men who waited outside. Abu separated himself from a group of anxious priests as Meren went to his team of horses.
No one spoke until Abu asked, 'All is well, lord?'
Meren whispered to his mare and let her nuzzle his cheek. 'The seals are unbroken, but that means nothing. We'll see what's behind the hill.' His ka knew he was too late.
Leaving the chariots, Meren and his men scaled the slopes above the tomb until they came out of the wadi. Stones clattered down the side of a hill as their feet slipped on the uneven surface. Meren looked across the expanse of rock and scrub-deserted, lifeless, with no sign of robbers or of excavation. Behind him the sun was climbing rapidly as charioteers spread out in a line to either side of him and surveyed the expanse of wasteland that stretched to the horizon.
Meren shook his head. 'We may have to open the tomb.'
'Open-lord, are you certain?' Abu asked.
Glancing at his aide, Meren heard him mutter a charm against demons and desert monsters. He returned to
