him. However, he could talk to Tanefer privately, for he knew all these men and Qenamun as well.
Why desecrate Akhenaten's tomb now? Had Parenefer finally succumbed to his craving for vengeance? Perhaps Tutankhamun had provoked this retaliation, offending the old man with his youthful arrogance. Planting that colossal statue in front of the god's gate hadn't improved Parenefer's temper either.
Or had the high priest simply fed his feelings of maltreatment and resentment until he lost all sense of caution? Parenefer's appetite for riches had grown since Amun had been restored. No matter how many of his vast estates pharaoh allocated to the god-Amun had more farmland than anyone except pharaoh, several hundred orchards, almost half a million head of cattle, countless villages, ships, and workshops, and almost one hundred thousand laborers-the priest was never satisfied.
He was jolted out of his musings when a woman on the roof of a house he was passing hurled a rug into the air and flapped it, showering him with dust. He cursed and coughed at the same time. Gripping the side of the chariot, he dusted himself as the horses slowed, then stopped. She looked down at him, put her hand over her mouth, and vanished down an interior stairway. Rushing into the street, she threw herself to the ground, babbling apologies.
'It was naught but an accident, mistress.' He nodded to her and slapped the reins.
Soon he turned down a wider street, taking care to stay in the middle, out of reach of tidying women. Slapping the reins again, he urged his team into a trot. Threshold after threshold passed. The street seemed deserted. The sun was directly overhead. Heat rose from the packed earth beneath the chariot wheels and flowed toward him from the high, uneven walls of houses that rose three and four stories above his head.
The horses were lathered and had suffered from the heat while he mused. Berating himself for his negligence, Meren urged the team to gather speed. He wasn't far from home now. As he reached the end of the street, he saw a flash of bare skin and a white loincloth.
Shouting, he hauled on the reins hard as a child dashed in front of the horses. They hardly slowed, then rose on their hind legs, screaming in alarm as they saw a blur of movement in their path. The chariot swerved to the right. It tipped on one wheel while Meren fought to regain his balance and control the horses at the same time.
His shoulder hit the side of the chariot. Then he shoved his feet against the floor and threw himself to the other side of the vehicle. The reins slipped from his hands as he hit, but the chariot settled on both wheels. Not waiting to regain his breath, Meren jumped to the ground, intent on grabbing a harness, only to find himself surrounded by soldiers. Long kilts, scimitars, spears.
Foot soldiers, not charioteers. Meren counted nine men. He hadn't a chance. Two of them grabbed his team and calmed them. He heard the snort of another animal, and glanced up to see a chariot coming down the street. Horemheb stood beside his driver, his face blank. He jumped out of the moving vehicle as it passed Meren.
Meren scowled at him. 'What are you doing, damn you?'
'Come with me.'
Glancing around the circle of soldiers, Meren shook his head.
Horemheb's lip curled. 'What ails you? Don't you trust me? No, I can see you don't. Then come because you have no choice.'
Meren watched Horemheb turn and vanish into the black depths of the house by which he'd stopped. Three men took a step toward him. He gave them one of the looks he reserved for callow recruits who have committed some inane error. They halted, and he followed Horemheb into the house. As he left the street, he glanced over his shoulder. Except for his escort, all the soldiers and both chariots had vanished.
A woman turned into the street, leading a donkey. Meren hesitated, estimating the chances of escape, but a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him into darkness. He gripped his dagger, but the hand released him.
'Let go of it, Meren,' Horemheb said. 'You're against spears.'
He held his hands away from his body. Someone closed the door. Another soldier appeared from the interior holding two lamps. Horemheb's rough features and crooked nose appeared in a flickering shower of light. The yellow flame seemed to lighten his already sun-bleached hair. Then, abruptly, they were alone.
'I want to talk to you,' the general said.
Meren whirled, marched to the door, and put his hand on the latch.
'So you believe the lies too.'
He released the latch, turned, and put his back to the door.
'What lies?'
'I may be common, Meren, but I'm not stupid. You above all hear rumors, so I know you've heard the ones about me. I'm dissatisfied, afraid Egypt will fall under Hittite rule. I think the kingdom needs a strong leader, and that I'm the one.'
'We've been friends since we were youths.'
'Aye.'
'You saved my life.'
Meren didn't move as Horemheb came nearer, never dropping his gaze.
'Aye, I did that,' Horemheb said.
'And we've served pharaoh together.'
'What are you saying?'
'And in all that time,' Meren said, 'you've never abducted me and forced me to do your bidding.'
Horemheb cursed, stuck his thumbs in his belt, and studied the floor. After a while, he raised his gaze to Meren again.
'Forgive me, old friend. These rumors have driven me near to madness. Even Maya looks at me with suspicion, and today the king refused to give me an audience. Ay says to be patient, but I know what happens to men who lose the confidence of pharaoh.'
'Have you left the city in the past fortnight?'
'What?' Horemheb gave him a confused glance. 'How could I leave? We've been making plans for this campaign you hate so much.'
'So you never left Thebes.'
'I said so, didn't I? What are you talking about?'
'Ahiram is dead.'
'Dead! I thought he'd run himself into debt or fathered a child on a virgin princess. Why dead?'
Meren continued to stare at Horemheb. 'Someone hired mercenaries to track him down and murder him.'
Nothing. Not a flicker of an eyelid, not a twitch of a muscle.
'A powerful enemy, had Ahiram,' Horemheb said.
'Yes. One who could send soldiers after him. Not unlike what you just did to me.'
The quiet was broken only by the sound of their breathing.
'There's one difference,' Horemheb said softly.
'What is it?'
'You're still alive.'
Meren lifted his chin. 'Am I going to stay that way?'
'Not if you don't quit snarling suspicions at me, damn you. How could you ask me that? I've come to you for help, may the gods curse your hide. Now I think I'd rather beg it of that old mound of vulture's dung, Parenefer.'
At last Meren smiled. Curbing his temper and asking for help, two accomplishments that came hard for Horemheb.
'I might not have the power to help you for long. I too have incurred the disfavor of pharaoh.'
'You? How?'
Meren didn't answer at once. If he confided in Horemheb, he might be trusting the traitor Ahiram had warned him about. However, if that were true, it was already too late. He couldn't believe that his friend was behind whatever plot was fermenting around him. Had Horemheb wished to seize power, he could have done so at Akhenaten's death, when Tutankhamun had been a child and the government in disarray.
Did not a man's actions speak of his character? Horemheb had saved his life, had devoted himself to protecting the Two Lands. Sometimes one had to take risks, trust one's friends. Slowly, Meren began to tell what he
