robbed the poor, killed or damaged offerings in the temples, or committed any of the other sins that could get one fed to the Devourer.
But if she or Hepu passed the weighing of the heart against the feather of truth and were admitted into the netherworld, he would throw himself to the Devourer. He'd rather be eaten by that monster, part lion, part crocodile, than spend eternity with these two.
Nebetta left her chair to stand beside him, touched his arm with a cold, damp hand, and regarded him with faded eyes. 'Dear, dear Meren, it's been a long time since Sit-Hathor went to the West. And you're still alone. It's time you married again. End this lonely existence.'
'Yes,' Hepu said as he set his bundle of papyri down on a table. 'I've made a list of suitable alliances. It's in here somewhere. Of course, we were hoping you'd think of Bentanta. After all, her family is connected to Treasurer Maya's and contains royal blood as well. Distant royal blood, but royal nevertheless.'
What little tolerance he possessed was obliterated under this tide of muck. Meren turned his back on Nebetta, went to stand on the dais that contained his bed, and gripped one of the gilded poles that supported the canopy around it. 'We had this conversation years ago. I'm surprised the memory of it faded so quickly. Do you recall what I said to you about interfering in my affairs?'
'Now-now don't curse the cool north breeze, dear Meren,' Nebetta began.
Hepu was scowling at him. 'We're only thinking of your welfare.'
'And think of the strong sons Bentanta could give you,' Nebetta said. 'Why, hers are healthy and handsome, and-'
'By Hathor's tits!' Meren gripped the hilt of his dagger and left the dais to swoop down on the two. 'I knew you weren't trying to plan my life for my benefit. You care naught if I'm happy or not. You want me to marry again so that I'll spawn noble-blooded sons and get rid of Kysen.' He ended with a string of soldier's curses.
Hepu drew himself up, squaring his shoulders, while Nebetta retreated behind him.
'Watch your tongue, my boy,' Hepu said. 'Everyone in the family thinks the same. I've been delegated to speak for them.'
Meren's voice quieted and took on a smooth, even tone that should have warned Hepu. 'I see. Tell me, just who are these family members?'
'Oh, your uncles, Aunt Cherit, your grandmother.'
Turning away from them, Meren walked to a table and poured himself a cup of wine. Taking a sip, he glanced back at the two. They were watching him, Nebetta with apprehension that made her bulbous cheeks twitch, Hepu with righteous determination.
Running a fingertip around the rim of his faience cup, Meren spoke in a musing tone. 'Do you know what made me notice Kysen? I was in Thebes at a market when his bastard father put him up for sale. He was a scrawny little thing, covered in white dust, sweat, and blood from his latest beating. But as I passed him, he looked at me with Sit-Hathor's eyes. Two half-moons of obsidian, lakes of fire just as defiant as hers, set in a face of suffering.'
'Oh!' Nebetta waddled over to him, wringing her hands. 'You mean he's Sit-Hathor's bastard?'
Meren's hand squeezed the hilt of his dagger, almost drew it from his belt. Dragging his gaze from Nebetta, he looked up at Hepu. 'She can't be that stupid. Get out, now, before I-just get out.'
'We're leaving,' Hepu said, 'but you should think about what we've said. You should have forgotten your grief by now. The family thought this nonsense with
Kysen would pass. You can endow him with estates and get rid of him. The family needs an heir it can be proud of, Meren.'
'By all the gods, no wonder Djet killed himself.' Hepu flushed as he ushered Nebetta to the door. She scurried out, with her husband close behind, then stuck her head back over the threshold like a belligerent sow. 'I know what you think about us and Djet. Just you reflect upon this, dear Meren. Djet's death was your fault, not ours.'
Gaping at her, Meren swore. 'What do you mean?' A slammed door was all the answer he received.
Chapter 5
He had little time before the feast of rejoicing began, and already the house was full of tension. He didn't know what Nebetta had meant by his having been responsible for Djet's death, but after he'd accomplished his most urgent tasks, he was going to find out.
Meren stood on the roof and gazed out over the countryside that was his hereditary domain. North and south, for many hours' sail it stretched along the river, a land now baked under the force of Ra's heat. After Inundation the fields would burst into green life, defying the threat of the deserts that menaced the valley.
He turned to face the setting sun across the river. There lay the family tombs and those of preceding generations who had gone to the Land of Eternity to dwell in peace and luxury. There also lay the haunted temple of the old ones that so frightened the villagers of the region.
As the north breeze caused the palm trees to flutter their leaves, Meren thanked the gods for one blessing in this disaster arranged for him by his sister-Nebetta, Hepu, Sennefer, and Anhai weren't staying in the main house. They and Bentanta had taken up residence in a smaller building that huddled next to the walls of the larger compound; at least they weren't ensconced in chambers near him.
His glance dropped to the front gate, where musicians were entering. They carried harps, flutes, castanets, drums, and cymbals. Behind them came a chattering group of dancers and acrobats.
The young women reminded him of Bener. He had never escaped to the river with his daughters. His steward had cornered him, and he'd been forced to deal with accounts, disputes among farmers, and decisions in criminal cases. Bener had appeared at the steward's house, where he'd gone to administer his judgments. She had watched him work for several hours, a vision of injured sadness. When he finished, they walked back to the house together.
'Father,' she had said, 'you shamed me.'
'What?'
'You threatened poor Nu, who has done nothing.'
'If he's done nothing, he shouldn't be afraid, and you shouldn't be ashamed.'
Bener rolled her eyes. 'Please, Father. Remember how you felt about Great-Aunt Cherit.'
'Hmm.'
Bener was too clever. That conversation had convinced him to make a decision over which he'd been hesitating for months. He needed to have Bener and Isis where he could keep a vigilant watch over them. He was trying to think of a diplomatic way to inform Idut of his decision when he noticed a chariot with two men coming down the avenue toward the house. It passed through the gate, and as it came nearer, he recognized the driver: Kysen. And Nento.
He hadn't seen Nento in a while, but he would always recognize that ostrich-egg head and watermelon- shaped body. From here Meren could even see his neatly combed and oiled mustache. Nento was one of the few men who annoyed Meren because of his smell. It wasn't that he reeked; Nento was the kind of man who rarely exerted himself and took care to use deodorants and scent. So he always smelled like cinnamon.
Meren studied his son for signs that all was well, Kysen appeared unconcerned, but he was still some distance away. He turned to descend the stairs and meet Kysen but whipped around to face the gate again when something caught his eye. Across the river, the sun had disappeared. But there was still a soft, diffuse glow that cast vague shadows in the groves of trees to either side of the road that led from the river to the house. There was a lull in the traffic along this path.
A tall palm sat next to the road, its trunk a dark shadow. The shadow was too dark, and it moved, separating from the tree. A man stepped onto the road for a moment and raised his eyes to the roof of the house. Meren took in his great height, the ebony hue of his skin, the athletic grace of his movements-and cursed. Raising his hand, he gestured toward the rear of the house. The black figure vanished.
'Demons and fiends,' Meren hissed to himself. 'Son of a dung-eater, damnation.' He raced across the roof, around an awning beneath which lay cushions for lounging, and to the back outer stair.
