came to him-of Djet helping him spear his first fish, of their first real taste of warfare, in which he'd saved Djet from a beheading by scimitar. His ka refused to reconcile the meaning of the letter with his experiences. Raising his head, he looked at Bentanta as if he'd never seen her before.
'He never told me.'
'Could you have responded to him as he wished?'
Meren lowered his face to his hands, shaking his head.
'He knew that,' Bentanta said. 'Why burden you with remorse? He told me he felt that way since he was a boy.'
'But he was famed for his exploits among the women.'
'And men. But you and I know that adventures have little to do with love.' Bentanta looked away. 'And after that terrible time when he brought you home after Akhenaten had you tortured, he turned to me. You remember I was here visiting your aunt Cherit with Anhai.'
Meren stood up suddenly. 'You… and Djet. You and he came together. I don't understand this-this taking of each other as replacement for someone else. You bedded my cousin to comfort him?'
Standing, Bentanta reached out to touch his arm, but Meren jerked away as if stung and stepped out of reach. His vision filled with images of Djet and Bentanta.
'Do you think I want to speak of it?' she asked. 'Gods, Meren. I was married to my husband when I was thirteen. He was much, much older. I had babes by the time I was fifteen. Babes, a household, a husband, duties, so many to care for. Women are no different than men, you know. They lust, Meren. They give their affection. I was so young still, and you were a royal charioteer.'
She reached out to him, but pulled her hand back. 'You don't remember that time in Horizon of Aten when we attended the king and queen at their pleasure garden.
You and your wife had quarreled, and she went into the palace. I asked you to row one of the skiffs for me so I could pick a lotus flower. No, you don't remember, because you ignored me the whole time. After Ay persuaded the king not to kill you, and he brought you to your house in the city, bleeding and wandering in your wits, I was there. I stayed with you until Djet came.'
'I don't remember.' He ran his fingers through his hair and paced back and forth in front of her. 'I don't understand why he would kill himself just because I couldn't be what he wanted me to be. There were so many others. There was you, and-' Meren stopped and stared at a wall, then slowly turned his gaze on Bentanta. 'A child. He said there was a child.'
'There were two, actually. The twins.'
'Your son and daughter.' Meren heard his voice crack. He looked down at the papyrus in his hands, confused, shaken more than he'd been since Akhenaten's death. He sought refuge in duty; in duty lay escape from that which he couldn't understand and didn't want to know. Touching a torn corner of the letter, he said, 'Anhai had this and was using it against you somehow.'
'Yes. It's odd how long and loving friendship can turn to bile. As children we were close, and as women we remained friends, but one day when she was visiting me, she asked me to persuade Sennefer to give her his fortune and a divorce. I knew she could be ruthless, but I never thought she'd do something so mad. I refused, and she seemed to accept my decision. Until a few days later. She invited me to stay with them at their home in Memphis, and when I got there, she told me she had the letter. She'd found it in my chamber while I left her alone to confer with my cook on her last visit. She said she'd return it if I helped her, but if I didn't she was going to give it to you.'
Meren rolled the papyrus and slipped it into his belt. 'You could have told me the truth.'
'You know the penalty for adultery. I have no wish to be flogged or have my ears and nose cut off.'
'That wouldn't happen.'
'Perhaps not, but I didn't want you to find out. You can't see yourself, Meren. You look at me as if I were some plague-ridden hound.'
Meren dropped his gaze to the whip he'd discarded. Picking it up, he threaded the lash through his fingers.
'So, this old folly is the reason you quarreled with Anhai.'
'Yes, and when I couldn't make her return the letter, I left her alone on the front loggia.'
'I see.'
'Then you must see that I wouldn't kill Anhai over it.'
'I'll tell you what I see,' he replied. 'I see that you have the letter now. Yet Anhai had it the night of the feast. She had it in her bracelet.'
'How did you know?' Bentanta asked in a faint voice.
'You weren't careful enough when you took it out of the bracelet. A piece tore from the corner.' Meren pulled the letter from his belt and used it to point at her. 'Tell me. Did you take it before or after you killed her?'
Chapter 16
Meren waited for Bentanta's answer, all the while feeling as if he'd been raped across the distance of more than a dozen years. But he couldn't succumb to confusion and misery now. Now he needed to find the truth. Thus he performed a monumental effort of will-one that would cost him later-and set aside in a tiny, dark vault in his ka his bewilderment and renewed grief.
'You're surprised,' he said. 'You gave yourself away by tidying up after you dumped her in the granary. I knew someone had interfered with the body and searched it for a reason. The only sign I found was a scrap of papyrus. Since my men never found the rest of it when they searched Baht, I knew someone had it on them or had destroyed it.'
'I grow weary of repeating that I didn't kill Anhai. How could I carry her up those stairs to the granary?'
'Fear makes one strong. If you'd ever been in battle, you'd know this.'
Bentanta picked up the lamp and came over to him. Holding it up so that she could study his face, she curled her lip. 'You still want me to be the murderer. That way you're rid of me, if not of the past. I hate to cause you grief, but I'm innocent. And you have to believe me, because I know who did kill Anhai.'
'Oh? How beneficial for you.'
'Just before he was murdered, Sennefer told me he killed Anhai.'
Lifting a brow, Meren said, 'Indeed. And why didn't you tell me sooner?'
'Because you were convinced I was a killer, Meren. You wouldn't have believed me, not without me revealing the whole story, and I didn't want to tell you about Djet.'
'Tell me the whole of it now.'
Lowering herself to the floor, Bentanta set the lamp down again. Meren crouched a few cubits from her, near enough to see her face, but not too close.
'The night of the feast, while Hepu was speaking, Anhai and I quarreled again, but I left her. As I came back inside, I saw Sennefer go out, and I decided to follow him to see if he was going to give in to Anhai. If he had, there would be no reason for her to keep my letter. When I reached the loggia, they were already sneaking away in the shadows along the wall that runs from the corner of the house to the outer wall to form the front of the granary forecourt. All the doorkeepers were busy at the front gate or elsewhere because of the feast, and no one saw them go inside. I waited, thinking to intercept them when they returned, but they never came out. After a while, I crept up to the forecourt gate and looked in. It was deserted, so I went to the opposite gate and saw Sennefer coming down the steps of the last granary.'
'And you didn't see Anhai or anyone else?'
'No,' Bentanta said. 'He was coming in my direction, so I hid behind a stack of wicker boxes. When he was gone, I went into the court and up the granary stairs. I could see the whole court, and Anhai wasn't there. Then I noticed that the granary cover was ajar. I don't know what made me open it. Perhaps it was only seeing Sennefer up there, in a place he would have no reason to be.'
'And you found her.'
'Yes, she was on her side with her uppermost leg drawn up to her head.'
