to-uhhh!'
'You see. Babbling has cost you what little strength you have. Sleep, cousin. I'm here, and I'm staying until you're well and safe.'
The words echoed through his weariness and pain, easing both, and giving him release from dread. No one would come upon him to do evil as long as Djet was there to keep watch. Djet was as formidable a young warrior as any in pharaoh's chariotry. He could rest. For the first time since pharaoh had killed his father, he could rest.
Someone was calling his name. Meren blinked and pulled himself out of the memory, only to come face-to- face with Djet's parents. He smiled coldly, hating the sight of them.
'Dear, dear Meren,' Nebetta said in a voice that had always reminded him of spoiled honey-much too sweet, and sickening.
Walking with her into the reception room, where cool beer and bread awaited, Meren observed Nebetta's dead gray hair, faded eyes, and bulbous nose and cheeks. She had a lumpy body, and Meren was sure that its shape was caused by her having swallowed most of her character. For, like her husband, Nebetta was consumed with virtue. And all that tedious virtue and uprightness had collected inside her along with every unexpressed feeling of anger, every lie she never told, every fault she ever tried to squelch. She looked as if she was going to burst from swallowing all those sins. Meren was sure that when she came before the gods to give her confession, each denial of sin would be the truth, because Nebetta wasn't interesting enough to have transgressed.
What liveliness and beauty she'd inherited had been washed away in a continuous bath of bleaching morality. It was said that Nebetta had acquired her rectitude from
Hepu, and Meren had to admit that of the two, Hepu was the more obvious and overbearing. It was Hepu who respected his own excellence so much that he wrote books of instruction to be passed down to succeeding generations. He produced these tomes continually, and donated them to various schools and libraries in every major temple, whether asked to or not.
For most of his life Meren had ignored their pomposity and belief in their own worth-until the day Nebetta and her husband disowned Djet, when he was thirteen. Without warning and with no explanation Djet was cast out, banished from the favor of his parents. He had sought refuge with Meren's family, his face drawn with grief. Blue shadows highlighted Djet's dark eyes, and he lost weight. His sarcastic humor vanished. And no matter how much Meren coaxed him, he refused to speak of the thing that had cost him the love of his father and mother.
Years passed, but the rift only grew worse, until one day, soon after Meren had recovered from being tortured, Djet drank poison sweeter than the sweetness of his mother's voice. What kind of woman so reviled her son that she would drive him to kill himself? What kind of father would do the same? And what insane reasoning allowed his sister to think Meren would enjoy being welcomed home by these two?
Idut was talking to him. 'Meren, you're not drinking your beer. Don't you like it?'
They were sitting in the reception chamber amidst carved and gilded chairs and beer jars festooned with wreaths of water lotuses, cooled by maids waving ostrich-feather fans. Nebetta was talking with Bener while old Hepu was speaking to-lecturing-Isis. Hepu didn't carry on conversations; he discoursed.
'Meren, I asked if you liked your beer,' Idut said.
'I want to talk to you,' he replied. 'Now. Alone.'
'Good, because I want to speak to you as well.'
Surprised, he followed his sister back outside to the shaded walk that bordered one of the twin reflection pools. The sun was dropping below the front west wall, but the heat of its rays seemed as strong as at midday. Idut waved away two maids who had followed with fans, and they were alone.
Before the maids were out of sight, Meren burst out, 'Did I not write you to say I wanted privacy? Did I not say I wanted to spend time with the girls? Don't you ever read what I write? No, of course you don't. You only read what you wish to read. And you invited Nebetta and Hepu. You know I don't like them. You don't like them. This house will be stuffed full of interfering, squabbling relatives.'
'Families should be together,' Idut said airily. 'Relatives should continue in harmony.'
'You sound like one of Hepu's books of instruction. The fool fancies he's written another Instruction of Ptahhotep.'
'That's not respectful, Meren.'
'You have to make them go away. All of them.'
Idut touched his arm. 'I must speak to you of something far more important.'
'Don't avoid the subject-'
'Bener has a lover.'
A goose honked. It spread its wings, flapped them at a rival, and hissed. Meren strove to comprehend what his sister had just said.
'Explain.'
'You know how much she loves writing and ciphering. She spends too much time with the steward and his scribes.'
His steward, Kasa, managed the fields of Baht, its tenants and laborers, and the production of commodities upon which the manor survived. He'd been in charge since before their father died. His two sons had been trained to follow him.
'One of Kasa's sons?'
Idut shook her head. 'An apprentice scribe, Nu.'
'I don't remember this Nu.' His head was beginning to ache.
'He's the grandson of your old nurse.'
'Are you sure, Idut?'
'They spend hours together every day in the steward's office.'
'But that's all?' he asked.
'You know what it's like to be in love fever, Meren. Who knows if that's all?'
He gazed out over the blue surface of the water. Fish shimmered beneath its surface. A cloak of calm settled over him. He dared not examine what lay beneath. Meren nodded to his sister.
'Very well. Now you listen to me, Idut. Get rid of all these-these guests.'
'I can't… the feast!'
'After the feast. Lie, Idut. Tell them the servants have a plague.'
'Oh, Meren.'
'Do it, or I will, and I know you won't like how I manage the task.'
'I don't know why you have to be so discourteous.'
'And I don't know why you insist upon ignoring the evilmindedness of most of the people you've invited. Now where is this Nu?'
'He's probably still in the steward's office.'
He went quietly. Passing out of the gate, he walked quickly to the modest house that lay a few yards to the south. Commanding silence from the porter and servants, he slipped into the room that served as Kasa's office. Neither the steward nor his sons were there.
He was about to leave when he heard the scrape of a rush pen. Through an open door lay a porch on which were stacked sheets of papyrus anchored by smoothing stones. Meren walked outside. Leaning against a column, head bent over a sheet of papyrus stretched across his crossed legs, a youth dipped his pen in black ink and resumed writing.
'You're Nu.'
The pen jerked. A wide slash of black disfigured the neat script. The boy looked up, eyes on fire with rage. Then he realized who was standing there. He dropped the pen and paper and scrambled to his feet to bow deeply with raised hands.
Ignoring the boy's discomfort, Meren asked, 'Are you?'
'Aye, lord. I am Nu, grandson of Herya, apprentice to master Kasa.'
Meren turned his back on the youth. He hadn't thought about what Nu would look like. He wasn't pleased. A scrawny student with a squint, that's what he would have preferred. Nu wasn't scrawny; his eyes were large and sad, and he looked as if he belonged in a chariot facing a Hittite army. This menace needed curbing without delay.
