Karoya and Meren the living god of Egypt crouched, tense and exultant at the prospect of battle.
The king's personal bodyguard and war band were scattered throughout the ramshackle settlement. Tutankhamun had forbidden Meren and Horemheb to bring more than these closest companions. They were hidden behind the lean-tos, huts, and debris piles that surrounded the animal pen. Down the hamlet's only path, out of sight, Horemheb waited with the scout who had tracked the raiders. The bandits were headed toward the village, traveling slowly by night across the windswept desert.
It had come suddenly, this journey to the near wasteland at the edge of the desert. Word that the raiders had been located had come by royal messenger the night he'd been summoned to that evening meal at the palace. Wary, certain that whoever was trying to ruin his name was also responsible for Nefertiti's death, he had entered the vast pleasure garden of pharaoh in the company of Kysen and Bener. At once his children had left him to circulate among the small group of diners, gleaning what they could from court gossip.
Meren wished he was back at the palace now instead of crouching in the dirt behind a pile of bricks that had been situated too near the animal pens. He smelled goat and donkey dung. In the royal pleasure garden there had been far more pleasant scents-incense, the perfume oils used by the courtiers, the scent of water from the reflection pools.
He preferred the gardens to the grandeur and opulence of the palace. Climbing vines covered the walls, and the royal gardeners kept the beds filled with native and foreign flowers. Best of all were the trees. Cultivated for generations, they lined the many paths throughout the garden and formed a thick canopy of green overhead- sycamores, fig trees, persea, acacia, yew, tamarisk, and willow. Entering the pleasure garden was like entering the idyllic netherworld of the gods.
That night, however, he'd hardly noticed the greenery. The number of those invited to dine with pharaoh had been small. Meren saw the queen and her confidante, Princess Tio, talking to Bener. Maya was there lounging in a pavilion, in conversation with Kysen. He didn't see Horemheb. Barely noticing the gentle laughter of the women, Meren found the king sitting on the ground at the edge of the reflection pool.
Although this evening was to be free of ceremony, Meren sank to the ground and bent low.
Tutankhamun dismissed the slaves fanning him. 'Rise, Meren. We're alone, so you can explain to me at once what you've done to make someone try to destroy your name.'
'Majesty?'
Raising his eyes to the stars, the king addressed them. 'Do you see? Even now he is surprised that I understand him. After all our years together, he still thinks me a babe.'
'Thy majesty has grown in wisdom like the god his father.'
'Meren, I've had to endure an audience with the Hittite ambassador today, as well as judge five disputes among the temples and my nobles and condemn a nobleman to the gold mines for embezzling royal grain. And now I hear that my Eyes and Ears is involved in corruption. Don't test my patience, just tell me whom you've threatened in my service. Someone is trying hard to ruin your name. What have you done?'
Meren met pharaoh's gaze and found himself startled by the assessing quality in those large, heavy-lidded eyes. 'I've done nothing, golden one. Nothing more than usual, that is, but I'm grateful to thy majesty. The golden one hasn't asked me to defend myself against these charges.'
'Would you have done so, had I asked?'
'It isn't possible, majesty.'
'Why not, if you're innocent?'
What words could he choose that would prove his innocence? That was a question he'd been asking himself since learning of the false charges. The evil had already been done. Until he knew more, he could only protest his innocence and his ignorance, two qualities for which he'd never been known.
'Meren, you're not listening.'
'Forgive me, majesty.'
'I said that I know you. You're involved in some intrigue, something that has been troubling you for a long time. Do you think I haven't noticed? I've never seen you distracted in my majesty's presence.' The king handed Meren his wine goblet. It was gold with a fluted bowl and narrow stem. 'Besides, you don't need conscripts or gold, or if you do, you know you have only to ask and I'll give anything you wish.'
'I am humbled by thy majesty's generosity.'
'And since this is so, I ask again. What is wrong?' Meren's gaze skimmed across the surface of the reflection pool. Torchlight danced over the water, and a swan paddled
'I–I am unable to answer thy majesty.'
Tutankhamun sat up straight and looked at Meren in astonishment. 'And if I command you to answer?'
'Please don't, golden one.' Meren returned the king's stare with a grave one of his own. They remained as motionless as a tomb painting, while Meren wondered how far he could test the boy's faith in him.
'Very well, Meren. I can see that you're gravely troubled. After all you've done for me, I can at least have patience a while longer.'
Meren bowed his head. 'Thank you, majesty.'
'You worry me.'
'For that I am most sorry, golden one.' Meren hesitated, but continued when the king sent an inquiring glance his way. 'There is something I must ask, majesty, although I have tried your patience sorely.'
'You ask little of me. I can endure it.'
Now Meren felt his mouth go dry. He fought back visions of his father's death, visions he thought he'd banished forever.
'Should thy majesty come to believe that I have done evil-' He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, and then began again, using a more courtly phrase. 'Should I be banished from the grace of thy majesty's favor, I beg that my family not be forced to share my fate as-'
'Stop!'
All conversation in the garden ceased. Karoya, who was never far from the king, moved uneasily and gripped his spear.
Tutankhamun ignored everyone and began again. 'You're frightening me.'
'I don't wish to, golden one.'
'Are you trying to make me unsure of you? Why would you ask such a thing if your name is true and honorable?'
He couldn't explain. How could he tell the boy that his greatest fear wasn't ruin at the hands of his enemies? What he most feared was that his family would be made to suffer as well. After Akhenaten killed his father, Meren had been dragged into the morass of pharaoh's enmity. His cousin Ebana had fared far worse, losing both wife and son.
He had to say something. 'I can only swear before the mighty Amun and all the gods that I am true to thy majesty.'
That oath had done little to assuage the king's apprehension. Meren shifted his position behind the brick wall. His legs were growing numb. It hadn't helped that, in an attempt to change the subject, the king had asked about the investigation into the guard's death. Upon learning that Abu had been sent out of the city without finishing the inquiry, Tutankhamun had been irate. Eyes flashing with temper, he'd almost ordered Meren to bring Abu back, but a royal messenger had interrupted him. Hearing of the raiders caused all else to flee the royal heart.
Now it was the king's turn to shift his weight and pound at numbed muscles. Meren checked the positions of the war band. Karoya, Mose, another Nubian called Turi, and two others formed a wall around the youth, all that could be hidden behind the wall. The king moved again.
Meren remembered the wait before his first battle. 'It shouldn't be long now, majesty.'
'Good,' Tutankhamun replied. 'Every time a nomad chief or a bandit leader decides to raid, I get a fresh inundation of half-dead peasants throwing themselves at my feet, begging for asylum, begging for food, and bringing the raiders closer to the Nile. At last I'm going to see these bringers of chaos for myself.'
'These villagers have been most unfortunate,' Meren said as he glanced around the newly built houses. 'One of the women told me that twice before they have fled the raiders. They've left behind the houses they lived in for generations, the graveyards of their ancestors, the men who died defending them. All that's left of a once- prosperous village is a band of women, children, old men, and youths. There isn't a male over the age of thirteen left.'
