'Watch Dilalu and Yamen,' Meren said. 'This barber may return to one of them.'
'Yes, lord.'
'And don't try to send news of me to Kysen. My family mustn't be dragged into this any more than they already have been. I know they are worried about me, but they're safer in ignorance.'
'Lord Kysen will try to help you.'
'Curse it, Abu, he should do nothing. If I could risk it, I'd send a message ordering him to remain idle.'
'But then he could be accused of concealing knowledge of a traitor if the messenger was discovered.'
'Exactly,' Meren said. 'See if you can discover how my family does without endangering them.' They lapsed into a morose silence.
Eventually Reia asked, 'Shall we meet here again, my lord?'
'Not too soon, or we'll be noticed. Return in two days. Come.'
Meren took them to a door in the wall that surrounded the courtyard and knocked on it. The portal swung back to reveal a muscled and looming doorkeeper.
Abu followed Reia through the doorway, then turned to Meren. 'Are you certain you're safe with the pirate, lord?'
'As safe as anyone can be when hunted by the forces of the empire.'
'And General Horemheb,' Abu said.
'There is the danger.' Meren shook his head wearily. 'Horemheb knows me too well.'
Reia appeared behind Abu. 'Lord, flee the kingdom. Go to-'
'Where?' Meren asked. 'It must be out of the empire and not to any ally of Egypt. Would you have me throw myself on the mercy of the Hittite king? Or shall I become a Greek pirate in earnest?'
Reia lowered his gaze, and Meren put his hand on the younger man's shoulder.
'I am grateful for your loyalty, Reia.'
'You allowed me to become what I most wanted, lord. A charioteer. Even though I was a clumsy boy whom no one thought clever enough not to get trampled by his own stallion.'
The sentry drew near, made curious by their prolonged leavetaking.
Meren stepped back into the courtyard. 'May Amun protect you.'
'And you.' Abu glanced at the sentry and left off Meren's title.
The door swung shut, leaving Meren alone in the garden. Two days. He must wait two days, hiding and worrying and feeling helpless. As he turned his steps toward the Divine Lotus, Meren realized he'd go mad if he didn't do something. Yet he couldn't go out during the day. There was too great a risk that someone would recognize his face, even beneath this exotic wig.
By the time Meren had threaded his way through the groups of customers that packed the main chamber, he'd reached a decision. He would commit what he knew of Queen Nefertiti's murder to writing. He was in so much danger now that it wouldn't matter if the record was discovered. He could destroy it at any time, and the act of writing might quicken the memories he'd tried for so long to kill.
Meren spent a while in the crowd watching a pair of acrobats before going upstairs. He ascended the winding staircase to emerge on the roof. Crossing to the exterior stairway, he surveyed the surrounding buildings and streets before descending. Once on the ground, he avoided a pair of drunken sailors who had collapsed against the wall of the tavern, and slipped into the dark alley once more. He hated traveling in the dark, for it was almost impossible to avoid unspeakable puddles and noxious deposits of goat or donkey dung. Once he nearly landed flat on his back when his sandal skidded on a fresh pile.
As he stepped into the Street of the White Ibex, Meren stopped abruptly. Behind him he heard a footfall, and then nothing. Hardly breathing, he listened. He could hear the distant sound of laughter from the Divine Lotus. Calming the voice of his heart by slowing his breathing even further, Meren heard the slight breeze as it floated into the city from the north. Once he heard the hoot of an owl.
His senses stretched painfully, Meren waited. Sweat began to form on his brow. He hadn't been mistaken. He'd heard a footstep. The question was whether to go on, hoping to reach Othrys's house before he was attacked, or attempt to elude his pursuer before his hiding place was revealed. At last Meren moved, away from the pirate's house, back into the Caverns. If he was going to die, he would do it without endangering the man who saved his life by giving him refuge.
Chapter 15
When a nobleman went to the palace of pharaoh, he approached down an avenue designed to impress with its great length and the opulence of the ram-headed sphinxes-each larger than three men-that lined the way. The nobleman progressed with stateliness toward the soaring gate in the battlements and passed through massive doors whose thickness was enveloped in electrum. The myriad courtiers, officials, and hangers-on who filled the avenue, the gate, and the courtyard beyond all witnessed the great one's progress and noted that he was important enough to be allowed beyond the monumental barrier of the gate.
In such a manner had Kysen entered the palace previously. But on this night, he was driven by chariot away from the ceremonial avenue with its public facade of cloud-high carvings to a heavily guarded sally port. He caught only a glimpse of the interior of the battlements, and sensed a great weight of masonry over his head.
At that moment fear enveloped him. Rather than reveal it, he summoned the expressionless mask Meren had drilled into his heart long ago. Then he stumbled into the open and found himself behind a phalanx of service buildings in the narrow space between them and the defensive wall.
Overhead guards on their rounds paused to stare down at him in the light of torches carried by some of his guards. He glared back, but one of his escorts pushed him, and he tripped. Hands reached for him, but he shoved them away, rose, and hurried after Mose. He swung around the end of the service block, into an open area between two sets of barracks, and stopped.
Standing in the light of enormous lamps mounted on stands, shining like Ra from the reflected brilliance of electrum jewels that covered his head, neck, arms, and robes, pharaoh stood conversing with Ay and Maya. The king's war band formed a half circle to his right and left. Other than the two ministers, there were no other courtiers.
A hard shove propelled him into the half circle. Before he could be shoved again, Kysen went to the king and lowered himself to the ground. Touching his forehead to the packed earth, he remained as he was; he couldn't speak until pharaoh permitted it. Would he be allowed to defend himself, or would Mose simply impale him on that gold-tipped spear?
An officer stepped out of the ranks beside the king and boomed, 'As pharaoh commands. Kysen, son of the traitor Meren.'
Something inside Kysen broke; he remembered Meren's lifetime of devotion to Egypt, and boiling oil poured into his heart. 'My father is no traitor!'
Mose poked him with the butt of his spear. Kysen swore, grabbed the haft, and jabbed the Nubian in the stomach. As guards rushed at him, Kysen released the haft and lifted his hands away from his body. He was surrounded by spear tips, but pharaoh raised a hand laden with gold rings. The spears snapped back, and Kysen found himself in a tight circle of Nubians.
Another signal from the king parted the circle. Breathing heavily, Kysen dared not move as the king came toward him, followed by Maya and Ay. At a wave of Tutankhamun's hand, he rose from the ground.
Pharaoh stopped three paces from Kysen. 'Look at me.'
Kysen had been avoiding just that, fearing his anger still showed. Slowly he lifted his chin. Meeting the gaze of a living god took courage. Meeting the gaze of this pharaoh took more than courage; it took a surrender of will.
Why this was so, Kysen couldn't tell. Perhaps his youth only magnified pharaoh's innate personal dignity. Perhaps the sadness that was never gone from the king's eyes for long evoked the feeling that Tutankhamun knew far more about the chaos in his soul than Kysen could bear to admit. At last pharaoh released Kysen from the prison of dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
