Smenkhare was heir, was he not? The youth had grown up torn between his mother's traditional beliefs and Akhenaten's heresy, and the older he grew, the more restive he became. Yet Smenkhare was wise beyond his years and might prove an ally. She would talk to her father about seeking the boy's collaboration, but she was reluctant to risk his life. Egypt needed an heir, for the only other male of Amunhotep's body was the child Tutankhaten.
Someone must try to put things right, someone expendable. Nefertiti smiled grimly. Who better to risk the wrath of pharaoh than a grieving woman who held her life cheap? For she was willing to conduct her treasons in the very house of the king. The gods might protect her if she labored to restore their temples. And if Akhenaten discovered her betrayal before she had convinced him to allow the restoration?
She didn't think she'd mind dying. It was the path to her lost children.
Chapter 20
Meren's eyes flew open as he thrust himself upright, his hand already grasping a dagger. Spinning from his sitting position, he dropped to the floor, crouched, and slashed at the air with the blade. When it hit nothing, he waited, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow. The only sound he heard was his own hard breathing.
Finally he realized where he was-the house of the pirate Othrys. Was it morning already? Feeling foolish, he rose, his shoulders sagging with weariness. Last night he'd barely escaped the men who hunted him. They'd followed the guard only a little way before two of them retraced their steps and ran into him.
It had been a bloody fight. If his attackers had been royal troops, he might not have survived. But they hadn't been, and he'd killed them instead and made his way back here. Neither his guard nor Naram-Sin had returned, and Othrys had sent men looking for them. Meren had fallen asleep waiting for them, wondering who had tried to kill him and how his attackers had known where to find him.
Sleep would be impossible now that his heart was ramming itself against his ribs, so Meren washed and dressed. As he finished, Othrys slammed his chamber door open without asking permission to enter.
Meren scowled at him. 'Did you find them?'
'Who? Oh, Naram-Sin. Don't be deceived by his manner. He's a trained warrior. He came back shortly after I sent men looking for him. The guard is dead.'
Sighing, Meren shoved the Greek wig on his head and said, 'I am sorry.'
'I'll find out who did this, but that's not why I'm here.' The pirate stepped into the doorway and said, 'Come.'
An old woman followed him into the room. Her head hung between her shoulders because her back was bent with age. This crooked posture caused her ash-white hair to swing forward, covering her face. She wore a stained, wrinkled long-sleeved garment that hung about her thin body. The old woman carried a basket of wet laundry in her arms and shuffled with tiny steps. Meren stared at her in surprise, for at home no laundress would ever have business with him. She minced to a halt before him, and Meren surveyed her from gray head to small feet. Small feet. He knew those little feet, and he was certain they didn't belong to an aged laundress.
'Bener!'
His daughter's head snapped up, and he beheld a grinning, self-satisfied young woman. She dropped her basket and flung herself into his arms. Meren forgot his astonishment and squeezed her hard, burying his face in the rough wig that surrounded her head.
'Father,' she whispered. 'I've been so frightened for you.'
Her voice jolted him from the luxury of relief. He straightened and held her at arms' length.
'Damnation. What are you doing here?'
'Abu got word to us that you were here. He sent a message through my laundress, as I was using her to get messages to Cousin Ebana.'
Meren was staring at his daughter in disbelief. 'The laundress would be questioned and her basket searched.'
'She was questioned, but they didn't search. Not this particular kind of laundry.'
Meren glanced into the basket at the clean, wet bundles. His eyes widened as he recognized them, and he looked at Bener with renewed astonishment. Then he scowled again.
'You must have avoided Kysen as well as the king's spies, for I know he wouldn't allow you to come here.'
'Father, there's no time for arguing. I've important news.'
Othrys came to stand beside Bener. 'She's right. Listen to her, and scold later.'
Wavering between fear for Bener and the knowledge that she and the pirate were right, Meren nodded. Bener smiled with pride as she recounted her successful ruse for passing messages and told what she, Kysen, and Ebana had discovered.
'So Ebana sought help from an old friend in the office of records and tithes,' she said. 'This man owes Cousin Ebana many favors, and he has arranged to meet both Turi and Mose.'
'How?' Meren asked.
'Ebana's friend is overseer of records and royal gifts, and he has sent word to each separately that there has arisen a question of title to the lands awarded them by pharaoh. Each thinks a rival claimant has appeared and that the overseer wishes to speak with him and take his part in the dispute.'
'And the meetings?'
'Ebana instructed his friend to tell both Turi and Mose to meet him on his way home, as his days are full of tasks at the moment. They are to meet at that old shrine behind the grain magazines of Ptah. You remember the place.'
'Yes. It hasn't been used since the days of Amunhotep the Magnificent's grandfather, and it was old then. It's still standing?'
Bener nodded. 'Each man thinks the overseer is meeting him to get an account of his case to present to the vizier's judges. Kysen and Ebana will be waiting instead, and they want you to be there to question the Nubians.'
'I see,' Meren said. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'How will Kysen leave the house undetected?'
Bener was grinning again. 'I've offered him the use of my disguise.'
It was Meren's turn to smile. He could imagine Kysen's disgust at having to dress like a woman, much less an aged laundress.
'Father,' Bener said. 'Cousin Ebana says you'll be able to discover the guilty one once you confront him, but I don't see how he can be so confident.'
Meren gazed over his daughter's head at nothing, his thoughts traveling years into the past. 'I'd forgotten how much my cousin and I think alike.'
'But how will you discover the criminal?' Bener repeated.
'The less you know, the better.' Meren remembered to be irate with his daughter. 'And you're never to come here again. Stay home, where you belong. No following Kysen to the shrine this evening.'
'Fear not, Father. Kysen and I made a bargain. He let me come to you, and I promised not to go to the shrine.'
'Good,' Meren snapped.
Othrys clapped his hands together. 'Excellent. I'll be rid of you soon, and all will be well.'
Meren glared a warning at the pirate, who caught his look and changed the subject.
'Now, lady, before you set off on your long journey across the city, allow me to give you a morning meal. Food, drink, and time with you will improve your father's foul humor.'
One of the hardest things Meren had ever done was allow his daughter to shuffle out of Othrys's house alone with that basket of laundry. He worried about her the rest of the day. Even struggling with the mystery of Nefertiti's death proved but a temporary distraction. So far, he'd managed to knock a few chips from the stone barrier that encased his memories of that time and protected him from the pain they evoked. Keeping out of sight in his chamber until dusk, Meren took out the papyrus upon which he was writing his recollections of Horizon of the
