Although the stack of logs was high and represented a royal fortune, Meren paid it no heed, for he had glimpsed what Dedi had written on the first document. It was a summary of his and Bek's searches into the career of the officer Yamen. The man was the son of a minor noble of Imu, a nome capital in Lower Egypt. Being a younger son and not possessed of a fortune, he'd spent most of his life in the army. Yamen had been fortunate, however, in that his father was a friend of General Nakhtmin, and the general had promoted the young man's interests, assigning him to important jobs in his service.
Yamen had held titles such as scribe of accounts of the division of Amun and scribe of recruits before being assigned to the general's staff. Meren leafed through the documents behind Dedi's summary. The last ten years or so had seen Yamen's rise in importance. He now regularly undertook missions of inspection as a royal envoy to foreign vassals of the empire. Yamen was now a "king's messenger to all foreign lands," but still attached to General Nakhtmin's staff.
Meren pulled an old report from the stack of documents, his footsteps slowing as he walked past a joiner's workshop. The report was a list of rewards. Yamen had received plots of land, gold cups, even the Gold of Valor, yet there was no indication that the officer had ever taken part in battle.
Returning the summary, Meren read that Yamen often had been sent to assess the need when an Asiatic vassal requested gold, troops, or weapons to defend his city. Bek had noted in the margin of the summary that three times out of five, Yamen affirmed the need for pharaoh's generosity to the vassal. And when the aid was sent, the trouble always vanished immediately.
Meren curled the set of papyri into a roll and tapped it against his palm. In his experience the majority of requests for aid were unjustified, the result of the acquisitive nature of pharaoh's vassals. If Yamen was sending so much aid, there was a good chance of collusion with the vassal prince or governor. Which meant that the envoy was getting paid for his favorable reports.
And there was something else odd about Yamen's career: he always seemed to land in positions with access to valuables, or to information about the movement of goods or men. Most interesting of all, Dedi reported that Yamen was being considered for the position of royal herald and might be granted the right of
amakhu
, the right to burial at pharaoh's expense.
"Pharaoh!" He'd forgotten what he was doing.
Meren came out of his reverie and looked around the workshops. Rolling the papyri tighter, he set off in search of the king. He walked swiftly, turned a corner, and saw the king standing in front of a shoulder-high weighing scale set in front of a guarded building—a precious-metals storehouse. Only Karoya, pharaoh's chief bodyguard, accompanied the boy. To the right of the scale stood a scribe recording amounts of gold and silver. Meren joined the group and bowed to pharaoh as the scribe's assistant steadied the plumb bob with one hand and the balance beam with the other.
The scribe piled rough yellow nuggets on one pan, while the chief goldsmith added weights to the other. On the ground lay a basket of extra weights. Some were shaped like domes, others like ox heads. One was formed in the image of a hippo. Meren watched the goldsmith add an ox head to his side of the scale. The pan was still higher than the gold.
"Not enough," the king said. He reached for a stone ox head and put it on the pan next to the other weights. The pan tipped, then slowly settled into balance. "Excellent." Tutankhamun turned to Meren. "Ah, there you are. You're late, Meren. It's not like you."
"Forgive me, majesty."
Around them the hammering, sawing, and yelling rose, and the king smiled. "I forgive you, Meren, because it's not often I catch you in even a small fault."
The king signaled for Meren to walk beside him as he left the gold storehouse. Leading Meren and his guard, Tutankhamun crossed a path to the other side of the workshop district. When they reached a particularly noisy area near the main workshop of the master stone carver Thutmose, pharaoh stopped. Karoya turned his back and moved a few paces away to stand with his legs braced apart. He folded arms the size of oxen over his chest and glared at anyone who came within forty paces.
"Come closer," Tutankhamun said to Meren. "I don't want anyone to hear."
"Yes, majesty."
Meren moved as near as he dared, within a small stride of the king. To go closer risked arousing curiosity and provoking gossip. His efforts were foiled when the king closed the distance between them to half a pace.
In a loud whisper, the king said, "Maya says that all the secret tombs are complete and that my brother's whole family is safe in the royal cemetery in Thebes." Tutankhamun glanced around, his eyes guarded, his jaw muscles twitching with tension. "I put Akhenaten and Nefertiti with my mother. You were right. It was the only place that might be safe from those who would destroy them."
"Thy majesty is wise."
"You think it a good choice?"
That strained look had come into the boy's face. Meren felt a pang of sympathy for the king. It hadn't been long since someone had broken into Akhenaten's tomb in Horizon of the Aten and desecrated the king's body.
The news had devastated Tutankhamun. His memories of Akhenaten were of a somewhat eccentric brother old enough to be his father. Nefertiti had been a second mother. The idea of someone hacking at Akhenaten's body was horrific. If his body was destroyed, his soul would have no place to lodge, and it would wander, homeless and desolate. Eventually it would perish. It was this possibility that impelled Meren to conceal from Tutankhamun the extent of the damage done to the heretic pharaoh's body—and the fact that Nefertiti had been murdered while the boy lived with her.
"Thy majesty has made the best of choices, for Queen Tiye was revered by all. Few would look for Akhenaten in her house of eternity, and no one would think of desecrating it."
Meren was rewarded for his assurance by seeing the fear and tension drain from the king's young features. Letting out a long breath, Tutankhamun resumed his tour of the royal workshops. As they passed, artisans paused to kneel and touch their foreheads to the ground. By pharaoh's order, however, they resumed their work immediately. Tutankhamun was constantly trying to avoid ceremony, to the dismay of Ay and his courtiers.
"I have just had more reports of people absconding with conscripts," Tutankhamun said as they walked up to a jeweler's studio. Dozens of artisans sat before stone slabs, cutting inlay from chunks of lapis lazuli, turquoise, and other precious stones. "The priests of Amun waylaid thirty-two laborers bound for the temple of Ra in Heliopolis. There were more reports, but I am more troubled about something else."
"The stolen gold, majesty?"
"Maya told you."
"He said that the Nubian gold expedition was attacked in the desert and lost much of its shipment."
Pharaoh scowled at Meren. "And if I'd been on that expedition, I could have gotten that battle experience you've been promising me for months."
"It's too near the time of the feast of Opet, golden one."
"You always have a good excuse to keep me away from battle, Meren, but I'm not going to be patient much longer. As soon as I have report of a suitable opportunity, you and I are going on a raid against bandits."
"I know thy majesty wishes to prove himself in battle, but—"
"I won't listen, Meren. You've trained me yourself. Am I not a good warrior?"
"Of course, majesty. But—"
Tutankhamun held up his hand. Meren shut his mouth and trained a severe look on his king. Few would dare give such a look to the living god, but Meren had served the king since he was a child.
"None of this is why I summoned you," the king was saying. "I have heard a rumor, Meren. One concerning you."
"There are many such, majesty. They outnumber the grain in the royal storehouses."
"This one is different. It is said that you tried to seduce Yia."
Meren stopped, his jaw coming unhinged. "Who, majesty?"
"Princess Yia, wife of Prince Hunefer."
"How can I have seduced her, golden one? I don't even remember her."
A mischievous smile flitted across the king's face. "Prince Hunefer complained of it to me last night. He says they were at the feast of welcome you held for Tefnut and Sunero, and during an acrobatic performance, she vanished and so did you."
"Hunefer has the wits of a gnat," Meren said with a snort. "He lives in constant fear that his wife will betray him. And I know why."
"Why?"
Ignoring the king's smirk, Meren said, "Because Hunefer has no chin and very little forehead. He looks like a green monkey in a kilt, and he knows it."
No longer able to control himself, Tutankhamun burst into laughter. Karoya, who was ahead of them, turned his head briefly in surprise, and Meren glimpsed the curl of his lip. Even the stone-faced Nubian was laughing at him! Fuming, Meren crumpled the papyri he was holding and trudged beside the king toward the chariot workshop.
"Don't scowl so," the king continued. "You're the one who is always admonishing me for my gravity."
Relenting, Meren gave the king a smile he usually reserved for his children. It disappeared with Tutankhamun's next question.
"What have you discovered about the death of my old guard in the menagerie?"
"The guard?"
The king halted and stared at him. "You forgot?"
Blinking, Meren shook his head. "The guard. Yes, the guard. I've entrusted the inquiry to my aide Abu, majesty. No doubt he has already gone to the embalmers to inspect the body."
"I remember Abu," Tutankhamun said slowly while he fixed a steady gaze on Meren.
"If thy majesty desires, I will go myself."
"No, no. I trust Abu." The king began to walk again. "Then you will have something to report soon."
"Yes, majesty."
"You won't forget? You've been distracted lately, Meren."
"One does not forget the commands of the living god, majesty."
"Platitudes, Meren. You really are not yourself. Are you overburdened?"
"No, majesty."
"Then what ails you?"
"Naught, golden one. Perhaps I am a little concerned with my youngest daughter."
"Isis," the king said with a nod. "I know."
Meren said nothing. No discussion was necessary, for the king was privy to all that had occurred the night Meren almost lost his life to Eater of Souls due to Isis's carelessness. He preferred that the golden one assume that his distraction was due to family problems; he didn't want to reveal his suspicions about Queen Nefertiti's death. Pharaoh had far too many burdens for a youth, the burdens of a vast empire, an intrigue-ridden court, and a kingdom still in turmoil in the aftermath of heresy. He didn't need the unhappiness of suspected murder added to the load he carried.
Looking down at the crumpled papyrus roll in his hands, Meren remembered Yamen. He would contrive a meeting with the officer at once. Even if the man had nothing to do with the queen's murder, he was worth watching. As Meren was the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, it was his responsibility to ferret out such sources of corruption.
They were making their way back through the workshop complex in the wake of Karoya's majestic progress when a royal messenger came running up to the king and threw himself at pharaoh's feet. He presented a folded message.
Opening the papyrus, Tutankhamun read swiftly and looked up at Meren with a grin. "At last! Bandits are reported north of the great pyramids. They're raiding villages, and I should have word of their movements in a few days."
"No doubt they've already fled the area, majesty."
"No. These bandits are bold. They raid several villages on successive nights before running away. Be ready to leave at any time, Meren." Yes, majesty.
It had come. He had run out of excuses to delay the boy, and now he must fulfill his promise. Meren rubbed his head, which was beginning to ache. He didn't want to think of the possibilities, but in his imagination, he could see himself returning from the raid with the king's lifeless body in his arms. There was no heir, and Tutankhamun was adored. The kingdom would be plunged into chaos.
"Be of good cheer," the king said. "How dangerous can a passel of barbarian thieves be?"
Memphis, reign of Tutankhamun
Several days after his expedition to Dilalu's house with the pungent Tcha, Kysen was in a desert wadi along with a dozen other noblemen. He breathed the cool morning air in deeply. Around him teams of horses snorted and pawed the rocky ground where the hunting party had gathered.
He, his father, and many of their friends had come to this barren place in the eastern desert of Memphis at Prince Djoser's request, to join in his gazelle hunt. Meren had almost refused to go and witness yet another of Djoser's awkward attempts to prove himself skilled at killing. Then Kysen had suggested that the hunting party would afford the excuse to meet Yamen for which they'd been searching. It was better than contriving a visit to General Nakhtmin's headquarters, for Meren seldom paid such calls. His own duties kept him far too busy.
Kysen caught his father's eye. Meren was talking quietly with Prince Djoser, and as he finished, the prince called to a man holding the reins of a team of white stallions. Meren turned away and began a conversation with the head groom while Djoser brought the stranger and his chariot over to Kysen.
"Kysen, may the blessings of Amun be with you, and many thanks for joining my party."
"I'm always honored by your invitation, Djoser."
"I present Yamen to you, Kysen. He has hunted with me before, but never when you have been along. He's known for his driving skill, and I thought to give you an advantage by making him your driver."
Kysen inclined his head in regal acceptance of the compliment. It had taken him years to learn the attitude appropriate to the son of the hereditary prince and Friend of the King, Lord Meren. In the thoughts of his heart he was still a bruised and dirty little boy running in the streets of the tomb makers' village in Thebes and trying to forget his father's latest beating.