Slayer of Gods (14 page)

On this side of the house the distance to a wide avenue wasn’t great. Young noblemen used this street to parade in their chariots
harnessed with their finest thoroughbred teams. Well-born young ladies strolled by admiring the men, flirting and giggling
to each other. The fortunate girls who lived on the avenue could view the scene from their roofs, and be seen to great advantage.
This parading and flirting had gone on for centuries, and was one of the ways in which young Egyptians searched for potential
mates. But Bener had always scoffed at the girls who simpered and giggled as they strutted on the avenue. Her most scathing
remarks had targeted the girls on the
roofs
who hung over the ledges and flaunted themselves, and now she was making a spectacle of herself.

Bener called out a goodbye to the young man in the chariot and waved as he saluted her and drove down the avenue.

“What are you doing? Are you mad?” Kysen said as he joined her side. “First you entertain Zulaya like an old friend, then
you visit Pendua’s wife, and now you flirt with a stranger.”

Bener hardly glanced at him. Turning on her heel, she walked away as she said, “That, dear brother, wasn’t a stranger.” She
turned and smiled at him. “That was Lord Rudu, the eldest son of Prince Usermontu.”

In a flash of gold, carnelian, and turquoise, Bener tossed Kysen a lotus flower and left him alone on the roof with the scent
of frankincense and honey lingering in his nostrils.

Meren woke late the morning after Anath surprised him in his bed. His late rising delayed the hour of departure, but by midday
Wings of Horus
set sail. This time Meren commanded a fast rowing pace, and the black ship cut through the north-flowing current, scattering
lesser vessels before her. The journey took him down the length of Egypt, past dozens of towns and villages, until he came
to Abydos, the city of Osiris. He stopped only briefly at his country estate. Then he headed south again and passed mighty
Thebes, home of Amun, king of the gods. Equaled only by pharaoh’s great ships,
Wings of Horus
pressed on, relentlessly breasting the force of the river, using the north breeze to push ever closer to Syene, the capital
city of the first nome of Egypt.

Even though he pushed the sailors as hard as he dared, Meren didn’t reach the first nome for almost two weeks. After the first
night she came to his bed, he gave up trying to preserve a facade of decorum with Anath. The woman had no shyness in her,
it seemed. He even grew accustomed to the amused glances of his charioteers. Once he overheard several of them.

“It should have happened long ago. Golden House needs a mistress.”

“He couldn’t forget his wife.”

“No, it wasn’t that. He had to be careful. Too many place-seekers threw their pretty daughters at him in order to make an
advantageous alliance. It’s the same with Lord Kysen and his daughters.”

Meren had reddened upon hearing his private life discussed, even by men to whom he entrusted his life. It was a hazard of
rank, this lack of privacy, and one of the reasons he refrained from too much indulgence. Circumspection and moderation protected
him from scandal and left him invulnerable to coercion by anyone seeking to control the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh. Anath ignored
his remoteness as well as his dignity and severity. She simply came to him when she wanted to, regardless of what he or anyone
else might think. And Meren allowed her visits.

To his surprise Anath even had the magical power to banish for a time his anxiety over the king. He spent long, tranquil days
under the deckhouse awning. The jewel-blue water surrounded him; the cool wind brought air suffused with sweetness uncontaminated
by the city smells of animal dung and refuse. He could lie on a couch with Anath sitting on pillows on the deck beside him
while the Black Land sped by.

He watched farmers as they scurried over the fields, damming water, making ready for planting. He followed the progress of
peasants on donkeys. The riders’ legs hung down over the sides of their mounts, almost touching the ground. The animals plodded
on the narrow paths between fields and he wondered idly where the travelers were going. He listened to the rushing sound of
the water until he dozed, then woke to the sight of one of the Nile’s many small islands lush with vegetation and thick with
birds—crested herons, bitterns, egrets, cormorants. Anath had pointed out a black-beaked Horus falcon. Meren couldn’t remember
the last time he’d paid attention to birds, watched tall reeds on the shore or on the islands waving in the wind as he sailed
by, or turned his face to the breeze and breathed deeply, allowing the tranquillity of the Nile to seep into his bones.

The idyll ended when the lush black fields grew scarce, the deep green of tree and water plant vanished, and the desert crept
close to the shore. Eventually barren rock shoved itself right into the river, and Meren knew that Syene was near. When rounded,
red granite boulders thrust themselves out of the earth, out of the Nile itself, he knew they’d arrived. At that moment he
felt apprehension descend again, and he fought off images of pharaoh’s features grown more haggard with each day that passed.
He and Anath watched from the deck as barges carrying obelisks and colossal statues floated past them on their way south.
Dark-skinned, graceful Nubians plied the waters in their smaller sailing craft and traded from their perpendicular mud houses.
They had reached the gateway to the frontier of Nubia, land of gold and rebellious tribes.

From Syene, at the first Nile cataract, southward into Nubia stretched the great border fortresses, Miam, Buhen, Semna, Shaat,
Tombos, all the way to Napata at the fourth cataract. From these massive bastions Egypt controlled the routes to the desert
gold and copper mines, the quarries from which came precious red granite and amethyst, and managed a trade rich in exotic
goods—ivory, animal skins, spices, ostrich feathers, and minerals. From nomadic traders came cattle and goats. Just as important,
no one could enter Egypt without passing the garrisons that perched on rocky promontories overlooking the narrow river valley
or the troops that ceaselessly patrolled the deserts.

“There it is,” Meren said, and he pointed to the island rising out of the lapis lazuli waters. “Elephantine Island.”

“It doesn’t look like an elephant,” Anath said as she stood beside him.

“It’s named for the ivory trade, foolish one.”

Feeling his treasured serenity ebb from him, Meren contained his impatience while
Wings of Horus
floated slowly up to a mooring place. Elephantine was a great trading center as well as the home of a garrison in the fortress
on the south end of the island high above the city. Also at the southern end of the island exquisite Egyptian temples nestled
among the palm trees, one of them built by Tutankhamun’s father. And not far from the fortress lay the house of the man Meren
had come all this way to see—Taharqa.

Taharqa was a chief’s son and the highest official in the administration of pharaoh’s viceroy of Nubia, who governed the lands
south of Egypt and controlled the royal gold mines. Born in far southern Nubia, which was known as Kush, he had been sent
to court to be raised as an Egyptian. It was from this palace childhood that Meren knew him.

Pharaohs had long ago found that turning the children of warlike Nubian chiefs into Egyptian aristocrats assured royal control
of this valuable border land. Gradually over the centuries Egyptian civilization had spread south, and now Nubian towns, temples,
and fortresses looked very much like Egyptian ones. When Meren and Anath disembarked and finally reached the home of Taharqua,
they saw a replica of a wealthy Egyptian nobleman’s town house.

Taharqa himself came out to greet them, his blue-black skin gleaming with oil, his proper Egyptian wig spangled with gold
beads. “Many blessed greetings, Meren old friend.” He bowed when Meren presented Anath. “My house is honored with your presence,
Mistress Anath. Come, Meren, out of this cursed heat. I hate the heat, may Ra forgive me.”

As elongated as a shadow in the dying sun, Taharqa had a languid grace and regal bearing. As he walked his numerous bracelets
chimed and his overrobe swung about his legs. He ushered Meren and Anath into a reception hall the roof of which was supported
by four wooden columns with lotus capitals. The ceiling had been painted like the sky with gold stars on a blue background,
and the colors were so bright it was as if the sun illuminated them.

Having settled his guests in chairs, Taharqa sank onto a couch covered in cushions and draped with leopard skins. Above the
couch a roof vent allowed the north breeze to flow directly onto Taharqa. When he felt the breeze he sighed as if making the
trip outside had drained his strength. As soon as he lay down, servants surrounded him, plying fans, dabbing his face with
a moist cloth, offering a cup of wine. Anath gave Meren a quizzical look.

“Not all Nubians are like those in the royal guard,” he whispered to her.

“My head aches from the heat,” Taharqa said. “Where is the herbalist with that tincture?” He fluttered his fingers at one of
the servants. “Find her before I perish from the pain.” Taharqa took another sip of wine and waved at the food that had been
set before his guests. “Eat, drink, and refresh yourselves.”

Knowing Taharqa had something he wanted to say and was approaching the subject in his usual sideways manner, Meren tore a
piece of bread from a loaf and drank some of the wine that had been poured into his goblet. Anath toyed with a date, but didn’t
touch her cup.

Taharqa spoke of the increase in traffic from south to north since pharaoh began restoration of the temples. He asked after
Meren’s family and plied Anath with questions about Babylon. Then the herbalist arrived, a gray-haired Egyptian woman whose
thick hands were stained and roughed from years of pounding roots, leaves, and seeds with mortar and pestle.

“There you are at last,” Taharqa said. “I’ve nearly collapsed from the pain while you took all this time to make a simple tincture.
Give it to me.”

Undisturbed, the herbalist handed her master a tiny cup filled with a greenish liquid. Taharqa drank it in one gulp and sighed.

“I can feel its power already.” He rubbed his temples, then waved his hand. “Go away. Having you stand there scowling at me
will bring back the ache.”

With a snort the herbalist took back her cup and left.

“I swear by Isis and Hathor that woman is the most disagreeable wretch I’ve ever employed. Do you know she had the temerity
to tell me I imagine these aches in my head? I have consulted many physicians and Nubian healers who all say I am beset with
evil spirits that cause my suffering. And I do suffer, in my feet, my back, my belly. Truly I am greatly afflicted, and if
she weren’t so talented I’d have sent the woman back to Thebes where I found her.” Taharqa waggled his fingers at the servants
plying fans. “Faster, curse you. Those feathers are hardly moving.” Without a pause he turned and eyed Meren. “I may speak
freely?”

“The Eyes of Babylon knows more secrets than both of us,” Meren said.

“Does she? What I want is for you to explain yourself, Meren. I hardly hear from you in months. Then suddenly I am deluged
with letters full of demands. Do I know a certain half-Nubian called Sebek, once a royal guard? Where
is
he? Can I find him? Can I keep him safe? Tell me why I’ve stirred myself and risked a terrible ague or worse.”

“Now, Taharqa, you know I can’t. I told you in my first letter that this is a secret matter.”

“That’s your answer after all my trouble?” Taharqa brought the back of his hand to his forehead and sighed. “I am unappreciated.
After all those years at court when I was your confidant and friend, I am reduced to a stranger, a runner of errands. My heart
is broken.”

“Have another tincture. I’m sure your herbalist has one that will mend your poor heart.” Meren tossed his bread back on the
table.

Taharqa squinted at him over his hand. “It has something to do with the court at Horizon of the Aten.” When Meren said nothing,
he continued. “This Sebek was the queen’s guard. Did he steal? Was he a heretic?”

Anath rose, set her wine aside, and went to Taharqa. She sat beside him and started to rub his temples with her fingertips,
causing her host to moan and sink down on the couch. After a few minutes of her massage, Taharqa was nearly asleep. Meren
watched quietly as Anath began to talk to his friend.

“Did you find the guard Sebek?” she asked in a gentle tone.

“Of course. He furnishes donkeys to the caravans that go to the desert gold mines and amethyst quarries.”

“He is here, then.”

“No, he took some animals to one of the mining camps to replace ones that died. I was waiting for him to come back when Meren
sent that charioteer.”

“Yes,” Anath breathed as she placed her palms against Taharqa’s forehead and massaged.

“I told him all he had to do was wait for the wretched man to come back from the mining camp, but he scampered off to meet
Sebek on his return route. Neither of them has come back yet.”