Thebes was awake, and the sun beginning to set the top of the town wall aglow, as Kysen walked down an avenue that would take him to Unas's house. Since the priest's death, nothing had been uncovered that would lead them to the truth. What disturbed him most was the fact that they still hadn't found a reason for someone to kill Unas, if he'd been murdered. But the behavior of the priests of Amun…
Kysen felt that Meren had relegated the incident to a place of lesser importance while he struggled with far more weighty problems, especially that of the king's first military campaign. Of some concern were the bandit raids on small villages at the edge of the eastern desert half a day's sail from Thebes.
Then there were those letters from the family. One of the advantages of being adopted was that he could look upon the relationships between the members of the family without becoming embroiled in their complexity. In the last few years, he'd come to realize how great was Meren's burden as the oldest son.
Nakht, whom Meren called Ra, and one of Meren's stewards were fighting again. Although Meren had been persuaded to allow his younger brother to govern Baht, the family's great estate in the Thinite nome, Nakht's laziness assured the steward of the bulk of the responsibility. It had taken Kysen less than a day in Nakht's company to realize what governed his adopted uncle's life. He resented Meren.
As far as Kysen could see, Nakht wanted all of the privileges and prestige of Meren's position, but none of the responsibilities and hard work that came with it. And Meren indulged him because Nakht always managed to make his brother feel guilty for having inherited so much more than either him or their sister, as if he were responsible for having been born first.
Then there was poor Aunt Idut, who couldn't understand why Meren didn't advance her son to high office even though the boy was but fourteen and still in school. Idut cared more for pushing her son into great achievements before his time than for tending to her own affairs. Luckily Idut was busy training Kysen's sisters in the country at Baht.
He for one didn't envy either Bener or Isis. The complexities of beer brewing, the management of estate servants and farmers, the keeping of accounts, the mysteries of crops and weaving, all of these fell under their control.
It was from Idut that Kysen had learned of Meren's parents. The father, Amosis, had been a child of the god Set, evil-tempered, brilliant, a tyrant, who demanded that Meren excel at every skill, from those of a scribe to those of a warrior. He had punished Meren's slightest lapse, yet tolerated Nakht's indolence.
Idut he ignored except when he terrorized her along with her mother, Neith. Neith, a great beauty from whom Meren had inherited sculpted cheekbones and lithe height, never tried to curb her husband's rampaging temper. Instead she had devoted her life to forcing her children to accommodate it, cater to it, take the blame for it. As a result, Meren alternated between feeling responsible for the misbehavior and failings of his siblings and everyone else and furious resentment at his burdens.
With the embers of such old hurts and grudges perpetually smoldering in the family, Meren grew tense and distant with the arrival of letters from them. Once, Kysen had conceived of the idea of intercepting the letters and burning them, but he soon realized that if the letters weren't answered, the family would descend upon them, quacking and whining.
No wonder Meren avoided his brother and sister. The only family member who tended her own concerns was Meren's maternal grandmother, the ancient Wa'bet, whose guile and wisdom were as great as the green sea into which the Nile flowed. But Wa'bet lived to the north, near Memphis, and rarely traveled or tolerated visits from her family.
Kysen passed two laborers drawing a cart loaded with sun-dried mud bricks, a donkey laden with bags of wheat, and a group of boys on their way to school at one of the temples. Ahead of him, on the threshold of Unas's house, stood Ipwet's friend, Nebera. He'd sent word ahead for the metalworker to attend him, since he'd made the complaint to the police.
A purple bruise marred his left cheek, and his lower lip was swollen on the same side. Kysen glanced at the wounds, but said nothing. The report he'd read hadn't mentioned that Nebera had struggled with the thief.
Nebera, apparently unconcerned, escorted Kysen through the house. The front rooms seemed undisturbed, but the bedchamber looked as if a herd of goats had blundered through it. Chests sat with their contents strewn around them. Kysen stepped over shifts, loincloths, and kilts. His sandal hit a necklace of glazed ceramic beads. He sifted through the coverings of the bed, which had been ripped from it to reveal its base of leather straps. The headrest lay on its side under a short-legged chair.
A casket rested on its side by the bed. Rolled or folded papyrus lay scattered around it. Kysen picked up the documents and examined each of them. Unfortunately they were the same household records he'd seen before-records of expenses, several family letters, receipts, a copy of Unas's meager will. He stuffed the papers back in the casket.
Then he picked up a faience kohl tube and put it back in the cosmetic box. The box sat beside a tall, overturned stand that had once supported a water jar. The jar lay in pieces on the floor, forcing Kysen and Nebera to avoid stepping on jagged shards. The vessel had been painted-a frieze of blue lotus flowers on a buff background. Next to the shards lay an oil lamp, also broken, with its contents spilled over the plastered floor. Some of the oil had seeped into the plaster.
"Very well," Kysen said as he knelt beside the cosmetic box. 'Tell me what happened."
Nebera dropped down beside him. "I was sleeping on my roof three nights ago and woke when I heard a crash. I knew Ipwet had gone to stay with her parents and plan for Unas's burial, so it couldn't be her. I thought it was a thief who had heard that the house was uninhabited."
"So you went to catch a thief alone? What if there had been more than one?"
"I–I didn't think. I was so angry that someone would steal from Ipwet when she was bereaved that I crossed from my roof to the other house. I went halfway down the inner stairs and listened. I heard someone moving around in the bedchamber, so I went all the way down the stairs and crept up to the door. It was dark, but I could hear someone moving around and cursing."
"Whoever it was must have stumbled into that stand and dropped the lamp he was holding," Kysen said as he examined a perfume jar shaped like a fish. "You're sure the thief was a man?"
"Aye, lord. Though he kept his voice to a whisper, it couldn't have been a woman. He stumbled around in the chamber while I hid at the door. I think he was trying to find the way out, because he worked his way along the wall until he came to the threshold. I jumped on him as he came out of the room."
"And fought with him, I see."
Nebera gave him a pained smile. "I grabbed him from behind and got my arm around his neck, but the cur jabbed me in the gut with his elbow, and while I was bent over, he hit me a couple of times and then ran." Nebera touched his purple cheek. "By the time my ears stopped ringing and I could stand without growing dizzy, he was gone."
"So you never really saw him."
"No, lord."
"But you touched him," Kysen said. "You were close."
"Yes, but there was no light."
Kysen sighed. "When you grabbed his neck, did you have to reach down?"
"No. Oh, I see." Nebera sat back on his heels, and his gaze drifted blindly across the ruined room. "No, I had to reach up a little."
"You're sure."
"Aye, lord, the man had to be tall, taller than I am. And-and he was smooth."
"Smooth?"
"He wore only a kilt, and his upper body was well cared for. You understand. His skin wasn't that of a common laborer who works under the sun all day and cannot afford many baths and oils." Nebera's gaze came back to Kysen, and his eyes widened. "By the gods, he smelled of the perfume in skin oil. Not much, but some."
"Could you distinguish the perfume?"
"No, lord. But it contained scents I've smelled before-like scent-cone smell."
Kysen nodded. Scent cones were a common luxury. Placed on top of a person's wig, a shaped cone of ox tallow bearing herbs and spices melted, giving the wearer relief to sun-tortured skin and filling the nostrils with pleasurable scents. One of the most common was that which blended thyme and sweet marjoram. If the intruder had used a scent cone, some of the oil could still be on his skin.
"So," Kysen said. "This clumsy thief is tall and can afford oil or scent cones and labors not in the sun."
"And I know he wasn't a metalworker."
Kysen stared at Nebera, who rushed on. "Those who work over crucibles full of liquid copper or gold, their hands and body catch the bitter smell of the metals."
"Can you remember aught else? What of his hands?"
Rubbing his chin, Nebera lapsed into silence for a few moments.
"I don't know, lord. He was gone too quickly. Not a common thief, nor a practiced one. And now that I think upon it, perhaps not a thief at all. He must have been looking for something particular, although I don't know what."
"And you can think of no reason why anyone would have cause to secretly search Unas's house?"
"No, lord. Unas was so unremarkable, and of no great importance. He had no riches, no secrets, no power of any magnitude. He worked diligently. He was devoted to Ipwet, but in truth, he was more fascinated with sacred writings and dusty old texts than anything else."
When it was apparent that Nebera had nothing more to tell him, Kysen rose and inspected the rest of the house. The cellar, kitchen, and roof seemed untouched. He even studied the oven where he'd found the pottery shards, all to no avail.
Nebera accompanied him, but remained silent. His remarks had solidified Kysen's opinion that Unas had been a man of honest tedium. And any man who thought that his diligence and store of mythical tales could rival the devotion of a strong young buck like Nebera was a fool. Or had Unas known about his wife and Nebera all along? If he had, would the knowledge have driven him to throw himself off the scaffolding?
He would sooner believe that Nebera had decided to eliminate the inconvenient husband. It was unfortunate that Nebera's innocence had been attested to by a dozen royal artisans, for although Unas hadn't been wealthy, Ipwet would no doubt inherit the house and its contents. Since Nebera had yet to establish his own household apart from his parents, such a windfall would save him years of labor. A sufficient reason for murder to some.
Nebera was familiar with Unas's habits. He might have lain in wait for the priest on the scaffolding and pushed him off it, then gone to his labors in the royal workshops. Nebera would have expected the death to be seen as an accident. Such misfortunes happened all across the Two Lands, where work on monuments to the gods and to kings comprised much of the labor of the empire.
How troublesome that the man couldn't have been a murderer. Nebera, however, seemed an honest man. His reputation among his neighbors and fellow artisans was good. He was a skilled worker, easy of nature, content with his lot. Kysen had formed a like opinion in his dealings with him.
Nebera was like many young men he'd known, satisfied to be born into a station at the behest of the gods, who placed men in ranks from birth so that the kingdom functioned in perfect balance. Few rose above their birth, and when they did, it was according to the will of the divine ones. However, sometimes people grew to resent their fate.
He had to consider other possibilities regarding Unas's death. There was the demeanor of Ebana and Qenamun. Had they merely been taking advantage of the priest's death to kick a hornet's nest into Meren's face? Or were they hiding a greater secret?
When Unas's house had been invaded, where were Ebana and Qenamun? Futile to ask them-they would no doubt produce a gaggle of priests to attest to then-presence elsewhere. Too bad he couldn't send a swarm of men to question their friends, neighbors, fellow priests-but that would provoke a political furor.
Kysen left Nebera to close the house and stepped out into the street. The last coolness of night had vanished while he'd been inside. For a brief moment he was alone. He lifted his face to the rays of the sun god, his eyes closed, and watched the red glow on the backs of his eyelids. Then he turned and began the trip back to the quay, where he'd take a ferry across the river.
He hadn't gone more than a few steps when he was forced to avoid a steaming pile of donkey droppings. He slowed, then darted to the side, his shoulder brushing the wall of a house. Unfortunately, he hadn't seen the second pile. He cursed and leaped forward over the noxious hillock. As he landed, he heard a loud thud and turned to find a chunk of masonry the size of his head embedded in the dung.
Kysen whirled, backpedaled into the open street, and gazed up at the roof from which the masonry had fallen. The only other occupant of the street was an old woman asleep on her doorstep. Furious, he was about to charge into the house when reason intervened. He was alone.
Anyone, any number of men, could be waiting inside that house.
Launching into a run, he swept down the street, around an intersection, and down an alley that bordered the house. He shoved past a gaudily dressed Syrian merchant and his retainers while a man pulling a cart of wood scurried out of his way. The alley ended in a sharp turn that gave out onto the street he'd come from. Kysen searched the length of the alley and all the roofs. He was rewarded with the sight of a mother hanging out washing while screeching at several children, but little else.
The man with the wood was turning into Unas's street. Kysen stopped him.
"Have you seen a stranger rush from that house?" he asked, pointing to the one from which the masonry had come.
"Only yourself, good master."
Kysen nodded, dismissing the man, and fell to inspecting the house again. It was an old one, as were most in the neighborhood, and its mud brick was crumbling in many places. In a few years the owner might be forced to tear down the walls, level off the foundation, and build again.
He fought the urge to go inside alone. Tempting as it was, he'd been warned about such impetuous behavior by Meren and Abu. And he'd done something like it before and almost been killed. That had been at a deserted temple that served as a refuge for Libyan bandits. He'd nearly lost an ear, and his life.
He should have listened to Meren and brought charioteers with him. Now he'd hear about his recklessness from every captain, aide, and groom under Meren. He thought about not revealing the incident, but knew he couldn't conceal the truth. The falling masonry might have been an accident, but it might also have been an attempt on his life. Which meant that he shouldn't be standing in this alley by himself.
Kysen made his way west toward the riverbank and soon found himself in a market near the quay. He joined crowds of customers, vendors, and foreign merchants moving in small rivulets between stalls laden with Egyptian and imported goods. In the shade of a building a barber shaved and cut hair. A Nubian stacked elephant tusks in front of a stall along with small incense trees. Under awnings vendors hawked bread, fish, melons, onions. Kysen edged between the booth of a woman selling beer and a group of her customers, huddled around a common jar from which protruded clay drinking straws.
In the distance he could see one of the great royal trading ships coming to dock with a load of timber from Byblos. He worked his way between the beer vendor and her customers, his gaze fixed on the royal ship, his thoughts on that block of masonry. He shouldered his way through a group of shoppers, only to have one of them reach out and grab his arm. Kysen whipped around, yanked himself free-and came face to face with his adopted cousin, the priest Qenamun, and a bevy of lesser pure ones. They surrounded him, forming a wall of white kilts and bald heads.
"My noble cousin. How fortunate is this humble cupbearer of the god to find you here."
Kysen wondered how was it possible to grow cold under the heat of the Egyptian sun. The hair on his arms almost stood up as he glanced around the circle of priests.
"I missed you as well, Ebana," Kysen said.
Ebana's raptorlike smile looked artificial. He drew nearer, coming within an arm's length while the priests tightened their circle.
"One would think," Ebana said, "that one of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh would be too occupied with royal business to go shopping in the markets on this side of the Nile."
Kysen glanced around the circle of bald heads. There were five pure ones, none of whom looked as if they spent much time in scholarship. Thick necks, chests as wide as barges-they could have passed for mercenaries. They stood still in the middle of the market and formed an island before which waves of citizens parted. He knew better than to let them see his uneasiness. He'd been right in not chasing after whoever had dropped that masonry.
"How long have you been here?" he asked. It was a demand. Ebana's false smile vanished.
"Watch your tongue, boy."
"Someone just tried to drop part of a house on me."
"So you fled to the east bank?"
"It happened here," Kysen said. "After I left the house of your pure one, Unas."
He kept his gaze fixed on Ebana's face, but all he perceived was a brief squint of his eyes, quickly gone. Then Ebana smiled a smile of true pleasure and spoke in tones of spice and sweet wine.
"What say you, Qenamun? Is my cousin not unfortunate? You should perform a divination for him or study his birth day. After all, he should be warned of approaching dangers so that he can stay home and avoid them."
Qenamun fingered a pleat in his kilt. "It would do me honor to serve the son of Lord Meren."
The last thing he desired was a magician priest of Amun delving into his fate and fortune, performing spells about him, divining the future of his ka. A man like Qenamun could do great harm with his knowledge of the mysteries of the gods.
"I don't need magic," he said. "I need truth."
Ebana lost his smile again. "Are you accusing-"
"There you are. I found her. Taste these and tell me I'm right. I have the best palate in Egypt, and these are the best honey cakes in Thebes." Rahotep pushed his way into the circle around Kysen, his arms full of round loaves covered with honey glaze.
"Kysen," Rahotep said. "What luck to meet you. Now you can settle a wager. I say Ebana should hire the baker of these honey cakes, for they're fit for the good god." He shoved a cake into Ebana's hands.
As the circle of priests loosened, then broke and dissolved, Kysen took one as well. To cover his relief, he bit into the cake.
"You've been in the market with Ebana?" Kysen said.
"Yes. You know me, always hungry, and these cakes come to me in my dreams. If Ebana doesn't hire her, I will." Rahotep tried to stuff an entire cake in his mouth.
"How long have you been with him?"
"How long?" Rahotep gave him a curious glance. "A goodly time, I suppose. What do you mean?"
"Oh, naught, my friend. It's just that I didn't know you and my cousin were such comrades."
"Ebana is going to sell me two foals from his black thoroughbred. You know I'm the best judge of horses in the Two Lands. They'll make a wondrous pair for my war chariot. We've agreed on a price, goods worth one hundred deben of silver."
Kysen had been watching Ebana while Rahotep boasted and swaggered, but the man revealed nothing. He stood with a honey cake in his hand and stared back at Kysen with his lips quirked in a half smile, unruffled as the golden Horus falcon, cool as the waters of the Nile at night. Taking up the challenge, Kysen listened to Rahotep, his gaze never wavering from Ebana's, and ate every bite of his honey cake. At last Ebana's voice cut across Rahotep's narrative.
"Perhaps you've had a warning from the gods, cousin. It may be that you should remain on the west bank. I would be grieved to find one day that you truly had gone into the west, to the land from which no man returns."
Kysen turned on his heel and walked away. "Fear not. If I do die, I promise to come back as the winged ba bird of the soul and take you with me."