"Respite indeed," Tanefer repeated as he came in and looked back over his shoulder. "They're in here, Djoser."
Soon they were all seated and being served roast goose accompanied by new-baked bread. Rahotep joined them last of all, taking a seat well away from Ahiram. Servants passed among them, refilling goblets with wine or beer from jars whose necks had been decorated with garlands of lotus flowers. Meren kept Ahiram distracted while Tanefer entertained Rahotep and Kysen. As usual, Djoser listened quietly to everyone and said little himself.
As dusk approached, a wine-heavy somnolence came over the group. Kysen engaged Rahotep in a game of senet.
"I'll beat you," Rahotep said. "I beat everyone. I'm the best senet player in the Two Lands."
Meren saw Kysen press his lips together to prevent a retort. He'd warned Ky long ago about Rahotep's bragging. Rahotep considered himself the best at everything from swordplay to breathing, and saw to it that the entire kingdom knew it. Meren felt that his bragging covered an utter lack of faith in his own merit. And somehow he couldn't become annoyed with Rahotep for long. His rudeness and clumsiness were so childlike that when he offended someone, he was often bewildered at how he'd managed to offer insult.
Djoser, too, seemed indisposed to listen to Rahotep's blustering. He requested that musicians be summoned. When they arrived, he settled on cushions with a basket of pomegranates and grapes and listened to the harp, flute, and sistrum.
Tanefer left him to join Meren and Ahiram. The conversation drifted from the hunt to speculation about a newly widowed noblewoman, Lady Bentanta, who had taken an interest in Meren. Meren endured Tanefer's gentle teasing while his own thoughts pursued a different course. He didn't like the conjunction of the controversy among the king's advisers and this sudden death of a priest, and the currents of dissatisfaction at court seemed more disturbing than usual. This was one reason he'd invited Tanefer and the others to his home. Due to their station and birth, these men had great influence on those of lesser rank.
In addition, Ahiram commanded the Bows of Ra, an elite regiment of two hundred royal archers, and Tanefer's regiment of charioteers, the Golden Leopards, was second only to the king's own war band. Djoser nominally headed a squadron of infantry. No one expected him to remain its commander for long. Rahotep, however, had just persuaded the king to allow him a regiment of charioteers and supporting infantry. For these he was recruiting native and foreign soldiers, especially Mitanni, of whom he seemed to have acquired a good opinion while in Syria.
All of these men reported to General Horemheb. Any one of them, except possibly Djoser, possessed the knowledge, wealth, and skill to menace pharaoh should he choose. Meren's task was to know the character of each. Only in this way could he guard the safety of the king.
"Am I right, Meren?"
"What?"
"Don't fall asleep," said Tanefer. "Brother of my heart, I've just wagered this gold ankle band that you've refused to favor the Lady Bentanta."
Meren held out his hand, and a maid placed a silvers dish laden with his favorite figs in it. He rose and went to a couch. Lowering himself to a half-reclining position on its cushions, he bit into a fruit.
Unfortunately, Tanefer and Ahiram followed him. Tanefer dropped on a leather cushion near his elbow, plucked a fig from Meren's bowl, and took a bite.
"He won't answer, Ahiram. What say you? Has he let her into his bed?"
"I would, me," said Ahiram between gulps of wine. "A widow-gods, think of her experience, and she's still young enough to-"
"Ahiram," Meren said softly. "You really should learn not to flap your tongue about women."
"Then settle our wager," Ahiram said.
Meren lay back on the couch and stared up at the plastered ceiling and green-and-white frieze of papyrus fronds that bordered it. "I regret that you've been reminded of the loss of your father by this whole question of a new campaign next harvest."
He glanced at Ahiram, but the Syrian was staring at Tanefer as if the younger man held the secrets of the underworld. Tanefer studied his fig, then took another bite.
Meren had expected to provoke a string of complaints, Ahiram's forte. His laments at his ill fortune were well known at court, and he could spend an entire evening listing injustices done to him, reasons why his plans for achievements hadn't succeeded (always someone else's fault), slights received. Meren often learned interesting things from these tirades.
"I know the old king abandoned your father to those rebels and bandits," Meren said.
"Dung-eaters in the pay of the Hittite king."
Meren tried again. "How it must sting to have been raised as an Egyptian, to be trained to take your father's place and continue in friendship with the empire-and then have those who promised so much fulfill nothing."
Ahiram looked away and shrugged. "That was long ago."
"Not so long," Tanefer said. He was staring into the pool of wine in his goblet.
Meren watched the way the corners of his mouth drooped, and for once regretted the necessity of probing old hurts. Tanefer's mother had been a princess, daughter of the king of Mitanni, who came all the way from the banks of the northern Euphrates to wed pharaoh's father and vanish into his palace as one of several lesser wives.
He remembered Gilukhepa. A woman, like many in the household of pharaoh, dissatisfied with her allotted place in the shadow of the great Queen Tiye. Over the years, her dissatisfaction had putrefied. She had tried to bathe Tanefer in that putrefaction, but her son possessed a merry and magical ka that could no more live upon misery than a crocodile could walk like a man.
He surrounded himself with beauty, having built one of the most gracious and largest houses in Thebes. He kept entire workshops of artisans who decorated his houses, created his jewelry, armor, and weapons, designed his tomb. Tanefer had a gift for beauty. Most of the young men around pharaoh envied him his easy yet regal manner, his brilliance in battle, his barbed wit.
"You could have been king," Meren said.
Tanefer set his goblet down on the floor and began tossing a fig in one hand. "My uncle is dead, murdered by one of his cousins no doubt, and my relatives vie for what is left of Mitanni. Think you I wish to leave the font of civilization to lie in a bed of serpents?"
"Byblos is a magnificent city, and rich," Ahiram said. "I wouldn't refuse to rule it, me, should the empire find its testicles again."
"That kind of campaign would take years," Meren said. "Think of the cities that lie between Egypt and Byblos."
"We wouldn't have to fight if the old king hadn't-"
"Peace! We're here to enjoy Meren's food." Tanefer slapped Ahiram on the back and whispered a lurid jest.
Ahiram barked his laughter. Having won his game of senet, Kysen came over to join in their merriment. Meren was left free to approach Djoser and Rahotep, who were listening to the musicians. Words of the song floated up to him as he took a chair beside them. My beloved rules my heart. Oh how long is the hour since I lay with her.
The harp's music rippled through the air, and Meren could see that its tranquility was at odds with Djoser's thoughts. Evidently Rahotep was trying to amend his friend's poor spirits in his clumsy way and hadn't succeeded. Djoser's foul mood contrasted with his fine raiment. Of all of them, he was the one most attentive to dress. At the moment he was contemplating his sandal, a rich object of gilded leather. Djoser liked sandals. Meren once estimated he had a pair for each day of the year.
Rahotep was still trying to cheer his friend. He was generous; for once he'd found someone to whom he could compare himself easily and always rank himself the better.
"It isn't every man's fate to be a warrior," Rahotep said. "Many of the great of Egypt weren't. Remember architects Amunhotep, son of Hapu, and Imhotep, who was also a sage and magician. Why, Imhotep designed the great step pyramid and is revered as a god."