Abu glanced at Meren and Kysen, wet his lips, and proceeded with his examination. The rest of the boxes were empty except for clumps of dried rushes which could have been used for packing-or nesting.
"Damnation," Meren said. "And I must sail soon."
"We'll continue here," Kysen said as he followed his father upstairs.
Meren was on his way out of the reception hall when he stopped abruptly, almost causing Kysen to run into him.
"Wait." He glanced back into the main hall. "Reia."
The charioteer left the hall to join them. "Yes, lord."
"You looked at the refuse pit behind the house?"
"Aye, lord."
"Anything unusual?"
"No, lord. Only the usual-offal, wasted food, vermin."
"Vermin?" Kysen asked, looking at his father.
"Aye, lord. It looks as if the prince's cats have been busy. Someone dumped a bag full of dead mice into the pit."
Kysen exchanged glances with Meren. He turned and beckoned to Reia.
"I'll attend to it," he said to Meren. "Come, Reia, we're going to look at these mice again."
Meren stood at the bow of the fastest river craft in his fleet, Wings of Horns, and lifted his face to the north breeze. Nearby, the pilot searched the lapis-blue waters of the Nile for the next sandbar while thirty oarsmen rowed in time to a chant. Long, low, and sleek, the ship was one of the largest private vessels on the Nile. Its hull was painted black, the railing red and gold, and every other boat on the river gave way before its dark menace, skiffs and barges alike scattering like cattle before a leopard.
Meren had ordered the ship manned with a double crew. He had to catch Ahiram, even if it meant risking sailing at night. Behind them came supply vessels bearing food, weapons, chariots, and horses.
His hands almost twitched with impatience. He'd stirred a scorpion's nest at court and at the temple of Amun because of a dead priest, and the result had been a second murder and the flight of a prince. Until he'd seen those baskets and found out about the mice, he hadn't been certain all three events were connected. He'd thought he'd become too suspicious from all his years at court. Now, however…
He glanced back at the stern, where a helmsman manned the giant rudder oars attached to tillers. To port and starboard he could hear the stocks of rowing oars creak against the ropes that held them lashed in place and the sound of oar blades cutting the water. Over the rhythmic chant of the oarsmen blared the notes of trumpets blown by three sailors in warning to other craft.
He hadn't had time to change from his court regalia after leaving Ahiram's house, and the sun felt as if it were beginning to melt the gold bands at his wrists. Abu and his officers had orders to watch for Ahiram's yacht. Charioteers lined the railing and searched each landing, every small islet and marsh, for the prince's distinctive red-and-yellow craft.
Because of the house search, Meren hadn't gotten under way until several hours after he'd left the king, and now the sun had long since passed its apex. Village after village had receded in their wake, nestled in the green of vegetation. In the distance the bare mountains and cliffs of the desert loomed, ready to encroach on the slim ribbon of blue that was the Nile.
Meren had ordered the ship slowed as it passed Gebtu, a town that stood at the crossroads of the river and one of the routes that crossed the eastern desert to the Red Sea coast. This road connected with trails to the gold and copper mines and stone quarries that lay along its path. If he himself were running away, he might try to reach one of the Red Sea ports rather than take the obvious route to the delta and the great sea. But there had been no red-and-yellow yacht in sight.
Now Wings of Horus sped north toward the town of Iunet, the site of one of the great temples dedicated to Hathor, goddess of love, music, dancing, and pleasure. If the chase went farther, he would pass his own country home without being able to stop to see his daughters. Curse Ahiram.
Why? Why would he kill the lector priest? And what of the pure one? Only a shadow of suspicion linked Unas with Qenamun and Ahiram. Meren had admitted this to himself. He had no knowledge that the three had ever conversed together, although Qenamun and Ahiram had known each other.
Ahiram had been touchy and on edge lately; this Meren had noticed. But then, who was not, with the controversy going on at court? Meren hadn't given any sign that he suspected Ahiram of murder, so why had the prince lost his courage? Something frightening had to have happened to make Ahiram run away. Something more than just an accident at a hippo hunt.
Meren was beginning to suspect that one of the priests at the House of Life might have discovered Ahiram's guilt and threatened him. After all, Ebana had been present at Qenamun's death. He'd been at the House of Life at the same time as Ahiram on the evening the cobras must have been put in Qenamun's casket. All Meren could do was pray to the gods that he caught Ahiram alive to answer his questions.
Meren walked back to the deckhouse that sat in the middle of the ship. Inside the cabin he went to his quarters, where his body servant relieved him of his court raiment. He lifted the long, hot wig off his head and thrust a hand through thick locks cut short in the manner of most warriors. He washed, then donned a simple kilt.
When his servant would have crowned him with another heavy wig and bracelets, he refused them in favor of a gold-and-malachite headband. He wasn't going to chase after an experienced soldier in the hampering garb of a courtier. He went outside to stand between the two slender columns that supported the awning before the deckhouse. A cook named Thay, who had been with Meren since he was a youth, rose from his kneeling position before a brazier and thrust a plate of beef at him.
"The lord has not eaten all day."
Meren took the plate, wishing he weren't surrounded by people who felt it their duty to supervise his habits. Thay clapped his hands, and a boy appeared from the deckhouse bearing a chair. The lad set the chair down beside a table bearing a flagon and a goblet. Then he stood beside it.
The boy watched Meren. The cook watched him. Meren sighed and went to the chair. He glared at Thay and took a huge bite of beef, chewing with resentment. The cook nodded his satisfaction, retrieved bread from a basket, and thrust it at Meren.
While he ate, he tried to think of a reason Ahiram would want Qenamun dead. They'd only been acquaintances, as far as he knew. How could Qenamun have been a danger to a royal prince? He didn't know enough yet to answer that question. Meren had almost finished his meal when a cry went up from the bow. Gulping down the last of his wine, Meren thrust the goblet at the boy and strode across the deck toward Abu and several charioteers.
"Lord, look!" Abu pointed at a yellow-and-red yacht pulling away from the quay on the east bank.
Meren shouted at the pilot, who in turn yelled his orders to the oar master. He felt a surge as oars dug deep into the water and the speed of the strokes doubled. The helmsman swung the rudder oars. Wings of Horus veered around a cumbersome barge loaded with limestone blocks, then cut around a sandbar and directly into the path of the yacht. Behind them Meren's supply boats glided into place, blocking their quarry completely.
In a short time a plank dropped between the Wings of Horus and the yacht. Meren and several of his men boarded the smaller craft, only to find a confused and frightened ship's master and crew. Another, smaller boat belonging to Ahiram had sailed earlier with servants and slaves. Ahiram had disembarked not long ago on the east bank. The ship's master had been ordered to sail north, to the delta, to a small estate owned by a friend of Ahiram.
Leaving those on the supply ship behind to deal with the yacht, Meren went ashore with Abu, sending forth his men to scour the quay. A short time later one came back, saying Ahiram had set out on the desert road with a band of men, all in chariots. Meren waited with impatience as his own chariot and horses were unloaded. He gazed across the river to the west. The sun was dying, its glare turning from almost white to a deep gold as it sank. They would never catch Ahiram before nightfall.