Qenamun floated over to stand at Parenefer's elbow and murmured, "Unas was anxious in his labors for the good god, far too anxious. His agitation made him clumsy at times."
"I care not," said Parenefer as he approached the door. He held up his hand to forestall Ebana from opening it. "Take care of this matter, both of you, for if you don't, all of us could end up drinking the poison cup of the condemned. All of us."
Kysen reached the end of the high wall that surrounded the temple of Amun, turned a corner, and glanced over his shoulder to make sure he hadn't been followed. He didn't want Ebana interfering when he inquired at the house of the pure one, Unas. Several priests seemed headed in his general direction, but they passed him, footsteps quick in the pursuit of temple business.
Unlike Akhenaten's planned heretical city, eastern Thebes was a hodgepodge of temples, hovels, noble residences, and workmen's houses huddling next to each other in noisy confusion. He passed the walled residence of a prince, turned a corner, and met a row of much more modest houses. The upper stories were dotted with narrow window slits, and he could see women on the roofs. Before him stretched a line of irregular housefronts broken by thresholds, most with their doors thrown open to allow air to circulate.
He knew only the street where Unas lived; his house would be the one with mourners and a crowd of relatives. Near the end of the street he saw several people enter a doorway and heard a woman wailing inside the house. There were no professional mourners. Possibly the family hadn't arranged for them yet, or could not afford them, or would not.
He had pressed close to the wall of a house as he surveyed the street, keeping out of the way of people, cattle, and donkeys. Now he took a step back into the traffic, only to have a hand come down on his shoulder and pull him to the side again. Kysen whirled, his hand going to the dagger at his side.
"Abu, damn you, you should have spoken."
His father's aide dropped his hand. Like most charioteers, he was tall. People gave way to him in the streets; no one thwarted the progress of a man wearing leather-and-bronze chest armor with a scimitar and dagger at his side. Especially not a charioteer, who was usually well-born and experienced in battle.
Abu was almost as giant as Karoya, Tut's Nubian bodyguard. His build was heavy and his muscles seemed to live a life of rippling activity beneath his skin. A few years younger than Meren, Abu rarely smiled, and when not on duty went on sprees of wine drinking that rivaled any indulged in by warriors half his age. Kysen had never dared inquire as to the cause of Abu's melancholy or his drinking lapses.
He scowled up at Abu, who gazed down from his advantage of four fingers'-width of height. "He sent you."
"Ky, know you who this Unas was?"
"I'm not an apprentice at this," Kysen said. The throbbing in his head was making him irritable. "Father wouldn't have sent for me if this pure one hadn't been important. An informer? One of yours, I assume."
Abu was wearing a warrior's short wig. He wiped perspiration from beneath it as he nodded.
"The lord sent me to assist you."
"There's no sense lying. Ebana has baited him again, and Father is seeing plots and threats in every word and movement."
"The lord has great perception, and he's usually right in his suspicions."
"Yes, but this death appears to have been an accident, Abu. Qenamun said that the priest was an excitable man, anxious to succeed, and clumsy when agitated."
Abu lowered his lashes. 'True, and he hadn't sent word of any danger to me, nor have I heard that he knew anything of import that could have gotten him killed. Nevertheless, Lord Ebana accused your father of having suborned Unas and would have stirred up trouble with the king had he not been prevented."
"Why?" Kysen held up his hand to forestall an answer. "Either to bring embarrassment upon Father, or… No sense concocting imaginary tales when I don't know the whole of it. Come, and don't pretend you haven't been sent to guard my back, Abu."
They went to the house. Abu banged on the closed door, stepped back, and crossed his arms over his chest. Kysen rolled his eyes, for he knew the charioteer did this to make his arm muscles swell. He was flexing the sinews of his thighs as well. Whoever opened the door was going to be startled by aggressive flesh and gleaming bronze.
The door creaked, and a bent, leathery figure appeared. Another wail boomed out at them. Kysen beheld a fragile old man with wisps of silver hair and a kilt that sagged on his bony frame. Watery eyes blinked at Abu. Dry fingers gripped the door.
"The agent of the Eyes and Ears of Pharaoh, the noble lord, Kysen, son of Meren, inquires of the family of the Osiris Unas," said Abu.
At this formal announcement, with its customary reference to the dead, the old man stepped back, allowing them to enter. He made obeisance to Kysen, bending and lifting his hands.
"I'm the father of Ipwet, wife of Unas, lord."
Kysen nodded but was distracted by the body, which took up most of the space in the small reception room. Beside it squatted a woman who rocked back and forth on her heels and sobbed into her gray hair, which was strewn with ashes.
"My wife," the old man said. "Word came only a short while ago from our daughter. Unas was my wife's cousin, lord."
Kysen glanced over his shoulder at Abu, who maneuvered both husband and wife away from the body. Kysen knelt beside it. Unas had been placed on his back on a litter for transport, and no one seemed to have touched the body yet, for it still bore a film of dust.
Unas had been a hollow-shouldered man, light of frame, like most Egyptians.
What distinguished him was his shaved skull, which came to a rounded point at the back. The left side, at the back, had been cracked, leaving a hole that exposed the meat of his head. Kysen could see blood-smeared pulp. The flesh surrounding the wound was ravaged and flecked with pebbles and dust.
Though wrinkled, the priest's kilt was hardly soiled except where he'd landed on it. His hands were empty and bore no traces that would signal a struggle. The man appeared to have sailed off the scaffolding so suddenly that he hadn't even had time to grab for support.
Kysen brushed flies aside as he noted the pallor of Unas's skin. It was waxy, and blood had collected in the portions of the body closest to the ground. His eyes had already flattened, and he was stiff. Kysen's gaze swept over the figure. His nose twitched as he caught the smell of loss of bowel control. His bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed, blood pounding in his temples. He stood up before the smell made him spew his stomach contents over the body. Cursing Tanefer for urging him to drink the better part of a flagon of wine, he stood and signaled to Abu.
"I see no signs of violence."
"The embalmers have been sent for," Abu said. "They will come at any moment."
Kysen hesitated. He would like to have the assurance of his father's physician that Unas had indeed died from a sudden fall, but interfering with Unas's embalming would draw the attention of Qenamun and Ebana and incite another confrontation between the temple and his father, and for little cause that he could see. He would have to trust to his training; provoked, the priests would throw up blockades to further inquiries.
"Allow them to take him," Kysen said. "Where is the rest of the family?"
"There's only the wife, Ipwet. She and Unas hadn't been married long, a little over a year. The parents arranged the marriage in order to see Ipwet settled before they died. She's their youngest. I believe she has seventeen years."
Kysen looked down at Unas. The priest must have had two score years at least. Not unusual, considering how long it took a man to acquire the means to set up his own house. Many years were spent by most men in this quest, so that they could earn the privilege of taking a wife and begetting a family.