3 Neff
Neff
At home in Bubas, Neff used to sit with her father in their market stall every day, waiting for customers to approach with their problems. Her father listened attentively to their stories, then offered the appropriate product: This spell scroll will make her fall in love with you!
This one will cure your headache! If you burn this wax figure of your rival, he will suffer a terrible end!
In this way, Neff became accustomed to reading people—to knowing who was desperate enough to accept an inflated price, who needed extra encouragement to close the deal, and who was only speaking to them out of curiosity and never intended to buy anything.
As it turned out, being an adviser to the king of Khetara wasn’t much different.
It was late morning, two days after the coronation, and Neff sat on a plush ebony- and cypress-wood chair next to Meryamun in the throne room.
The palace had been a hotbed of activity ever since Amunmose’s death, with viziers, merchants, priests, and government officials all vying for the new pharaoh’s attention.
They came to Meryamun with their own specific predicaments and schemes, intent on proving that theirs were of greater importance than all others.
Dutifully, the king deliberated before dispensing a decision in each matter.
And despite knowing the kind of man the young pharaoh really was—one who would assassinate his own father and slaughter two dozen innocent people who were loyal to the former king—Neff was impressed at his cunning and intelligence as a leader.
Occasionally, he asked for her advice on a matter but, more often than not, he seemed quite capable of handling everything himself.
“We have received word from several nomarchs, in both the north and the south, that they continue to face resistance in collecting the king’s tax,” a squinty-eyed vizier was saying.
He was the last to present his report that morning, the others having paraded in one by one to offer grim tidings—inevitably followed by subtle reminders of the “agreements” that were made preceding Amunmose’s death.
So the viziers did know about Meryamun’s plan to poison his father, Neff had realized. It made sense, of course. She’d heard rumors that Amunmose had despised the viziers and rarely heeded their counsel. They were probably happy to be rid of him.
For his part, Meryamun skillfully circumvented their attempts to secure funding for the new supply ship one wanted, or the exclusive trade agreement for another’s eldest son, or whatever lucrative prize they’d demanded in exchange for keeping their mouths shut about a few poisoned honey cakes.
He did this with a combination of flattery and distraction, and he did it well.
Each man left the throne room feeling pleased with himself, yet also entirely unsatisfied.
This last vizier was a small, fastidious man who looked as if he’d gone straight from wearing the sidelock of youth to old age, content to skip all the foolishness in between.
The vizier went on. “Not only has there been a decline in food production throughout the kingdom this season, there has also been a reduction in productivity due to workers sickened by the annual plague. Put simply, my king, the current strategy is lacking and has been for a long time. The problem, however, is this: We cannot lower the tax without imperiling the power of the crown, but we cannot keep the tax as is without risking civil war.”
Neff could tell that Meryamun appreciated the vizier’s frankness. He did not simper before the throne, nor complain about the state of the kingdom. He merely presented the facts.
“A conundrum, isn’t it, Sabni?” Meryamun said.
He wore a red and black striped headdress beneath a gold circlet that featured a cobra rearing on his brow.
He was bare chested aside from a beaded collar.
His elaborately pleated schenti was embroidered with green serpents with red malachite beads for eyes.
Neff had yet to see him wear the same outfit twice.
“It is, indeed, my king, a conundrum,” Sabni replied.
“Tell me, my friend, what is it you require in return for your continued allegiance?”
The vizier blinked. “Nothing, my king. My allegiance has no price.”
“I see. You were the last to accept the proposal regarding my father, were you not? Why is that?”
Sabni paled. Neff was amazed that Meryamun would so brazenly discuss his father’s assassination—then again, the only other people in the room were two of the king’s personal guard.
Even if there were others, Neff thought, what could anyone do about it now?
It was a question that kept her up at night.
To Neff’s surprise, instead of begging for mercy, Sabni spoke as plainly as the king himself.
“It wasn’t that I didn’t agree with your reasoning, my king.
It was simply that I am a servant of the pharaoh, and therefore I find any act that goes against him—no matter how ineffectual he may be—distasteful. ”
Meryamun leaned forward, his voice low. “You’re no traitor. Is that what you’re saying?”
The vizier swallowed and chose his next words with care. “In the end, my aversion to the plan was irrelevant. The decision was made, and you became the new pharaoh. Therefore, my service now extends to you alone.”
Meryamun nodded appreciatively. “I like you, Sabni. You look like a goat, but you have the heart of a lion. Here’s what I want you to do—craft a message and get the scribes to write a copy for every nomarch in High Khetara. Gather enough messengers to deliver the scrolls as quickly as possible.”
“What’s the message?”
Meryamun smiled, and Neff’s blood went cold.
“You will name the other viziers as enemies to the crown, guilty of corruption and gross malfeasance over a number of years both before and during my father’s decline.
You will instruct the nomarchs to tell the people of their cities and villages that exposing the viziers’ crimes was the first act of my reign, and that they will be punished to the full extent of Khetaran law.
Corruption of any kind will not be tolerated. ”
Sabni attempted to hide his shock but he didn’t do a very good job. “W-what punishment?”
“Execute them. Publicly.”
“All of them?”
“Except you, of course.” Meryamun laughed. “Don’t look so terrified, Sabni. It brings out the goat in you.”
“But…but why?”
Meryamun’s lip curled. “Because no one likes a traitor.”
The vizier nodded and wiped the perspiration from his brow. His lips moved soundlessly, committing the king’s message to memory.
“Anything else for the scribes?” he then asked.
“Yes. You will also mention the dangers the kingdom faces from outside forces: our enemies to the west and the Tashans to the south. The decline of our military over these past seventeen years has allowed those kingdoms to go unchecked, and they no longer respect our sovereignty. Even now, they are making plans to invade our borders and threaten the Khetaran way of life. Which is why we need the people’s cooperation to save our kingdom from ruin. ”
Sabni’s brow furrowed. “Is it true that the Tashans are on a war footing? I had thought our recent meeting with their delegation was fruitful.”
Meryamun chuckled. “Oh, Sabni—soon you will understand the nature of my relationship with the truth. She is my mistress and becomes whatever I need her to be.”
“It will be done, my king,” Sabni said. “Within days, all Khetara will hear of this news.”
The vizier bowed his head and began to back out of the throne room. He’d made it halfway before he stopped. “Apologies, my king. What of the tax?”
The young king tapped his lips with a long, gold-ringed finger. “Wait two weeks. Then raise it.”
With a final bow, Sabni turned and exited.
As soon as he was gone, Meryamun slumped in his throne and glanced over at Neff.
“You see, little priestess? From under the ground it comes… No more meetings until this afternoon. Wine!” He shouted the last in the direction of the open door, then turned back to her.
“I’ve been meaning to ask, have you received any divine insight about my dear sister? ”
“There’s still no word of Sitamun?” Neff said, tempering the curiosity in her voice.
She didn’t want Meryamun to think her too interested in the princess’s fate.
He had no knowledge of the Oracle of the Lamb, nor of Sitamun’s involvement in it, and Neff wanted to keep it that way.
The oracle placed her and the errant princess on the same side of a coming battle, which surely meant that Meryamun was destined to be on the other.
“She’s proven herself to be surprisingly difficult to find,” Meryamun replied with a hard smile. “Though perhaps my surprise is unwarranted. Sita was always more clever than she let on.”
Neff shook her head. “I am sorry, my king. I have prayed, but the gods have been silent.”
“Hm,” Meryamun mused. He reached forward and adjusted the strap of her dress, his fingers lingering on her collarbone. Neff forced herself not to recoil. “Perhaps there’s something we can do to…encourage them to speak. Yes?”
Neff didn’t like the sound of that. But before he could continue, he seemed to remember his refreshments hadn’t arrived.
“I said wine!” he shouted.
An instant later, a young woman dashed into the room, nearly upsetting the tray of fruit, cheese, and fresh bread she balanced on one hand. In the other, she carried an alabaster wine jar that sloshed dangerously with each step. Several attendants carrying fans hurried in after her.
“Apologies, my king,” the maidservant said breathlessly. “We were preparing the midday meal. We came as quickly as we could.” She set the tray on the small table next to the throne and raised the wine jar to fill Meryamun’s cup. Her hands shook.
“Ach!” Meryamun leaped to his feet. “You’ve spilled it on me, you stupid girl!” He brushed at the drops soaking into his clothes.
The maidservant stepped back, her eyes round with fear.