The Right Hand of Amon (7 page)

Nebwa leaned close to Bak and murmured, "Where's Imsiba?"

"I sent him to Iken." Bak kept his voice equally muted. "He left at first light and should be back before nightfall." "You sly jackal." Nebwa grinned. "What'd you tell him to do? Whisper your praise in the garrison commander's ears?"

Bak snorted. "Questions, Nebwa, not praise." His eyes strayed toward the commandant and an anger born of frustration seeped into his voice. "If I'm to resolve Puemre's death, I've no great desire' to report to Iken blinded by ignorance."

Thuty shifted his chair from the wall to stand behind it with his hands resting on its back. "A courier arrived from the north no more than an hour ago," he announced. "If the breeze remains fair, the lord Amon will reach Buhen by midafternoon today."

Murmurs of anticipation, excitement rippled through the room. Even Bak, who had grown to manhood only a half hour's walk from the god's mansion in the capital, was not immune. His joy was soon marred by regret, followed quickly by dismay. Imsiba would not be back in time to watch the holy procession. And the god's arrival at so early a date shrank the number of days that would pass before Amon reached Iken to only four or five. Could he hope to search out Puemre's slayer in so short a time?

Thuty raised a hand for silence. "I assume each of you has told your men what I expect of them when the sacred barge docks at the quay?"

"Yes, sir," the officers chorused.

"I've seldom seen so many kilts and shields drying in the sun," Nebwa muttered. "The rooftops are as littered as the desert verge when an army long away from water rushes to the river for a swim."

Another officer laughed softly. "My men have polished their spearpoints so much they've lost their edge."

Bak's smile was automatic, his thoughts wandering. Since taking command of the Medjay police, he had snared three men who had taken the lives of others. Two had been easy to catch, the slaying done in anger and the slayer too paralyzed by his offense against the lady Maat to cover his tracks. The third death, that of Thuty's predecessor, had taken weeks to resolve. If Puemre's slayer had not yet been caught, such would probably be the case here as well.

Thuty's voice, as hard as granite, broke into his thoughts. "Our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut, thinks of those of us who occupy the garrisons here in Wawat as little more than caretakers of the precious objects passing through on their way to the royal treasury. The chief prophet holds us in no higher esteem." His eyes darted from one face to another. "I can't impress upon you enough how important it is to welcome the lord Amon and his retinue in a manner befitting his exalted status among the gods. Do I make myself clear?"

The officers, Bak among them, spoke as one. "Yes, sir." . The. chorus was ragged this time, marred by surprise at Thuty's frankness. The queen's neglect of the army was a constant irritation, a source of many whispers, seldom aired in public. She held the reins of power. For how long, though, was anyone's guess. Her nephew and stepson, Menkheperre Tuthmose, had inherited the crown from his father while still a small child. Hatshepsut, not content to serve as regent, had placed herself on the throne. Many believed the heir, now sixteen years of age, should assume his rightful place above her. He kept his plans to himself, but had several years before begun to rebuild the army into a capable and loyal fighting force.

Thuty eyed his officers at length as if to be sure they understood, then took his seat to discuss the disposition of the garrison troops during the lord Amon's stay in Buhen.

Bak refused to give in to a sense of hopelessness that threatened to overwhelm him. The odds might be against his snaring Puemre's slayer in time to journey upriver with the god, but he vowed to try. Since the only avenue of investigation open to him at the moment was Seneb and those unfortunate children the trader had brought from the south, he would begin with them.

A door slammed at the far end of the old guardhouse, followed by the thud of a heavy wooden bar dropping into place, locking the prisoner inside his cell.

"Spawn of a snake!" Bak snarled at the tiny, barren room in which he sat.

Few men disgusted him as Seneb did, but the more he saw of the trader, the more convinced he was that the man was as innoceZt of Puemre's death as he was guilty of an endless cruelty to all the creatures he had bought and sold through the years.

Somewhere in the building, Bak heard men's laughter and the clatter of spears. The scent of lentils and onions wafting from the roof vied with the rancid odor of vomit given off by a baker who had passed out in the next room. Midday had barely come and gone, the lord Amon was not

expected for another two or three hours, and already the revelers had begun to fall.

Bak rose abruptly from his stool, sending it skittering across the hard-packed earthen floor, crossed the room, and opened a warped wooden door. Its squeak attracted seven pairs of dark, suspicious eyes. The children taken from Seneb's caravan sat in a rough semicircle on the bare floor. Their bodies were clean, their woolly hair trimmed, their wounds bandaged. The stocky Medjay seated in front of them was so intent on his halting attempt to speak their tongue it took him a moment to notice his officer.

"Have they talked yet, Psuro?" Bak asked.

"Not a word." The Medjay scowled. "Each time I leave the room they chatter like birds, so fast I don't understand a word. Each time I come back they seal their lips as if with glue."

Bak was not surprised. The air around the children reeked of mistrust. He studied them one by one, searching for a chink in their wall of silence. Every face was closed to him, every small body stiff with apprehension. Then he noticed the tattoo between the oldest girl's eyebrows, a rough triangle supporting a tiny white crescent. The head of a horned bull, a god of Kush. The child had lived in a pious household. Had she learned respect for gods other than her own?

Praying she had, he asked Psuro, "Have these children heard that the lord Amon will come today to Buhen?" The Medjay shrugged. "I doubt it, sir. Not one among them speaks our tongue."

Bak nodded, satisfied. "Tell them of his visit. Stress his greatness, his warmth and kindness, his generosity toward those who worship the gods of other lands." He spoke in fits and starts, thinking out a strategy as he went along. "Tell them that soon they'll be sent to our capital city of Waset, where they'll serve the priests who walk the halls

of the god's greatest mansion. Then speak no more of the god, but go back to your questions."

His spirits rose as the plan took form. "In the meantime, I'll go find Hori and send him to you. Together you must take these children to the top of the fortress wall so they can see the lord Amon for themselves. Perhaps the god, with Hori's youth and good humor to help, will loosen their tongues where we cannot."

Bak walked across the audience hall, the most spacious room in the commandant's residence with a high ceiling supported by a forest of red octagonal columns. Hori had just rushed off to the guardhouse, as excited by the prospect of playing policeman for a few hours as he was of watching the lord Amon's arrival from atop the wall. If nothing else, Bak thought with a rueful smile, I've made one person happy today.

The hall and the rooms around it buzzed with life. A youthful scribe stood in front of Thuty's office, explaining to a grizzled sergeant the need for exact records of disbursements rather than rough guesses. Seated on a bench built against the wall, a potter, his hands and arms flecked with dry clay, listened to a stout, balding scribe extolling the virtues of the slim decorated vases from the land of Keftiu, which he wished copied. Near the exit, a young archer dictated a letter to the public scribe, a tired looking man of middle years.

Bak was surprised at the number of people still going about their duties. Although the lord Amon was not expected for another hour or more, the general populace had begun soon after midday to stream out the towered gates leading to the waterfront and the quays. The Medjays and the spearmen Nebwa had lent to help them had already broken up three fights and confined a half dozen belligerent drunks and a couple of petty thieves.

Nodding to the scribe, he crossed the threshold to a long, narrow corridor. The walls had been painted yellow in a

futile attempt to brighten the dimly lit space. A large, dark figure came hurrying toward him.

"Imsiba!" Bak clasped the Medjay's shoulders as if he had been gone a month instead of a few hours. "I feared you'd miss the lord Amon's arrival!" He barely paused for breath. "How did you get back so soon? What happened at Iken?"

A wizened old man limped through the audience-hall door. Bak and Imsiba retreated to the base of a stairway rising to the commandant's quarters on the second floor. Light filtered down the steps from the open courtyard above. Pale dust, streaked by sweat, mottled the big Medjay from head to toe.

"Well?" Bak demanded:

With a weary smile, Imsiba slumped onto the bottom step. "The commander of Iken, Woser is his name, saw me without delay. I knew how eager you'd be for my report, so I stopped only at the barracks for a bite to eat and the local gossip."

"Have they caught the man who slew Puemre?" Bak prodded.

The Medjay's smile faded. "Not yet." "Then I'm to go to Iken."

"Commander Woser thinks your time will be better spent getting the truth from that vile trader Seneb." Bak's eyes narrowed. "Did you not tell him my doubts on that score?"

"I did."

A childish giggle sounded at the top of the stairs. A darkeyed girl no more than two years of age stood naked above them, sucking her thumb, staring.

"Let's leave this place, Imsiba, before all Thuty's children descend on us." Bak eyed his friend critically. "We'll go to the river, where you can have a bath before the sacred barge arrives."

In the street outside the building, Bak asked, "While we waste our time with Seneb, how will Commander Woser spend his time?"

"His officers will look into the matter. He believes they'll have no trouble learning the name of the slayer." "If Woser's so confident..." Bak paused; his eyes darted toward Imsiba. "Do you think he's guessed who took Puemre's life and has only to act on the knowledge?" "I doubt he suspects any one man. Lieutenant Puemre, at the time of his death, led an infantry company. But five months ago when first he reported to Iken, he was an inspecting officer-as that swine Seneb told us. He held the task for only a month. His harsh measures made him many enemies among those who seek to evade the tolls or profit at the expense of their fellowmen."

Bak muttered an oath. If the slayer proved to be a trader, he might not be snared for months-if at all.

They headed toward the twin-towered gate which straddled the far end of the street and opened onto the quay. The sun god Re, hovering above the rim of the fortress wall behind them, bathed the battlements and towers ahead in a light so bright it hurt their eyes. The thoroughfare was nearly deserted. Only a few stragglers-a woman with a tiny baby, a couple of soldiers, a scribe-rushed toward the gate and the crowd outside. A priest, white-robed and shaven bald, hurried toward the mansion of the garrison god, Horus of Buben, which dominated the city from a high mound at the corner of the citadel.

"So that's the end of it, my friend." A smile played on Imsiba's face. "The problem is no longer yours, and you can journey to Semna with the lord Amon, as is right and proper."

Bak scooped a rough, fist-sized chunk of milky white limestone from the edge of the street. "Woser doesn't want help, that's plain enough."

"He's served in Wawat for years; he knows this land and its people far better than you and I." Imsiba waved at a soldier peering over the edge of a rooftop. "He's confident he'll lay hands on the slayer sooner or later, and so he'll tell Commandant Thuty in the report he's no doubt preparing even now."

Woser's reasoning appeared sound enough, Bak had to admit. Yet many men spoke with confidence; more than a few failed. "What of Puemre's belt clasp, Imsiba?"

"The lieutenant came to Wawat from the regiment of Amon." The Medjay gave Bak the dour look of one who knew very well he was feeding a fire he had hoped to quench. "Commander Woser told me so himself. How long he'd been with your regiment, he didn't say."

"It couldn't have been more than a few weeks. I left ten months ago. Take away the five months he's been here, and the time it takes to journey up the river from Waset . . ." Bak's voice tailed off, he shook his head in disgust. "No wonder Woser assigned him first as an inspecting officer!"

"He probably trained in another regiment. From what I was told in the barracks by those who fought beside him in this foul land, he was skilled in the arts of war and faced the enemy without fear."

"Nonetheless.. ." Bak, reaching the only possible conclusion, grimaced. "How lofty a position does his father hold in the land of Kemet?"

A wry smile touched Imsiba's face. "I was told only that his name is Nihisy, but much was made of Lieutenant Puemre's courage and his willingness to befriend his men though he was of noble birth."

"Nihisy." Bak spread his hands wide, shrugged. "The name means nothing to me, but if he's a nobleman..." He had no need to say more. Woser's report would have to be very persuasive to prevent Thuty from sending Bak to Iken.

He twisted the chunk of rock between his fingers, making its many small crystals glitter in the sun. Puemre, he thought, must have been a lot like the stone, never showing the same face twice. Nofery had admired him, and Seneb hated him even in death. He had proven himself worthy to

his fighting men, not an easy thing to do, yet he had worn a belt clasp to which he had no right, and he had most likely attained his rank through his father's influence. "When was Puemre first discovered missing?"

"His sergeant, Minnakht, reported him gone the morning of the afternoon we found him."

Bak was accustomed to the oblique way Imsiba sometimes spoke, but as always he had to struggle to make sense of the words. "Two days before you told Woser we'd found the body. Two whole days, and he didn't send a message to Thuty. How did he explain that?"