Curse of Silence lb-4 Read online

  They stood close to the spot where the pavilion had stood. The structure had been dismantled, its various pieces and furnishings parceled out among a small herd of don keys. Nefret and her maid Mesutu, Pawah, Theneny, and

  Sennefer stood near the gate among the carrying chairs, awaiting Amonked. The scribe had Amonked’s dog on a leash so it could not run loose with the strays. One chair was shaded by a canopy the porters had erected to protect

  Nefrets’s delicate complexion.

  The falcon was still fresh in Bak’s thoughts, as was the tall column of yellowish dust. “I suggest you keep the car avan moving, sir, stopping only at night.”

  “I’ve come to Wawat to inspect the fortresses, young man, not break speed records traveling between Buhen and

  Semna.”

  “Speed?” Nebwa laughed, forgetting restraint. “With a caravan as large as this?”

  Amonked flung an annoyed look his way.

  Bak saw Horhotep hurrying toward them. They had to settle the matter before that swine could interfere. “Troop

  Captain Nebwa is right, sir. Speed isn’t the issue. For any caravan, large or small, forward movement is preferable to no movement. Each time you must inspect a fortress, let the caravan go on without you. Its size will hold it to a modest pace, preventing it from getting so far ahead that you can’t readily catch up.”

  Nebwa, though he must have seen the adviser approach ing, kept his voice level, his manner composed and unhur ried. “The river in this area is relatively free of rapids, so you can sail on upstream after you’ve finished. The caravan might have to catch up with you, not the other way around.”

  “Will you obtain a skiff, Troop Captain, while I gather together those men who’ll go with me?” Amonked seemed not to notice Horhotep, coming to a halt beside him, look ing suspicious of what might have occurred while his back was turned.

  Nebwa exchanged a quick, satisfied look with Bak, let his eyes skip over Horhotep, and gave the inspector his most hearty smile. “I’d be glad to, sir.”

  “Go on about your business,” Nebwa told Bak. “I’ll sum mon you when we’re ready to sail.”

  “Amonked has no intention of taking us with him,

  Nebwa.”

  “He’ll take us.”

  Nebwa glanced toward the inspector, who stood among the carrying chairs, facing Nefret. Mesutu and the three men who had been with her earlier had drifted away, al lowing privacy. The concubine was clutching the inspec tor’s arm, the look on her face intense, pleading. Amonked shook off her hand, signaled Thaneny and Pawah to go to her, and walked away.

  “Just don’t dawdle when I send for you,” Nebwa added.

  Bak was amazed at the confidence his friend could some times muster against all odds. “We vowed we’d not inter fere in his inspection, and so did Commandant Thuty. Are we to break our pledge?”

  “We’ll break no oaths if he chooses to invite us along.”

  Laughing, Nebwa swung around and strode toward the twin-towered gate that opened onto the quay.

  Bak was unsure what he planned, but if the mischievous look he had glimpsed told a true tale, Amonked’s insistence on privacy during his inspections was about to be reversed.

  Bak found Lieutenant Merymose standing with his ser geant, Seshu, and the drover of a dozen donkeys awaiting their burdens. All were watching the guards Amonked had brought from the capital, who were scurrying around, pack ing their belongings. Seshu’s mouth was clamped tight, his irritation plain. Merymose, face flushed, looked mortified.

  Their sergeant, Roy, stood, hands on hips, glaring at the men for whom he was responsible. The drover watched the guards closely, checking their effort. Bak realized as he came close that the men were not packing for the first time.

  They were repacking. No wonder Seshu and the drover were annoyed.

  “If these are an example of the men who guard our sov ereign, I fear for her well-being.” Seshu did not bother to lower his voice. “Look at them. Dolts, each and every one.”

  “You should’ve seen what they intended my donkeys to carry.” The drover snorted his disgust. “Loads unbalanced.

  So loosely tied they’d fall apart. If I hadn’t taken a close look, they’d be dropping equipment and supplies all along the trail. Half the animals would drop, too, from loads too weighty for their slight backs.”

  “They’ll learn.” Seshu eyed the guards with contempt.

  “Even if I have to take them out into the desert one by one and lay a whip to their backsides.”

  The guards sneaked furtive glances his way, checking to see if the threat was sincere. They evidently decided it was, for the pace of their packing grew frantic. Sergeant Roy threw Seshu and the drover a vicious look. Merymose’s color deepened.

  Bak could understand men trained for duty as royal guards being innocent of the ways of living outdoors, but these men should have been taught within a night or two of leaving Waset. Merymose and Roy should be called to account for negligence.

  “I’ve come to borrow Lieutenant Merymose,” he said, trying not to smile at the guards’ alarm. “Are you finished with him?”

  “Take him!” Seshu glared at the young officer. “He’s no good to me.”

  Merymose threw Bak a look of immense relief and hur ried along beside him to the western gate. By the time they stopped well out of hearing distance of the sentry and the men and donkeys filing through, the younger officer looked about to burst.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he blurted.

  Bak stared at him, caught off-guard.

  “I can’t seem to do anything right, sir.” The words tum bled out in a rush. “I thought myself a good officer. But now…” He looked crushed by failure. “Sergeant Roy treats me like a child, and he stands between me and the men. Even if he’d let me do my duty, I wouldn’t know what to do.”

  Bak appreciated the honesty. Not many young officers would be so frank, even when desperate to speak out. “Is this the first posting you’ve shared with Roy?”

  “Yes, sir. He was in charge of training the men for guard duty. The unit was to be disbanded and they were to be sent to several of our sovereign’s estates. Instead, when I was given this assignment, they were all turned over to me.” Merymose’s voice cracked. “As was he.”

  “You’ve never been posted outside of the royal house?”

  “No, sir.” Merymose gulped air, calming himself. “I know nothing of the desert, and I’ve come to realize that I know nothing of leading men, training them, guiding them.

  What am I to do, sir?”

  Bak studied the young officer, remembering his own trial by fire at the hands of a surly sergeant. The man had come close to breaking him, stealing his confidence and self respect before anger and resentment had taken hold. They had fought and Bak had won, ending the cruel game. “I’ll speak with Troop Captain Nebwa. I’m sure he’ll allow Ser geant Dedu to help you learn what you must so you can lead your men as you should. He’s a man of lesser rank, true, but he has the experience and knowledge you need.”

  Merymose’s eyes lit up. “That would be wonderful, sir!

  I despise looking the fool.”

  “He can’t help you stand up to Sergeant Roy. You alone must do that. Only then will you be able to take your right ful place at the head of your company.”

  “Roy’s not a good sergeant, I know. He’s indolent at best, incompetent I’m convinced. When I learn what I’m to do, I’ll know how to deal with him.”

  The words were a promise and Bak took them as such.

  “I can ask no more.”

  Another trial Merymose must face was Horhotep, but

  Bak said nothing of him. The young man had disarmed the more senior officer the previous evening, which had re quired both courage and conviction. With the help of the gods, he would build upon both assets, gaining the strength of character he would need to deal not only with the ser geant but with the lieutenant.

  The braying of a donkey drew Bak’s eyes to th
e gateway.

  A dark gray beast stood facing the passage, ears drawn back, legs stiff, teeth bared. Cursing vehemently, the drover slapped the creature’s flank with the flat of a hand. It re fused to budge. The sentry pointed to a spot above the passageway, where several wasps were buzzing around a nest. Muttering an oath, the drover grabbed the donkey’s bridle and pulled it past the insects.

  Bak glanced toward the gate on the opposite side of the fortress. No sign of Nebwa, but if he somehow managed to keep his vow that they would accompany Amonked to the island, time was pressing. “In Buhen, did you spend your nights in the barracks, or in the house where Amon ked’s party was quartered?”

  “The house.” Merymose gave a self-deprecating smile.

  “Do you think Sergeant Roy wanted me near my own men?”

  Bak was pleased the young man could laugh at himself, an invaluable trait given the obstacles he must face. “You know Prince Baket-Amon was slain in the dwelling, I as sume, and of the circumstances surrounding his death.”

  Merymose’s face clouded over. “Amonked told us last night while we shared our evening meal.”

  “Did you see him the morning he died?”

  “No, sir.”

  Bak realized he had gotten ahead of himself. “Would you have known him if you saw him?”

  “Oh, yes, sir.” Merymose ducked, avoiding a wasp speeding toward the nest. “I often passed him in the cor ridors of the royal house while I checked to be sure the guards remained at their assigned stations. I also saw him in the audience hall and in other, lesser chambers, awaiting some lofty official.”

  Bak well remembered his one visit to the royal house. A multitude of buildings, a maze of corridors, dozens of rooms, and too many men to count walking hither and yon, not a face among them one he recognized. “How could you be sure the man you saw was Baket-Amon?”

  “Did I not tell you of my good fortune?” Merymose blinked, surprised by the lapse. “I was assigned to accom pany him on a hunting trip. To serve as his aide. Close on two years ago, it was. We went far to the north of Men nufer, seeking wild cattle in the marshes. It was a time I shall never forget.” The young officer glowed with enthu siasm.

  “You liked him, I see.”

  “Oh, yes, sir! He always made his wishes clear and he made no demands I couldn’t comply with. He was easy to please and generous in showing appreciation. I was sorry when our journey ended.”

  A hunting expedition, Bak thought. He had never partic ipated in a hunt arranged by and for the nobility, but he had heard tales. Accidents oft times happened during the chase, when wild animals were fleeing in panic and the men who chased them grew so excited they lost control of their wits. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen during the hunt?”

  “No, sir.” Merymose smiled. “We never did come upon any wild cattle, but one man speared a boar and another laid low a farmer’s cow, wounding it so gravely it had to be slain. We also slew small game, mostly hares.”

  The death of a cow in the northern marshes could in no way have led to the murder of a prince on the southern frontier, almost a month’s journey away. “Did Baket-Amon often go hunting?”

  “So I understand.”

  “Did the men who accompanied him appear to like him?”

  “Oh, yes, sir!” Merymose must have realized how en thused he sounded, for he blushed. “He was exceptionally skilled with the bow and the spear, but he often held back, allowing the other men to take as much game as he did.”

  Envy could be a cruel master. “Was anyone slain or in jured during that trip?”

  “One man sprained an ankle and we all fell into the mud at one time or another. Not a man among us came away unscratched and unbruised.”

  Nothing there, Bak decided. “Were any young women taken along?”

  “Yes, sir. A sufficient number for each of the noblemen.”

  As if anticipating Bak’s next question, Merymose added,

  “No one had cause for jealousy, sir. The women made sure no man ever lay alone.”

  Bak studied the young officer, who made the expedition sound idyllic. Had the days and nights been as untroubled by contention as Merymose believed-or claimed to be lieve? “Did Amonked or any of the others who’ve come with him to Wawat participate in that hunting expedition?”

  “No, sir.”

  Bak had been reaching for the stars and he knew it. A hunting expedition might lead to murder, but not necessar ily. And if so, the first expedition he heard about was not likely to be the important one.

  Bak stood with Nebwa on the riverbank, watching

  Amonked’s party board the small boat that would carry them upstream to the island fortress. The inspector crossed the narrow plank with surprising agility for one who looked so much the scribe. Captain Minkheper crossed like the seasoned sailor he was, as did Sennefer. Horhotep hesitated on the bank, but Nebwa’s expectant grin sent him racing on board.

  The boat was broad-beamed and flat, rather like a cargo ship but a fraction of the size. Used to ferry people and animals from one side of the river to the other or from island to island, it was strictly utilitarian, unpainted, una dorned. A heavy canvas spread across spindly poles pro vided shade. The vessel stunk of animals and their waste, and of fish and human sweat. The hull groaned, the fittings creaked, the patched sail flapped against the mast and yards.

  “How did you convince Amonked to bring us along?”

  Bak asked, keeping his voice low so only Nebwa would hear.

  Nebwa’s eyes raked the half-dozen skiffs pulled up on the riverbank. “I meant to lie, to tell him the local men wouldn’t have him on their vessels unless we came. I had no need.”

  Bak gave his friend a sharp look. “Reality was worse than the falsehood?”

  “To a man, the fishermen wanted nothing to do with him.

  A couple of farmers agreed to take him, but they’re so resentful of the inspection-so fearful the army will be torn from Wawat-and so angry about Baket-Amon’s death that

  I feared an unfortunate accident.”

  “With you and me on board?” Bak asked, surprised.

  “One man asked if we could swim.”

  Normally Bak would have laughed, but not now. “What of him?” He nodded toward the ferryman.

  Nebwa scowled. “We’re paying four times the usual rate, and I vowed he’d be the first to drown if the boat sinks.”

  “I’m totally out of my element in this barren and desolate land.” Captain Minkheper stood with Bak on a crag, look ing across the narrow channel between the island and the west bank, where the river nibbled at the edge of a blanket of golden sand blown off the western desert. “I’ve lived in

  Kemet much of my life, sailing a river that’s broad and deep, looking at fields green and fertile, generous with their bounty. The sands are poised above the valley to either side, to be sure, but at a safe distance for much of the voyage.”

  “If you’re being considered for the lofty position of ad miral, you must also have sailed the Great Green Sea.” Bak was referring to the huge expanse of water north of the land of Kemet.

  “More often than not, especially in the past few years, but I’m a man of Kemet to the core.”

  “The color of your hair tells another tale.”

  Minkheper reached up to touch his tousled golden mane, his smile self-conscious. “My ancestors hailed from the is land kingdom of Keftiu and lands farther north. Like me, they were men of the sea.” Letting the smile fade, he stud ied the water flowing past, the rippled surface that indicated rocks below. “The river is now at a low level. How much higher will it be at its fullest?”

  “Men who fish these waters and whose fathers before them have done so for many generations say it swells four times the height of a man, sometimes more. They speak of the river near Buhen, not through the Belly of Stones, but

  I assume the difference is slight.” Bak climbed down from the crag, as did Minkheper, and they walked toward the partly constructed mudbrick wal
l of the new fortress. “I’ve never felt the need to investigate for myself. The water runs much faster when it’s high and can take a life in an instant.”

  “It looks safe enough now.”

  “Appearances can be deceptive.” Bak’s voice was hard, incontestable. He knew of what he spoke. The water had once carried him through some of the worst rapids in the river.

  The captain queried him with a glance, but the experi ence was no longer fresh in Bak’s thoughts and he preferred not to revive the memory. “Do you spend much time in the capital?”

  “I never used to, but now I must.” Minkheper’s voice grew wry. “How can I hope to attain the exalted position of admiral without making myself known to men who can speak on my behalf to our sovereign?”

  Bak veered around a stand of wild grain, setting to flight a pair of quail. “You’re very frank, sir.”

  “Believe me, Lieutenant, I’ve grown weary of the effort.

  That’s the main reason I agreed to come south with Amon ked.”

  That, Bak thought, and the hope of gaining Maatkare

  Hatshepsut’s favor by looking into the feasibility of digging a canal through the Belly of Stones. “Who offered you the journey?”

  “The overseer of royal shipping, a man I’ve come to know through the years. He took me to Amonked, and there I met Sennefer and Horhotep.” As an afterthought, Min kheper added, “The rest of the party were strangers to me until we set sail.”

  “Did you know Prince Baket-Amon?”

  “I met him only one time. I can’t say I knew him.”

  They circled the stub of a wall and stepped up onto a thick layer of stone fill that would one day serve as a foun dation. Farther on, a long and ragged line of boys was de livering mudbricks to twenty or so masons laying level courses across an expanse of wall.

  “Did you by chance see him the morning he was slain?”

  “I fear I can’t help you, Lieutenant.”

  Bak was growing weary of asking questions no one seemed able to answer. “Did you hear anything that morn ing out of the ordinary, anything that might’ve hinted trou ble was in the air?”

  Minkheper let out a short, cynical laugh. “I overheard parts of an argument between Nefret and Amonked. The way they spoke to each other, I’d not have been surprised to hear that she’d been slain.” He paused, added, “Other than that, only the attack on our sailors, which was over before it began.”