The Right Hand of Amon Page 11

  "We've a city filled with people who come to do business and leave when they've finished, many whose feet he trod on while serving as inspecting officer." Huy nodded toward the buildings below the escarpment. "He probably came upon one of them in a dark lane, a man who hated him. Or he might simply have been slain by chance, his life taken by a stranger who was frightened away before he could steal whatever jewelry Puemre wore that night."

  A plausible theory, Bak thought, except for the fury that drove the murder weapon. "When did you last set eyes on him?"

  "We left together, the five of us. We separated outside the commander's residence, each man going his own way. I saw Puemre walk down the street-alone-heading toward the main gate. I trod a different path, one that took me to my quarters and a much-needed evening meal. I've no wife, but my concubine and servants will vouch for me."

  Later, as Bak threaded his way along a busy street, heading toward his meeting with the watch officer, he mulled over his interview with Huy. Could the officer have taken Puemre's life? He had certainly hated him enough, and with good reason. He had an alibi of sorts, but the members of his household would be sure to say he went straight home, whether or not he had. His theory about Puemre's death had come close to echoing Woser's, but otherwise he had been, with a bit of prompting, reasonably forthright. A good man trying hard to paint a true picture. Maybe.

  Lieutenant Senu so closely resembled a monkey that Bak had to smother a smile. In his late forties, he was short and thick, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and short bowed legs. Cropped orange-red hair standing on end framed coarse, heavy-boowed features. His skin, too light to accept a tan, was mottled and peeling, a perpetual state, Bak imagined.

  "I don't know what Troop Captain Huy told you," Senu said. "He has a tendency to forgive and forget. But Puemre was a swine. Plain and simple."

  The watch officer, professing too many pressing tasks to take time out to answer questions, had suggested Bak come along while he inspected the sentries on the battlements. So Bak found himself once again on the wall, not the old crumbling spur wall, but the new girdle wall that ran north from the fortress, following the escarpment for many paces, then turning toward the river to form an outer enclosure around the city as well as the garrison. The freshly plastered walls were stark white, the walkways smooth, the towers and crenels sharp-edged, as yet unsullied by blowing sand.

  Though the heat had climbed through the early hours of morning, the breeze had stiffened, easing the fire of the sun but filling the air with tiny needles of sand. Bak, tasting the grit, feeling it beneath his kilt and in his eyes and nose and ears, thanked the lord Amon he did not have to patrol these walls throughout the day, as did the sentries.

  "Huy mentioned problems," he admitted, keeping his voice noncommittal, hoping to invite confidences. "Problems!" Senu laughed, his voice harsh and cynical. "To walk alongside Puemre was to become a victim." "What of the mute boy who lived with him? Did he misuse him?"

  "Little Ramose?" Senu shook his head. "No, he was good to the child. Treated him like a son. Of course, that was different."

  Bak eyed the officer with interest. "In what way?" They approached a sentry, a tall, sturdy young man wearing a thigh-length kilt similar to that of the officers. A dagger and sling hung from his belt and he carried a long spear and a pale brown cowhide shield. Stopping the man, Senu ordered him to stand at rigid attention, examined his appearance and the readiness of his gear, and sent him on his way.

  Striding on toward the next sentry, roughly two hundred paces away, Senu explained without prompting, "Puemre got along well with ordinary mortals. Men and women of lesser rank who posed no threat and offered no obstacle. Besides, Ramose worshiped him. The boy would've given his life for him, and any man or woman who saw them together could see it."

  Bak offered a silent prayer to the lord Amon that such was not the case, that the child still lived. "I've been told Puemre's men thought him a fine officer."

  "Oh, they liked him alright. With good reason. He was brave and clever on the field of battle, a natural warrior if ever I saw one." Senu scanned the desert to the west, with its rolling dunes shrouded in a dirty yellow haze. His gaze lingered on a denser column of dust that marked the approach of a caravan. "Except for one time when first he came to Wawat, he never lost a man or a skirmish. The troops like that; it makes them feel safe-and proud."

  "And the spoils of war are greater," Bak said in a wry voice.

  "None came back empty-handed," Senu admitted, pausing to scratch his ankle with the tip of his baton of office. "Don't get me wrong. They had to abide by the rules. Puemre wasn't willing to risk his precious reputation so his men could fill their barracks with booty. They turned in everything of value, as they were supposed to.""

  From the size of the dust column, Bak guessed the approaching caravan was small, like Seneb's had been. "I've been told he was a hard and unforgiving inspecting officer."

  Senu let out a short, bark-like laugh. "He gave many a trader a lesson in honesty. Few got by him without paying the proper tolls." Barely pausing for breath, he added in an off-hand manner, "If you ask me, that's where you should look for the one who slew him."

  Too offhand, Bak thought, as if schooled by Woser. "Have you ever heard of a trader named Seneb?"

  Senn's face took on a disdainful sneer. "A man rotten to the marrow of his bones. One who trades in flesh and blood, in the misfortunes of others, two-legged and fourlegged alike."

  Bak waved off a fly buzzing around his head. "I've been told Puemre made his life a misery when last he was here." "A few months ago." The sneer gave way to a cynical smile. "I despised Puemre, but in that one thing I applauded him. Seneb would be here yet, starving most likely, if Woser hadn't crumbled to his pleas for a new pass so he could journey on upriver."

  "He hasn't stopped at Iken on his way north to Kemet?" Bak asked, double-checking the trader's movements. As watch officer~Senu would be the first to know who passed through the gates of the city.

  "Not yet, but soon he will." Senu's eyes suddenly darted toward him, his voice grew defensive. "Why question me about that swine? Has he been found in the river, too? I swear I've never touched him."

  Bak saw no harm in setting the officer's mind at ease,

  and hearing of Seneb's plight might loosen his tongue. "He bypassed Iken, so he claims, and I first saw him at Kor. I confiscated his caravan, and we're holding him in our guardhouse in Buhen. He's to stand before Commandant Thuty, charged with as many offenses against the lady Maat as I can prove."

  Senu stopped at a crenel and stared out across the desert wastes. "Sometimes the gods are too forgiving and justice is slow to come, but when at last the evil among us are brought to their knees, there's nothing more satisfying." He turned around and a smile spread slowly across his face. "I thank you, Lieutenant Bak, for renewing my faith."

  Bak was beginning to like this odd-looking man. "What vile deed did Puemre do to hurt you?" He knew he was taking advantage of Senu's newfound goodwill, but he had no choice. Time was too pressing.

  The watch officer nodded, as if he understood, and walked on. "When first he came to Iken, I stood at the head of the infantry, not here with the sentries. He made no secret that he coveted my task. But Woser insisted he start as an inspecting officer where he could prove himself worthy before leading men whose lives would depend on his ability."

  "A sensible decision."

  "Not the way Puemre saw it," Senu snorted. "One day a scroll came from the royal house in Waset. Suddenly I found myself a watch officer, and that swine stood at the head of my men." He looked away, but not before Bak saw the hurt in his eyes. "I spent a lifetime in the army, facing the enemy on the field of battle, and I worked my way up from common recruit to lieutenant. All he had to do was write a letter."

  "I understand." The words sounded lame to Bak's ears, but his heart ached for a man so ill-used. "Will Woser soon right the wrong he had no choice but commit?"

  Senn stopped tw
enty paces from the next sentry, too far away to be heard. "He told me the day we learned of

  Puemre's death that as soon as the lord Amon comes and goes, I can again lead my company. For now, my task as watch officer is more important."

  Bak allowed him time to inspect the sentry before asking his final question: "I must know when you last saw Puemre and how you account for your time after Woser's meeting."

  Senu accepted the question easily; Bak was sure he had expected it. "I parted from him and the others outside the commander's residence and never set eyes on him again. From there, I went directly to my home in the lower city, where my wife and children awaited me."

  Another man whose patience Puemre had stretched beyond endurance, Bak thought. Another man who claimed to be with people who would willingly repeat any story he told them.

  Bak hastened along the lane, plowed past a half-dozen spearmen walking away from the commander's residence, and hurried inside. He was late for his next interview, this with the lieutenant who led the archery company. A scribe directed him to the living quarters on the second floor. He dashed up the enclosed stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.

  "You never learn, do you?" A man shouting, his voice familiar yet unfamiliar. "First Puemre and now this snake Bak."

  Bak stopped so abruptly he came close to stubbing his toe on the next step.

  "Can I help it if men find me beautiful?" Aset's voice. Bak td no use for eavesdroppers, and his conscience urged him not to listen further, but he did. Shamelessly. "You have eyes for every man in Iken except me!" The man's voice again.

  "Can you take me away from this garrison? This awful place of endless sun and heat, where my face will wrinkle and my skin turn to leather before I'm twenty? Can you offer me servants and a fine house and give me beautiful dresses and jewelry?"

  "You know I can't!"

  "Then go away and leave me alone." "Aset, Few men have that kind of wealth."

  "Puemre did, and Lieutenant Bak has the same confident demeanor, a self-assurance born of wealth and security." Me? Bak wondered. Can she really be so naive she sees nothing beneath a man's skin?

  "If riches are all you want, go to him!" The man's voice cracked, betraying his pain and anger. "Give yourself to him! See if I care!"

  "I will. You just wait and see!"

  Rapid footsteps came toward the stairwell. Bak shot upward, refusing to be caught listening. As he hit the top step, the man burst through the door. They slammed together, knocking the breath from them both, and fell to the floor, arms and legs entangled across the threshold.

  "Oh, no!" Aset, wide-eyed and gaping, ran toward them.

  She knelt at their heads and, paying no heed to Bak, bent over the other man, her look of surprise and shock melting to concern. Both men straggled to sit erect, forcing her back, and stared at one another. The man with whom she had quarreled was Nebseny, the one who had dragged her away from Bak's quarters the previous evening.

  "You!" Nebseny spat. "I should've known."

  Aset, seeing he was unhurt, deepened her look of concern and turned to Bak. Placing a hand on his arm, she gave him a gentle and worried smile. "Are you alright? Did this clumsy oaf hurt you?"

  Bak, noting the fury on Nebseny's face, scrambled to his feet, distancing himself from both of them. He reached out to the gangly young man, offering to help him stand. Nebseny spurned the hand with a resentful glare and rose without aid.

  Aset stood up and strode across the courtyard, her back stiff with purpose. Two servants, watching wide-eyed from a portal opening to the rear of the house, hastily withdrew lest she spot them. She stopped before a bow and a leather quiver filled with arrows leaning against the wall beside the door to Woser's reception room. She picked up the bow, almost as long as she was tall, and the heavy quiver and brought them back.

  "Take this trash with you and get out!" she commanded, shoving them at Nebseny. "I never want to see them or you in this house again."

  Bak cursed the gods and Aset, too. Nebseny was the man with whom he had come to talk.

  "This is a place of business as well as your home, you selfish . . ." Nebseny controlled himself, and added with a sneer, "Don't worry, my sweet. I'll not darken the door again except when summoned by your father." Shouldering his quiver and bow, he pivoted toward the stairwell.

  Bak stepped into his path, barring his way. "I've come to speak with you about Lieutenant Puemre's death." "Get out of my way!"

  "Commander Woser promised you'd talk with me." Nebseny spoke through gritted teeth. "I had nothing to do with that snake's death, nor do I know who slew him. I wish I did, for he did us all a good deed by cleansing this garrison of scum worse than that found in a stagnant pool." Bak knew jealousy was speaking, but what else? "Was he an accomplished archer as well as infantryman?" "His skills with a bow were adequate, that's all." "You were fortunate then. He had no basis to usurp your men and duties."

  Aset slipped around Nebseny to stand beside Bak. She stood so close he could feel the heat of her shoulder next to his, her hair brushing his arm. Her voice was honeysweet. "Lieutenants Nebseny and Puemre had much in common. One was a mere soldier who wanted the good things in life; the other had the good things but wanted more to be a good soldier."

  Her words were designed to goad the archer, as was her proximity to Bak. What did she want? he wondered. To set one against the other?

  Nebseny affected to ignore her. "You've talked to Huy, I see, and to Senu. I can add no more."

  Shouldering Bak aside, shoving him against Aset, the archer hastened down the stairwell, never looking back. The girl clutched Bak's arm as if for support and looked up at him with the large brown eyes of the lady Hathor in her guise as a cow. She raised moist red lips toward his, inviting intimacy. He was too angry with her for ruining his chance to talk with Nebseny to feel any kind of warmth. Nor did her father's proximity. entice him, nor her determination to escape Iken with wealth and position.

  Gently but firmly, he pushed her away, pivoted on his heel, and followed Nebseny down the stairs. He left the building with a sigh of relief and a rueful laugh at his own expense. For the first time in his life, he was running away from a beautiful woman.

  Not until he was halfway to the towered gate did he realize how much he had learned without exchanging more than a dozen words with Nebseny. The young officer was in love with Aset, crazed with jealousy. He had implied that the girl had, at the very least, encouraged Puemre's attentions. If that wasn't a reason for murder, Bak did not know what was. As for Aset, could she have slain Puemre, he wondered? She might well have had reason, especially if he spurned her, but she was too slightly built, he felt sure, and not strong enough.

  Chapter Eight

  "Haven't seen either man this morning." Sennufer lifted a crumpled cloth from the top of a game table and wiped away the sweat rolling down his face, neck, and wiry torso. "If they show up, I'll tell them you're looking for them."

  "They'll come," Bak assured him from the doorway. "We were to meet here sometime after midday."

  The house of pleasure reeked of sweat and fermenting bread. The heat hung thick and cloying in the air. A half dozen men, sailors from the look of their sun-toughened skin, sat on the hard-packed earthen floor, playing a game of chance. Each time one threw the gaming sticks, they yelled or cursed according to their luck.

  "Have you seen the craftsman who dreamed of murder?" Bak asked. "Or remembered anything more about him?"

  Sennufer, his mouth screwed up in thought, threw the cloth over his shoulder. "I keep seeing his hands, a grayish dirt under his nails, but I told you that before." He removed a beer jar from the stack against the wall and, donning a genial smile, held it out. "Come on in, Lieutenant. May as well enjoy a Rew while you wait."

  Bak smiled his thanks, but edged backwards, beating a tactful retreat from the heat, the stench, and the noise. "I've a man to see at the harbor. Tell my men to come to me there."

  Grayish dirt. Sennufer had initially descri
bed the besotted man's hands as dirty, but had given no color. Now he claimed the dirt was gray. Bak could think of no specific craft where a gray material was regularly used. Maybe Sennufer erred, with time adding color to his imagination.

  He swallowed the last few bites of fish and threw the broad leaves in which it had been wrapped into the river. For an instant they remained cupped together, floating like a miniature green boat, but the current soon caught them and swept them downstream, tearing them asunder. He left the shade of a tamarisk, its roots teased by the rising waters of the river, and climbed the bank. Upstream lay the harbor, where he was to meet the last of the four officers who had attended Woser's meeting, the river pilot Lieutenant Inyotef.

  He strode along a sandy lane poorly populated in the midday heat by a few sailors, a trader or two, and a housewife with her young female servant. Three men walked past in the opposite direction, leading a donkey caravan. The heavy scent of hay piled high on the animals' backs made Bak sneeze. A dozen or more warehouses faced the harbor, along with a few small places of business and homes. The tumbled walls of several abandoned warehouses stood among them, reminders of a more industrious time long ago when more grain was needed to feed a large and hungry garrison. Two squat cargo ships and a narrow-hulled trading vessel nestled against the quays. Several small skiffs were tied among them.

  Bak sat in the shade of a stand of acacias near the harbor, his knees drawn up beneath his chin, his eyes on the ships and the men toiling in and around them.

  "Lieutenant Bak?" A male voice behind him.

  Bak hastened to stand, then turned around and gaped. "Inyotef?"

  The man standing before him, a man of medium height, slender yet broad-shouldered with curly graying hair, broke into a smile. "By the beard of the lord Amon! Never would I have dreamed the police officer I was told to meet would be you!"

  Bak clasped Inyotef's shoulders. "Nor would it ever have occurred to me that the river pilot Inyotef was in actual fact Captain Inyotef of the royal fleet."