Curse of Silence lb-4 Page 2

  “He’s a mid-level bureaucrat! Storekeeper of Amon!”

  Commandant Thuty’s voice pulsed with fury. “What can our sovereign be thinking? A man like that. One who doesn’t know a thing about the army, probably doesn’t know how to heft a spear or even march in step, and he’s supposed to inspect the fortresses of Wawat!” Thuty raised a fist and smashed it down hard on the arm of his chair.

  “By the beard of Amon! What malign spirit has possessed her?”

  Bak exchanged a quick look with Nebwa, standing be side him before the commandant. Normally lacking in tact, too honest and straightforward to exercise patience, Nebwa had for once been silenced, as unwilling to break in on the tirade as Bak was. Neither had seen fit to pass on the ru mors they had heard in the market.

  “Not even Inebny, the viceroy, the most powerful man in Wawat and Kush, can stop that wretched inspection. Do you know why?”

  “No, sir,” Bak and Nebwa chorused. The fact that Thuty had not thought to offer them seats or beer to quench their thirst was a measure of his anger.

  Thuty bounded onto his feet and stalked across his pri vate reception room to the open door. He was a short, pow erful man, with thick dark brows and a strong chin thrust forward under a tight, angry mouth. The courtyard outside was as still as a tomb sealed for eternity. To attain such rare peace, Tiya and Meryet must have removed their chil dren from the building.

  “He’s our sovereign’s cousin!” Thuty spat out. “Cousin to Maatkare Hatshepsut herself. One who crawled the cor ridors of power as a babe and who’s walked them ever since. One well-practiced in pleasing the most lofty of the land.”

  “I don’t see the point, sir.” Bak ran his thumb under the waistband of his kilt, trying to displace some of the grit collected there. He felt as dirty as Nebwa looked. “The viceroy inspects the fortresses on a regular basis. Why would she send another man to tread in his footsteps?”

  “Doesn’t she trust Inebny?” Nebwa asked.

  Thuty gave the pair a surprised look, as if it had never occurred to him that in all his ranting and raving he might not have made himself clear. “Why aren’t you two seated?

  Where’s the beer I ordered for us?” He walked out into the courtyard and yelled for a servant to bring the beverage.

  Nebwa winked at Bak, who returned a quick smile and glanced around the room in search of something to sit on.

  Weapons were stacked against the wall. Toys were scat tered across the floor and on every chest, table, and stool.

  Beside Thuty’s armchair, a basket overflowed with scrolls.

  He brushed the playing pieces for a game of senet into the drawer of a game table and set several child-sized bowls on top, freeing a stool for its proper use. Nebwa grabbed a portable camp stool in one hand and with the other scooped up from the floor a rag doll, a wooden pull toy, and several balls, and threw them into a basket. Practicing, Bak as sumed, for the time when his baby son would reach an age to clutter.

  Marching back to his chair, Thuty adjusted the thick, colorful pillow and dropped onto it. While the two younger men settled themselves before him, he rubbed his forehead, his eyes, the stubble on his chin. Not until the servant had come and gone and each man had sampled the thick, acrid brew in his jar did he begin to speak. He sounded tired, worn down by his outburst.

  “Amonked, storekeeper of Amon, is this very instant on his way upriver, inspecting the fortresses of Wawat. Ac cording to Inebny-warned by several dependable sources in the royal house-our sovereign has dismissed as of no consequence our military actions against raiding tribesmen who covet what by right is ours. She wants to shut down most of the fortresses along the Belly of Stones and turn the rest into storehouses for trade goods traveling up and down the river. The army would be pared down to a few men. The bureaucrats would reign supreme.”

  So the rumor is true, Bak thought, appalled. No wonder

  Thuty is so upset.

  As commandant of Buhen, the largest fully manned for tified city on the frontier, Thuty loosely administered the chain of ten fortresses strung farther south along the seg ment of river known as the Belly of Stones. This was a most rugged, desolate, and arid land, and the river was filled with rapids and small islands, making navigation im possible except at the highest flood stage. Even then, ships could only make the voyage with extreme difficulty and at great peril. Much of the year, trade goods were carried past the Belly of Stones on donkey caravans traveling the desert trail alongside the river. Troops were garrisoned in the area to protect and control traffic through this natural corridor, collect tribute and tolls, and conduct punitive military expeditions. None of these tasks was of sufficient importance to earn a man the gold of valor, but Bak had no doubt of their necessity.

  “We’ve blinded the woman with our success,” Nebwa growled. “If we’d ever lost a gold caravan or if one of her precious envoys had been carried off to the desert to stand as a hostage in exchange for riches, she’d not be so quick to dismiss us as useless.”

  “Does Menkheperre Thutmose know of this?” Bak asked. The young man of whom he spoke was Maatkare

  Hatshepsut’s stepson and nephew, co-ruler in name only, the individual many people believed to be the sole rightful heir to the throne. While she resided in Waset surrounded by loyal advisers, the youth lived in the northern capital of

  Mennufer, where he had begun to rebuild an army that had languished from years of royal neglect.

  “What difference would it make? You know how she is when she sets her heart on a goal.” Thuty took a deep drink of beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Amon ked’s well into his mission. He should reach Buhen in about a week.”

  “What can we do?” Bak asked in a grim voice.

  “I plan to go upriver with the inspection party.” Thuty formed a calculating smile. “I’ll tell him how important the army is to this land and its people, and how important they are to us. How they thrive because we’re here to protect them as well as the gold and ebony and precious stones so desired by the royal house. I’ll…” He caught himself, gave a cynical snort. “I want each of you to assign a man to go with me. Both should be trustworthy and dependable, sergeants who can stand up for themselves should the need arise and not let a flock of self-important scribes browbeat them into submission.”

  “Sergeant Pashenuro,” Bak said. “Other than Imsiba, he’s the best Medjay I have.”

  Nebwa scratched his head, thinking. “Sergeant Dedu.

  He’s been training new recruits and can use a break.”

  “I know them both and approve.” Thuty threw an an noyed glance at the courtyard, beyond which could be heard the loud whispers of two women. “I’ve sent a courier up the Belly of Stones, warning the fortress commanders of Amonked’s mission. I hated to give them the bad news so soon, but thought they should be prepared.”

  “Better now than after they hear the rumor going round,”

  Bak said, and went on to explain, adding for good measure

  Seshu’s tale of Hor-pen-Deshret’s return.

  Thuty was irritated, yet relieved his message had gone out when it had. The anger and resentment the courier would leave in his wake would in no way equal the re sentment a rumor would rouse. As for Hor-pen-Deshret,

  Thuty paid small heed. He shared Bak’s feeling: with po tential disaster so near at hand, the news of one tribesman’s return seemed of small import.

  “You’ll need more than two sergeants to guard Amon ked’s back,” Nebwa said, stretching his legs in front of him and wiggling his filthy toes. “Maybe I’d better send along a company of spearmen.”

  Thuty scowled at a jest too close to the truth.

  “How long will he remain in Buhen,” Bak asked, “and what kind of protection will he need?”

  “Not for long, I hope.” Thuty tapped the arm of his chair, thinking. “While he’s here, we’ll quarter him and his party in the house Lieutenant Neferperet occupied before he and his family returned to Kemet. It’s close e
nough to this res idence that he can’t complain and far enough away that they’ll not be underfoot.”

  “The building’s run-down,” Nebwa said.

  Thuty waved his hand, dismissing the objection. “I’ll have it repaired, repainted, and refurnished. That should suffice. They can’t expect the same luxury they have in the capital.”

  “Protection?” Bak reminded him.

  “I want that house well-guarded, Lieutenant. By Med jays, not soldiers whose futures might lay in Amonked’s hands.” Thuty’s voice turned as hard as granite. “I don’t want him harmed while he’s here by someone angered at his mission. Nor do I want any of his minions in trouble or causing trouble.”

  “Yes, sir.” A new thought intruded. “Has he been told the river’s too low to sail south beyond Kor? That he’ll have to travel by donkey caravan between Kor and Semna?”

  The old fortification of Kor was an hour’s march upriver from Buhen. Located at the mouth of the Belly of Stones, it was used as a staging post, where trade goods were trans ferred from ships to donkey caravans for the long journey south around the rapids, and from donkeys to ships after the return trip.

  “If he hasn’t heard it from the men who sail these waters, the viceroy will see he knows.” A burst of laughter, quickly stifled, drew Thuty’s eyes toward the door. “He’ll need a caravan master, troop captain. A man you’d trust with your life. As much as we dislike what he’s come to do, his jour ney must go well, giving him no reason for complaint.”

  “Seshu,” Nebwa said without hesitation. He glanced to ward the door and the lengthening shadows visible in the courtyard. “He’s in Buhen now. Shall I go get him, sir?”

  “Yes, and quickly.” Thuty’s voice turned as dry as a field long untouched by floodwaters. “With luck, I can coerce him into taking on Amonked’s caravan.”

  “I fed that boy Hori,” Nofery grumbled. “Now I suppose you’ll want me to fill your belly, too.”

  “A jar of beer will do.” Bak followed the obese old woman out to the courtyard, where a slender dusky-skinned youth was lighting a torch to stave off the dark of night. “I ate at the barracks with my Medjays. Stewed fish-as usual.”

  “You heard him, Amonaya,” she said to the boy. “Bring some beer, then get out your writing implements. Hori awaits you.”

  The youth made a face behind her back, letting Bak know he did not appreciate the lessons the police scribe had agreed to give him. Lessons Nofery had insisted he take so he could, in the future, help her run her place of business, the largest house of pleasure in Buhen.

  A loud curse drew Bak’s eyes to an open doorway and the good-sized front room of the house. Inside, four men sat on the floor playing knucklebones, while a dozen more and two scantily clad young women stood in clusters around the room, beer jars in hand, talking in low, agitated voices. Wagers were made, the bones clattered across the floor, the winner raised his hands high and shouted his plea sure. Bak feared for his safety. Tempers had shortened as word of Amonked’s mission spread.

  Nofery shuffled across the court to an armless wooden chair positioned so she could see into the front room and her customers could see her. With a self-satisfied smile, she settled herself like royalty on the thick pillows padding the seat. The chair, which she had had shipped all the way from

  Waset, was new, a symbol of her prosperity.

  Turning away to hide a fond smile, Bak sat on a mud brick bench built against the wall. The cool breeze he had first noticed while bathing in the river at sunset had stiff ened, rattling the dry palm fronds atop the lean-to that cov ered half the courtyard and making the leaves of a potted sycamore dance and rustle. A half-dozen large jars leaning against the rear wall gave off a strong odor of beer.

  “The commandant’s expecting a lofty visitor. Have you heard?”

  “Who hasn’t? Word spread through Buhen like chaff in the wind.” She shifted her massive buttocks, grimaced. “A nobleman’s coming to the Belly of Stones, they say, to conduct an inspection. To write the fortresses all off as useless, and us with them.”

  The tale had not yet lost touch with reality, Bak noted, but within a few days it would be exaggerated beyond rec ognition. By the time the inspection party arrived, Amon ked would be the most despised man on the frontier. “You long ago dwelt in the capital, old woman. Did you know the one who’s coming, this storekeeper of Amon?”

  A young, almost grown lion padded out of the shadows to lay at her feet. As she reached down to scratch the crea ture’s neck, Bak glimpsed a familiar look of calculation on her face. “If I’m to tell you anything of value, I must know his name.”

  “You haven’t heard?” Bak asked, with exaggerated amazement. “What am I to do? Seek out a new spy, one whose business isn’t so prosperous it distracts her from walking through this city, eyes and ears wide open?”

  She clasped her hands before her breast and raised her eyes to the stars. “How many times have I prayed to the gods to free me from your attentions?” Her voice was as exaggerated as his had been.

  He patted her fat knee, covered by the long white shift she wore. “Now admit it, old woman. You’d miss me and the tasks I set you.”

  “Like I’d miss a thorn in the sole of my foot.” Her voice was gruff, but her eyes twinkled.

  Laughing softly, Bak stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “The inspector is named Amonked.

  Cousin to our sovereign.”

  She stared at him, thinking thoughts he found impossible to read but suspected would cost him dearly. Suddenly she began to chuckle. “Storekeeper of Amon. Not much of a task, if you ask me. I’d have thought his unquestioning devotion worth far more than that to our sovereign.”

  “You never cease to amaze me,” Bak admitted, laughing.

  “Did you know every man in the capital?”

  “I knew of Amonked, that’s all.” She glanced at Amon aya coming through the door, carrying a basket filled with beer jars. The youth drew a low table close, set his burden on top, and hurried away. “He never came to the place of business where I toiled, nor did I ever see him when I was summoned elsewhere to entertain men of status or worth.”

  Bak reached for a jar, broke the dried mud plug that sealed it, and handed the drink to her. She had once been young and beautiful, a courtesan who had counted princes among her customers, so he had been told by a man who had known her long ago. The years had stolen her good looks but not her memories, unpleasant for her but good fortune for him. Prying those memories from her oft times took more patience than the lord Amon himself possessed, but the knowledge she passed on was well worth the effort.

  The knucklebones clattered, a man moaned, and Nebwa burst through the door. He grabbed a jar from the basket, broke the plug, and swung around to hand it to Seshu, close behind. Both men’s hair was damp, betraying a recent dip in the river, and both wore spotless white thigh-length kilts similar to the garment Bak wore.

  “Look at the two of them,” Nebwa said, eyes darting from Bak to Nofery and back again. “As somber as a priest and a god’s chantress.”

  Seshu walked up to Nofery, smiled, patted her cheek.

  “Nice chair, my dear. As the most delightful woman on the southern frontier, it befits you.”

  Bak choked on a laugh, and Nebwa looked uncertain how to react. To treat the old woman in so impudent a manner required either a strong friendship or uncommon courage. She guffawed, laughing so hard the tears flowed, and Seshu with her. The two officers joined in.

  When the laughter died away, Bak asked Seshu, “Did you agree to lead Amonked’s caravan?”

  “I did.” The caravan master found two stools and drew them close, offering one to Nebwa. “I can’t say I like the swine’s purpose. Without the army manning the garrisons along the Belly of Stones, the land of Kemet may as well surrender the whole of Wawat. But… well, I couldn’t re fuse the task. I know better than most the marauding tribes who make sporadic raids along the Belly of Stones-and there’s the rumor abou
t Hor-pen-Deshret.”

  “A tale as false as a ceremonial wig,” Nebwa stated with conviction.

  Ignoring a certitude he obviously did not share, Seshu said, “I’d never rest easy if I turned my back and let this caravan walk into trouble. Not only Amonked could be injured or slain, but many drovers as well.”

  “I’ve heard of no recent raids,” Nofery said.

  “There’ve been none.” Seshu rested both hands on his knees, his beer jar between them. “The tribesmen have been quiet this year, staying well clear of the river, because water has been plentiful on the desert and food has been available for animals and men. From what I hear, none of the wa terholes has dried up, and most of the oases are lush. But that doesn’t mean they’ll ignore temptation.” He paused, drank from his jar, added, “I can’t see a man of Amonked’s status traveling with as few amenities as you and I would.”

  The four looked at one another, sobered by his words.

  They, like all who lived on the frontier, knew how fierce tribesmen could be when tempted by sufficient bounty. All three men had firsthand experience, having personally faced desert raiders in combat, while Nofery had seen caravans straggle into the fortress with most of the donkeys strayed or stolen and more men dead than alive.

  Rather than belabor the point, Bak took a fresh beer for himself and passed replacements to the others. “Nofery was about to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets.”

  “Aha!” Seshu’s brow cleared, his voice grew husky with false emotion. “Have you been holding out on me, my love?”

  A smile flitted across her face. “We were speaking of

  Amonked as a youth. As I told Bak, I didn’t know him. He was younger than I, and not one to spend time in houses of pleasure. Still, the world of the nobility is small, and I knew of him.”

  She reached down to pet the great tawny cat, making him purr. “Amonked was reputed to be a nice, good-natured boy, a favorite of Hatshepsut, then a princess. The king’s first and most favored daughter, spoiled by both mother and father. He was her shadow, a child she could always depend upon to do her bidding.” Nofery’s expression darkened, her voice turned grim. “Unless he’s changed, he’ll see she gets her way even if he firmly believes the army should retain control of the Belly of Stones.”