Curse of Silence lb-4 Read online

  Chapter Two

  “He surely doesn’t expect to travel upriver with so many people! So many belongings!” Seshu stared, appalled, at the seven ships standing off Buhen, preparing to moor at two of the three stone quays reaching into the river. “Look at those decks!” he exclaimed, pointing down from the tall fortified wall on which he stood with Bak and Imsiba.

  “Each and every one piled high. Baskets and chests. Carry ing chairs. Jars of all sizes…”

  “Filled with fine wines and oils, no doubt,” Imsiba said, wrinkling his nose in disapproval.

  “He’s brought along at least two women.” Bak shaded his eyes with a hand, lessening the sun’s glare on the water.

  “Do you see them? They’re seated in the pavilion set against the deckhouse of the foremost traveling ship. The one with the red and white banners flying from the mast head.”

  “Commandant Thuty must stop this madness,” Seshu said. “We haven’t enough donkeys in the whole of Wawat to carry everything I see on those decks.”

  The caravan master was exaggerating, at least in part.

  The ships’ crews would remain behind, and their nonper ishable rations were undoubtedly a good portion of the cargo.

  More than a week had passed since the commandant had first announced Amonked’s inspection. Now Bak and his companions awaited their first look at the storekeeper of

  Amon and his inspection party. A cool northerly breeze blew across the battlements, alleviating the heat of the mid morning sun, bright and intense in a brilliant blue sky. A dog stood at the river’s edge, barking at a turtle secure within its shell.

  Except for three little boys tormenting a small brownish snake, the two stone terraces overlooking the harbor were empty of life. The residents of Buhen, men, women, and children who rarely missed the opportunity to watch the arrival of visiting dignitaries, had failed to appear. Instead of crowding the terraces and chattering with excitement, instead of raising their voices in greeting, they had refused to welcome the man they feared would destroy their way of life.

  “Careful!” Bak murmured half to himself as a broad beamed cargo ship swung across the strong midstream cur rent, heading toward the upriver side of the southern quay.

  The vessel rode low under a heavy load. The oarsmen toiled to the beat of a drum, rowing with an urgency visible from a distance. The helmsman yelled orders impossible to distinguish so far away, but the stridence of his voice be trayed a concern at docking so large a ship in unfamiliar waters. A large group of men, soldiers armed with spears and shields, stood on the deck, poised to abandon ship if need be.

  The vessel neared the quay. The helmsman shouted new orders, the drummer altered the beat, and the oarsmen’s pattern changed. The ship hit the pier with a solid thud and skidded alongside, fenders grinding between hull and stone.

  At least half the spearmen were flung to the deck. Sailors threw hawsers over mooring posts, pulling the vessel up short. The soldiers scrambled to their feet.

  The lead vessel and another, both sleek traveling ships with bright-painted deckhouses and fore- and aftercastles, swung one after the other into the space between the south ern and central quays, where oarsmen eased them close to their mooring posts. Another pair of ships fell in behind to moor at the sterns of the first two. Colorful banners high on the mastheads snapped in the breeze. The remaining vessels, one a well-appointed traveling ship and the second a sturdier boat that served as a kitchen, docked along the downstream side of the central quay.

  A loud, heartfelt curse drew Bak’s glance toward the northern quay, against which was moored a smaller cargo ship. A broad-shouldered man stood on the stern, glaring at a long line of workmen, each with a heavy sack of grain on his shoulder, that snaked from the forward hold, down the gangplank, and up the quay to Buhen’s northern water side gate. Duty forgotten, the men stood tight-lipped and silent, watching the incoming ships and their unwelcome passengers. The overseer leaped from the deck to the quay and strode up the line, slapping a short baton of office against his thigh. The workmen plodded on with obvious reluctance toward the gate and the storage granaries inside the citadel.

  The ship, the largest to make Buhen its home port, be longed to Imsiba’s new wife, Sitamon. At present it occu pied its usual mooring place, but the other vessels that plied local waters were not so fortunate. Two trading ships, scarred from hard use and needing paint, lay on the oppo site side of the quay from Sitamon’s craft. Three other trad ing vessels were moored north of the harbor, close to the muddy riverbank. Dozens of small boats and skiffs had been pulled out of the water and lay along the shore. All had been forced out of time-honored mooring places to make space for the visiting flotilla.

  “I’ll wager my new kilt that those seven vessels will remain in Buhen throughout the time Amonked travels up river,” Imsiba said in a sour voice.

  Bak knew what his friend was thinking: Sitamon’s ship and all those that sailed nearby waters would have to wait in line to load and unload cargo at the single quay available to them. “Where else can they moor this far south? Kor has no space for them.”

  Imsiba muttered an oath in his own tongue. He had no desire to captain his wife’s vessel or tend to her business, but anything contrary to her well-being distressed him.

  The three small boys scrambled to their feet and ran to the massive pylon gate that stood before the mansion of the lord Horus of Buhen. The snake slithered quickly into a hole in the mudbrick wall. Commandant Thuty, Nebwa, a white-clad priest, and several local princes, each wearing the bright garb of his own people, filed through the portal and walked down the southern quay.

  A rather plump man of medium height crossed the gang plank of the lead traveling ship and strode forward to greet them. He wore the calf-length kilt of a scribe, a broad mul ticolored bead collar, and wide matching bracelets. An un impressive costume for a man who trod the corridors of power. A younger man followed, carrying a spear, a shield, and a baton of office; an army officer, Bak guessed. Not far behind walked two more men, both tall and slim, one with hair so light it caught the sun. The women remained on board.

  The two parties met and words were spoken. Thuty and his party swung around to escort the newcomers up the quay. A crow flying overhead called to two of its mates perched on the battlements. Their loud, harsh voices shat tered the silence, emphasizing the absence of people and their failure to welcome this man who had come to steal away the fragile prosperity along the Belly of Stones.

  Bak prayed to the lord Amon that Amonked would come and go without incident. He did not know the man and he abhorred the task he had traveled south to perform, but he could well imagine the wrath of their sovereign should her cousin suffer hurt or humiliation while traveling at her be hest.

  Bak raised his baton of office, saluting the guard standing in the entry hall of the commandant’s residence, and hurried down the corridor beyond. Coming toward him were the priest of the lord Horus of Buhen and the local princes who had accompanied Thuty to the harbor. Greeting them with a smile, he stepped aside to let them pass, then hastened on to the audience hall.

  Bright shafts of light reached through windows near the high ceiling and fell into a forest of red octagonal columns.

  Across this largest room in the building, he heard voices softened to murmurs beyond the open portals of several rooms in which scribes and officers toiled. The hall itself was empty, the public scribe gone, his place by the entrance unoccupied. No craftsmen or soldiers or traders sat on the long bench built against the opposite wall, awaiting their turn to speak of a record gone awry, a reprimand made, short rations, long hours, or any other of the innumerable complaints arising from life in a frontier garrison. The empty space, the near silence, and unfamiliar voices in the room Thuty used as an office told him Amonked and his companions had not yet gone.

  The commandant had summoned Bak, the reason unspe cified. Not sure if he should make himself known or wait until the lofty visitors left, he peeked into a good-sized r
oom with four red pillars supporting a high ceiling. Thuty oc cupied an armchair that held pride of place on a low dais against the far wall. He sat stiff and straight, feet planted flat on the floor, hands flat on the arms of his chair, his demeanor stern. Bak smiled at the stance. Thuty giving the visitors from Waset a taste of frontier formality.

  Nebwa, standing at the commandant’s right hand, noticed

  Bak and beckoned. Crossing the room, he took his place at

  Thuty’s left hand, where he studied the newcomers with interest. Amonked stood immediately in front of the dais.

  He was probably in his mid-thirties but looked older. Wear ing no wig over his thinning hair and jewelry that could only be described as modest, he was no more impressive at short range than at a distance. To his left stood the man with golden hair. On his right, a tall refined-looking indi vidual, groomed to perfection, also in his mid-thirties. A nobleman without doubt.

  “This is Lieutenant Bak,” Thuty said. “He’s the officer in charge of the Medjay police in Buhen. His men will guard your quarters while you’re here.”

  “I have my own guards,” Amonked said. “I need no ad ditional men.”

  Bak queried Nebwa with a raised eyebrow. The only guard he had seen anywhere near the commandant’s resi dence was the man in the entry hall, long assigned to the garrison. Certainly not a member of Amonked’s entourage.

  “Our worthy guest has brought fifty men,” Nebwa said.

  “Spearmen.” Only one who knew the troop captain as well as Bak did would have noticed the covert cynicism.

  “They’ll accompany him upriver.”

  The soldiers on the cargo ship, Bak assumed. A guard of honor probably. But would they be alert, competent de fenders of Amonked’s person? Directing a smile at the lofty visitor from Waset, he said in a smooth voice, “You’re a man of substance, sir. One who shoulders the weighty tasks of the storekeeper of Amon. My Medjays may not be needed, but their presence will add to your status in the eyes of those who reside in this city.” He dared not look at Nebwa, fearing his friend would laugh aloud at so shameless a ploy.

  “Oh, very well.” Amonked’s face was blank, revealing nothing, but Bak had the uncomfortable feeling that he not only knew he had been manipulated but had allowed it to happen.

  A twitch at the corners of the light-haired man’s mouth drew Bak’s attention. Pale hair and greenish eyes betrayed an ancestry far to the north of Kemet, from Keftiu perhaps or from the mainland north of that island kingdom. Bur nished skin indicated a life spent outdoors. Muscles rippled each time he moved his arms and legs, speaking of an active life. He looked older than his companions, around forty years of age.

  Amonked’s glance shifted to Thuty. “I’ve served as storekeeper of Amon for a number of years, sir, and I’m proud to hold the title. However, our sovereign, Maatkare

  Hatshepsut, has deemed me worthy of a new title, one more fitting to my present task. I’m now inspector of the for tresses of Wawat.”

  Bak caught his breath, startled. Nebwa muttered a few quick words, impossible to understand but the meaning easy to guess. Thuty sat quite still, as if unable to move.

  The title was ominous, indicating an uncommon power over the fortresses for which the commandant and the viceroy were responsible. A power to make decisions no man with out military experience should ever be allowed to make.

  Amonked seemed not to notice how shocked they were.

  The light-haired man shifted his feet, looking uncomfort able with the disclosure. The nobleman watched closely the officers on the dais, his face expressing interest but no in volvement.

  Thuty cleared his throat, pulling himself together. He should have praised the queen for her discernment in ap pointing so talented a man to so responsible a position.

  Instead, avoiding the issue altogether, he let his eyes settle on the light-haired man in an uncompromising stare. “Cap tain Minkheper. You know, I assume, that no ships can journey through the Belly of Stones when the river’s as low as it is at present.”

  Minkheper smiled, letting the commandant know he took no offense. “I’ve sailed the waters of Kemet for many years, sir, and I’ve vast experience on the Great Green Sea.

  I’d never dare challenge the lord Hapi or any other god great or small without first learning of the many hazards

  I’m likely to face.”

  “We’re fully aware,” Amonked said, “that we’ll have to transfer to donkey caravan and march through the desert along the Belly of Stones. A long, tedious journey, I’ve been told, with none of the comforts of sailing, but we’ll manage.”

  Thuty stared hard at Amonked for some moments, as if measuring the man. Suddenly his eyes leaped toward Min kheper. “Our harbor here is small, as you’ve seen. The for tress of Kor has only one quay, always in full use. Where do you intend to moor the vessels under your command while the inspection party travels upstream?” He left no room for doubt: so many ships would not be welcome for an extended period of time.

  “The presence of our vessels may cause some inconven ience,” Amonked stated before the captain could respond,

  “but they must remain here. Here in Buhen where their crews can be maintained in a reasonably comfortable man ner.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Thuty said, acting his most obtuse. “Not only will your vessels take up much-needed space at the harbor, but your sailors must be provided with perishable foodstuffs and furnished with supplies, most of which have been shipped from afar specifically for the use of the troops in this garrison.”

  “Those men will need close supervision, sir,” Bak said, aiding and abetting his superior. “Idleness will breed bore dom, causing them to drink too much and to carouse and fight. I can see no end to the trouble they’ll cause.”

  Nebwa opened his mouth to offer additional support, but

  Amonked cut in, “We’ll be away no more than a month and a half. If you can’t manage so few men for so short a time, what would you do if the whole army of Kemet came marching through, heading south to do battle with the kings of Kush?”

  Thuty’s face flamed. Bak feared for his health.

  The tall nobleman stepped forward. “I sailed south from

  Kemet in my personal traveling ship. I’d have no objection to mooring the vessel against the riverbank, preferably across the water from Buhen. The oasis there appears to be large and fertile, a place where my crew could exchange their labor for fruit, vegetables, and fresh meat.”

  Amonked scowled. “That won’t be necessary, Sennefer.”

  “I insist.” The nobleman’s smile grew self-deprecating.

  “I’ve come to Wawat not as an official member of Amon ked’s inspection party, but as his friend and brother-in-law.

  For much of my life, I’ve divided my time between our southern capital of Waset and my estate in the province of

  Sheresy. I’m here on sufferance, satisfying a yearning to travel beyond the borders of Kemet. If my ship must be moved, so be it.”

  “Excellent!” Anger sharpened Thuty’s voice; a need to regain the upper hand drew his eyes from Sennefer to

  Amonked. “Sir? Any other suggestions as to how our load can be lightened?”

  Amonked stiffened but otherwise remained unruffled.

  “I’ll talk the matter over with Captain Minkheper. You’ll have my answer before we march south from Kor.”

  Minkheper stared straight ahead, looking none too happy.

  “Must I go with you, sir? I’d be of more value if I remained behind. After resolving this problem of too many ships in too small a harbor, I could hire a local man with a skiff and experience close-up the obstacles that currently prevent trading vessels traveling through the Belly of Stones. By doing so, I could make a more knowledgeable recommen dation to our sovereign as to how we can ease their pas sage.”

  “Recommendation?” Bak asked, the word slipping out unbidden. Did Maatkare Hatshepsut hope to tame the Belly of Stones? Only a god could influence the ri
se and fall of the water, the shifting of boulders along the riverbed, the changing and hazardous currents.

  “You’ll come with us as she commanded.” Amonked’s voice was firm, the look he gave Minkheper allowing no argument. “As a candidate for admiral of her fleet, you’ve no choice but to obey.” His eyes darted toward the dais and

  Thuty. “Maatkare Hatshepsut has ordered the captain to as sess the possibility of cutting a canal through the rapids, enhancing the movement of trade goods between here and the fortress of Semna.”

  Thuty frowned. “The task would be formidable.”

  “Impossible,” Bak said, shaking his head. “Too many men would lose their lives in the effort.”

  Nebwa barked out a humorless laugh. “A canal in such troubled waters could never be kept open and navigable.

  The channel through the rapids above Abu is constantly clogged with boulders. The river here is much faster, more powerful by far.”

  “We’ll see.” The words hung heavy in the air, a dismissal of objections. Amonked’s voice grew curt. “I plan to in spect Buhen tomorrow. The following day, we’ll sail to

  Kor, and I’d like to begin our march south the next morn ing.”

  “I shall accompany your inspection party upriver.”

  Thuty’s expression was hard, his tone at its most autocratic.

  “No!” Evidently recalling the commandant’s status,

  Amonked formed a stiff smile, tempering the rudeness. “As much as I’d enjoy your company, sir, you cannot travel with us. Maatkare Hatshepsut has ordered that no man be allowed to influence my final decision. That command I mean to obey.”

  Color flooded Thuty’s face. His mouth snapped shut, suppressing fury. He took a deep breath, controlling him self, and leaned forward toward Amonked to accent his words. “Our sovereign knows nothing about the frontier, sir, nor do you. With luck, you and all who came with you from Waset will survive your journey unscathed.”