by Lauren Haney
“Would that you’d never offended the lady Maat, Min kheper.” He studied the prisoner, unable to understand and all the sadder for it. “I see you as a good and brave man, one who slew another good man to appease a god I know not, to follow a custom foreign to me. I’d set you free if I could, exile you to a distant land. But, like you, I must obey the will of my gods. The lady Maat. The lord Amon.
All the deities of Kemet great and lesser.”
Minkheper ran his fingers through his sunny hair, tried another smile. “Believe me, if I could repeat that wretched morning in Buhen, if I could once again glimpse Baket Amon standing in the street, I’d close my eyes and turn away.”
“I think you too upright and honest to ignore the de mands of your god.”
“Don’t place me on a pedestal, Lieutenant. I’m a man and nothing more.”
Bak eyed the captain, his thoughts tumbling. How best to ask the question that would give him an answer he was not sure he wanted to hear? “Before his death, I pleaded with Baket-Amon to go to Amonked, to tell him of the need for our army to remain in Wawat. He refused, saying his past had come back to taunt him. I assume he meant you.”
“No doubt he did.” Minkheper glanced toward the door, where a pretty young servant was sweeping the courtyard, all the while humming a merry tune. “He saw me at the harbor, so he said, when I made a last inspection to assure myself that our ships would have a secure mooring while we traveled upriver.”
“You were in command of the fleet, but you were also a member of the inspection party. Did he guess you were staying at the house where they were quartered?”
“He wasn’t surprised to find me there.” The captain could not help but notice Bak’s troubled expression, and quickly guessed the cause. “Did he come to see Amonked to plead your case? I can’t say with certainty. I only know that I heard a commotion in the street and went to the door to learn the cause. While I stood there, listening to the young men of Buhen ridicule our sailors, I saw him standing at the far corner of the block, looking toward the house.
Whether or not he meant to approach before I appeared, I know not.”
“I’ve wondered time and time again if I brought about his death. Now I suppose I’ll never know.”
“Let me put it this way: Instead of walking away when he saw me, as most men would when under threat, he came forward.”
Bak gave him a sharp look. “He was convinced you’d follow him, I’d guess, and thought it best to face you then and there.”
“We were preparing to sail south to Kor. I hadn’t the time.”
That Bak could understand. As a man determined to at tain the rank of admiral, Minkheper might well have set aside his personal mission. “He chose to come forward, but did he enter the building by choice?”
“He asked if I knew of a place of privacy.” Minkheper stood up and walked to the door. Turning his back on the sunlit court, he stood in the portal, making his face hard to see. “I bade him go inside, into the room where you dis covered his body.”
“He invited death?”
“He walked into the room, looked around, and nodded his approval. Then he just stood there. Waiting.” Minkhe per’s voice wavered. “I asked if he had come, intending to die. He said he could no longer tolerate the suspense, the uncertainty of never knowing which day would be his last.
He said the death of the child in Thutnofer’s house of plea sure, the slaying of my brother, and even the effort of living life to its fullest had stolen the heart from him.” The captain paused, sucked in a tortured breath. “He’d lived his life to the utmost, he said, sired an heir he looked upon with pride, and had given his people prosperity and peace. What more could a man leave behind?”
“The prince took his own life, with you as his instrument of death,” Bak said, appalled.
Minkheper left the doorway, an ironic smile on his face.
“So I concluded, but too late.”
Bak stared at the man standing before him. A man of courage and kindness, honest and true. A man who, if al lowed to reach the lofty rank of admiral, would serve the land of Kemet with honor and aptitude. Never before had he snared a slayer with so much regret. Yet he could not set him free. Justice must be done, order restored.
Bak returned to the commander’s residence to prepare reports on his discovery of Baket-Amon’s slayer and the defense of the caravan under Nebwa’s command. The latter, a favor to the troop captain, whose stout-hearted effort to learn to read and write had borne small fruit, was the lengthier of the two and took more time. Many men had to be commended, their exploits described in the hope of ap propriate reward.
He sat alone and undisturbed beneath a lean-to on the roof of the residence, shaded from the sun’s heat, cooled by a breeze that stirred the air, sipping a local beer that smelled as harsh as it tasted. Ahmose had told him he would learn to like the brew. He was glad he would not remain at Askut long enough to develop a taste for it.
As the sun dipped below the western horizon, he scrawled the last symbol on the papyrus. Not long after, while cleaning his reed pen and scribal pallet, he heard
Nebwa cross the triangular square between the house and the main gate. He quickly rolled the scroll, tied it with a cord, and impressed his symbol of office on the mud seal he affixed to the knot. Hurrying down the stairs, he met his friend and Amonked in the second-floor courtyard.
“Ah, there you are, Lieutenant.” Amonked, his demeanor serious, purposeful, glanced into Ahmose’s private recep tion room, which was smaller than that of Commandant
Thuty’s and considerably neater. “Where’s Lieutenant Ah mose? I must speak with the three of you.”
Noting the inspector’s manner, his peremptory tone, Bak flung a querying glance at Nebwa. He got a shake of the head in return and a look that said he, too, was baffled.
Ahmose emerged from a rear door, rubbing his hands in satisfaction. “You’ve come. Good. My wife’s prepared a feast fit for our sovereign, but we’ve time for a bowl of wine before it’s ready.”
Without a word, Amonked walked into the reception room and sat down on the chair, which had been carried upstairs to the private quarters especially for his comfort.
Ahmose gave the two officers from Buhen a startled look, got Nebwa’s shrug in return, and led the way inside. When the three were seated on stools and a servant had handed out bowls of dark red wine that smelled of spices, the in spector said:
“You’re puzzled by my attitude, as you’ve every right to be. We’re here to celebrate our victory, yet I’ve come with a purpose of great and serious import.”
Bak set his bowl on the floor by his feet, his taste for the wine momentarily lost. “Has something happened, sir, that makes our victory look small by comparison?”
“No.” Amonked sipped from his bowl, nodded approval.
“We will celebrate, but first things first.” He sipped again as if reluctant to voice what he suspected his listeners might not wish to hear. “I’ve thought long and hard about Hor pen-Deshret, about the fate of a man who places his own self-interest above that of all who look to him for leadership.”
“His fate?” Nebwa demanded. “Have you not already decided to take him to Waset?”
“I fear we must allow the wretched criminal to escape.”
Bak stared, his power of speech stolen by shock.
“What!” Nebwa roared.
Ahmose looked stricken. “You can’t mean that, sir.”
“I can and I do.”
“But, sir,” Ahmose said, “he’ll come back, just as he did this time. He’ll make the people’s lives a misery, and we’ll once again have to face him on the field of battle.”
Amonked was unmoved. “He knows that no army he gathers, no matter how large, can defeat the might of Kemet. And he knows impalement will be the price he’ll pay when he’s caught.”
“He’ll have nothing to fear if the army is torn from this land,” Bak pointed out.
Amonked formed an enigma
tic little smile and bowed his head slightly in Bak’s direction. “Shall I go to Maatkare
Hatshepsut and tell her of the battle we fought, of the many enemy dead and their captured chieftain, of small groups of wandering nomads too downtrodden to do more than pilfer when they bring their flocks to the river? Or shall I tell her of our hard-won battle, of the wandering nomads who covet the riches traveling south to Kemet, and a pow erful chieftain free to strike again?”
Bak began to understand. At least he thought he did.
Nebwa and Ahmose stared at the inspector as if afraid their hearing had failed them.
Amonked wove his fingers together across his stomach and eyed the trio one after the other. “I cannot, in all good conscience, recommend to our sovereign that she leave the army on the Belly of Stones if the major threat to peace and security is no longer here.”
“The local people will be incensed,” Bak said.
“Which would they prefer? A distant threat of Hor-pen Deshret far out on the desert, living among men weary of his vain promises? Or the very real possibility that the army might be torn from this land?”
Bak had come to like and trust Amonked, to see him as a far stronger man than Nofery had thought him to be, but would he maintain that strength in Waset, facing the all powerful woman who sat on the throne? Bak saw indeci sion on Nebwa’s face and Ahmose’s. They had similar doubts. He looked again at Amonked, at the short, plump man with thinning hair he had seen fighting at Nebwa’s side during the battle. He decided to take a chance on the man he had come to know.
“Hor-pen-Deshret can’t escape until our caravan is well on its way to Semna,” he said, “and he must free himself at a time when the fortress of Askut is dangerously under manned.”
Ahmose looked relieved that the decision had been made by someone other than him. “Half my troops are already gone, escorting the tribesmen into the desert.”
Nebwa, looking less certain, said nothing.
“You can work out the details later,” Amonked said.
“But remember: whatever you do must seem normal and natural. I want no blame to fall on any of us.”
Bak noted the inspector’s inclusion of himself as one who might shoulder the blame.
“I see no reason to discuss this conversation with Com mandant Thuty or anyone else,” Amonked went on. “Even
Hor-pen-Deshret must be made to believe his escape is the will of his gods.”
“Yes, sir,” the three officers chorused.
Bak thought of the tribal chieftain and Captain Min kheper, comparing their offenses, their fate. Hor-pen Deshret, whose vile crimes far exceeded that of the naval officer, would be set free, while Minkheper would die. The punishment in no way matched the crimes.
“Sir. Captain Minkheper helped teach the drovers and guards to use their weapons to best advantage and he fought valiantly throughout the battle. If not for him, I’d have died at the hands of an enemy warrior. Must he be made to suffer while Hor-pen-Deshret walks away alive and well?”
Amonked eyed him curiously. “What would you suggest,
Lieutenant? Baket-Amon’s wife will demand justice.”
Bak spoke carefully, thinking out his plea as he spoke.
A plea that would make sense when Amonked repeated it to Maatkare Hatshepsut. “By insisting on Minkheper’s death, as she’s sure to do, the prince’s widow will be ex ercising her will over that of our sovereign, thereby bring ing the land of Kemet to its knees. Maatkare Hatshepsut is a proud woman. Is that the precedent she’ll wish to set?”
“Go on,” Amonked said, nodding. Whether in agreement or merely understanding, Bak could not begin to guess.
“Though the captain obeyed the gods of his homeland, he’s a true man of Kemet. He’s lived in Waset and Men nufer most of his life and he loves our land as no other. To banish him, to tear him forever from the place he calls his home, to force him to die and be entombed elsewhere, would be to tear the heart from his soul.”
Amonked sat unmoving, his eyes on Bak, his face empty of emotion. At last he said, “I’ll speak with Viceroy Inebny and with Baket-Amon’s wife. Then I’ll take Captain Min kheper to our sovereign in Waset and plead for his exile.”
Bak offered a silent prayer to the lord Amon, a prayer that Amonked would be strong enough to press his case and win, that justice would be served.
Epilogue
Four weeks later
“So they’re sailing tomorrow,” Nebwa said. “I shall miss them.”
Bak, too, regretted the parting. “I never thought I’d count any of them as friends, but I’ve come to like them all.”
With the troop captain in the lead, they hurried up the stone stairway to the second floor of the commandant’s residence. Crossing the courtyard, they stepped over toys and around a baby nestled on a soft pillow in a large flattish bowl. From a rear room, they could hear Thuty’s wife, her voice raised in anger, berating a servant. The odor of burned onions permeated the air, attesting to a mishap in the kitchen, where the women of the household were pre paring a feast for the inspector and his party.
At the door of the commandant’s private reception room, they saw that Amonked had arrived ahead of them. Seated with Thuty amid a clutter of toys, stools, and baskets filled with scrolls, he occupied an armless wooden chair that looked suspiciously like the one Nofery had acquired from
Waset. Had the commandant, who would not give up his own chair for anyone of less importance than the viceroy, borrowed her treasure in recognition of his guest’s lofty position?
“I must admit I’m looking forward to going home,”
Amonked said, smiling at the newcomers. “To seeing my wife again, to sleeping in my own bedchamber, to having at my beck and call servants and scribes who fill my days with ease and comfort.”
“I regret our inability to provide such luxuries,” Thuty said in a wry voice.
“I’m in no way being critical, Thuty. I understand the limitations of distance and difficult passage.” Amonked gave the younger officers a satisfied smile. “I should. After all, I trod many miles through this land of Wawat along a desert trail unfit for any but the most hardy-man and beast alike.”
“Frankly, sir, you surprised us all.” Bak, pulling up a stool, tempered his words with a smile. “When first we saw you, we thought you’d never forsake your carrying chair.
Instead, you seldom used it, allowing Thaneny to ride in stead.”
“Thaneny.” Amonked’s demeanor grew sorrowful. “He, like Sennefer, wanted to see the world beyond Waset.
Should I feel glad I allowed him a few weeks of enjoyment, or should I regret for the rest of my life that I brought him along?”
Bak could think of no answer other than to point out that
Thaneny had been spared a lifetime of yearning for a woman who treated him with disdain. Still, was not the world a better place to dwell than the netherworld? He kept the thought to himself.
Nebwa, clearing toys from a low bench and drawing it forward, cut through the uncomfortable silence. “I, for one, would never have guessed you’d one day stand at my side, dagger in hand, holding off a contingent of thieving tribes men. You never once mentioned you knew how to use that or any other weapon-and with skill, too.”
The inspector patted his stomach. “I wasn’t always this plump, you know.”
“I wish you were returning to Waset with more to show for your effort,” Thuty said, frowning at Bak and Nebwa, clearly referring to the many men they had allowed to re turn to the desert and the escape of Hor-pen-Deshret.
Amonked raised a hand, halting the reproach. “I’ll shoulder the blame if blame is to be had. It won’t be the first time I’ve stood before our sovereign empty-handed, nor will it be the last.”
“I pray she doesn’t hold it against you when you rec ommend that our army continue to occupy the fortresses along the Belly of Stones. You will make that recommen dation, won’t you?” The commandant seemed never to hear often enough the reassura
nce he sought.
“With Hor-pen-Deshret free, I can do no less.” Amon ked’s eyes met Thuty’s with no hint of deceit.
Bak and Nebwa exchanged a conspiratorial glance.
Thuty noticed, gave them a thoughtful, rather suspicious look. He had the good sense to remain silent.
Bak stood with Nebwa and Seshu atop the towered gate that opened onto the central quay, an ideal vantage point from which to watch the departing flotilla. Thuty, standing on the quay with the priests of the lord Horus of Buhen and the same local princes who had welcomed the inspector so long ago, waved a farewell. Amonked, on the deck of his ship, returned the salute as his sailors stowed away the gangplank. Imsiba stood behind the official party at the head of the guard of honor Thuty had deemed appropriate for the departing official. The day was bright and clear, the breeze sporadic and changeable in direction. The air smelled clean and fresh, unaccountably free of dust.
The terraces at the base of the fortress wall were jammed with people, every soldier in the garrison jostling for space with the civilians who dwelt within and with many dozens of people from the nearby villages. Rumors abounded all along the Belly of Stones that the inspector would recom mend that the army remain. Amonked had boarded his ship amid cheers and whistles and clapping, an uproar of grat itude and good feeling.
“Amonked is a fine man,” Nebwa said. “It’s a pity he’s not in a position to inherit the throne.”
Bak watched the inspector’s ship swing slowly away from the quay. The song of the oarsmen and the beat of the accompanying drum carried across the water. “Some times an adviser who stands behind the throne, whispering in a ruler’s ear, has more power than the ruler herself.”
