by Lauren Haney
“He would have.” Rather than taking into her mouth the morsel of sweetcake she held, she dropped her hand to her lap as if she had lost her taste for the delicacy. “They were his responsibility. He’d have stayed with them until they were safely delivered to the royal stables.”
“You didn’t see him at all that day?”
“No, sir.” The words caught in her throat; she paused, re gaining control. “I never knew exactly when to expect him.
Sometimes upon his arrival he’d summon me, but not often.
He preferred that I wait here in the comfort of our home rather than wander around the market while he cared for the horses. If only…” She bit her lip, cutting short whatever she had intended to say, acknowledging the futility of regrets.
Bak took a sweetcake, more for politeness sake than be cause he wanted it. “Did he ever speak to you of a scribe named Woserhet or a priest named Meryamon? Both men toiled in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon.”
“I don’t remember those names.” Irenena frowned at the cake crumbled in her hand. “He was not of a religious na ture, and he was certainly not interested in our gods. On the rare occasion when he felt the need for prayer, he spoke to the gods of his own land.”
“Did he mention a man named Pentu? He served our sov ereign as an envoy in Hattusa.”
“Pentu.” She threw the crumbs onto the open rooftop.
Several sparrows darted from the date palms to the low para pet, then hopped down for the treat. “I’ve no memory of the name.”
“He was and is now governor of Tjeny.”
Her eyes widened with surprise. “How could I have for gotten? Yes, Maruwa did speak of him. He said the man had a viper within his household.”
Bak could barely believe his good luck. “When was this?”
“During his last visit to Kemet seven or eight months ago.”
“Did he explain himself?”
“No. I thought the words curious and pressed for details, but he said…” Suddenly her hand shot to her mouth and she looked stricken. “Oh, my!”
He leaned forward, laid his hand on her wrist. “What is it, mistress Irenena? What’s the matter?”
“He said he thought he knew the name, but wanted to make doubly sure before passing it on to Commander Min nakht when next he came to Waset. Why did I not insist he do so at that time? Why?”
Bak regretted the storm of tears that followed and prayed the release would be as valuable to her as was the informa tion she had given him. The odds were good that Maruwa had verified the name and had planned to give it to the sta blemaster the day he was slain.
Bak walked back to his men’s quarters along rapidly dark ening lanes filled with merrymakers. He had not been able to console Irenena, but had managed to convince her that she was in no way responsible for Maruwa’s death. The decision to remain mute had been his alone.
Besides, Bak was not convinced the so-called viper had slain the merchant. Maruwa had been in Waset for less than two hours when his life was taken. How would that vile creature have learned of his knowledge in so short a time?
True, Pentu’s traveling ship had reached the harbor not long before the cargo ship, but even if Maruwa had bumped into the man, he would not have been so foolish as to reveal what he knew.
Another thought nagged. What could stirring up trouble in the land of Hatti possibly have to do with the storehouses of Amon? Had he erred in thinking the three deaths were re lated? If someone was stealing from the god and smuggling the items to a foreign land, as he suspected, would it not be wiser for that individual to do nothing that might attract offi cial attention?
Bak stumbled over a mallet someone had left in the lane.
Cursing himself for not watching his step, he walked on.
Again his thoughts wandered. The hours he had spent in the foreign quarter, the many men and women he had walked among and talked to, some of them Hittites, had brought back memories of the one woman among many that he had never forgotten. A Hittite woman. He could see her smile, hear her voice, feel her courage and strength of will. No one had ever taken her place. No one ever would.
Had he been unfair to Meret, Pentu’s wife’s sister? Had he inadvertently led her to believe a relationship might develop between them?
Chapter Ten
“I’ve just come from the vizier.” Amonked glanced around the courtyard, empty so early in the morning except for Bak and a couple of sleepy-eyed Medjays seated at the cold hearth, eat ing pigeon left over from the previous evening’s meal and dunking hard bread into milk. Hori’s dog was standing over a bowl of water, lapping loud and fast. The majority of Bak’s men were sleeping off another night of merrymaking.
“I convinced him Maruwa’s death and those in the sacred precinct might well have been committed by the same man.”
Amonked pulled close a low stool and sat down. “When I told him one of the trails you’ve been following has led you to Pentu, he agreed that you must now look at the members of the governor’s household.”
Bak stifled a yawn. Unable to further his investigation af ter speaking with Irenena, he had taken advantage of the un expected but welcome freedom from duty to go with Psuro in search of a good time. They had found what they sought.
Amonked had not quite caught him on his sleeping pallet, but had come close. “Am I to actively search for the man who brought about Pentu’s recall or can I only look for a po tential slayer among them?”
A hint of a smile touched Amonked’s lips. “Discovery of the traitor would be an added bonus, so the vizier said.”
Bak frowned. “He gave no definite instructions to seek the snake?”
“He merely inferred, but I see no need to burden Pentu with that small bit of information.”
“Nothing was ever proven.” Pentu ran his fingers through his thick white hair, betraying his distress. “I felt cruelly used and still do. To accuse a man in such a way, to tear him from a task he knows he’s doing well… It was uncon scionable. Utterly unconscionable.”
Amonked exchanged a quick glance with Bak, who stood in a thin rectangle of early morning sunlight, facing the dais on which the Storekeeper of Amon had been invited to sit with the governor of Tjeny. “You yourself were not accused, surely.”
“Not as such, no. But to lay blame on anyone in my household is to blacken my good name.”
Letting pass a statement so clearly true, Amonked scooted his armchair half around so he could see Pentu without al ways turning his head. The dais occupied the end of the re ception hall, the room Bak had seen four days before bright with laughter, good food and drink, and beaming guests. A servant had placed a camp stool in front of the dais for his use, but he had opted to stand rather than lower himself to the level of the two noblemen’s knees.
“What were you told when you were recalled?” Amonked asked.
“No reason was offered.” Bitterness crept into Pentu’s voice. “Not until I reported to the royal house was I given an explanation. And then a poor one.”
Amonked’s tone turned hard, brutal almost. “Someone in your household had taken an active interest in the poli tics of Hatti. Was that not sufficient reason to withdraw you?”
A stubborn look came over the governor’s face. “I refuse to believe any man close to me guilty of so foul a deed.”
“Word was brought to our sovereign in an unofficial man ner, carried by the Hittite merchant Maruwa. Later, after you were withdrawn, your successor verified the accusation at the highest levels of power in Hattusa.”
Pentu’s mouth tightened, sealing inside a rebuttal.
“Forgive me, sir,” Bak said, “but did you ever seek the truth? Did you question those who accompanied you to the
Hittite capital?”
“I spoke with them, yes. Each and every one denied his guilt.”
“You believed them.”
“They are honorable men, Lieutenant.”
Bak wondered at the governor’s apparent blindness. Was he r
eally so trusting? Or did he know they were innocent be cause he was the man who had dipped a finger into Hatti’s politics? Amonked appeared to take for granted Pentu’s in nocence, but perhaps he erred.
“Exactly who accompanied you?” Amonked asked, for
Bak’s benefit rather than his own, Bak suspected.
The governor spoke with reluctance, though he must have known the names were readily available to all who chose to inquire. “My aide Netermose. My steward Pahure.
My friend Sitepehu, who served at the time as my chief scribe.”
A fat black dog carrying a bone in its mouth waddled around the nearest brightly painted pillar. It scrambled onto the camp stool and settled down to gnaw its prize. The dubi ous treat smelled as strong as the animal did, overwhelming the stringent scent emanating from a huge bowl of flowers beside the dais.
“Your wife accompanied you, did she not?” Bak asked.
Pentu released a long, annoyed sigh. “As did her sister
Meret. Also with us were a dozen or so servants, men and women important to our comfort while we dwelt in that land of strange customs and abominable food.” His head swiveled around and he gave Amonked a long, hard look.
“What’s this all about? Why bring up a subject long dead and most distasteful to me?”
Amonked rose from his chair and stepped off the dais. Ig noring the dog, he stood beside Bak, lending the weight of his authority to the younger man. “Maruwa has been slain.”
Pentu expelled a humorless laugh. “Have you come to ask that I mourn him, Amonked?”
“Some months before his death, while preparing to travel to Hattusa, he told a friend he expected to bring back to
Waset the name of the traitor in your household. Upon his return, he had not yet set foot on the good black earth of this city when he was slain. I think it unlikely that the two events are unconnected. The vizier agrees and has ordered Lieu tenant Bak to investigate the charge that brought about your recall, beginning with the members of your household.”
“Is the identity of the traitor-if one ever existed-now so important? A matter thought at the time to be worth dismiss ing?”
“That individual’s interference in the politics of Hatti was perceived as posing a threat to the king and might well have caused a breach between him and our sovereign. A serious matter should he have decided to march south and attack our allies, thereby bringing about a war.”
“Nothing of the sort happened.”
“Solely because the Hittite king, being a reasonable man, chose not to suspect Maatkare Hatshepsut of being a party to the problem and passed the word along informally, and be cause she acted without delay.”
Amonked glared at Pentu, daring him to rebut the charge.
The governor remained mute.
“Lieutenant Bak is to report directly to me and I to the vizier.” The implication was clear: the matter had the atten tion of the second most powerful individual in the land, and
Pentu had no choice but to cooperate, to treat Bak with the same deference he would show Amonked.
The governor slumped back in his chair, scowled at Bak.
“What do you wish, Lieutenant?”
“I wish to speak to the members of your household, first to Netermose, Pahure, and Sitepehu, each man alone. Before
I see them, you must tell them of my purpose and urge their cooperation.”
Bak watched the servant slip through the doorway to go in search of the three men who had accompanied Pentu to Hat tusa. Amonked had previously taken his leave. “Did you know Maruwa, sir?”
Pentu’s expression darkened at the very mention of the trader’s name. “I’d never heard of him until I learned, upon reporting back to Waset, that he’d carried the message that brought about my recall.”
“Did he never come to you in Hattusa? Was he not re quired to obtain from you, as envoy to the land of Hatti, a pass each time he wished to travel within the land of
Kemet?”
“Sitepehu dealt with such routine matters.”
Bak had no reason to doubt the governor, or to believe him, either. “Do you have many dealings with the priests and scribes who toil in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
“On the rare occasions when I come to Waset, I usually meet the chief priest and a few acolytes at various social oc casions. Not during the Beautiful Feast of Opet, when they’re fully occupied, but at other times throughout the year.” Pentu eyed Bak, visibly puzzled. “What does my so cial life have to do with the death of that wretched Hittite merchant?”
“Have you ever met the scribe Woserhet or the priest
Meryamon?”
“Aren’t they the two men who were slain in the sacred precinct?”
Bak was not surprised the governor had heard of the mur ders. Word of one death in the sacred precinct would not have gone unnoticed. News of a second killing would have spread throughout Waset at the speed of a falcon diving to earth to catch a rodent.
Pentu glared at Bak. “Why would I know them? Do you think I’m acquainted with every man who’s been slain in this city since we disembarked from our ship at the harbor?”
“This terrace should offer ample privacy, sir.”
Pahure, looking very much the efficient functionary, stepped through the doorway. He led Bak along a portico that shaded the roof of a narrow two-story extension added sometime in the past to the north side of the three-story dwelling. The outer edge of the shelter, lined with small pot ted trees and flowering plants, was a riot of color. Bees buzzed around blossoms whose sweet fragrance perfumed the air. A very young female servant hurried after them, carrying a basket containing several jars of beer and a lumpy package wrapped in clean white linen.
Bak dropped onto one of several low stools scattered along the portico and the steward sat beside him. The girl drew close a small table, deposited the basket on it, and spread wide the linen to reveal small, round loaves of bread so fresh out of the oven they smelled of yeast.
“You understand my purpose,” Bak said after the servant departed.
“Pentu left no doubt.”
Bak helped himself to a warm loaf, which had bits of date erupting through its golden crust. “Did you know the mer chant Maruwa?”
Pahure shrugged. “I may have met him, but if so I don’t recall.” He broke the plug from a jar and handed the brew to
Bak. His demeanor was serious, reflecting the gravity of the question. “You must understand, sir. I met a multitude of people during the course of my duties in Hattusa. As several years have passed since our return, I’ve forgotten many, es pecially those individuals I met in passing.” He took a bite of bread and washed it down with a sizable drink. “Also, Site pehu handled official affairs, while my tasks were related solely to household matters. I normally dealt with local mer 152
Lauren Haney chants, obtaining food, clothing, furniture, everything re quired for our day-to-day living.”
Bak studied the man seated before him. Pahure’s shoul ders were broad and muscular, giving an impression of strength that contrasted with his gently rounded stomach.
His manner was pleasant, ever so slightly subservient, yet
Sitepehu had once inferred that the steward was a man who usually got what he wanted. Certainly the latter trait would be useful to one who had attained the lofty position of stew ard to a provincial governor or envoy.
“Let me describe Maruwa,” Bak said, and he did so.
Pahure looked down his substantial nose at the officer. “I saw many such men while in Hatti, sir.”
Bak ignored what he assumed was a subtle attempt to put him in his place, an unexpected fracture in the steward’s fa cade of respect and deference. “Do you spend much time in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
A wry smile flitted across Pahure’s face. “I can’t remem ber when last I was inside its walls. I seldom come to this city and when I do, I’ve other, more pressing business.”
“Have you ever met a scribe
named Woserhet or a young priest, Meryamon?”
“Aren’t they the men who were slain in the sacred precinct?”
Bak described them as best he could, asked again, “Have you ever met them, Pahure?”
“I’ve met many such men, Lieutenant. They come through Tjeny, pay their respects to Pentu and Sitepehu, sometimes even stay the night. I seldom can tell one from another and never can recall their names.”
Doggedly Bak pressed on, asking another question for which he expected to receive an equally unsatisfactory an swer. “Did you ever meet a Hittite trader named Zuwapi?”
“Zuwapi?” Pahure drew the basket close, sorted through the loaves of bread, finally selected one with sesame seeds dotting the crust. “One would think I’d recall a name that rolls so harshly off the tongue.”
Was that a yes or a no? Bak wondered. “Among other things, he deals in luxury items: fine linen, bronze vessels, aromatic oils. Goods exported from Kemet for trade in northern lands. Objects one would sorely miss when dwelling in a strange and distant city.”
“Ah, yes,” the steward smiled. “Small items for the ladies.
I several times purchased from him linens and perfumes for mistresses Taharet and Meret. Items not easy to find in Hat tusa. He was a godsend, I tell you.”
Gratified at having finally received an answer, and a posi tive one at that, Bak asked, “Can you describe him?”
Pahure seemed surprised by the question. “He’s very ordi nary, very much a Hittite.”
“Is he tall or short?” Bak asked, trying not to show his ir ritation with so vague a response. “Does he have any special features that would make him stand out from all other men?”
“None that I remember.”
Bak felt like a man trying to knock a hole in granite with a wedge of cheese. “Did anything happen when you dealt with him, or have you heard anything about him, that might lead you to believe he’s less than honest?”
“He was a sharp trader, one who demanded full value and more.” Pahure’s laugh exuded self-satisfaction. “But so am
