Cruel Deceit lb-6

by Lauren Haney

  I. I always came out ahead in our dealings.”

  Bak allowed the steward a stingy smile. “Do you believe the charge true that someone in your household became em broiled in the affairs of the land of Hatti?”

  “I can’t imagine any of us-or anyone else, for that mat ter-trying to cause dissension in that wretched land. Their royalty and nobility make enough trouble for themselves.”

  Pahure’s expression turned scornful. “One would have to be completely witless to interfere in the politics of a nation where punishment by death is commonplace and where a man’s family and close friends more likely than not die with him.”

  Bak found Netermose on the roof of the original dwelling, seated in the shade of a sturdy pavilion. Bushy trees growing in pots formed a screen of sorts, partly concealing several small granaries and a far less elegant shelter containing a loom, grindstones, brazier, and water jars. Additional potted trees lined the edge of the roof facing the river. Reed mats covered the floor beneath the pavilion, and thick pillows had been strewn around for seating. The aide sat on one, study ing rows of columns on a long roll of papyrus. Four slick haired brindle puppies played around him.

  “I knew Maruwa well,” Netermose said, motioning Bak to a pillow. “When Pentu told us of his death… Well, suffice it to say, I felt as if I’d lost a friend.”

  Bak was not surprised by the admission. He had noticed the dismay on the aide’s face when the governor had broken the news.

  “I’m not much of a man of action, Lieutenant, but should you need help in snaring his slayer, I’ll do what I can.”

  “At the moment, I need nothing but information.” Bak was again struck by the man’s advanced age and wondered what had placed him at Pentu’s beck and call. “How long ago did you meet him?”

  “When first we went to Hattusa. He came for a travel pass.” Netermose rolled up the scroll, laid it beside the pil low on which he sat, and handed Bak a jar of beer. “When he learned I was reared on Pentu’s family’s country estate and that I sorely missed the company of animals, he invited me to go to his stable and look at the horses he meant to bring to

  Kemet. The invitation was open, so I went often. I saw him almost daily each time he came through Hattusa.”

  Netermose, then, had probably come from a long line of servants of Pentu’s family. He and the governor had un doubtedly played together as children, learned to read and write together as they grew to manhood, but always one the servant, the other the master. “He kept the horses in the cap ital and not at his home in Nesa?”

  A puppy whimpered, trying to escape from a more sturdy brother, who had caught its ear in his mouth and was tugging at it. Netermose gently separated the two. “Has no one told you how he handled his business?”

  “I assumed he collected horses from all over the land of

  Hatti and stabled them where he dwelt, where men he trusted could care for them while he went off to trade for others.”

  “He preferred to limit the distances the animals had to travel, so he kept four stables along the route between the capital and the Great Green Sea. Those horses he got from the north, he kept at Hattusa, those from farther south at

  Nesa. He had another stable midway between there and the port city of Ugarit, where he kept a fourth stable. As for men he could trust, his wife had four brothers. Each managed a stable, tending to the animals and assuring their safety.”

  A sensible arrangement, Bak thought. “Did you ever meet him after your return to Kemet?”

  “I’d hoped I would, but our paths took different direc tions. He knew we dwelt in Tjeny, and the cargo ships carry ing his horses had to have passed us by, but he never stopped.” Netermose scratched the head of one of the pup pies. “I guess he couldn’t convince the ship’s master to take the time.”

  “Or he believed he’d be unwelcome. After all, he was the man who brought word to Kemet that someone in Pentu’s household was causing trouble in the land of Hatti.”

  Looking unhappy, Netermose gave the puppy a gentle shove, pushing it toward its brothers, and folded his hands in his lap. “So Pentu told us when he learned of the reason for our recall.”

  “Did Maruwa ever hint that something was amiss?”

  “Would that he had!”

  “What would you have done?”

  “I’d have warned Pentu, of course.”

  A futile effort that would have been, Bak thought. “Who do you believe the traitor was?”

  “The tale was untrue, I’m convinced.”

  The resolute look on Netermose’s face told Bak that no less a being than the lord Amon himself would alter the aide’s conviction. Whether such certainty had come from deep within himself or had been born as a result of Pentu’s denials, he could not begin to guess.

  Having followed that path to its end, he asked a question he had neglected to ask Pahure. “Pentu, like all provincial governors, must share the bounties of the land with our sov ereign and divert a portion to the lord Amon. Products gath ered yearly from his own estate and the fields of all who dwell in the province. Does he also send to the sacred precinct a share of the excess items made by the women of his household and the craftsmen who live on his personal es tate? Luxury items, to be specific.”

  Netermose looked puzzled, as if unable to find the con nection between the governor’s obligation to the lord Amon and the murder of Maruwa. “We expect all who reside in the province to do so, so we can do no less.”

  “Have you ever had occasion to meet any of the priests and scribes responsible for storing such items?”

  “A senior priest comes each year to this house to thank

  Pentu for his generosity, and other men at times come with him, but I’ve taken no interest in their exact duties.”

  “I speak specifically of Woserhet, a senior scribe who toiled for the lord Amon, and of the young priest Meryamon, who dwelt and toiled in the sacred precinct.” Again he de scribed the two men.

  “They may’ve come at one time or another, but I’m not especially observant. To me, one man with a pious de meanor looks much like all the others.” Netermose flung

  Bak another perplexed look. “Why do you ask, sir?”

  Bak glanced up at the lord Re, whose solar barque had journeyed at least two-thirds of the way across the brilliant blue sky. He had become so involved in what was beginning to seem a futile exercise that he had missed the midday meal. “What of a Hittite trader named Zuwapi? Do you know him?”

  The aide frowned, further deepening the wrinkles on his brow and at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “I may’ve heard the name, but in what context I can’t say.”

  “While you dwelt in Hattusa, Pahure obtained items from him for the women of your household. Objects imported from Kemet, difficult to find in the land of Hatti.”

  Shrugging, Netermose pulled another puppy close and tickled its belly. “I knew he satisfied their needs for costly and what were, in Hattusa, rare items, but I’ve no memory of the man who supplied them.”

  “The political situation in the land of Hatti is always pre carious.” Sitepehu waved a small bee away from a bowl of plump purple grapes sitting on the low table beside him.

  “Kings come and go in regular succession, with fathers and brothers being murdered for the crown. Only the most adept in the art of survival cling to power.”

  “Not a pleasant nation in which to dwell,” Bak said.

  After convincing the cook to give him a loaf of bread and a bowl of cold mutton stew, he had sought out the priest.

  They had settled themselves beneath the portico atop the dwelling’s extension, thinking the breeze would make it the coolest place to be in the burning heat of midafternoon.

  “The land itself is most agreeable much of the year.” The priest smiled. “Oh, it’s not easy to accustom oneself to the cold season, especially when snow blankets the land, but the other seasons are most pleasant. The mountains are tall and impressive. The plain southeast of Hattusa goes on for
ever, far beyond the distant horizon and not a sand dune in sight. Water is plentiful, falling from the skies in sufficient quantity to make the land bountiful. Magnificent trees, glori ous flowers, people of kindness and good humor who strive mightily to survive cruel laws, harsh gods, and weak kings.”

  Breaking off a crust of bread, Bak dipped it in the stew, which tasted strongly of onions, celery, and pepper. “Your praises outweigh your criticisms, Sitepehu.”

  “I was sorry we had to leave.” The priest’s expression grew bleak. “I wanted very much to help those good-hearted and generous people, yet I could do nothing for them.”

  Bak eyed the priest with sudden interest, the well muscled body, the scar on his shoulder. A man who felt as he did might, with the best of intentions, have become involved in the politics of the land. “Were you surprised to learn of

  Pentu’s recall?”

  “I was dismayed when I was told we were to return to

  Kemet, shocked when I learned the reason, and mystified by the charge.”

  After licking the stew from his fingers, Bak reached for his beer jar. “You had no idea you dwelt side by side with someone who had more than a passing interest in the land of

  Hatti?”

  “None.” Sitepehu gave Bak a cynical smile. “If I dwelt there with a traitor, I do so to this day. Every man and woman who went with Pentu to Hattusa lives with him still.”

  “You included?” Bak asked, surprised.

  Sitepehu bowed his head in acknowledgment. “The lord

  Inheret is a modest god, with few properties to support him, none of which include a house, and my duties for him are not demanding. Pentu provides a place where I and my son-my wife died of a fever two years ago-can live in comfort, and in exchange I help with his accounts.”

  Bak nodded his understanding. While offerings flowed in vast quantities to the lord Amon and other major deities, the lesser gods were not so fortunate. Few of their priests were able to survive solely on the generosity of their followers.

  “Who among you would be the most likely to dabble in the politics of Hatti?”

  “I’ve asked myself that question time and time again. The present king, like those before him, occupies an unstable throne, but to side with anyone-the king or a contender would be foolhardy. Any of them could vanish overnight and another take his place.”

  Bak thanked the gods of the land of Kemet that he had not been born into the uncertain and dangerous world of the Hit tites. “Did you know the slain merchant, Maruwa?”

  “I knew of him.” Sitepehu absentmindedly rubbed the scar on his shoulder. “Netermose befriended him, so he al ways dealt with him, passing the necessary scrolls back and forth when need be.”

  A gust of warm air swept along the portico, carrying the scent of flowers. Fallen petals chased one another across the rooftop.

  Bak took a sip of beer, savored its slightly bitter taste.

  “Did you ever meet the trader Zuwapi? He exports items from Kemet and transports them to Hatti. The usual trade goods: pottery, rough linen, small tools, and so on. He also deals in luxury items such as aromatic oils and fine linen.”

  “He’d have to have come to me for a pass, allowing him to travel freely in Kemet, but the document is so routine I’d not remember. As for the items he exported from Kemet, they’d have been listed on the manifest of the ship on which he transported them, prepared and approved at the point of origin.”

  Vowing to take a look at Antef’s manifest, Bak fished around in the stew for a chunk of mutton. “As high priest of the lord Inheret, you must often have dealings with those who toil in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon.”

  “Not as often as you’d think.” Sitepehu smiled. “I pay my respects when I come to Waset, and Pentu provides food and a sleeping pallet on the rare occasions when a priest or scribe comes through Tjeny, but that’s about all.”

  “Do you recall any who stopped within the past few months?”

  “A ranking scribe stayed overnight five or six weeks ago.

  He had a document from Hapuseneb himself, demanding that I show him the records of the lord Inheret’s meager es tate. He asked also for a list of Pentu’s personal offerings to the lord Amon.”

  His interest quickening, Bak hastily swallowed a bite of meat. “His name was…?”

  “User? Woser? Woserhet. Yes, that was the name.”

  Bak felt like shouting for joy. At last he had come upon a man who had tied the auditor to… Well, not directly to

  Maruwa, but indirectly through Pentu’s household. “What was he looking for?”

  “He never said.” The priest must have noticed Bak’s growing excitement for he eyed him with open curiosity.

  “He seemed disappointed when he left, as if he’d been un able to find what he hoped to.”

  “Did Hapuseneb’s letter demand that you specifically show Woserhet your records, or was it more general, asking all to whom he spoke to open their files to him?”

  Sitepehu had no trouble remembering a request he obvi ously took as being of some note, which indeed it had been: a demand made by the chief priest himself. “My name was not upon it, nor was that of Pentu. Woserhet was far from being a garrulous man, but I gathered he’d traveled throughout the land, speaking with many priests and officials along the way.”

  “Did Pentu know of his visit?”

  “He wasn’t home at the time, though someone may’ve told him later.” The priest plucked a grape from the cluster.

  “A nobleman had come south from Mennufer to visit the tomb of the lord Osiris in Abedju. His rank was such that no less a man than the governor could accompany him.”

  “No, sir, you cannot speak with either mistress Taharet or mistress Meret.” The elderly servant looked sincerely regretful. “They left well before midday, saying they meant to call on a friend whom they seldom see. I believe they’ll be away for the remainder of the day.”

  Bak had hoped to question the two women before night fall. Still he felt a sense of relief at not having to speak with

  Meret. He wanted to believe her an intelligent woman who had looked upon him as a friend, a man who had shared a similar loss to hers, but he feared she might have misunder stood, thinking him more interested in her as a woman alone than he actually was.

  “Did you go to Hattusa with your master when he served as envoy to the Hittite kingdom?”

  “I did, sir.”

  “Then I must ask a few questions.”

  The lord Re had vanished beyond the western horizon when Bak finally left Pentu’s dwelling. Long shadows lay across the city, darkening the narrow streets and lanes.

  Torches lit up the court in front of the sacred precinct of Ipet resyt and the nearby stretch of the processional way, illumi nating the booths erected on the opening day of the Beautiful

  Feast of Opet. The crowd, colorful and ever-changing, was gathering for a night of entertainment, food, and drink. Men and women sauntered from booth to booth, from athletic to acrobatic performance, from tricksters in the magic arts to scribes writing letters to the dead, asking for good health or love or to place a curse on an enemy. Children and animals ran free. Laughter and shouting, music and singing, the bray ing of donkeys and barking of dogs filled the air with gaiety.

  Bak worked his way through the multitude, stopping briefly to watch one performance and another, looking at rich and exotic products few men could afford and the more common items made by and for the poor. He spotted several of his Medjays but stayed well clear, not wanting to inhibit their play.

  Reluctantly he left the crowd to walk north along the pro 162

  Lauren Haney cessional way, heading toward his men’s quarters. While he strode through ever deepening darkness, he mulled over his day. He had learned nothing from Pentu’s servants except that they had disliked Hattusa, had felt imprisoned within the massive stone walls that surrounded the city. As for the governor and his staff, no man looked more guilty than an other. If one had told him
a falsehood, he had been unable to detect the lie.

  Why would any of them-why would any resident of the land of Kemet, for that matter-wish to cause trouble in

  Hatti? To unseat the king seemed likely. But why? What would be the goal? Personal gain? Political gain? He was mystified.

  He regretted the need to return to Pentu’s dwelling, to speak with mistresses Taharet and Meret, but experience had taught him that he must not overlook the women of the household.

  He turned into the dark, narrow lane that would take him to his Medjays’ quarters. A nightbird whistled behind him.

  Ahead, three men staggered out of an intersecting lane, carrying a torch to light their way, singing loud, their voices raucous. Men besotted. As they drew near, he glanced to ei ther side, seeking a doorway so he could step out of their way. He wanted no confrontation with men too befuddled to think clearly.

  A stone rattled behind him. He glanced around, saw two men running toward him in the dark, each carrying a short, thick staff. He looked forward, muttered a curse. The three ahead had grown silent, their staggering gait had been thrown aside. They, too, carried weapons. One held a staff; his two mates carried scimitars.

  He remembered the nightbird, heard in a place where no trees grew. The sound had been a signal, letting the men in front know he was coming.

  The pack must have followed him from Ipet-resyt-or from Pentu’s dwelling. When he had entered the residential area, with its cramped lanes and building blocks that looked all alike, two had raced on ahead to block his way.

  He had walked into their trap.

  Chapter Eleven

  Snapping out a curse, Bak pivoted and raced back along the lane toward the two men who had come up behind him. The pair paused, confused by his sudden approach. His eyes darted along the windowless, doorless wall to his right, searching for a narrow passage he vaguely remembered see ing as he passed it by, a slice of black opening onto the gray black lane. An escape route, he prayed. He carried his baton of office and his dagger hung from his belt, but in the hands of a single individual, they would be no match against five armed men.