A gangly young man burst through the door, his hand on his dagger, his face an angry scarlet. He stopped short. His eyes darted from Aset to Bak and back again. Confusion supplanted anger.
'Nebseny!' The girl's face paled; she sprang to her feet. 'What brought you here?' If her show of surprise was an act, it was a good one.
'Your father sent me. He told me he thought this man…' Nebseny glanced at Bak, far more than an arm's length from the girl, and took in her dress. 'What're you doing in this house?' he demanded of her, 'and in so revealing a gown!'
'What I do is none of your business,' she snapped. Without a word, he grabbed her arm and shoved her out of the courtyard and into the house. Scooping up the folded robe, he humN after her.
Bak followed as far as the front door. As they disappeared from sight at the end of the lane, he let out a long, relieved breath. Thanks to the lord Amon, a great deal of luck, and a healthy suspicion, he had missed entrapment by a hair. He walked back to the courtyard and dropped onto the bench, not sure who had been doing what to whom.
Had Woser thought up the game? Or Aset? The young man Nebseny had seemed genuinely angry, but appearances could be deceiving.
He glanced at the meat, so brown and fragrant it was worthy of the lord Amon. The wine, too, was special. Yet he did not enjoy eating and drinking alone. He cocked an ear, heard children playing on the rooftops. One of the boys would surely be willing to carry a message to Pashenuro and Kasaya at the commander's residence.
Chapter Seven
'You understand what you must do,' Bak said, looking first at Pashenuro and then Kasaya.
Pashenuro slipped the loop of his leather sheath onto his belt and retied the strip of linen. 'I'm to follow Lieutenant Puemre's company onto the practice field-or to whatever task they have today-and I'm to speak with the sergeant, Minnakht, working my way into his confidence. With luck, and if the lord Amon smiles on me, he'll not only talk with an open and honest tongue, but he'll encourage his men to tell me what they can.'
Bak fastened the clasp of his wide multicolored bead bracelet, tugged at the hem of his kilt to smooth it over his hips, and sat down on the sleeping platform, converted now to a bench cluttered with his neatly folded sleeping pallet, his sandals, Kasaya's shield, and a basket of bread so fresh it perfumed the room. The few other furnishings were the Medjays' sleeping pallets on the floor, two folding camp stools, and a basket of nonperishable provisions. A smaller basket containing writing implements and a few scrolls sat near the doorway to the second, empty room.
'Your purpose?' he asked Pashenuro.
'I'm to learn what I can about the dead man and…' The thick-bodied Medjay slid his dagger into the sheath, adjusted the weapon for greater comfort, and picked up his shield and spear, lying along the base of the wall. 'Using all the guile I possess, I'm to learn what I can about the other officers without anyone guessing my purpose. Especially how they and Lieutenant Puemre worked and played together, whether friendly or as foes.'
Bak grinned unexpectedly. 'That should keep you busy through much of the morning.'
'Much of the week, I'd guess.' Pashenuro laughed. Bak sobered, his eyes darted toward the younger man. 'What have you to do, Kasaya?'
The hulking Medjay, sitting cross-legged on his sleeping pallet, poured a dollop of oil into his hand and spread it over his arms and torso. 'I'm to start with Lieutenant Puemre's neighbors, teaming what they know of him and of the people he knew and the places he went. Of the people they name, I'm to go only to the civilians who knew him outside the garrison.'
'I'll be talking to the men in the barracks,' Pashenuro reminded him.
Kasaya frowned at the unnecessary offering. 'If I find the mute child, I'm to bring him back here and guard him with my life. The same is true of the craftsman who drowns himself in beer. As for the scarred man, once I learn where he lives and toils, I'm to stay far away, letting him think he's safe from your questions.'
'What of the woman heavy with child?' Pashenuro asked. 'The one who cared for the dead man's house.' Bak slipped a foot into a sandal, his thoughts turning to the sketch he had found in the mute boy's bed. He had been convinced of a plot when he found it, but in the light of a new day, the idea seemed ridiculous. Why would any man of Kemet want to slay Amon-Psaro? He was a powerful king, yes, but he ruled a distant land. A land so far away, it seemed more mythical than real.
Still, a tiny suspicion lurked, an irritant like a minute grain of sand lodged in the corner of an eye. 'If she cleaned the house for him and the boy, she also washed their sheets and made their beds. I should talk to her myself.'
'Amon-Psaro's courier passed through on his way to Buhen soon after nightfall last night,' Woser said. 'He came again at daybreak, carrying Commandant Thuty's answer and instructions for me as well.'
'The king's entourage is within a few hour's march of Semna!' Bak slumped onto the nearest stool, one of several scattered around the courtyard. 'I don't want to believe it!'
'They'll march through its gate before dark. There they'll remain, awaiting the lord Amon.'
'The young prince must've taken a turn for the worse.' Woser strode across. the courtyard, pivoted, and strode back. Worry clouded his face. 'The long journey and the heat of the desert at this time of year would be a strain on anyone. For a frail and ailing child…' He shook his head, the wrinkles on his brow deepened. 'I pray Amon-Psaro understands that the lord Amon can sometimes be whimsical in his cures.'
I pray Kenamon's skills as a physician are worthy of the challenge, Bak thought, sharing the commander's concern. 'The god's barge must already have left Buhen,' Woser said, taking another turn across the court, narrowly missing a basket of white thread wound into balls. The container stood at the foot of a loom on which a length of finely woven linen was stretched. 'The vessel should reach the gates of Iken by dusk tomorrow. The lord Amon will spend but a single night here in the mansion of Hathor before journeying on, 'directly to Semna.'
'He won't linger at the other garrisons along the Belly of Stones, visiting the gods as originally planned?' Bak whistled softly. 'For time to be so critical, the prince's life must truly be threatened.'
'The boy can't breathe in the life-giving air, so the courier told me. Each day that passes seems his last.'
The two officers looked at each other, awed by a course of events they were helpless to alter, their mutual mistrust momentarily forgotten.
Woser was the first to turn to more practical matters, to tasks he could control. 'All our plans for the lord Amon must be revised. The procession when he arrives will go on, but the presentation of gifts, the distribution of food and drink, the merrymaking, must be curtailed. We must assign additional sentries without delay and send more troops to patrol the desert track. We must…' He went on, listing the many and varied tasks that had to be done, squeezing four days' work into half the time.
Bak let his thoughts stray to his own pressing needs. If he was to take his place at the head of his men while they served as Amon-Psaro's guard of honor, he had only two days to lay hands on Puemre's slayer. An impossible task unless the witnesses, the mute boy and the besotted man, were found. As for the sketch, he prayed the child could somehow explain it away.
A new thought came to him. Perhaps Puemre had for some unimaginable reason taken a dislike to Amon- Psaro. Maybe he had made the sketch, hoping to bring misfortune to the Kushite king by means of sympathetic magic. If so, it had worked; the prince's health was failing daily. But what if I'm wrong? Bak wondered; what if there is a plot afoot? Tiny fingers of fear ran up his spine. Amon-Psaro would soon be encamped at Semna, a bare day's hurried walk from Iken. Too close by far.
'I must quickly get on with the task Commandant Thuty assigned me,' he said. 'Are your officers here, as promised?'
Woser scowled, the moment of mutual regard lost. 'I trust you understand how much they have to do in too short a time.'
'I'll not keep any of them long,' Bak assured him.
Troop Captain Huy leaned over a broken section of battlement and eyed the rooftops of the lower city. Bak stood beside him, high above the escarpment on a partially fallen spur wall that projected from the eastern face of the fortress. In the distant past, the spur had served a purpose. Now, with the armies of Kush long ago defeated
