Bak studied the armorer's face, searching for a lie. 'The neighbors haven't seen the boy since the night Puemre disappeared. I fear for his safety.'
Senmut's work-hardened hands fidgeted on the bowl.
'He's a tough little fellow, a born scavenger. He can get by where most others would starve.'
'Puemre was slain,' Bak said, spelling it out. 'The child might well have suffered a like fate.'
The armorer's voice turned gruff, despairing. 'Puernre was a son to me, and Ramose a son to him. I'll care for him as I will my daughter's unborn child.' Bak's last grim words must have sunk in then, for he shook his head and gave a pathetic imitation of a smile. 'The boy ran away, that's all. He came to my daughter yesterday morning to let her see he was alive and well. In the market, it was, soon after the fishermen brought in their catch.'
Bak's emotions leaped to surprise and delight, and gratitude to the lord Amon. Yet he was confused by Senmut's mixed signals, by so deep a despair. 'Your daughter cooked for Puemre and cleaned his house?'
Senmut wiped his nose with the back of his hand, sniffed. 'She cared for him, yes, and one day soon she'll care for his child.' His voice broke, and he covered his face with his hands. His shoulders trembled with silent sobs.
Puemre's child? Bak laid a kindly hand on his arm. 'I must speak with her, Senmut. Where can I find her?' Mutnefer, Bak guessed, was close to Aset in age, but there the resemblance ended. Where Woser's only daughter was delicate and lovely, Senmut's eldest child was graceless and plain. Where Aset was girlish and fanciful, Mutnefer was a woman heavy with child and the responsibility for her father's household, six children between the ages of two and twelve.
'Puemre loved me, and I him.' Mutnefer rested her hand on her unborn child, and her voice trembled. She wore a loose dress of ordinary linen, a single wristlet of bronze, and the merest touch of kohl on eyes red-rimmed from crying. 'He meant to take us with him when he went back to Kemet.'
Bak, seated on a stool in the roofless cooking area behind the three-room house, was touched by her faith in Puemre's promises. Hiding his compassion, he watched her drop a lump of well-kneaded dough into a round pottery baking dish, setting it in a mound of hot coals. She covered the dish with a conical lid. A naked two-year-old boy played in the shady doorway and a girl of eight or so bent over a stone mortar, pushing the grindstone back and forth, making coarse flour from grain. He- had seen two other small children, the oldest about five, playing on the roof under the sharp eye of a ten-year-old. The child next in age to Mutnefer, a boy of twelve or so, had gone to the river to fish. All who were old enough had to earn their bread in Senmut's household.
'Without your help, how did your father plan to care for so' large a brood?'
Her smile was as tremulous as her voice. 'They, too, were to go to Kemet: my father, my brothers and sisters. Puemre promised us a house on his father's estate, a parcel of land, and even a servant, a woman to care for the small ones. Instead of making weapons, my father would make tools for the men who worked the fields of the estate.'
A promise easily made, Bak thought, and equally easy to forget. 'What was to become of you? Were you to wed him or…?'
She laughed, incredulous. 'I have no noble blood! He loved me, yes, and he meant to take me into his household. I would've been his favorite for all time, he vowed, but his concubine, not his wife.'
Bak thought4 best to drop the subject before she guessed how skeptical he was. He did not want to hurt her. 'When did you last see Puemre?'
'The evening he disappeared.' Her voice dropped to an unhappy murmur. 'He walked me home before reporting to the commander's residence.'
'What did he say? Will you tell me of his mood? Was he happy or sad or angry, for example?'
Mutnefer retrieved a portable camp stool from the house. The legs were carved and painted to look like the delicate heads of river birds, the seat made of finely woven leather. Bak could imagine a piece of that quality in the commander's residence, not in this poor household.
She noticed his interest. 'Puemre saw the trouble I had getting off the ground once I sat down, so he brought this stool to ease my life.' Blinking back tears, she placed it in the shady strip next to the wall and sat down heavily.
He wondered what he would do if she had the baby then and there. The thought was unsettling-until he recalled seeing women on the roofs of several houses in the block.
'Puemre came home that day long before dusk. I always cooked his evening meal and ate with him and Ramose, then brought whatever was left back to my family.' She closed her eyes, swallowed. 'He picked me up and swung me around in a circle, so excited he spoke in riddles. He mentioned the king Amon-Psaro, the prince, revenge, and a great battle with the Kushites. He said our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut herself, would give him the gold of valor and more.'
Bak felt like hugging her. She had supplied the motive for Puemre's murder, far exceeding his expectations. Puemre had somehow discovered that Amon-Psaro was to be slain at the hands of an avenger. He should have shared the knowledge with someone in authority, but had kept the matter to himself so he alone could bask in glory. Now he was dead, silenced forever. His secrecy was unforgivable. Even if he mistrusted his fellow officers and his commander, he should have sent a message to Commandant Thuty.
Bak questioned Mutnefer further, but she could tell him nothing more. Puemre had babbled, filling in no details. If he had not opened his heart to her, Bak wondered, with whom had he talked? An image of the sketch on the pottery shard leaped into his thoughts. The mute child. Who better to confide in than one who could neither hear nor speak?
'Your father said Puemre's servant, the boy Ramose, came to you in the market yesterday.'
Mutnefer stared at her hands, her fingers entwined over her bulging stomach, her face bleak with worry.
'If he can name the man who slew Puemre, and I've reason to believe he can, he's in grave danger.' Bak leaned toward her, willing her to speak. 'I must find him, mistress, before the killer does.'
'I don't know where he is.' Her hands writhed. 'I can't talk to him. Puemre never taught me how. But I could tell how afraid he was.'
'Did you give him food?'
She bit her lip, nodded. 'What 1 could spare.'
'How much did he take from Puemre's house the night he ran off.'
'Not much. He's surely finished it by now.'
He's probably stealing to survive, Bak thought, and what better place than at the market. 'If you see him again, will you bring him to me?'
'If I can.' She swallowed hard, striving to be strong. 'He didn't trust anyone but Puemre, and now… Well, he came to me yesterday, but he ran off again.'
Bak rose to his feet, preparing to leave. The gritty whisper of the grindstone drew his eyes toward the thin, silent girl laboring over the mortar. He prayed to the lord Amon that no child of his would ever have to live so hard. 'My men and I have more rations than we can use this week. Will you accept a few items in return for what you've told me?'
The pleasucp he saw on her face was as great a reward as the information she had provided.
As he walked the narrow lane outside the house, another thought surfaced. If only one officer was stalking AmonPsaro, why were the others covering his tracks? Could the reason have something to do with a shared experience in the war against the Kushites twenty-seven years ago?
'Lieutenant!' It was Kasaya, running down the lane from the fortress. 'I've been looking everywhere for you, sir. Commander Woser and his officers have gone out to the slipway.' He stopped in front of Bak, his massive chest heaving. 'The barge of the lord Amon is approaching Iken, with Sergeant Imsiba, Troop Captain Nebwa, and half the garrison of Buhen.'
Bak broke into a smile, delighted at the news. 'It'll be wonderful to see a friendly face again and to speak for a change with officers who're straightforward and honest.'
Kasaya grinned. 'First you must speak with Commander Woser. He wants to see you right away.'
'No more bad news, I hope.'
'He didn't bless me with knowledge.'
Bak's laugh was short-lived. He recounted his interviews with Senmut and Mutnefer and told Kasaya to go find Pashenuro. They should take all the rations they could spare to Mutnefer, get her description of the mute boy, and goon to the market. The child, he felt sure, would turn up sooner or later and he wanted at least one of them
