garrison, hated
Amon-Psaro enough to wish him dead stretched credibility. The fact that they all were assigned to the garrison at Iken when Amon-Psaro decided to come to Iken was a joke played by whimsical gods, not an occurrence planned in an organized plot. The idea that they all would risk a war to settle a personal grudge was as totally implausible. If he could get the truth from Woser, maybe once and for all he could settle the matter.
Chapter Fourteen
Bak walked along the water's edge, staying close to the trees, blending as much as possible into the long shadows of first light. Should Woser learn of this meeting, he would not thank Meret for speaking of his private affairs, especially with the police officer whose efforts he had done all he could to obstruct. She would no doubt be beaten, and Bak did not want that on his conscience.
The morning was soft and gentle, the land not yet heated by the lord Re. The air was sweet, the sky a clear, vibrant blue. The trees were alive with birdsong, too loud to hear the leaves rustling in the breeze or the murmur of the rapids, whose voice was softened by distance.
Kasaya stepped out of the trees twenty or so paces ahead and waded into the river. He cavorted in the water as if born to the lord Hapi, diving, rolling, leaping, letting the current carry him downriver, battling the flow to return upstream. He was showing off to the woman, Bak guessed, flaunting his youthful vigor, his large well-formed body, his good spirits.
As Bak approached the spot where the Medjay had entered the water, he paused. Ahead, the row of trees curved away from the river's edge and back again, forming a sandy half circle dotted with weathered boulders and bushes growing from patches of rich black soil. A backwater during the height of the flood, he guessed, but now an ideal place for the local women to do their laundry. Sheets so white they burned his eyes were already draped over several boulders and bushes, drying in the sun.
A thin-faced woman of about seventeen years knelt at the edge of the water, looking often at Kasaya, laughing with delight at his performance, while she scrubbed a winestained dress with a whitish substance Bak assumed was natron. Her long white shift was hiked up to her thighs, revealing legs as slender and muscular as her bare arms. Her hair was pulled back and hidden inside a bag-like protective cloth. Sweat poured from her brow and stained the back and underarms of her dress.
Bak scuffed his sandal, alerting her to his approach. She glanced his way and flushed, then scrambled to her feet, clutching the dress to her bosom, and attempted an awkward bow.
Suspecting Kasaya had exaggerated his importance, Bak waved off the formality. 'Go on with your task, mistress Meret.' He knelt at the edge of the trees, letting her know he respected her wish for secrecy. 'Kasaya has told me you're willing to speak of Commander Woser's household.'
She nodded, tongue-tied by shyness-or maybe shame at what she was about to do.
To one will know you've talked to me, that I promise.' 'Kasaya says you're a man who keeps your word,' she murmured, dropping to her knees, bending over the stained dress. 'Ask what you will.'
Since Meret had been given the lowly task of washing linen, he guessed she was one of the lesser servants, helping in the kitchen, making beds, and dusting and sweeping in addition to doing laundry. In a frontier fortress, however, where households were small and informal, she would also sometimes help Aset with her toilet. And she would certainly gossip with the other servants.
'How did mistress Aset behave with Lieutenant Puemre? Did she act as if she cared for him?'
'The mistress is a child.' Meret's smile was tender, forgiving of Aset's faults. 'Her mother died when she was very young, a babe. If her father had taken another wife, she'd have learned to be a woman. Instead, he's always given her all she desires and shelters her from care and worry. She plays with his affections, and because she knows no better way, she flirts with all men, hoping to bring them to their knees as she does her father. Lieutenant Puemre was no different than the rest.'
She stopped abruptly, the color spreading across her face, evidently realizing her tongue had been running away from her.
A long speech for a shy woman, Bak thought, and a strange one. Two women close to each other in age, one a household drudge, the other her pampered mistress. An ideal nest for jealousy, yet the one with nothing plainly adored the one who had everything. Kasaya must have bewitched her to get her to speak.
'What of Lieutenant Nebseny?' Bak glimpsed the Medjay leaving the water to settle down at the base of a tree, where he could watch the path from the fortress and also eavesdrop. 'From what I've seen of him, he appears to be her slave, though a reluctant one.'
'They're betrothed.'
Bak whistled his surprise. 'I'd not heard a word. Why does no one speak of it?'
'She refuses to wed.' Noting Bak's raised eyebrow, Meret hastened to her mistress's defense. 'She has no desire to hurt the lieutenant; she looks upon him with fondness. But she wishes above all else to live in Kemet, while he likes serving on the frontier. She fears they'll not be happy.,
Bak snorted, incredulous. 'Woser lets her play that game?'
'Not willingly,' Meret admitted, sprinkling more natron on the fabric and scrubbing the stain between her knuckles. 'The betrothal was his wish. He and the lieutenant are as close as father and son.' A thought struck her, and she smiled. 'That's why Aset flirted so shamefully with Lieutenant Puemre. She thought it amusing to defy her father while at the same time she teased her betrothed.'
Not tease, Bak thought, manipulate. Or, more likely, she cared not a grain of sand for what either man thought. She wanted only to wed a nobleman and live a life of wealth and ease on a great estate in Kemet. 'How did Puemre respond to her?'
'He flirted, but at a distance.' Her expression clouded. 'Those of us who serve in the commander's residence knew of the woman he had, the armorer Senmut's daughter. We tried to warn Aset, but…' Again the tender, forgiving smile. 'She's always been certain of her own charms.' 'Did your mistress win him at last?'
Meret lifted her eyes to Bak's. 'I don't know.'
The look she gave him was open and direct, free of guile or shyness. The false look of a liar, he felt sure. 'I'm not asking if she won a vow of marriage, Meret. If she had, she'd have shouted her victory to all the world. I want to know…' He paused, giving his words greater emphasis. 'I must know if she lay in his arms, letting him fill her belly with child.'
'No!' Her eyes widened, dismay replacing the mock innocence.
'That's what the men are saying in the barracks.' 'Maybe that's why…' She clapped her hand to her mouth. 'No, it's not true!'
He saw he had touched a raw spot. 'The common soldiers, the traders, others as well, say she's with child, and Puemre wag'the father.'
'He never touched her! She teased, that's all. I should know; I wash her sheets and clothing.' Her face reddened at the oblique reference to her mistress's monthly cycle. She lowered her eyes and murmured, 'Why must you men always believe the worst?'
Bak stared, his thoughts jolted by her words. True, he had been assuming the worst, but not the way she meant. He had been thinking of Woser's lack of cooperation, and Nebseny's, in terms of a plot against Amon-Psaro. Now this lowly servant had unwittingly reminded him that the obvious explanation was ofttimes the real one, something closer to home and more personal.
He stood up, strode to her, and caught her by the shoulders, lifting her to her feet. 'Listen to me, Meret! You must be open and honest with me. If you aren't, many men may die, men innocent of wrongdoing.'
She stared, her eyes huge, frightened.
He shook her none too gently, forcing a nod from her. 'Tell me how Woser and Aset and Nebseny behave when they're all in one room.' He could see she didn't understand. 'Do they tread lightly around each other? Do they each seem to have a guilty secret, but look with suspicion at the other two?'
'How did you guess?' she whispered, overcome by awe.
He planted a big kiss on her sweat-salty forehead and released her. 'Kasaya,' he called, striding toward the treeS and the path that led back to Iken, 'take good care of this woman. Unless I'm sadly mistaken, she's halved
