movement caught his eye, the sound of laughter reached his ear. The stubby prow of a boat nosed its way around the island to the north, a cargo vessel making its ponderous way upstream from they fortress. He shot to his feet to stand atop the boulder, waving his arms to attract attention.
Bak knelt beside Huy, sitting cross-legged in the prow of the cargo ship, sipping from a cup filled with a heady brew of beer sweetened and strengthened with dates. The breeze had died soon after they rounded the long island and the crew had taken up the oars. An aging sailor sang an old river song, beating out the rhythm on a large overturned pottery bowl, setting the tempo for the rowers. The river was smooth and still, a sheet of copper blended with gold, reflecting the evening sky. Birdsong rose from the trees along the water's edge. Traces of smoke drifted from the city, teasing the nostrils, hinting of food and drink. A falcon soared overhead, alone and lordly in his heavenly kingdom.
Other than the sailors and their two unexpected passengers, the vessel was empty and riding high on the water. The cargo of food and materials had been unloaded at the island fortress; the men ferried across to work there would remain overnight. Bak, his spirits restored by a jar of the ordinary beer more suited to his taste than the sweeter brew, had been watching Huy since their rescue. From the older officer's troubled expression, he guessed the time had come to press him further.
'Have you thought yet of any reason why Senu or Inyotef would wish Amon-Psaro dead?'
Huy started, torn from his reverie. 'I don't think… No! I can't help you.'
'You've thought of something, sir, something that troubles you. Your expression betrays you.'
Huy stared at the bowl, cracked and worn from use. 'I call both of them my friends, Lieutenant.'
'Did you not in the distant past call Amon-Psaro your friend?' Bak's voice was gentle, but firm. 'Did he not once save your life?'
'As you did today.' Huy rose to his feet and walked to the rail, where he looked out across the water at the distant city, lying in the shadow of the escarpment, and the massive fortress towering above, its white walls gleaming in the last rays of sunlight. Much of the pallor had gone from his face, but his eyes were deep-sunk, the flesh below them darkened by exhaustion. 'Senu's wife is a woman from far to the south. He took her as his own many years ago when first he traveled to Kush. He cares for her above all others, and she cares as much for him. She's given him many children.' A smile touched his lips. 'How Senu keeps his sanity in so chaotic a household, I'll never understand.'
Bak, who had expected some momentous disclosure, was puzzled. 'From what I've seen since I came to Wawat, men who take wives from the south aren't uncommon, especially the traders, but some soldiers as well.'
'This woman,' Huy said in a voice made ponderous by reluctance, 'is a member of the royal family of a Kushite king, Amon-Psaro.'
Bak stiffened. 'No wonder you hesitated to tell me.' 'Such a position is often precarious and can sometimes be downright dangerous,' Huy pointed out, 'but I was told by one who should know that she's too far down the line of inheritance to be a threat to the throne. Nor would she feel menaced by Amon-Psaro's arrival here in Iken.' 'Who was your informant?' Bak asked, barely able to contain his excitement. 'Can I speak with him?'
'He was long ago laid to rest in his tomb.' Huy must have known the man well, for a sadness clouded his face. 'Many years before his death he was an envoy of Akheperenre Tuthmose, our present sovereign's deceased husband. Senu accompanied him upriver more than once to the courts of the various tribal kings.'
Bak tamped down his excitement, cautioning himself to jump to no conclusions. Huy was right about a woman of royal blood. Unless she was a daughter or sister or one of more distant parentage who attracted the favor of the king, she would be one among many, a ewe in a herd of ewes to be handed ever to the most tempting bidder. Yet what if Senu had stolen away a royal favorite? Unlikely, but as plausible as any other theory Bak could conceive. He must speak with Senu or the woman as soon as possible.
Vowing to hurry straight from the harbor to Senu's house, he asked, 'Have you any…?' His voice was lost in a flourish of drumbeats as they neared the quay. 'Have you any idea how well Senu knew Amon-Psaro?'
'He's never spoken of him to me or to anyone else as far as I know, but neither do I mention I once befriended a king.'
Bak eyed the officer with curiosity. 'Most men would be proud of so lofty a comrade.'
'Can I call a man my friend when I've not set eyes on him for more than twenty-five years?'
'You've mixed emotions, I see, about meeting him again.'
'I'll not draw attention to myself, of that you can be sure.' A stubborn pride glowed in Huy's eyes. 'If he chooses to recognize me, I'll be delighted. If he doesn't, so be it.'
The officer's modesty was a trait to envy, Bak thought, and one seldom developed to so great an extreme. Perhaps, if the occasion arose-and if he could keep Amon-Psaro alive-he might get the opportunity to whisper a word in the king's ear. 'Are you prepared now to tell me more about Inyotef?'
'I know less about him.' 'But… ',
'I've heard…' Huy hesitated, sighed. 'I've no way of knowing how true the tale. I was gone then, assigned to far-off lands.' He sipped from his bowl, emptying it, and set it on the forecastle. 'They say Amon-Psaro was a wild creature when first he went to our capital, a prince of the river and the desert, one who could never be confined within the walls of the palace. Oh, he studied like the royal children and played with them, they say, and he learned the ways of Kemet. But he valued his freedom above all things.'
'What was Inyotef's role in the prince's game?' Bak could well imagine the kind of knowledge a young sailor could pass on to an innocent but willing child.
'First, Amon-Psaro took Inyotef's family as his own.' Huy's smile turned inward. 'A peasant family, they were, much like mine. A mother and father to substitute for his own lofty parents living in faraway Kush. A sibling or two close to him in age, and Inyotef, like an older brother.'
Bak noticed a sailor standing close by, poised to take up the mooring rope. He backed out of the way, drawing Huy with him. 'And then?'
Huy gave a cynical laugh. 'Anion-Psaro grew to manhood. No longer in need of a family, he went out in search of life. From what I was told, Inyotef helped him find it.'
Bak, born and raised near the southern capital, had grown up hearing tales of hostage princes and young men of noble birth slipping out of the palace, of wild carousing and ungoverned and licentious behavior. As he grew older, he had learned to sort fact from fiction, but a few of those tales, he knew, had been close to the truth.
'How old was Anion-Psaro when he went back to Kush?'
'Fifteen years? Sixteen? I'm not sure.' Huy gripped the frame of the forecastle and stiffened his stance, ready for the jarring bump when the hull nudged the quay. 'The very next day I said good-bye to him, I was sent on to the land of the Retenu and from there to the island of Keftiu. I was gone for close on ten years, and when I returned to Kemet, he was gone.'
Bak spread his legs wide, waiting for the thud. Inyotef or Senn. Which of the two would want Anion-Psaro dead? Many signs pointed toward the pilot, especially the way Huy's skiff had been sabotaged. Only a man knowledgeable about boats could've removed the dowel and butterfly cramp with such expertise. On the other hand, Senu had been on the Wand when Bak's skiff was cut free of its mooring. And his wife was a Kushite, a woman of royal blood.
'He could be anywhere,' Huy said. 'Probably at his quarters, or more likely in the barracks. It's time for the evening meal.'
Bak stood on the quay, looking down at Inyotef's skiff, as sleek and pretty as any craft in the harbor. It looked much as usual: sail furled around the yards, lines neatly coiled out of the way, oars lying in the hull with several bound lengths of extra rope. As far as he could tell, nothing had been removed since he had last seen the vessel. Several items had been added: a pair of inflated goatskins; harpoons and other fishing equipment including a rod, a basket for the catch, and a pottery bowl containing fishhooks, weights, and extra line; and a good-sized reed basket covered with a lid. He dropped into the boat to peek inside. The container was empty.
If Inyotef planned to slay Anion-Psaro, he surely would make his escape by water. He knew the river well, the Belly of Stones. In fact, he had walked the shore only a few hours ago, seeing how high the water had risen, perhaps planning his escape. No other man in Iken knew the rapids as well. If he sailed down them, no one would be able to follow, and his way north would be clear. Not even a courier could carry the word ahead fast enough to catch him.
'Gone!'
