neighbors, but the contrast was startling. Meager farms nudged the desert,
with the outermost plots mottled with patches of encroaching sand. Always the last land to receive the life- giving floodwaters and the first to dry out, the trees and vines and bushes here were smaller and not as hardy, the fruits they bestowed on the farmers neither as abundant nor as sweet.
“That must be Intef’s house,” Imsiba said, nodding toward an unpainted mudbrick building straddling the line between oasis and desert.
The dwelling was small, two rooms at most, with a lean-to attached to one end. A venerable grapevine spread its arms across the shelter and the flat roof of the house. A thin red cow stood in the shade, suckling a wobbly spotted calf.
Two juvenile donkeys shared the space. A flock of geese scratched and pecked at a fresh sheaf of hay spread beneath the animals’ hooves, scattering it further. Herbs and garlic hanging from the lean-to frame perfumed the air.
A child, a girl of eight or so years, came outside, her hip thrust out to take the weight of the baby she carried. A small naked boy barely old enough to walk peeked around the doorjamb and giggled.
The girl eyed them with suspicion. “My mother’s out there.”
She pointed toward a field not far from the house and a woman on her knees between two rows of small leafy green plants, carefully spaced to give them plenty of room to grow.
Melons, Bak guessed. Two small children, also on their knees, were spread out across the field. Bak muttered an oath, dismayed. He had expected a poverty of place, but to find an overabundance of mouths to feed as well came as a shock.
Miscarriage was frequent on these poor farms and the death rate high among babies.
“A woman alone with five children, most too young to earn their bread?” Imsiba shook his head, his face grim. “Few will survive to the next flood.”
“My father sometimes grumbles about the great estates in Kemet, where so many men toil for so few, but even he admits a widow with children is seldom left to starve.”
The woman spotted them, rose to her feet, and walked down a shallow furrow toward the house. She was, they saw, beginning to swell with yet another child. The children in the field turned to stare, curious, but a word from their mother sent them back to their task. The older girl shooed the toddler into the house, but stayed close to the door to watch and listen.
The woman raised her hand in greeting. Noticing the dirt lodged in the wrinkles and beneath her nails, she gave her visitors an embarrassed smile. “The insects would have us starve if we let them.” She was small and thin, close in age to Bak, but work-worn and weary.
“We’ll not keep you long,” he promised, introducing himself and Imsiba.
“I am Nehi.” She offered them the mudbrick bench in front of the house and pushed close a large overturned pot for her own use. Clasping her hands in her lap, she toyed with a ring on the middle finger of her right hand. Her eyes, sunken pools of sorrow and anxiety, darted from one man to the other. “My husband’s donkeys. What’s happened to them?”
“They’re well cared for and content,” Imsiba assured her.
“I took them myself to a paddock in Buhen. We can bring them here, if you like, or leave them where they are and trade them in your name. They’re yours to do with as you wish.”
She took a ragged breath, murmured, “I feared they were lost to me.”
Imsiba went on, telling her of the wild game the donkeys had carried and how he had disposed of it. The bargain he had struck brought forth a wan smile. But her pleasure was shallow, her burden heavy. She bowed her head in silent anguish, twisting the ring, rubbing the greenish stone. The child in the doorway laid the baby on the floor and ran to her mother. She wrapped her arms around her, holding her close, and whispered words of comfort. Bak and Imsiba sat where they were, studying their hands, waiting.
Nehi drew her face from her daughter’s thin chest and smoothed the child’s short, straight hair. “Go care for the baby, little one.” As the girl carried her charge inside, she turned back to her visitors. “Forgive my weakness. I must, I know, grow accustomed to my husband’s absence.”
Bak resisted the urge to clear his throat. “For my own satisfaction and also for yours, mistress, I’d like to lay hands on the man who slew Intef. Can you tell me who might’ve wanted him dead?”
“No one.” She raised a hand to wipe her eyes, noticed the dirt, clutched both together in her lap. “He was a quiet man, one who kept to himself.”
“He sometimes stopped for beer in a house of pleasure in Buhen.” Bak kept his voice kind, unthreatening. “It’s a friendly place, oft times raucous, not one frequented by a man who wants always to be alone.”
“Nofery’s place of business.” She gave him a wan smile.
“A man can be silent, yet enjoy the company of men.”
Especially one who must come home to a houseful of babies, Bak thought. “Did he ever speak of the people he met there?”
“He talked often of Nofery. He liked her.” She dropped her eyes to her writhing hands. Suddenly she was still, her body and voice stiff. “He…He told me of the lion she has, and how she came to have it.”
Bak noted the change in attitude, the tension. What sparked it he had no idea. Not their talk of Nofery, he was sure. “Was he there, do you know, a week or so ago?”
She frowned, thinking. “I don’t…”
“He was at home, Mama, not in Buhen.” The girl had returned to the door, leaving the baby inside. “That was when we planted the beans, remember?” At a nod from her mother, she explained to Bak, “It took several days. We have no ox, so Papa had to pull the plow himself. And we took a donkey to the farmer Kamose.” Her large, dark eyes leaped toward the lean-to and a shadow touched her face. “We had three young donkeys then. Too many, Papa said, so we traded one for oil and some milch goats.”
Nehi spread her hand across her swelling stomach. “We seem never to have enough milk.”
The ring she wore was clearly visible, a wide strip of gold with a green scarab, luminous from wear and age, nested in a raised oval border. Another antique, Bak felt sure. Intef had indeed found a tomb, not during his last journey into the desert, but before.
Keeping his voice level, his sudden interest hidden, he said, “Your ring is beautiful, mistress. May I see it?”
She stiffened, looked about to panic. With an obvious effort, she formed a smile and offered her hand, her movements jerky with tension. “Pretty, isn’t it? Intef found it washed up on the riverbank when the floodwaters receded. It’s of small value, he told me, a bit of bronze and faience not worth selling. So he gave it to me.”
She was offering too much; her voice was too chatty, too strident. She was unaccustomed, Bak thought, to lying. “We found two very old and valuable bracelets and some gold beads hidden on one of his donkeys. This ring is equally old, not bronze and faience but gold and jasper.”
“You err!” she cried, tearing her hand free, clasping it to her breast. “The ring is worth nothing!” Her voice broke, she sobbed, “Do you think us so wealthy we can keep for ourselves a trinket of great value? Something to look at and enjoy, not trade for food?”
Covering her face with her hands, she began to moan, airing a grief deep within her heart. The girl ran to her, held her close, and glared at Bak and Imsiba. “Leave us. My papa is gone, and you’re hurting my mama. How can you be so cruel?”
Realizing how bold she had been, she clamped her mouth shut and stared defiantly at the two men. The stance was foolish, meant to make a lie of the fear they saw in her eyes.
Bak had every right to tear her from her home, to carry her off to Buhen and punish her severely for her impudence.
He chose to turn away. “Come, Imsiba. We’ll get nothing more here.”
“She knows Intef found a tomb,” Imsiba said.
“She may tell us more in time,” Bak agreed, “but now she’s too afraid. Too worried for her children.”
“How desperate is she, do you think?”
Bak’s voice reflected the concern he saw on Imsiba’s face.
“That depends on how much of value Intef found and hid away-and whether or not she knows where he hid it and how to dispose of it to her advantage.”
“You think she does?”
