“I pray she does.”
They walked along the raised verge of Intef’s bean field, turning green with new growth. Water trickled from a shallow irrigation ditch, its wall breached to allow the life-giving moisture to spread across the earth. The last good drink the plants would have, Bak guessed, for soon the ditch would run dry and every drop would have to be carried from afar.
“Do you think it important to snaring Intef’s slayer?” Imsiba asked. “The tomb, I mean. The place where he found the jewelry?”
Bak gave a rueful snort. “I wish I knew.”
They stopped at the corner of the field and looked out across the oasis. Less than a week had passed since Rennefer’s attempt to slay her husband, but even in so short a time many more fields had turned bright green with new life.
In the lower-lying areas, the last to give up the floodwaters, men, women, children, and cattle were spread across the land, plowing the rich black earth and sowing the next crop.
Birds dotted the fields behind them, searching for worms and seeds left on the surface.
Bak imagined he could see in the distance Penhet’s farm.
How much had happened since last he had stopped there!
“One day soon Rennefer will stand before Commandant Thuty. He’s putting off the day he must pass judgment, but when at last he summons her, he’ll want a full picture. Let’s go see Penhet, learn of his health and how he fares without his mate.”
“Mate?” Imsiba snorted. “Viper, you mean.”
“I knew she’d be angry,” Penhet said. “That’s why I was so reluctant to tell her of the agreement. But I never expected this.” He made a vague motion toward his back and the bandages swaddling him from waist to neck.
“My wife tends to his wounds.” Netermose sat on a stool beside the pallet on which the injured man lay on his stomach, the orange cat curled up against his thigh, purring. “She counted eleven cuts, most shallow and not serious, but two that could’ve taken his life given sufficient time to bleed.”
“I thank the lord Amon that you came upon me when you did,” Penhet said, patting his neighbor’s foot. “If you hadn’t, if she’d had time to go on…” He shook his head, unable to utter a thought so abhorrent.
Bak glanced at the courtyard, which looked as well tended as the first time he had seen it. Rennefer would not be pleased, he suspected. “Your servants seem conscientious enough.”
“Netermose’s wife keeps an eye on them.”
“You signed your agreement then?” Imsiba asked.
The two farmers exchanged a glance of mutual satisfaction.
“We’ve made a new agreement,” Penhet said.
“He’ll keep the land,” Netermose explained, “even the patch that so angered Rennefer. And I’ll tend to his fields and help him care for his livestock.”
“And we’ll share the proceeds,” Penhet added, smiling.
The arrangement seemed fair, a way to give both men what they needed: Netermose more land and Penhet a means of living.
“You’ve not yet brought Meret into your household?” Bak asked the latter.
“No.” Penhet fussed with the cat’s velvety ears, unable to meet Bak’s eyes. “I’ve lost my taste for her.”
Bak was not surprised. The girl represented the end of a way of life; how could she be a new beginning?
“I keep telling him he needs someone to care for him, a woman who can keep the servants in line.” Netermose scowled at his neighbor. “I have a large household and my 132 / Lauren Haney wife’s a busy woman. She can’t come here forever.”
“My servants are still upset,” Penhet explained. “As I am, for that matter. Maybe later. After Rennefer is…” He shook his head, denying the fate he knew awaited the woman who had for so long shared his life. “But not Meret. Someone else perhaps.”
Bak thought of the woman he and Imsiba had just left, the tiny farm, the many mouths to feed. “I know of someone, a recent widow, who might be persuaded to live here. I must warn you, though, that she has several children.” He thought it best not to divulge the exact number.
“Children?” Penhet’s eyes lit up. “I can’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve heard a child’s laughter on this farm. Even my servants are barren.”
Bak sneaked a glance at Imsiba, who was giving him the suspicious look of one who thought the suggestion planned in advance. Maybe it was, Bak thought. Not by me, but by the gods. If so, neither the truth nor a lie would sway Penhet.
His fate was sealed. So he spoke of Intef’s death and of all he and the Medjay had found on the poor farm at the edge of the oasis.
“Five children,” Penhet said, his tone thoughtful, neither pleased nor dismayed.
“You’d have a houseful,” Netermose said in a carefully neutral voice.
Bak remained mute, letting the farmer make up his own mind. Imsiba stood under the lean-to, saying nothing, his expression-his silent laughter, Bak suspected-hidden in the shadow.
Penhet broke a long silence. “Netermose is right. I can’t go on like this, depending on his wife day after day. Yet I do need someone. My wounds need tending; my servants require a firm hand.” He paused, smiled to himself. “And yes: having children in the house will be a pleasant distraction.”
Bak offered a silent prayer of thanks to the lord Amon-and made a further plea that a match would result, one that would last through eternity.
Chapter Nine
Thin ribbons of yellow reached across a pale blue sky, heralding the rising sun. The air was clear and still, pleasantly warm. Feeble trails of smoke spiraled up from dwellings in the outer city, carrying the tantalizing aroma of baking bread and the harsher odor of scorched oil. Men, women, and children jostled each other in the narrow lanes. A dozen black cows, their udders heavy with milk, forced their way through, indifferent to the curses they roused.
As Bak cleared the last of the houses, he studied the low rock shelf containing the old cemetery, searching for Mery and his friends. Other than three yellow dogs probing the ruined structures, not a creature stirred. Too early for the boys, he guessed. Turning left, he followed a sandy lane that ran along the unbroken outer face of the close-packed block of houses. At the far end, where the path struck off across the sand, he passed the building where Captain Roy’s crew was being held. He thought of stopping, but decided against it. The longer the men lingered, thinking themselves forgotten, the more eager they would be to open their hearts and wag their tongues.
Beyond the stretch of sand lay the animal paddocks.
Marking his destination by a thin yellowish cloud of dust rising from the far corner, Bak followed a path between thigh-high mudbrick walls enclosing more animals than he had ever before seen confined at Buhen. Cattle, goats, sheep, and donkeys, with men toiling among them, cleaning away manure, spreading fresh hay, and filling troughs with grain and water.
Most of the creatures were placid: eating, drinking, watching the world around them, ears twitching, tails swishing away the flies. A few younger animals cantered around the limited space, kicking up dust, squealing. Bak’s nose tickled, teased by the heavy smell of hay and grain, the rank odor of manure.
He found Hapuseneb standing outside a donkey paddock.
The wealthy trader, attired as usual in fine jewelry and linen, looked completely at ease in this place of dust, the stench of animals, and the sweat of lesser men. He was talking across the wall to a pot-bellied youth nursing a charcoal fire contained within a ring of stones. Both watched another man trying to catch a young and frisky gray donkey. Each time he drew close and threw his rope, the creature ducked its head and darted away. The other animals in the enclosure were fearful, trotting this way and that, heads up, eyes wild.
The man was red-faced and angry, too conscious of his master’s presence, Bak suspected.
Hapuseneb spotted the approaching officer and smiled.
