He reached out to draw her from the cellar. She came without a word, her resistance broken. Letting himself down in her place, he inspected the remainder of the jars. One he had thought held fish contained exactly that, the second held bright and exotic feathers from far to the south. One reddish jar held salt, another oil for cooking, a third the strings for Intef’s bow. The last contained three ostrich eggs. The walls, floor, and ceiling contained no further hiding places.
Returning to the room above, he scooped up a handful of beads and amulets. He hesitated, letting the certainty grow in his heart that what he meant to do was right. When no doubt remained, he slit a small hole in a palm-sized bag of cinnamon and forced inside more than a dozen of the gold and blue and red trinkets. “These, mistress, are yours,” he said, thrusting the bag into her hand. “The rest belong to our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut.”
“Shall I summon mistress Rennefer from her cell?” Commandant Thuty demanded, his voice dripping sarcasm. “I’ve no great desire to judge her. Perhaps you’d like to do it for me.”
“No, sir.” Bak resisted the urge to shift from one foot to the other, to clear his throat. He had reported his interview with Nehi, as was right and proper, but instead of showing pleasure with the information he had gained and the items he had recovered, Thuty had focused on what should have been, to Bak’s way of thinking, an act of minor significance.
“If you’d seen that poor farm, those small toiling children, and the fear in mistress Nehi’s heart that she might have to go back…Well, allowing her to keep a few baubles seemed a right and proper thing to do.”
Thuty’s voice grew harsh, cutting. “Tell me, Lieutenant, do you mean to step into my footsteps, or have you set your sights higher? Is it the lord Amon you hope to displace?”
Bak’s heart chilled. Did Thuty really believe him so covetous of power? Unless his tight-lipped glare deceived, he did.
Bak strode forward, crossing the commandant’s private reception room in three steps, and whipped his baton of office from under his arm. Holding it flat in both hands, he offered it to the seated officer. “If you so mistrust my motives, sir, I must resign my office.”
Thuty recoiled from the proffered object. Tearing his eyes from the baton, he gave Bak a long, hard look. “You’d go back to Kemet in disgrace rather than admit your error?”
“You’ve a large family, sir. What would you have done in my place?”
Thuty sat quite still, staring. Bak feared he had gone too far. The commandant’s disposition was often erratic, but not usually so volatile.
Thuty’s expression softened. He barked a short, not un-friendly laugh. “Impertinent young pup!”
“Yes, sir.” Bak’s bones turned to water, weak with relief.
“A word of advice, Lieutenant.” Thuty, stood up, forcing Bak backward, and tapped the baton in his hands. “You must look to your baton of office as an object hard won, one not lightly sacrificed on the altar of good intentions.”
“Yes, sir.”
Thuty strode to the courtyard door, stepping over balls and pull toys and game pieces strewn across the floor, and looked outside. The commandant’s quarters were unusually placid, with his children tucked away for their afternoon naps and the women weaving or cooking or grinding grain or performing a multitude of other tasks required in the busy household. The odor of baking bread wafted through the door on a light breeze that tempered the heat of the day. A woman’s soft laughter now and again rose above the low, rhythmic thunk of a loom.
Bak had come to the building only to find himself already summoned and Nebwa expected momentarily. He had not thought to find Thuty so quick to anger, his temper storm-ridden and unstable.
“Where’s Nebwa?” Thuty growled. “I summoned him midmorning. He’s had plenty of time to get here.”
“I imagine something delayed him at Kor, sir.”
Thuty gave the younger officer a cool look. “He sailed into Buhen an hour ago and went straight to his home and wife.
Now I suppose he can’t drag himself from her side.” He paced the length of the room, stopped at the table beside his chair, and scowled at a partially unrolled scroll spread across its surface. “The two of you are much alike,” he growled.
“Good, competent officers, but each with a will of his own, a streak of independence that will one day turn my hair gray.”
“Nonsense.” Nebwa burst into the room, clapped Bak on the shoulder, flashed a smile at the commandant. “I can think of no more worthy an asset than independence. It sets apart a man of ability, making him truly great at all he seeks to accomplish.”
Stifling a laugh, Bak nudged his friend with an elbow, hoping to silence him.
The commandant gave Nebwa a long, exasperated look, but the burst of temper Bak expected failed to materialize.
Instead, Thuty clamped his mouth shut, walked around the table to sit in his armchair, and motioned vaguely toward a couple of stools across the room. When the younger officers were seated before him, he reached for the scroll on the table.
As he pulled it from beneath the stones holding it open, its leading edge curled into place, forming a tight roll. Its contents, Bak decided, must be the reason for the commandant’s irascibility.
“I received a message this morning from the viceroy.” Thuty spoke in a ponderous voice, as if the news he had to tell was of great import, a burden both heavy and difficult to bear.
“The vizier of the southern lands is on his way upriver, conducting a surprise inspection of the garrisons of Wawat. An armada of our sovereign’s warships, five vessels in all, will arrive in four days’ time should the breeze remain fair.”
“The vizier here?” Bak blurted. “So far from the corridors of power?” No wonder Thuty was so temperamental.
“Five ships!” Nebwa’s eyes narrowed. “Has he deprived our sovereign of every scribe and minor nobleman who kisses the floor at her feet?”
“I can’t believe he’s taken a sudden interest in Wawat-or in the well-being of our troops. Unless…” Bak sat up straighter. “Has Maatkare Hatshepsut decided to move once and for all against her nephew? Is this her way of wresting the army from his grasp and dislodging him from the throne in name as well as fact?”
“We’ve no need to worry on that score-I thank the lord Amon. No impossible decisions to make, no good men to die in a land divided, no wasteful battles…” Thuty shook his head, throwing off a subject painful to all who carried arms.
“No, if that were so, the viceroy would have warned me.”
“He’s the queen’s man,” Nebwa reminded him.
“First and foremost, he’s a man of Kemet,” Thuty growled.
“And he’s a trusted friend.”
“If the army hasn’t brought the vizier to Wawat, trade must’ve drawn him,” Bak said, cutting off further argument.
With a grunt of assent, Thuty rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. Using the scroll to accent his words, he explained. “As you know, and I know, and as does every man assigned to the garrisons south of Abu, our sovereign’s sole interest in Wawat is the wealth we send north to Kemet.
Now, with her building programs so costly, she’s sent the vizier to remind us of our duty. I’ve no doubt he’ll impress upon us the need to hasten northward the products of the desert mines and the exotic items that come from far to the south. And of course he’ll urge upon us scrupulous inspections and a zealous collection of tolls.”
“In other words,” Nebwa snorted, “he’ll tell us to do what we’ve always done: make sure the coffers of the royal house never cease to be full to bursting.”
Bak was equally cynical. “A secret journey, you say? Surprise inspections? And he’s traveling with five warships?”
“I see no mystery there,” Nebwa laughed. “All politi-160 / Lauren Haney cians think of themselves as walking with the gods. How would we ordinary mortals know we’re supposed to bow and scrape if we weren’t told ahead of time the name of the man who’ll soon stand before us?”
Thuty scowled, annoyed as always by Nebwa’s lack of respect for the political necessities. “Take this as a
