a month old and probably three times the length of the visible segment. Amonked and Horhotep moved in close to get a better look.
Before they could possibly read the few visible entries,
Thuty rolled the document into a tight cylinder and handed it to a scribe for refiling. “After I’ve read them all and passed them by my senior staff, I give them to the chief scribe, Kha.”
He walked the length of the long, narrow room, followed by his retinue. Two rows of ten scribes each sat cross legged on the floor, facing Kha. Their heads were bowed over open scrolls, their reed pens scratching across the pa pyrus in a pretense of work, a slim excuse for ignoring their exalted visitor.
The commandant stopped before the chief scribe, an ag ing, bald man who sat on a thick linen pad facing his min ions. “Kha excerpts major occurrences from the various garrison reports and compiles them in a new document. We send that to the viceroy, who forwards it on to the vizier in Waset.” The elderly man handed over a slender roll of papyrus, which Thuty unrolled. The scroll was less than a cubit in length, the report two narrow columns filling half the available space. “As you can see, it’s short and concise, containing only items of major import.”
Horhotep caught hold of the corner of the scroll. “May
I?” His voice was sharp, more a demand than a question.
Anger darkened Thuty’s face. Bak, fearing the comman dant’s tight control would snap, slapped hard at the back of his neck and at the same time took a quick step forward and pivoted, striking Horhotep’s head with his elbow.
The adviser loosed his grip on the scroll and swung around. “How dare you strike me!”
Bak rubbed his neck, forced a rueful smile. “Something bit me. An insect. I meant no harm.”
Nebwa, quick to understand, flicked a spot from his kilt.
“Fleas. They’re vicious this time of year.”
“I’ve noticed a good number of the pests in the dwelling in which we’re staying,” Amonked said. “I assumed the former inhabitants had pets, but perhaps all of Buhen is infested.” With a distasteful grimace, he took the scroll from Thuty. “Shall we get on with our task?” and he began to read.
Horhotep gave Bak a mean glare, then turned his attention to the document. Seeing the pair distracted, Nebwa pretended to wipe his brow. Thuty, very much aware of how close he had come to losing his temper, threw Bak a quick look of gratitude. A scribe near the back of the room scratched his thigh, setting off a rustling of kilts and a sub dued stir that sounded suspiciously like muffled laughter.
Amonked’s eyes darted toward the seated men and back to the scroll, a bland look masking his thoughts.
“This report contains the barest of details.” Horhotep tapped the scroll with a finger and sniffed his disdain. “If the scrolls of each of the ten garrison commanders include as much information as their length indicates, most of what occurs is omitted here. No wonder officials in Waset know so little of the activities along the Belly of Stones.”
“Perhaps nothing of significance occurs,” Amonked said,
“as our sovereign believes.”
Bak muttered an oath. Their very efficiency was speaking against them.
“This building serves as our treasury. Many of the items stored here are products of the land of Kush, but the ma jority have traveled from farther south, from strange and exotic lands few men from Kemet have seen.”
Thuty paused in the anteroom, waiting for the two guards to light torches so the inspection party could see into the darkest corners. He and his entourage filled the small space, crowding the two scribes, who feigned indifference to their lofty visitors. “About half what you see was obtained through trade. Roughly a quarter was given as tribute to our sovereign, offered by tribal princes and kings who wish to acknowledge her friendship with gifts. The remaining quarter…”
“Commandant Thuty.” Amonked’s voice held an edge of irritation. “I’ve been storekeeper of Amon for almost ten years. I’m fully aware of the source of all the valuable and exotic items that pass through the land of Wawat.”
Thuty crossed the threshold and followed a guard into a large room. If the reproach troubled him, he gave no sign.
“The items you see here will remain until suitable trans portation and security can be guaranteed. They’re reason ably safe within the walls of Buhen, but we must take many additional precautions to protect them during the long voy age north.”
The remainder of the party followed, with the second guard bringing up the rear, keeping a close eye on the vis itors. Flickering torchlight fell on baskets and jars and sacks and woven reed chests stacked in rows, sometimes precar iously high. The contents of each jar was scrawled across its shoulder or scratched into its dried mud plug, while baked clay tags identified the products inside the less solid containers. The air was heavy with the odors of herbs and spices, rare woods, aromatic oils, dust, and a musty smell
Bak suspected was a long-dead mouse.
“In addition to trade goods and tribute,” Thuty droned on, “we also keep here the more valuable items paid as tolls by individuals crossing the frontier on legitimate busi ness and items of worth confiscated from smugglers and other wrongdoers.”
Amonked walked along the narrow aisles, peering at tags, poking and prodding lumpy sacks, sniffing packets wrapped in linen or papyrus or leaves. Horhotep tried to emulate his superior, but could not shut out the wearisome lecture. He glanced often at Thuty, obviously suspicious the commandant was mocking them. Sennefer remained near the entry, taking in everything, saying nothing, wearing a good-humored smile that might or might not have been sincere.
When the inspector indicated he was ready to move on,
Thuty signaled a guard to precede them to the next room.
Larger than the first, it had a ceiling supported on two col umns. Light was admitted through high, narrow windows secured by stone grills. This was the safest room in the treasury, its contents the most valuable. Jars containing pre cious oils, myrrh, and incense. Baskets laden with chunks of stone destined to be worked into royal jewelry. Piles of skins taken from lions and leopards and long-haired mon keys. Ostrich eggs and feathers.
Amonked, his hands clasped behind his back, wandered along the aisles with the same relish as before. At the far end of the room, he stopped before six elephant tusks lean ing pointed-end-up in a corner. “Magnificent.” He glanced at Bak. “Were you not the man who laid hands on the vile criminals who were smuggling tusks downriver?”
“Yes, sir.” Bak was surprised by the question, and by the fact that Amonked would have heard of his exploit.
Horhotep’s head snapped around.
“Lieutenant Bak is a fine officer,” Thuty said, forgetting for a moment the monotone. “We’re fortunate to have him at Buhen.”
“Indeed.” Amonked walked to a small wooden enclosure built into the corner of the room. The solid wood door was closed. A dried-mud seal affixed to the latch verified its integrity. “What have we here?”
Irritated by the quick dismissal, Thuty signaled the guard, who broke the seal, released the latch, and swung the door wide. Gold glittered in the torchlight. Small rec tangular bars stacked in rows. Thick bracelet-sized rings collected on stout wooden rods. Rough kernels, formed when molten gold was slowly poured into water, mounded in baskets. Pottery cones filled with gold dust.
A smile spread across Amonked’s face. “Most impres sive. Would that Maatkare Hatshepsut could be here to see so magnificent a display in its native land. No doubt one day, when I can assure her she’ll suffer no harm…”
“One day soon, I’ll wager.” Horhotep flashed the officers from Buhen a look of satisfaction that reminded Bak of a jackal watching a poor family place a deceased relative’s body in a too-shallow grave in the soft desert sand.
“How did the inspection go?” Baket-Amon asked.
Bak gave him a bleak look. “Let me put it this way: Throughout the day I could imagine Amonked rubbing his hands with delight at so comfortable a place to rest and relax in a land flowing with the bounties of trade.”
The prince, who had been examining a newly repaired rudder on his traveling ship, turned his back to the stern to study Bak’s face. “That bad. I see.”
