of dates and sweetcakes on a low table beside him. With a shy smile, she returned to her mistress.
Bak sipped, he nibbled, he waited. And waited. He si lently cursed the woman. What could she be doing? Hiding the ravages of her unhappiness beneath a thick coat of makeup? He preferred to speak with her alone, but soon
Amonked would return. The inspector would not be pleased at finding him with the concubine at such a late hour.
“Lieutenant Bak,” Nefret said, holding back the fabric to either side, letting it drape gracefully around her.
He recognized a pose when he saw one. “Mistress Nefret,
I know you must be tired after a long day’s trek, but I fear
I must speak with you.”
“I knew you’d come. Perhaps not tonight, but I doubted you’d wait for long.” She let the fabric fall free and walked to the brazier, followed closely by her maid. Placing an arm around the child’s shoulders, she raised her voice so her words would carry to Thaneny’s tent. “Mesutu heard you with Thaneny.”
“He told me nothing I couldn’t have learned elsewhere.”
Her eyes, puffy from sobbing and heavily made up, glit tered with anger. Again, she raised her voice. “Why that accursed scribe can’t mind his own business I’ll never un derstand!”
“He’s fond of you.”
“Fond!” Releasing Mesutu, she plopped down on a loose stack of pillows, and dropped her voice to a normal level.
“If he cared so much, he’d convince Amonked to let me return to Kemet.” She reached for a date, bit into it, frowned. “I hate this horrible desert, this empty land. I want to go home!”
“Would Amonked listen to a scribe’s pleas?”
“He listens to him in matters of business.” Nefret noticed
Mesutu standing off to the side, shivering. She patted the pillow beside her, inviting the child near the heat. “You’re right, though. He’s too angry with me, too stubborn, to listen to Thaneny now.”
Footsteps outside drew near and passed on, reminding
Bak of Amonked’s imminent arrival. How could he distract
Nefret from herself? “You’re fortunate you’re not wed to a soldier, one who would bring you here to live for many long months.”
She took another date, nibbled. “Thaneny could speak for me to Sennefer. Amonked would listen to his wife’s brother.”
“Sennefer seems easy enough to talk to. Why don’t you speak with him yourself?”
“He’s always so cold toward me.” She bit her lip, swal lowed what Bak feared would be more sobs. “I understand he must protect his sister’s interests, and Amonked is her greatest interest. She adores him, shelters him from do mestic troubles, prays I’ll give him the son she never could.” Tears spilled over and she whimpered, “I don’t want his child. I want Sennef…”
With a sharp little groan, the child Mesutu grabbed her mistress’s arm and dug her nails in, cutting short the indis cretion.
Nefret clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh! Oh, please,
Lieutenant…”
Startled by the disclosure, but not so badly that his thoughts were hampered, he placed a finger before his lips and pointed in the general direction of the row of tents.
Speaking softly, he said, “You have my pledge. I’ll say nothing.”
“I’ll be forever in your debt,” she murmured.
“Did you see Prince Baket-Amon in Buhen?” he asked, raising his voice to a normal level, taking advantage of the need to distract both her and Thaneny-if the scribe was listening. Or anyone in that row of tents.
She threw him a quick look of gratitude. “How could I see him or anyone else? Amonked insisted I stay inside all the while we were there.”
“You didn’t see him the morning he came to the dwell ing?”
“Of course not,” she said, indignant. “Did I not just tell you I didn’t see him in Buhen?”
He had to smile. She was either a superb actress or her powers of recovery were uncommonly fast. “You met him in Waset, Thaneny told me.”
“Waset!” she said scornfully. “If that witless goose knew half as much as he thinks he does, he’d be toiling for Maat kare Hatshepsut herself, not her cousin.” She tossed her head, making her thick dark hair swing across her shoul ders. “I met him in Sheresy. My father has a farm adjoining
Sennefer’s estate, which is very large and teems with wild creatures. Amonked sometimes took guests there, and they hunted in the marshes or out on the desert. That’s how I met him, and that’s how I met the prince.”
Bak eyed her sharply. “Are you saying Amonked took the prince to Sennefer’s estate to hunt?”
“He might’ve, or perhaps someone else did.” She took a sweetcake from the bowl and broke it in half. “Our sov ereign may wear the trappings of a king, but she long ago gave up any pretense of performing the manly arts. Now, when she wants to impress foreign dignitaries or reward with sport the nobility of Kemet, she has Amonked and other trusted advisers invite them on her behalf to hunt or fish or partake of some other form of active diversion. As the marshes of Sheresy and the nearby desert have an abun dance of wildlife, Amonked takes them to Sennefer’s estate rather than to his own more modest holding near Mennufer.
As do a few close friends of Sennefer.”
Bak could not remember Amonked’s exact words, but he had led him to believe he barely knew the prince. Yet the best way to get to know a man, other than on the field of battle, was to share the excitement and danger of a hunt.
“I never would’ve thought Amonked a man of action.”
“He does what he must.”
“Did Baket-Amon desire you then, as he did later in
Waset?”
She laughed derisively. “When first I met the prince, I wore the sidelock of youth. He failed to notice me.” She was speaking of the braided hairstyle children of the wealthy often wore before they reached maturity. “When I became a woman, Amonked took me as his own and I left my father’s dwelling in Sheresy. Not until later did I meet the prince again, in Waset.”
“What did you think of him?”
“Baket-Amon?” She scowled. “He made me feel uncom fortable. Staring at me with those great cow eyes of his. I finally told Amonked I wanted him sent away.”
Bak’s spirits plummeted. The odds were good that
Amonked had hunted with Baket-Amon. They were even better that he had confronted the prince about the concu bine, warning him away from her. And he a man who claimed he barely knew the dead man.
Amonked. Maatkare Hatshepsut’s cousin. The only man in the inspection party Bak had found thus far who had a reason to slay Baket-Amon. A reason but not a strong rea son.
He wished he could talk to Imsiba, compare what the two of them had learned over the past two days. Had the
Medjay discovered some key fact that pointed to a slayer far outside of Amonked’s party? Surely not. A courier would have brought news of such import. Rumor would have spread the word.
Chapter Nine
“What in the name of the lord Amon did I do with my sandals?” Sergeant Dedu grumbled.
“Mine are missing, too,” an archer said, rubbing his arms to stave off the early morning chill.
“And mine,” another man said, lifting the edge of his sleeping pallet to look beneath it.
Four other archers reported a similar loss.
Nebwa planted his fists on his hips and scowled at the men, his patience made thin by the need to arise so
