death was a gift of the gods.”
Laying a gentle hand on Kames’s shoulder, Bak said, “He was close to you, I see.”
“He was my firstborn son.”
Bak muttered an oath. No wonder the old man ached.
“Were any other men injured?”
Another puff of air, this stronger than the first, blew dirt across the terrace. Bak swung away and raised his hands to his face, protecting eyes and mouth. As the breeze abated, he saw Kames wiping tears from his cheeks, tears of anguish, he felt sure, not moisture caused by the grit.
“Four were hurt,” the stonemason said. “Two will never toil again as once they did, their limbs too damaged to regain strength. The others are now raising the walls of a set of chambers our sovereign is having built in the mansion of the lord Amon in Waset.”
A bitter blow, Bak thought. Most of the work crews were men who had toiled together for years. To lose so many would not only upset the smooth functioning of the crew, but would rend the survivors’ hearts for months to come. “Do you, like most of the men toiling here at Djeser Djeseru, believe a malign spirit responsible for the accident?”
“I’d like to think not. I’d like to believe that one day I’ll lay hands on the one who loosed the rocks and break his back as my son’s back was broken. A vain hope, I’m forced to admit. How could a man make a cliff face fall?”
Eyeing the cliff looming above the northern retaining wall, Bak made a silent vow to climb up and see if he could find an answer to that question. Unfortunately, four months was a long time. Too long, he suspected, to find telltale signs of a man-if a man had indeed been responsible. The cliff face and the tower-like formations that had formed at the front of it were high and steep, cracked and pitted, scarred where rock had broken away and fallen. The slide might well have been a natural occurrence. “Does the accident have anything to do with your dislike of Pashed, your sympathy with Montu?”
Kames flung Bak a quick, smoldering look. “Pashed allowed us no time to mourn, no time to make peace within ourselves. He sent the crew back to this northern end of the portico. The men feared another rockfall above all things, but what choice did they have? They returned and here they remain. Montu faced Pashed, saying no men should be put to such a test. His words struck deaf ears.”
Bak had always heard that if a man came close to drowning, he should immediately go back into the water. If such was the case, and he had no way of knowing the truth of the matter, Pashed had done the right thing. “Was Montu sincere, or did he wish to make himself look good in your eyes and Pashed look bad?”
“Why would he wish me to think well of him? I’m a lowly stonemason, a man of no wealth or influence.”
Uneasy about the open tomb, Bak stood at the rim and looked into the darkness below. Would Menna never bring the priest? Did the guard lieutenant have another report he felt more important than seeing that the shaft was filled before nightfall?
He eyed the long palm trunk that had been removed from the opening and laid alongside after he and Menna had returned to the surface the previous day. The urge to go down again, to have another look around, was difficult to resist, but in the end he decided to wait. However, if Menna failed to bring the priest by mid-afternoon. .
“Here they come, sir.” Kasaya pointed eastward toward the causeway. “Lieutenant Menna and the priest.”
Relieved, Bak watched the guard officer weave a path among the worked and unworked chunks of stone scattered across the terrace. A slight older man and a boy of ten or so years trailed in his wake. The man’s hair was close-cropped and he wore a knee-length kilt. He had to be the priest. The youth carried a basket containing, Bak assumed, a censor, water jar, incense, and everything else required to purify the tomb. The wind gusted, raising the dust around their naked limbs and the stone images among which they walked.
As the trio drew near, Bak smiled. “I thank the lord Amon that you’ve arrived, Lieutenant. I was making ready to go into the tomb to check its integrity.”
“Why?” Menna gave him a sharp look. “I’ve every confidence that Imen remained on guard through the night.”
“As did Kasaya,” Imen said. “Lieutenant Bak thought I shouldn’t stand watch alone.”
Menna’s mouth tightened. “Do you not trust my judgment, Lieutenant?”
Bak did not appreciate being placed on the defensive, but he smiled pleasantly anyway. “I do, but a man alone looked to be fair game should a gang of men come to rob the tomb.
How would you have felt if we’d found Imen at the bottom of this shaft, his neck broken in the fall, and the tomb desecrated?”
“As I believe I told you earlier,” Menna said in a stiff, un-yielding voice, “I know well the men who dwell in this area, those who thrive at the expense of the dead. They’d never take a life merely to rifle one small burial place such as this.
There are, without doubt, other tombs easier to enter, tombs isolated enough that they could be robbed at will, with small risk of being caught.”
If you know them so well, Bak thought, why haven’t you laid hands on those who took the baubles I found in Buhen or the jewelry found on ships in the harbor at Mennufer? He was being unfair, he knew, too quick to judge. Menna had admitted he was not a seasoned investigator, and his resent-ment of a man usurping his authority was understandable.
The priest stepped forward, filling the uncomfortable silence. “I’m Kaemwaset and you must be Lieutenant Bak.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Amonked told me of your many successes as a hunter of men. He has every confidence that you’ll not only bring a halt to the accidents here, but will lay hands on Montu’s slayer.”
“I pray I won’t disappoint him.”
“He’s an excellent judge of character, young man. I’m sure you’ll live up to his expectations and reach beyond them.”
Bak was jolted by such supreme confidence. He had thought, when he left Commandant Thuty in Buhen, that he was free for a time of the burden such conviction added.
Another gust forced mouths and eyes closed and added a sense of urgency to the priest’s demeanor when finally the dust fell away. “Shall we enter the tomb, Lieutenant Menna?
After midday, I must teach this boy. .” He laid a hand on the youth’s shoulder. “. . and seven more as witless as he to understand the sacred writings of the lord Ptah.”
“Move the palm trunk across the shaft,” Menna said, including Kasaya as well as Imen in the order. “Bring the rope and light a torch.” His eyes darted toward Bak. “We won’t be in the tomb for long. You need not wait.”
Though annoyed by so curt a dismissal, Bak kept his expression untroubled, his tone amiable. “I’ve a slayer to lay hands on, Lieutenant. I wish to speak with Kaemwaset after he performs the necessary ablutions.”
The guard officer swung around without another word, watched Imen and Kasaya position the palm trunk and light the torch, and prepared to descend. When all was ready, he turned to the apprentice who had come with Kaemwaset.
“Go to Pashed and tell him your master has come. He must send men to fill this shaft. The task must be completed before end of day.”
“Yes, sir,” and the boy hurried away.
Menna glanced at Bak-an apology of sorts, perhaps.
Getting an affable nod in return, he turned away, soon to be swallowed by the tomb shaft. The priest promptly followed.
Imen sat on his haunches at the rim, awaiting the order to bring them up. Bak knelt for a time beside the guard, watching the faint glow of Menna’s torch at the lower end of the shaft. He heard the murmur of voices below and smelled a hint of incense, but his thoughts were on tasks completed and others left to do. He rose to his feet and joined Kasaya, who sat with his back to the human-headed lion statue, out of reach of the wind.
“Go summon Perenefer or Seked,” Bak said, “whoever can leave his men untended for an hour or so. I wish to learn what he thinks about the accidents and also look at the cliff that rises above the northern retaining wall. A portion broke away a few months ago, slaying one man and maiming others. I wish to know what made it fall.”
