learned that your interest, once attracted, never wanes.”
Smiling his pleasure at what he rightly took as a compliment, Amonked laid an arm across Bak’s shoulders and ushered him into the shade of a portico built across the front of a storehouse of the lord Amon. “It’s true. I never fail to read the abbreviated daybooks Thuty sends north to Waset.”
Huy followed at a respectful distance, awaiting fresh orders. The building, which consisted of ten long, vaulted magazines, stood near a quay that allowed cargo to be off-loaded from ships moored reasonably close to the many warehouses of the god. Eight of the structure’s doors were closed and sealed, while two stood open, releasing the odors of grain and cooking oils. Five scribes sat on reed mats at the far end of the portico, scribbling on papyrus scrolls.
Basking in the warmth of Amonked’s welcome, Bak dropped onto a low stool and studied the man he had come to see. He was rather plump and of medium height, and sat on a chair befitting his status as Storekeeper of Amon, with plenty of colorful pillows for comfort. He wore the simple calf-length kilt of a scribe and a minimum of colorful beaded jewelry. Unashamed of his thinning hair, he wore no wig. He had not changed, Bak was glad to see, since washing away the sand and sweat of Wawat to return to this easier, more comfortable life.
“First things first,” Amonked said, and ordered Huy to bring close a low table on which sat two stemmed bowls, a jar of wine, and bowls of fruit. “Tell me of Buhen and all that’s happened since last I saw it.”
Sipping a rich, flower-scented wine, Bak first thanked him on behalf of Commandant Thuty and himself for the promises he had kept. He went on to speak of the many individuals Amonked had come to know during his long journey south. The Storekeeper of Amon, in turn, invited Bak to his home to renew acquaintance with those who had accompanied him to Wawat. A gentle breeze and the soft cooing of doves blessed their reunion.
When finally they had caught up with the news, Amonked set his drinking bowl on the table and his face grew serious.
“You wish to report an offense against the lady Maat, so said your message. A vile deed that must be resolved here in Waset.”
Bak pulled loose from his belt the square of linen in which he had carried the ancient jewelry. Untying the knot, he spread wide the fabric and held out the open package. He had a brief moment of regret that the bracelets and rings no longer lay in the honey. The presentation would have been more dramatic, a jest he felt sure Amonked would have appreciated.
“I found these while inspecting southbound trade goods passing through Buhen,” he said.
Amonked took the package and lifted out a golden bracelet encrusted with turquoise and carnelian. After reading the royal oval and the symbols inside, he studied the other five objects.
Grave of face, he said, “The jewelry of a royal consort or princess, without doubt. A woman close to Nebhepetre Montuhotep, the first of a long line of kings to make Waset their seat of power.” He laid the square of cloth and its precious contents on the table by his side. “Tell me how you found the jewelry and who had it.”
Bak explained in detail and spoke of the subsequent inter-rogation. He summed up the result in one brief sentence:
“I’m convinced Nenwaf knows no more than he told us.”
Eyeing the jewelry, Amonked’s expression grew dark and unhappy. “This isn’t the first time such items have been found on board a ship bound for some distant land. Of the eighteen objects the inspectors at the harbor have retrieved, some, like these, were taken from a royal tomb, while others came from the burial places of individuals whose names we don’t know. They’re all quite beautiful and valuable, objects once worn by the long-dead nobility.”
Bak whistled. The jewelry discovered would be a small fraction of the total amount stolen. The situation was more serious than he had imagined. “Were all the pieces taken from the same burial ground?”
“That we don’t know. The four smugglers apprehended knew no more than your Nenwaf did.” Amonked picked up his drinking bowl. “Even if the jewelry taken from a non-royal tomb contained the owner’s name, we probably wouldn’t know its location. Some objects are of a style common to the reign of Nebhepetre Montuhotep and his immediate successors; the rest are of a less refined workmanship, somewhat later in origin, possibly made at a provincial capital.”
Bak understood the problem. Records so old were hard to find-if they existed at all. A portion of the intervening time had been plagued by famine and war, turning the land of Kemet upside down and the archives into places of chaos.
“Nebhepetre Montuhotep’s memorial temple and tomb are in western Waset. Would not the women close within his heart be buried nearby?”
“Other men’s thoughts have followed the same path, Lieutenant.” Amonked plucked a cluster of grapes from a bowl on the table and plopped one into his mouth. “Lieutenant Menna, the officer who stands at the head of the men who guard the cemeteries of western Waset, has been given the task of laying hands on the thief. Thus far he’s had no luck. Oh, he finds an open tomb now and then, small and poor, certainly not one in which jewelry of this quality would be found.” He spat a seed into his hand. “If anyone can resolve the problem, he can. He’s held his position for more than three years, and he knows the area well.” Beckoning Huy, he added, “I’ll summon him. You must get to know him.”
While he issued orders to the apprentice, the beat of drums and the rhythmic song of oarsmen announced the departure of a cargo ship. As it pulled away from the quay, another similar vessel approached the dock to moor in its place. The quay seldom stood empty at this time of year, Bak knew. The harvest was over and the time had come to share a portion of the year’s bounty with the royal house and the lord Amon. The men who toiled day after day, carrying the offering from the laden ships to the god’s storehouses, sat on the ground beneath a cluster of palms, awaiting the next cargo. One man was whistling, a few played a game of chance, the rest were chatting and laughing, men who saw each other daily but never ran out of words.
Amonked’s extensive knowledge of the thefts roused Bak’s curiosity. After the youth hurried away, he said, “You aren’t the man responsible for the investigation, are you?”
“Not at all. My task, one given to me recently by Maatkare Hatshepsut, is to watch over the construction of Djeser Djeseru, her memorial temple.” Amonked eyed the grapes again, but refused to be tempted. “My sole interest in the robberies is that they could be taking place right under the noses of the men who are building the temple.”
“I’m to remain in Waset a month or more, until Commandant Thuty comes north from Buhen.” Not wanting to appear too eager, Bak took a date from a bowl, pretended to study it. “I’d be glad to help.”
Amonked looked amused, as if he had seen through the casual facade. “No doubt you would, and you’d do the task well, but I’ve another I feel more urgent.”
Bak’s heart sagged within his breast. Hori would be disappointed. By the breath of Amon! So was he.
“It’s a task you may not find as much to your liking,”
Amonked admitted, “but one that must be resolved before other lives are lost.”
Lost lives? Bak tamped down a surge of hope. To feel joy at other men’s misfortunes was not seemly. “Yes, sir?”
“Djeser Djeseru has been plagued by a series of accidents, beginning shortly after construction began a little over five years ago. A few at first, but the numbers have escalated.
Several men have died. A much larger number have suffered injury, some more serious than others. I suspect deliberate intent, and I want you to investigate.”
Bak did not know what to say. Construction sites were in-herently dangerous places. Accidents happened all the time, some caused by careless men, others by the whims of the gods. How could he be expected to learn the reason behind each and every mishap that had occurred over five long years?
More important, the temple was Maatkare Hatshepsut’s proudest creation, a place she held close within her heart.
How would she react if she learned a man she had exiled to the southern frontier was treading its paving stones? Would she send him back to Buhen, a place he had come to love?
Or, far more likely, to some far-off and remote post where he would be lost to the world forever? He wanted nothing to do with the task.
Amonked must have read his thoughts. “You need not fear my cousin, Lieutenant. You’ll report to me alone and to no one else.”
“If she questions my presence?”
