Over seer of Overseers was not listening.
User was staring hard at the royal guards, frowning. When he spoke, it was more to himself than to Bak. “That officer has been inside a long time.” He rose from his chair and took up his baton of office, which had been leaning against a col umn. “I must see what the matter is.”
Bak stepped in front of him, halting him. “I must ask questions within the sacred precinct, sir, and many of the men with whom I speak will be overseers of the storehouses for which you are responsible.”
“Question anyone you like. Ask what you will.” User stepped sideways and raised his baton, barring Bak from his path. “You’ll find everything in order. You’ll see.”
Bak stopped with Amonked just inside the door and stud ied the bejeweled, bewigged men and women circulating around Governor Pentu’s spacious reception hall. The odors of beer and wine, roast duck and beef, onions and herbs com peted with the aromas of sweet-smelling perfume and luxuri ous bouquets of flowers. Voices rose and fell; laughter rang out. The late afternoon breeze flowing in through high win dows failed to compete with the heat of bodies and human energy. A rivulet of sweat trickled down Bak’s breastbone, and he thanked the lord Amon that he had had the good sense to wear no wig. Amonked had groused all the way to Pentu’s dwelling about the need to wear the finery of a nobleman.
He leaned close to Bak, muttered, “We’ll stay an hour, no more.”
Bak, who saw not a single face he recognized, feared that hour might seem an eternity.
Pentu’s aide Netermose hastened to meet them. He ush ered them through the crowd to the slightly raised dais the governor shared with his spouse and Chief Treasurer Dje huty, and slipped away. Bak and Amonked bowed low to the trio, who were seated on chairs surrounded by bowls of fra grant white lilies floating on water. They murmured the cus tomary greetings and were welcomed in turn. After Pentu extended to them all the good things his household had to offer, they moved aside, allowing other newly arrived guests to take their place.
A female servant gave them stemmed bowls filled with a flower-scented, deep red wine and asked if they wished any thing else, relating a long list of food, drink, flowers, and perfumes. From what they could see on the heavily laden flat dishes carried through the hall by servants and on the low ta bles scattered along the walls, occupied mostly by women who chose to sit and gossip while they ate, her description could in no way prepare them for the sumptuous reality. Bak helped himself to the honeyed dates while Amonked sam pled a variety of spiced meats.
“Good afternoon, sir.” The priest Sitepehu bowed his head to Amonked and smiled at Bak. “Lieutenant.”
“Pentu has truly outdone himself,” Amonked said.
“We owe much of this bounty to Pahure, his steward. He traveled to Waset a few days ahead of us to prepare the dwelling for our arrival and to see that we had plentiful fresh food, drink and flowers.”
“Not an easy task at this time of year, with most of the fields flooded, the best cropland under water.”
Sitepehu chuckled. “Pahure is not a man to let a slight dif ficulty get in his way.”
“Do you not share some of the acclaim?” Amonked asked, smiling. “Did you not pray to the lord Inheret that he’d be successful?”
The chuckle turned into a wholehearted laugh, drawing the attention of the people around them. “Frankly, sir, I saw no need. If Pahure stumbles, it’ll not be over something as small as preparing for guests.” The priest glanced beyond them, smiled. “Ah, Netermose. Meret.”
The young woman welcomed the two of them to the gov ernor’s dwelling. Amonked hurried through the appropriate compliments, then immediately spotted an elderly priest he said Sitepehu should meet. He and Netermose rushed the priest off through the crowd.
Turning to Bak, flushing slightly, Meret smiled. “Your friend isn’t very subtle, is he, Lieutenant?”
He laughed. “Amonked seems to think I need a wife.”
“Do you?”
The question was so arch that for the briefest of moments he was struck dumb. “I’ve always thought myself capable of seeking out the woman with whom I wish to spend the rest of my life.”
“Seeking out? Are you trying to tell me you need no matchmaker? Or that you know of someone you plan some day to approach?”
Her thoughts were difficult to read, but he suspected the latter question was prompted by mixed emotions, a touch of concern that he might not be available mixed with relief that he might be committed.
“I found a woman I wished to wed, but I lost her.”
“To death?”
“To a lost life, yes, but not her own.”
When he failed to explain, she said, “I sorrow for you,
Lieutenant.” A woman’s laughter drew her glance to the peo ple milling around them, and she lowered her voice. “I, too, once shared my heart with another.”
He beckoned a servant, who exchanged their empty wine bowls for fresh ones. Taking her elbow, he steered her to ward one of four tall, brightly painted wooden columns sup porting the high ceiling. With the pillar at their backs and a large potted acacia to their right, they could speak with some privacy. “What tore the two of you apart?”
She stared at the noisy crowd. “He left me one day and never returned.”
Bak could guess how she must feel. He had heard nothing of his lost love since she had left Buhen. Like him, he as sumed, Meret had no idea whether her beloved lived or died, whether he had wed another or remained alone. “I assume
Pentu shared with Amonked the wish that you and I become friends. More than friends. Does he know of your loss?”
“My sister told him. Together they decided I must forget.
I must find someone new and wed. When Amonked sug gested to Djehuty that you needed a wife, the four of them thought to bring us together.” She looked up at Bak, a sud den smile playing across her face. “Now here we are…”
He eyed her over the rim of his drinking bowl and grinned. “Thrown at each other like a boy and girl of twelve or thirteen years.”
They laughed together.
“Mistress Meret.” Pahure stood beside the potted tree, looking annoyed. “A servant tripped while carrying a large storage jar filled with wine. When it broke, it splashed most of the other servants. The few whose clothing remains un stained can’t possibly serve so many guests. You must come with me and see that those with soiled clothing change as quickly as possible.”
“Tripped!” Meret looked dismayed. “The floor in the ser vants’ quarters is perfectly smooth, and all obstacles were placed against the walls. What could he have stumbled over?”
“His feet, I suspect.”
She shot an apologetic glance at Bak. “I fear I must leave you, Lieutenant. I may not return before you go, but do come again. We have more to talk about than I ever thought possible.”
He gave her his most charming smile. “I’ll see you an other time, that I vow.”
“You like her, I see.” Bak’s father, the physician Ptah hotep, leaned against the mudbrick wall of the paddock and looked with interest upon his son.
Bak poured two heavy jars of water into the trough and stepped back. Victory and Defender, the fine black chariot horses he had been unwilling to part with when he had been exiled to the southern frontier, paid no heed. They had drunk their fill from the first jarful he had carried from the over flowing irrigation channel outside the paddock.
“She seems not at all like her sister. I thank the lord
Amon. If I’d found her to be manipulative, I’d have greeted her and no more.”
“Amonked wouldn’t do that to you.” Ptahhotep’s features were much like those of his son and he was of a similar height and breadth. The years had softened his muscles and turned the brown of his eyes to a deep gold, but no one could have thought him other than the younger man’s sire. “Would you make a match with her?”
Bak knew Ptahhotep hoped to see him settle down with wife and family. “How can I say? I must spend more time with her, get to know her. But first, I must lay hands on the man who slew Woserhet.”
