murder is connected to those in the sacred precinct, yet your de scription of the men’s throats…” He shook his head, obvi ously mystified. “What in the name of the lord Amon can the connection be?”
“I can’t say I knew Maruwa well, but I enjoyed his com pany, respected him. I suppose I thought of him as a friend.”
Commander Minnakht, master of the royal stables, walked beneath the portico that shaded a long line of open door ways, from which came the strong smell of horses. The thud of hooves, the rustle of hay, an animal’s soft nickering could be heard within. “He seemed a fine man, and I mourn his death.”
“Did he speak of other men he provided with horses?”
Bak asked. Each time he inhaled the rich smell of the stable, a twinge of homesickness touched his heart. Most of the time he did not regret his exile to the southern frontier and his life as a policeman, but now and again- here and now he yearned to return to the past and resume the life of the chariotry officer he had once been.
“He told me more than once how proud he was that we thought all his horses worthy of the royal stables. From that,
I assumed we were his sole customers. We and Menkheperre
Thutmose, of course. Maruwa also delivered horses to the royal house in Mennufer on a regular basis.”
“Who exactly do you mean by ‘we’? You and…”
“Those of us who looked at the animals he brought and made the decision to keep them. I speak of myself and the men who see to the animals’ training.”
The commander was a large man in every respect. He was tall and heavy, his legs solid and muscular. His neck was so thick it seemed a part of his head. He had the largest hands
Bak had ever seen, and the thickest wrists. His voice was deep and strong, his manner self-assured.
A hefty young man emerged from the large walled circle surrounding the well in front of the portico. Two heavy wa ter jars were suspended from a yoke across his shoulders.
The acrid smell of sweat wafted from him as he walked past and entered the nearest doorway.
Bak peeked inside. Beyond a high mound of straw mixed with manure, he saw a narrow room, somewhat like a store house but longer, with openings all along the roof to let in light and air. No horses were there, but several men were laying fresh straw, while others were filling the water and grain troughs that lined one wall. Each animal’s position was marked by a stone fixed into the floor, with a hole in the center for tying the creature.
He thought of the many long days his own team had spent in an identical stable, and could not help but wonder if they missed the companionship of others of their kind.
Smiling at such a flight of fancy-the two horses were more than content, gamboling around the large paddock at his fa ther’s small farm-he turned his thoughts to more produc tive exercise.
Captain Antef had suggested Maruwa might have been in volved in Hittite politics, but could he have assumed Hittite when in reality the merchant had been embroiled in the pol itics of Kemet? He would not have dealt directly with either
Maatkare Hatshepsut or Menkheperre Thutmose, but might well have favored one over the other.
“Did he ever express a preference between our sovereign and her nephew?” The young man who shares the throne but not the power, Bak added to himself. A young man wise enough to come to Waset and participate with his aunt in the all-important Opet rituals, thereby reminding those who should one day bow before him that he was the offspring of the lord Amon. Best not to air those thoughts while within the confines of the royal residence.
“He didn’t seem to care which of the two ruled our land.
He told me once he thought them both capable, a high com pliment from a man as able as he was.” The commander laughed. “Oh, he was puzzled by the fact that Maatkare Hat shepsut allows Thutmose to live. Which is understandable.
Any man who assumes the throne in Hatti slays everyone who might have the least excuse to wrest the power from him. A man born and reared there would expect the same of us.”
Bak chose not to mention that he had heard men of
Kemet, especially soldiers on the southern frontier, express the same puzzlement. “Did he ever give any indication that he might’ve been involved in the politics of his homeland?”
“None whatsoever.” A horse screamed somewhere be yond a block of storage magazines. Minnakht raised his head, listening. When no further sound was heard, he smiled ruefully. “A couple of young stallions have been fighting.
We decided to geld them.”
Bak returned a sympathetic smile. Increasing a herd of fine horses through breeding was as important, if not more so, than importing animals from other lands to enhance the royal herd. “So you believe Maruwa held no interest in politics.”
“He was a sensible man, Lieutenant. He’d not have been allowed to export horses from Hatti or import them here if anyone in power had had the least suspicion he dabbled in politics, theirs or ours. I’d wager our sovereign’s favorite chariot team that he stayed well clear.”
Far too rash a wager to dismiss lightly the commander’s conviction, Bak thought.
Minnakht eyed him speculatively. “Have you heard other wise?”
“One man suggested the possibility. I suspect he threw it out because it was the first reason he could think of for the slaying.”
“A loose tongue,” the commander said scornfully. “Bah!”
“Did Maruwa ever mention knowing anyone who lives or toils in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
Minnakht laughed. “What would a Hittite merchant deal ing in horses have to do with piety and priests?” He noticed the look on Bak’s face; the laughter faded to a wry smile. “I see my question is not new to you.”
“I’ve asked it of myself, yes. More than once.” Realizing an explanation was in order, Bak told the commander of
Woserhet’s death and of Meryamon’s. “You see why I’ve come today.”
“I’ve been wondering. I’d been told the harbor patrol was investigating Maruwa’s death and now here you are.
Amonked’s friend. The man from Buhen who laid hands on the malign spirit at Djeser Djeseru. A considerable step up from a simple harbor patrol officer.”
“Lieutenant Karoya is a good man, sir.”
“I’m certain he is.” Minnakht glanced at the man with the yoke, returning to the well with empty jars. “Maruwa had a woman here in Waset. Has anyone told you of her?”
“Someone mentioned a concubine, but I wasn’t sure she’d remained a part of his life.”
“I believe he was very fond of her. He may’ve confided in her.”
Several men came out the door, carrying baskets of manure-laced straw, and passed through a gate at the far end of the portico. The waste, Bak assumed, would be saved for use as fertilizer in the gardens within the royal compound.
“Can you tell me where I can find her?” he asked.
The commander shook his head. “I don’t know her name or where she dwells, but Sergeant Khereuf may. He oversees the training of all our horses. He and Maruwa became quite friendly.”
“I was proud to count Maruwa among my friends.”
Sergeant Khereuf, a tall, sturdy man of middle years, clutched the rope halter of a young white stallion and ran his hand down its long nose. The animal trembled at his touch, but made no attempt to break away. “I doubt I’ll ever meet another man who knows horses like he did.”
Bak walked around the stallion, examining its slender legs, sturdy neck, and muscular body. Its coat was damp from a long, hard run, and it needed to be cooled down and dried off. “Who’ll bring horses to Kemet now?”
“The lord Amon only knows!” Startled by the vehemence in the sergeant’s voice, the horse jerked backward. Other than tightening his hold on the halter, Khereuf gave no sign that he noticed.
“Should you not walk that stallion?” Bak asked.
A look of approval touched the sergeant’s face, a hint of surprise that a police officer would recognize the animal’s need. As he led the horse to a well-worn path shaded by date palms that lined the rear wall of the royal compound, he asked, “You’ve spent time with horses, sir?”
