“I knew he had a woman,” Antef said. “He never spoke of her, but the members of my crew would see them together in the market here or in the foreign quarter.”
Bak walked a few paces farther along the deck. Amid a stack of baskets, he spotted one labeled as having come from a provincial estate located considerably closer to Men nufer than to Waset. The nobleman might have brought the items south to trade in the teeming festival market, but the large port and market at Mennufer offered infinitely more possibilities for exchange.
Breaking the seal, he snapped the cord securing the lid and peered inside.
“Sir!” Antef exclaimed. “You can’t do that! The merchant who entrusted me with these items will hold me personally responsible.”
The basket held a dozen or more bronze cups and pitch ers. The linen might truly have been damaged goods, but these small, fine objects clearly were not. They had to be destined for the home of a wealthy nobleman or for the royal house of some far-off king.
“Send him to me or to Lieutenant Karoya. We’d be glad to explain our authority.”
Antef opened his mouth to object, but Bak’s cold stare si lenced him. They walked on, passing the sailor at the base of the mast. The man was toying with the ropes, acting busy, but the tangle had been unsnarled. Bak glanced upward, caught the man above leaning out from the masthead, star ing. The sailor pulled back and busied himself with a fitting.
Wondering how much the crew knew about the goods the vessel carried, Bak peered beneath the roof of the deckhouse.
Inside were the captain’s rolled sleeping pallet, a basket of personal items, and a few baskets of foodstuffs gathered for the coming voyage. One basket, so the label said, contained small bronze tools: harpoon heads, knives, needles, and so on. These were no doubt for daily shipboard use. Another, larger basket had no label at all. He broke the seal and cord, glanced at Antef. The captain was sweating profusely.
Bak lifted the lid and found ten or twelve small jars. They were unmarked, but he had seen enough during the several years he had conducted inspections at Buhen to guess that they held aromatic oils. Definitely not an ordinary trade item. A product much coveted by the wives and concubines of foreign kings. “This is your property, Captain?”
“No, sir.” Antef wiped the moisture from his forehead with the back of his hand. “It belongs to the merchant whose goods I’m to deliver to Ugarit. He asked me to keep that bas ket out of the sun. Other than in the hold, where else could I stow it but here?”
“Are you transporting goods for only the one merchant, or for other men as well?”
“Just Zuwapi.”
Bak was not surprised by the captain’s easy revelation of the merchant’s identity. The name would be on the ship’s manifest and registered in the customs office. “A Hittite, if his name tells true.”
“Yes, sir. A highly respectable man, so I’ve been told.”
“Was he acquainted with Maruwa?”
“That I can’t say. He’s not as amiable as Maruwa was, so
I’d guess not.”
Bak was skeptical. The number of Hittites in Waset was small. “I must speak with him. Where can I find him?”
“He dwells in Mennufer and journeys often to Ugarit.”
Antef bared his teeth in a tenuous smile. “Where he is now, I can’t tell you.”
Bak muttered an oath. “If he’s not here in Waset, who sees that his cargo is properly loaded?”
“I do, sir. He sends me a list of what I’m to transport, and
I check off the items as they’re delivered to me.”
“He must be a trusting soul.”
“I’ve carried his trade goods for years, and I’ve never once failed to deliver each and every object to the port of his choice.” Antef stepped into Bak’s path so he could walk no farther along the deck. “Sir! You must speak up for me to the harbormaster. He must release my ship. I’ve goods on board that I must deliver to Ugarit for shipment by donkey train to cities farther inland.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
The promise was empty. Bak had no intention of letting the ship leave the harbor. The more valuable of the goods he had seen might well have come from a storehouse of the lord
Amon.
The lord Re was hovering above the western horizon when Bak walked into yet another open plot of ground con taining a well and a grove of date palms. This was the fifth well he had found in his thus far vain search for Maruwa’s concubine. The smell of burning fuel and the odors of foods being cooked for the evening meal wafted through the air, reminding him that another treat awaited him at his Med jays’ quarters, food gleaned by Pashenuro from the daily re version of offerings.
At the apex of the irregular triangle of scruffy grass was a well encircled by a wall, while a healthy grove of date palms filled the opposite end. Several acacias grew in a clump near the well, shading a mudbrick bench. Two women sat there, chatting with five others. One of those who stood balanced a large water jar on her head, while the others supported simi lar jars on their hips. Two jars stood at the feet of the women occupying the bench.
The woman holding the jar on her head noticed Bak, mur mured something to her friends, and they stopped talking to stare as he approached them.
“I’m Lieutenant Bak. I’m looking for a woman who may dwell nearby.” He kept his expression grave, hoping to dis courage light conversation and questions. “I must speak with her of a matter of note. A very serious matter.”
A young woman holding a jar on her hip flashed bold eyes at him. “Her name, sir?”
“Irenena.”
“The Hittite’s woman,” she said, exchanging a look with the others.
“What do you need of her?” a seated woman asked.
“Has she not had enough unhappiness?” the woman with the jar on her head asked. “Must you give her more?”
“Leave her be,” another woman said. “Let her mourn her loss in peace.”
He raised a hand, silencing them. “I’m seeking the man who took the Hittite’s life. With luck she can help me lay hands on him.”
Again the women looked at one another, sharing a thought. The oldest in the crowd spoke for them all:
“She’d want to see his slayer punished. I’ll take you to her.”
“They’ve been very kind to me.” Irenena stood beneath the pavilion on the rooftop outside her small home, looking down at the well and the women disappearing into several lanes leading to their dwellings. “I feared when I learned of his death they would turn their backs, thinking me the whore of a vile foreigner, left alone and helpless. But no. They knew I loved him and he loved me, and they respect that.”
“You’ve dwelt here long?” Bak asked.
“Maruwa brought me here almost ten years ago.”
The view below was most attractive, one few city dwellings offered. The dusty green of the trees, the white plastered wall around the well, and the white dwellings en closing the open area were softened by the late evening light. A yellow cat lapped water from a bowl left by some anonymous donor, while her kittens played hide and seek in the grass. A woman on the rooftop across the way crooned a song of love to her baby.
“May I offer you a jar of beer, Lieutenant?”
He accepted and followed her into the home she had made for herself and Maruwa. Her dwelling, in reality the second story of the building, consisted of a large room for living and sleeping, a tiny room for storage, and a kitchen with an open roof covered by loosely spread dry brush that would provide some shade and let out the smoke. The furnishings were sparse but of considerable value, many of the pillow covers, floor mats, and wall hangings imported from the northern lands through which Maruwa had traveled.
While she placed sweetcakes on a flat dish, he studied the comfortable room and the woman herself. Small and sturdy, she had dark hair sprinkled with white, and her round face was no longer youthful. Maruwa must surely have loved her as a wife, a woman to share his time with through eternity, not one to take and throw away.
“Shall we sit on the roof?” she asked. “The breeze is al ways lovely at this time of day.”
