Pentu glared at Bak. “Why would I know them? Do you think I’m acquainted with every man who’s been slain in this city since we disembarked from our ship at the harbor?”
“This terrace should offer ample privacy, sir.”
Pahure, looking very much the efficient functionary, stepped through the doorway. He led Bak along a portico that shaded the roof of a narrow two-story extension added sometime in the past to the north side of the three- story dwelling. The outer edge of the shelter, lined with small pot ted trees and flowering plants, was a riot of color. Bees buzzed around blossoms whose sweet fragrance perfumed the air. A very young female servant hurried after them, carrying a basket containing several jars of beer and a lumpy package wrapped in clean white linen.
Bak dropped onto one of several low stools scattered along the portico and the steward sat beside him. The girl drew close a small table, deposited the basket on it, and spread wide the linen to reveal small, round loaves of bread so fresh out of the oven they smelled of yeast.
“You understand my purpose,” Bak said after the servant departed.
“Pentu left no doubt.”
Bak helped himself to a warm loaf, which had bits of date erupting through its golden crust. “Did you know the mer chant Maruwa?”
Pahure shrugged. “I may have met him, but if so I don’t recall.” He broke the plug from a jar and handed the brew to
Bak. His demeanor was serious, reflecting the gravity of the question. “You must understand, sir. I met a multitude of people during the course of my duties in Hattusa. As several years have passed since our return, I’ve forgotten many, es pecially those individuals I met in passing.” He took a bite of bread and washed it down with a sizable drink. “Also, Site pehu handled official affairs, while my tasks were related solely to household matters. I normally dealt with local mer 152
Lauren Haney chants, obtaining food, clothing, furniture, everything re quired for our day-to-day living.”
Bak studied the man seated before him. Pahure’s shoul ders were broad and muscular, giving an impression of strength that contrasted with his gently rounded stomach.
His manner was pleasant, ever so slightly subservient, yet
Sitepehu had once inferred that the steward was a man who usually got what he wanted. Certainly the latter trait would be useful to one who had attained the lofty position of stew ard to a provincial governor or envoy.
“Let me describe Maruwa,” Bak said, and he did so.
Pahure looked down his substantial nose at the officer. “I saw many such men while in Hatti, sir.”
Bak ignored what he assumed was a subtle attempt to put him in his place, an unexpected fracture in the steward’s fa cade of respect and deference. “Do you spend much time in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
A wry smile flitted across Pahure’s face. “I can’t remem ber when last I was inside its walls. I seldom come to this city and when I do, I’ve other, more pressing business.”
“Have you ever met a scribe named Woserhet or a young priest, Meryamon?”
“Aren’t they the men who were slain in the sacred precinct?”
Bak described them as best he could, asked again, “Have you ever met them, Pahure?”
“I’ve met many such men, Lieutenant. They come through Tjeny, pay their respects to Pentu and Sitepehu, sometimes even stay the night. I seldom can tell one from another and never can recall their names.”
Doggedly Bak pressed on, asking another question for which he expected to receive an equally unsatisfactory an swer. “Did you ever meet a Hittite trader named Zuwapi?”
“Zuwapi?” Pahure drew the basket close, sorted through the loaves of bread, finally selected one with sesame seeds dotting the crust. “One would think I’d recall a name that rolls so harshly off the tongue.”
Was that a yes or a no? Bak wondered. “Among other things, he deals in luxury items: fine linen, bronze vessels, aromatic oils. Goods exported from Kemet for trade in northern lands. Objects one would sorely miss when dwelling in a strange and distant city.”
“Ah, yes,” the steward smiled. “Small items for the ladies.
I several times purchased from him linens and perfumes for mistresses Taharet and Meret. Items not easy to find in Hat tusa. He was a godsend, I tell you.”
Gratified at having finally received an answer, and a posi tive one at that, Bak asked, “Can you describe him?”
Pahure seemed surprised by the question. “He’s very ordi nary, very much a Hittite.”
“Is he tall or short?” Bak asked, trying not to show his ir ritation with so vague a response. “Does he have any special features that would make him stand out from all other men?”
“None that I remember.”
Bak felt like a man trying to knock a hole in granite with a wedge of cheese. “Did anything happen when you dealt with him, or have you heard anything about him, that might lead you to believe he’s less than honest?”
“He was a sharp trader, one who demanded full value and more.” Pahure’s laugh exuded self-satisfaction. “But so am
I. I always came out ahead in our dealings.”
Bak allowed the steward a stingy smile. “Do you believe the charge true that someone in your household became em broiled in the affairs of the land of Hatti?”
“I can’t imagine any of us-or anyone else, for that mat ter-trying to cause dissension in that wretched land. Their royalty and nobility make enough trouble for themselves.”
Pahure’s expression turned scornful. “One would have to be completely witless to interfere in the politics of a nation where punishment by death is commonplace and where a man’s family and close friends more likely than not die with him.”
Bak found Netermose on the roof of the original dwelling, seated in the shade of a sturdy pavilion. Bushy trees growing in pots formed a screen of sorts, partly concealing several small granaries and a far less elegant shelter containing a loom, grindstones, brazier, and water jars. Additional potted trees lined the edge of the roof facing the river. Reed mats covered the floor beneath the pavilion, and thick pillows had been strewn around for seating. The aide sat on one, study ing rows of columns on a long roll of papyrus. Four slick haired brindle puppies played around him.
“I knew Maruwa well,” Netermose said, motioning Bak to a pillow. “When Pentu told us of his death… Well, suffice it to say, I felt as if I’d lost a friend.”
Bak was not surprised by the admission. He had noticed the dismay on the aide’s face when the governor had broken the news.
“I’m not much of a man of action, Lieutenant, but should you need help in snaring his slayer, I’ll do what I can.”
“At the moment, I need nothing but information.” Bak was again struck by the man’s advanced age and wondered what had placed him at Pentu’s beck and call. “How long ago did you meet him?”
“When first we went to Hattusa. He came for a travel pass.” Netermose rolled up the scroll, laid it beside the pil low on which he sat, and handed Bak a jar of beer. “When he learned I was reared on Pentu’s family’s country estate and that I sorely missed the company of animals, he invited me to go to his stable and look at the horses he meant to bring to
Kemet. The invitation was open, so I went often. I saw him almost daily each time he came through Hattusa.”
Netermose, then, had probably come from a long line of servants of Pentu’s family. He and the governor had un doubtedly played together as children, learned to read and write together as they grew to manhood, but always one the servant, the other the master. “He kept the horses in the cap ital and not at his home in Nesa?”
A puppy whimpered, trying to escape from a more sturdy brother, who had caught its ear in his mouth and was tugging at it. Netermose gently separated the two. “Has no one told you how he handled his business?”
“I assumed he collected horses from all over the land of
Hatti and stabled them where he dwelt, where men he trusted could care for them while he went off to trade for others.”
“He preferred to limit the distances the animals had to travel, so he kept four stables along the route between the capital and the Great Green Sea. Those horses he got from the north, he kept at Hattusa, those from farther south at
