ship on which he transported them, prepared and approved at the point of origin.”
Vowing to take a look at Antef’s manifest, Bak fished around in the stew for a chunk of mutton. “As high priest of the lord Inheret, you must often have dealings with those who toil in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon.”
“Not as often as you’d think.” Sitepehu smiled. “I pay my respects when I come to Waset, and Pentu provides food and a sleeping pallet on the rare occasions when a priest or scribe comes through Tjeny, but that’s about all.”
“Do you recall any who stopped within the past few months?”
“A ranking scribe stayed overnight five or six weeks ago.
He had a document from Hapuseneb himself, demanding that I show him the records of the lord Inheret’s meager es tate. He asked also for a list of Pentu’s personal offerings to the lord Amon.”
His interest quickening, Bak hastily swallowed a bite of meat. “His name was…?”
“User? Woser? Woserhet. Yes, that was the name.”
Bak felt like shouting for joy. At last he had come upon a man who had tied the auditor to… Well, not directly to
Maruwa, but indirectly through Pentu’s household. “What was he looking for?”
“He never said.” The priest must have noticed Bak’s growing excitement for he eyed him with open curiosity.
“He seemed disappointed when he left, as if he’d been un able to find what he hoped to.”
“Did Hapuseneb’s letter demand that you specifically show Woserhet your records, or was it more general, asking all to whom he spoke to open their files to him?”
Sitepehu had no trouble remembering a request he obvi ously took as being of some note, which indeed it had been: a demand made by the chief priest himself. “My name was not upon it, nor was that of Pentu. Woserhet was far from being a garrulous man, but I gathered he’d traveled throughout the land, speaking with many priests and officials along the way.”
“Did Pentu know of his visit?”
“He wasn’t home at the time, though someone may’ve told him later.” The priest plucked a grape from the cluster.
“A nobleman had come south from Mennufer to visit the tomb of the lord Osiris in Abedju. His rank was such that no less a man than the governor could accompany him.”
“No, sir, you cannot speak with either mistress Taharet or mistress Meret.” The elderly servant looked sincerely regretful. “They left well before midday, saying they meant to call on a friend whom they seldom see. I believe they’ll be away for the remainder of the day.”
Bak had hoped to question the two women before night fall. Still he felt a sense of relief at not having to speak with
Meret. He wanted to believe her an intelligent woman who had looked upon him as a friend, a man who had shared a similar loss to hers, but he feared she might have misunder stood, thinking him more interested in her as a woman alone than he actually was.
“Did you go to Hattusa with your master when he served as envoy to the Hittite kingdom?”
“I did, sir.”
“Then I must ask a few questions.”
The lord Re had vanished beyond the western horizon when Bak finally left Pentu’s dwelling. Long shadows lay across the city, darkening the narrow streets and lanes.
Torches lit up the court in front of the sacred precinct of Ipet resyt and the nearby stretch of the processional way, illumi nating the booths erected on the opening day of the Beautiful
Feast of Opet. The crowd, colorful and ever-changing, was gathering for a night of entertainment, food, and drink. Men and women sauntered from booth to booth, from athletic to acrobatic performance, from tricksters in the magic arts to scribes writing letters to the dead, asking for good health or love or to place a curse on an enemy. Children and animals ran free. Laughter and shouting, music and singing, the bray ing of donkeys and barking of dogs filled the air with gaiety.
Bak worked his way through the multitude, stopping briefly to watch one performance and another, looking at rich and exotic products few men could afford and the more common items made by and for the poor. He spotted several of his Medjays but stayed well clear, not wanting to inhibit their play.
Reluctantly he left the crowd to walk north along the pro 162
Lauren Haney cessional way, heading toward his men’s quarters. While he strode through ever deepening darkness, he mulled over his day. He had learned nothing from Pentu’s servants except that they had disliked Hattusa, had felt imprisoned within the massive stone walls that surrounded the city. As for the governor and his staff, no man looked more guilty than an other. If one had told him a falsehood, he had been unable to detect the lie.
Why would any of them-why would any resident of the land of Kemet, for that matter-wish to cause trouble in
Hatti? To unseat the king seemed likely. But why? What would be the goal? Personal gain? Political gain? He was mystified.
He regretted the need to return to Pentu’s dwelling, to speak with mistresses Taharet and Meret, but experience had taught him that he must not overlook the women of the household.
He turned into the dark, narrow lane that would take him to his Medjays’ quarters. A nightbird whistled behind him.
Ahead, three men staggered out of an intersecting lane, carrying a torch to light their way, singing loud, their voices raucous. Men besotted. As they drew near, he glanced to ei ther side, seeking a doorway so he could step out of their way. He wanted no confrontation with men too befuddled to think clearly.
A stone rattled behind him. He glanced around, saw two men running toward him in the dark, each carrying a short, thick staff. He looked forward, muttered a curse. The three ahead had grown silent, their staggering gait had been thrown aside. They, too, carried weapons. One held a staff; his two mates carried scimitars.
He remembered the nightbird, heard in a place where no trees grew. The sound had been a signal, letting the men in front know he was coming.
The pack must have followed him from Ipet-resyt-or from Pentu’s dwelling. When he had entered the residential area, with its cramped lanes and building blocks that looked all alike, two had raced on ahead to block his way.
He had walked into their trap.
Chapter Eleven
Snapping out a curse, Bak pivoted and raced back along the lane toward the two men who had come up behind him. The pair paused, confused by his sudden approach. His eyes darted along the windowless, doorless wall to his right, searching for a narrow passage he vaguely remembered see ing as he passed it by, a slice of black opening onto the gray black lane. An escape route, he prayed. He carried his baton of office and his dagger hung from his belt, but in the hands of a single individual, they would be no match against five armed men.
There! he thought, spotting the cleft a half-dozen paces ahead, midway between him and the pair. He leaped toward it.
“Stop him!” yelled one, lunging forward.
Bak felt the man’s groping hands just as he ducked into the passage. Blackness closed around him, with not a speck of light above-or at the far end.
What had he gotten himself into?
A quick glance back revealed a man at the mouth of the passage, peering inside. A rude reminder that retreat was im possible. Whatever lay ahead, he must face.
“It’s blacker than night in there,” the man said.
“Go in and get him, you louts.” A second voice, gravelly, irritable.
