“Mistress Meret wed a traveling merchant, but he was slain within months by bandits, leaving her childless and alone.
Mistress Taharet convinced their father that their lives would be wasted in so remote a town, so he sent them here to
Waset, where they dwelt with an elderly aunt. Soon after,
Pentu came to pay homage to our sovereign. He met Mis tress Taharet and in a short time they wed.”
Sile was a town on the eastern frontier of Kemet. Located on a major trade route, it had grown prosperous by provid ing weary men and donkeys with a place to stop and rest and to replenish supplies. As for Meret, he was surprised to learn she was a widow. When she had talked of a lost love, he must have jumped to the conclusion that she, like him, had never wed the individual to whom she had given her heart.
“Since Mistress Meret was a widow with no one to care for her, Pentu also brought her into his household.” Neter mose allowed himself a humorless smile. “The two sisters are very close. I’d not be opposed to taking Meret as my wife, but mistress Taharet guards her like a falcon and I stay well clear.”
Bak gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’ve a feeling mis tress Taharet wishes her to wed a man of means.” He thought of the woman’s previous interest in him, added, “Or one she believes has future prospects.” He would not have been so blunt, but the knowledge was clear on the aide’s face.
Later, as he hurried back along the processional way, he mulled over all Netermose had told him. Dig as deep as he would, twisting words and seeking hidden meanings, he could not sort one individual out from another as being more likely to have slain a man-or to become involved in the politics of Hatti. Was he wasting his time, looking at Pentu’s household? Would he be wiser to focus his attention on the sacred precinct?
Bak was not surprised at finding the Overseer of Over seers of the storehouses of Amon at the treasury, where he had found him before. Where else would a man be who was as obsessed with the wealth of the deity as User was?
“You’ve come to tell me all is well, I take it.” User, sum moned by an elderly scribe, stood in the doorway, a hand on either jamb as if to prevent Bak from entering. “I knew you’d find no irregularities in our records, no missing ob jects in our storehouses.”
“Many records were destroyed by the fire when Woserhet was slain, sir. I’m convinced they were burned deliberately so no one would know their contents.”
“Bah! You’re imagining a crime where none exists.”
“Woserhet informed the chief priest, Hapuseneb himself, that he’d found some discrepancies in the records of the storehouses of the lord Amon.”
Dismissing the charge with a wave of his hand, User walked to his armchair, plumped up the pillow, and dropped onto it. “To an auditor, a transposed symbol is a discrep ancy.”
“Hapuseneb held him in sufficiently high regard to allow him to look deeper into the matter, and I’ve found no reason why anyone would slay him outside of his task as an audi tor.” Bak paused, stressed his next words. “An auditor of the lord Amon’s storehouses where he’d found discrepancies.”
Frowning, User adjusted the pillow, fussed with the band of the kilt riding high on his ample stomach. “To steal ob jects from the lord Amon would be sacrilege, Lieutenant.”
True, Bak thought, but more than one man had been so tempted by wealth while living that he had set aside all thoughts of death and the weighing of his heart on the scale of justice before the lord Osiris. “The priest Meryamon also slain, if you recall-handled the same objects that were held in the storehouse where Woserhet died. That’s too much of a coincidence to take lightly.”
“Humph.”
Bak leaned a shoulder against a brightly painted wooden column, jarring the roof. A sparrow let out a startled chirp and flitted into the sky. “As a man who regularly removed and replaced items kept in the storehouse, Meryamon could easily have held back a number of objects and altered the records.”
“No priest would do such a thing.”
“Priests suffer from the same fallibilities as other men, sir.”
“Steal from a god? The greatest of the gods? No.”
Bak could not begin to guess if the overseer’s denials were heartfelt or if he was merely defending his territory.
“The entire storage block, I understand, is filled with objects used in the sacred rituals.”
“I believe I told you so the last time we spoke.”
“I know that many items offered to the lord Amon are consumed, such as aromatic oils, perfumes, the linens used to clothe his image, and so on. On the other hand, ritual im plements, such as libation vessels and censers, are reused time and time again. Are they kept forever or, when the storehouses become too crowded, are some of them dis posed of?”
User stared past Bak, watching the scribe latch and seal the treasury door, securing the wondrous riches of the lord
Amon. The old man looked toward the overseer, who dis missed him with a wave of his hand, and shuffled across the lane to enter a smaller building.
“You were saying?” User’s eyes focused on Bak and he nodded. “Oh, yes. Each year when we take inventory, we separate out items no longer of use. We distribute a few to the lord Amon’s small mansion in Mennufer and to his vari ous shrines. The rest go to the royal house, where they’re stored if deemed worth keeping, either for use there or to be given as gifts to some wretched foreign king or princeling. If unworthy, the objects are destroyed. The pottery items are broken up, while those made of metal are melted down and recast.”
Bak cursed to himself. Another path to explore. “Does this happen often?”
“No, Lieutenant, it doesn’t. To give away anything of value is to drain the life from the lord Amon.”
Gold was the flesh of the god, but to think of the lesser metals and other materials as the blood of the deity was stretching the imagery too far. “Are linens or perishable items such as aromatic oils ever sent to the royal house?”
“We sometimes send small gifts to our sovereign, items for her personal use.”
“And each transaction, from beginning to end, is docu mented.”
“Of course.”
Bak scowled. He had traveled full circle and was back where he started. Items intended as offerings and objects used in the rituals had been taken from the storehouses of
Amon. By Meryamon? Could the young priest have stolen undetected the large quantities hinted at by the many valu able objects placed among the cargo on the deck of Antef’s ship?
User stared at Bak for a long time, thinking thoughts he could not begin to guess. Slowly the overseer’s look of stub born resistance turned to one of alarm. “You don’t think
Woserhet found discrepancies in the treasury!”
Where that idea came from, Bak had no idea. “I suppose it’s possible, but I doubt the thief dared aim so high. I think the thefts occurred in the storage block where he was slain.”
“If there’s the slightest chance…” User bit a lip, nodded to himself. “Yes, a criminal so vile might well begin to think himself untouchable and look toward the treasury as a source of greater wealth.” His eyes darted toward Bak, he said, “Can I help you in any way, Lieutenant?”
Bak was surprised by the man’s change of heart, but not so much so that he failed to leap at the offer. “I need to bring in another auditor, one unconnected to the sacred precinct. A senior man, as Woserhet was.”
User stood up, the movement abrupt, decisive. “I suggest you speak with Sobekhotep. He’s my counterpart in the royal house. Tell him we’d like to borrow the best man he has.”
Chapter Thirteen
A distant trumpet blared, followed by the slow beat of a drum and the clamor of sistra and clappers. Swallowing a chunk of cold fish, Bak walked swiftly to the end of the nar row, deeply shadowed lane and looked out upon the pro cessional way. To the south, the thoroughfare was blocked by large numbers of spectators looking
