“Why shouldn’t he trust me? I’ve never lost a cargo, his or anyone else’s.”
“You’re an excellent seaman,” Karoya said. “Your reputa tion in that respect is impeccable.”
“Stop treating him as if he were related to our sovereign,
Lieutenant,” Bak snarled, feigning anger. “A thief is a thief.”
He grabbed the captain by the shoulders, turned him roughly around to face the kiln, and made him kneel before the fur nace. “His right hand,” he said to Kasaya, whose large, mus cular form and stolid demeanor would bring fear to any man’s heart.
“No!” Antef screamed.
Karoya intervened. “Captain Antef, you must tell us the truth. I’d hate to see you suffer mutilation when all you have to do is speak out.”
Kasaya grabbed the seaman’s hand and jerked it toward the mouth of the furnace.
“No!” Antef screamed again. “I beg of you! I’ll tell you what you wish to know!”
Bak exchanged a quick look with Kasaya, who continued to hold the captain’s hand at the edge of the heat radiating from the red-hot coals within the kiln. He suspected the
Medjay was as relieved as he that the seaman had broken so easily.
Antef’s voice shook as much as his body did. “I never talked to Zuwapi about the goods he shipped to Ugarit. He was too good a customer, too faithful in bringing his cargo to me. And he always allowed me a fair return. He saw that I had a good mooring place in that distant port. He even helped me replace crewmen lost to other vessels there, or to houses of pleasure.”
“You’re not a stupid man, Antef,” Bak said. “You knew exactly what you were hauling.”
“No!” Antef wiped his brow and dried his free hand on his damp-stained kilt. “I suspected some of the objects were stolen, yes, but I closed my eyes to what my heart told me. I never once thought they’d come from the sacred precinct, from the lord Amon himself. Never!”
Suspecting the admission was partially true at best, Bak pressed on relentlessly. “Did Maruwa guess what you were doing, forcing you to slay him?”
Antef looked truly horrified. “No!”
“If he saw valuable objects on board and guessed they were stolen, you most certainly would’ve done what you thought necessary to save yourself.”
“I didn’t slay him, I tell you. Would I be so stupid as to murder a man on my own vessel? Especially when it was loaded with horses. Flighty creatures they are, easily pan icked. They could’ve torn my ship apart.”
Bak was inclined to believe him, and from the thoughtful look on Karoya’s face, he also believed he was hearing the truth. “If not you, who did take his life?”
“Zuwapi. The slayer could’ve been no one else.” Antef’s words, his demeanor were firm, containing not a hint of re luctance at accusing his partner in crime of so heinous a deed.
“No!” Zuwapi flung the word out like an angry and fear ful child throws a denial at a parent. “I didn’t slay Maruwa.
He knew nothing of the smuggling. He wouldn’t have recognized a sacred vessel if a priest had held one in front of his eyes.”
“You knew him well?” Karoya asked.
“We weren’t friends, if that’s what you mean, but we greeted each other when we met.” Zuwapi eyed the kiln and the heat waves reaching up from the opening at the top. The sand around the furnace was scuffed, indicating the earlier struggle. With luck and the generosity of the gods, he had heard Antef’s fearful cries. “I’m a businessman-a good one-and he cared for nothing but horses.”
“I say you took his life,” Bak said, “and you took the lives of two men in the sacred precinct. Men who could’ve pointed a finger at you.”
“I did not. Other than once during a battle at sea, I’ve never slain anyone.”
“You tried three times to slay me.”
“Would that I had,” the Hittite mumbled beneath his breath.
As before when they had questioned Antef, Karoya’s man ner was more sympathetic. “You can’t mean that, sir. If you’d wanted Lieutenant Bak dead, you’d have slit his throat.”
Zuwapi grew sullen. “I’ve no stomach for blood. How was I to know he’s as slippery as an eel?”
Bak signaled Kasaya, who forced the Hittite to get down on his knees in front of the kiln. “If you didn’t slay Maruwa and the others, why try to slay me?”
“I was told…” Zuwapi’s eyes flitted toward the ban dages on Bak’s wrists, and he sneered, “Why should I tell you anything?”
“Someone ordered you to slay me?”
“No one orders me about. No one.”
Bak nodded to Kasaya, who eased the Hittite’s hand closer to the heat. “Who wanted me dead, Zuwapi?”
Staring at the burning coals in the gaping furnace, Zuwapi growled, “I don’t know!”
“You have heard of the murders in the sacred precinct, have you not?” Karoya asked.
“Who hasn’t?”
“Did you know the two men slain there?” Bak demanded.
Zuwapi licked his lips. “I did not.”
“Do you always lie when the truth would serve you bet ter? You knew Meryamon. He stole the objects you placed on board Antef’s ship.”
Zuwapi’s mouth tightened, holding inside his answer.
“What of the red-haired man?” Bak asked. “Will you try to tell me he, too, is a stranger to you?”
Surprise flitted across Zuwapi’s face, but was quickly wiped away with a sneer. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“I saw Meryamon pass a message to a red-haired man, and he, in turn, spoke to you. You were in front of Ipet-resyt during the opening ceremonies of the festival.”
Zuwapi’s attitude changed once again, this time to a sly defiance. “If you saw me talk to a red-haired man, I don’t doubt that you did. I’ve exchanged words with many men since the festival began. Strangers mostly. How can I recall one over another?”
“You were not strangers to one another.” Bak gave the
Hittite a long, speculative look. “I believe Meryamon passed word to the red-haired man that the auditor Woserhet had been slain. He most likely mentioned that I’d noticed a sim ilarity between Woserhet’s death and that of Maruwa. The redhead, in turn, passed the word to you. Who did you pass it to, Zuwapi? Captain Antef?”
“Antef was a man in a hurry,” Karoya said, “pressing me to allow him to sail away from Waset. At the very least, you warned him to take care.”
Bak formed a scornful smile. “Does the red-haired man pull your strings, Zuwapi, as a child would pull a toy with movable parts?”
The Hittite’s laugh failed to conceal his resentment at be ing called a puppet. “Have you ever thought to become a teller of tall tales, Lieutenant?”
“Somehow I can’t imagine any of you-neither you nor
Meryamon nor Antef-thinking of a way to safely steal from the sacred precinct. The priest was young, too un worldly to create a plan that would go on successfully for several years. Captain Antef has no direct connection with the sacred precinct and wouldn’t know how to go about it.
You’re a foreigner who knows not the ways of the lord
Amon and the men who toil for him. Which means someone else planned the thefts. Who, Zuwapi?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Irritated with the game the Hittite was playing, Bak sig naled Kasaya, who jerked Zuwapi’s right hand toward the furnace. “Did you take the lives of Maruwa, Meryamon, and
Woserhet?”
Zuwapi flung a contemptuous look at him. “You wouldn’t dare burn me. I’ve friends in the royal house in Hattusa. Do harm to me and your sovereign would hear of their objec tions in the strongest possible terms.”
“Answer my question, Zuwapi.”
“I’ve no answer to give you. Sir!” he added in a mocking manner.
