As soon as Bak got his first good look at Nehi, he knew the redhead had played no major role in the robberies. He was, like Meryamon, less than twenty years of age. “You knew Meryamon.”
The young man wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, swallowed tears. The unexpected capture, the mere threat of burning, had completely unmanned him, turning him into the sobbing child he once had been. “We grew to manhood together. In Abedju. We were childhood playmates, the best of friends.”
He seemed so lacking in guile, so genuine, that Bak al most sympathized with him. Almost. “The two of you stole many valuable objects from the lord Amon.”
“We stole, yes.” Sniffing back tears, Nehi spoke out read ily, a young man eager to please men more senior in age and rank. “Each time I saw a ritual vessel or a jar of aromatic oil or anything else of value, if I could find a way to take it un seen, I did so. Meryamon took objects from the storehouses themselves, and he also altered the records so no one would know of his crime or mine.”
“Where did you hide the items you stole?”
“I took them to a storehouse near the waterfront. There the Hittite trader Zuwapi held the goods he meant to trans port to Ugarit and beyond. Meryamon stayed well clear, wanting no one to see him in the company of the foreigner.”
Bak signaled Kasaya, who allowed the prisoner to scuttle backward a couple of paces away from the furnace. He wanted sufficient heat to reach the prisoner to remind him of what he faced should he fail to talk. Between the furnace, the hot breath of the lord Re reaching into the sun-baked courtyard, and the never-ending sobbing, thirst might well become a more effective threat than Nehi’s fear of burning.
“Why did he wish to keep his distance?”
The redhead sniffled. “He thought it best, so he said.”
“How long have these thefts been going on?” Karoya asked.
“About three years. A long time.”
A buzz of voices rose beneath the lean-to, where Bak’s men and the harbor patrolmen knelt or sat in the shade. To steal a little from a god was a small sin, to steal so much for so long was horrendous.
Thanks to the diligence of Hori and Thanuny while searching the archives, Bak was not surprised, merely puz zled. If Karoya’s expression told true, he was equally per plexed. “Meryamon dwelt within the sacred precinct and had neither property nor riches. From the appearance of your dwelling, you also are without wealth. What did the two of you gain from these robberies?”
“Our portion was being held for us in Ugarit. There we meant to end our days in luxury.” Nehi burst into tears, his voice shook with anguish. “Now Meryamon has gone to the netherworld and I’m your prisoner, no doubt soon to die for taking what by rights belonged to the lord Amon. The end less fear of being caught, the constant expectation of wealth beyond measure. All for nothing.”
A fitting end for men who offend the lady Maat, Bak thought, but theft, in this case, was only one of several heinous acts. “Did you slay Maruwa? The Hittite who traded in horses?”
“No,” Nehi sobbed. “I didn’t even know the man.”
Bak signaled Kasaya, who stepped closer to the prisoner, looming over him, more threatening than words.
“I didn’t slay him. I swear I didn’t!”
“What of Woserhet and Meryamon?” Karoya demanded.
“Did you take their lives?”
“No!” Nehi stared at the fiery embers visible within the mouth of the furnace. Tears tumbled down his cheeks. “I was appalled to hear of Woserhet’s death. I knew so vile a crime would bring the wrath of the gods upon us. And when I learned Meryamon was slain…” He could barely talk, so wracked was he by sobs. “He was my friend, closer than a brother.”
Could a man pretend such sorrow, Bak wondered, such torment? “You dwell a short distance from the sacred precinct, with an unguarded gate close to hand. The store house where Woserhet died was less than a hundred paces beyond the gate, too close to bear thinking about. Meryamon was your friend, easy to lure to the shrine of the hearing ear, easier to sneak up behind and slit his throat.”
“You don’t understand!” Nehi cried. “Meryamon’s death planted a fear in my heart greater than any I’ve ever before felt. I knew then that I was doomed as surely as he had been.”
Bak glanced at Karoya, who nodded, indicating that he, too, shared Bak’s conviction that Nehi was telling the truth, or close to the truth. The redhead-and probably Meryamon as well-was as much a victim of his own greed as he was a criminal. Which made Zuwapi a liar, a man wishing to cast suspicion away from himself. Yet how could a foreigner like
Zuwapi, a seaman like Antef, plan so successful a scheme within the sacred precinct? The more questions he asked, the more convinced Bak became that someone else altogether had led this gang of thieves. “Who planned the robberies,
Nehi?”
“I don’t know.”
“Not Meryamon?”
“No,” Nehi whimpered.
Bak feigned impatience. “Do you actually know Zuwapi, or did you merely deliver the items to his storehouse?”
“He met me there each time. He had to break the seal and unlatch the door. And only he could reseal the door after we placed the objects inside.”
“What of Captain Antef?”
“I learned of him by chance.” Nehi swallowed a sob. “I saw Zuwapi’s trade goods being loaded onto a ship. A blind man would’ve guessed its captain was a party to the thefts.”
“Did you ever approach him?”
“I dared not,” Nehi said with a shudder. “Zuwapi would’ve been furious. As would Meryamon.”
“If you didn’t slay Maruwa or Woserhet or Meryamon…”
“I’ve slain no one! I swear to the lord Amon!”
“If you didn’t take those three men’s lives, who did?”
“Zuwapi. He’d slay his own mother to gain advantage.”
“We need more wood, sir.” Kasaya, kneeling before the furnace, was attempting to stir the fire into life. The best he could do was create a few fiery sparks that died the instant they flared.
“We could tear down the lean-to,” Sergeant Mose said. He was shorter than Kasaya, but equally broad. His nose had been flattened by a blow sometime in the past, making him appear hard and cruel.
Karoya scowled his disapproval. “These buildings are the property of the royal house, Sergeant. We’re accountable for their well-being.”
“We can always use the cudgel, sir, or a stout stick.”
Bak’s eyes darted around the compound, searching for an other way to intimidate the prisoners, and came to rest on the pit, a rough circle dug knee-deep into the ground, and the dried black clay at the bottom. A quick glance at the sun told him they had sufficient time. “Bring some men to break up that clay, and pour water into the pit to soften it. The threat of burning primed them to talk; with luck and the help of the gods, a fear of being smothered by mud will further their in clination to speak freely.”
“More questions?” Antef glowered at Bak and Karoya.
“I’ve already told you all I can. I hauled Zuwapi’s trade goods, yes, and during the last few months I’ve wondered if they might be stolen, but I had absolutely no involvement in his foul scheme.”
Bak’s laugh was short, sharp. “You may not have been in volved up to your neck, but you were certainly immersed to your knees.”
The captain raised his chin high and stood as tall and straight as he could. He spoke in a haughty manner. “I must return to my ship, Lieutenant, and my crew must accompany me. I’ve valuable cargo on board and I fear for its safety.”
Choosing not to remind him that Karoya’s men had been guarding the cargo for a week, Bak asked, “Do you see that pit, Captain?”
One of Bak’s Medjays knelt at the rim, pouring water over what had been rock-hard dirt, broken into clods that had been pounded to dust. A harbor patrolman waded around in mud well above his ankles, mixing in the
