the night, Bak explaining his conclusions and describing what he meant to do, Amonked offering suggestions and giving a final approval. Bak’s plan had borne fruit, his assumption that Meret would not allow her sister to suffer in her place had proved accurate. One motive had remained uncertain, and the steward’s action had answered it.
“Will you never leave me alone, Pahure?” Meret flung the steward a furious look and slid out from his grasp. “I’ll not allow Taharet to suffer for my transgressions.”
Pentu frowned uncertainly at the pair, whether unsure if
Meret’s admission was true or unsettled about his steward’s behavior, Bak could not tell.
“You were wed to the Hittite?” Bak asked.
She shook her head. “I met him long ago in Sile. He was aide to an envoy who came and went. When my father learned of our love, he insisted I wed another. A man of
Kemet. Later my husband died and my sister and I moved to
Waset. After she wed Pentu, she took me into her home at
Tjeny. When we went to Hattusa, I met him again and our love deepened.”
“Mistress!” Pahure took her arm, tried to turn her away from Bak. Glaring at him, she stood as rigid as a tree whose roots were planted firmly in the earth, and as immovable.
Bak, well aware of what the admission must have cost her, softened his voice. “You once told me you’d loved and lost and knew not what had happened to him. You were speaking of the Hittite?”
She bit her lip, bowed her head. “Yes.”
If her lover had been identified as a traitor and found to be disloyal to his king, Bak could well imagine his fate. Meret had apparently reached a similar conclusion.
“Why did you not leave us alone?” Taharet cried. “Why did you have to destroy our lives? We long ago returned from that wretched land of Hatti. The incident was forgot ten. Why bring it back to life?”
Bak signaled the Medjays to release her. “A man was slain so your sister’s secret would not be revealed, mistress.”
“You accused Taharet, yet you’ve known all along I was guilty?” Meret asked.
He hardened his heart to the look of betrayal on her face.
“She had too much to lose-wealth, position, security-to take such a risk. And she was far too protective of you.”
“Who died for Meret’s sake?” Taharet demanded. “The
Hittite merchant?”
“Maruwa, yes. Whether he meant to point a finger at her, we’ll never know. But someone feared he might and cut his throat to silence him.”
“Neither my sister nor I took his life.” Taharet glanced at Meret, as if suddenly afraid her sister had been driven to murder. “That I swear to the lord Amon.”
Bak glanced at Pentu, sitting in unrelenting silence on the dais, staring at his wife as he would at a stranger. “Men may have died because of your foolishness, mistress-many no doubt in Hattusa-but neither of you have slain a man with your own hands.”
Bak caught Psuro’s eye, warning him to remain alert and ready to act. “Pahure took Maruwa’s life,” he said.
Stunned disbelief, shocked murmurs, muffled oaths fol lowed in quick succession. None remained unmoved except
Amonked and the Medjays. The steward, though caught by surprise along with everyone else, managed a harsh, cynical laugh.
Pentu glowered disbelief. “Why would he, of all people, slay a stranger?”
“He wished to place mistress Meret in his debt, to win her hand in marriage. He wished to step up to a position of re spect in your household, to become a member of the family.
That he could do only through her, the sole unwed female close to you.”
Meret stared at Pahure, appalled.
The steward laughed. “Don’t listen to him, sir. He’s des perate to uphold his reputation as a man who always lays hands on his quarry. He’s found no one else to blame, so he points a finger at me.”
Pentu, looking uncertain, glanced at Amonked. He found no reassurance in the grim look he received in return.
“I’ve heard it said that once you slay a man, a second slaying comes easier, and a third.” Bak eyed the steward with contempt. “Did you find that to be true, Pahure?”
“You speak in riddles, Lieutenant.”
“I speak of the auditor Woserhet and the priest Merya mon, whose lives you also took. And you ordered Zuwapi to slay me.”
Pahure returned Bak’s scornful look. “I’ve had no deal ings with anyone in the sacred precinct for as long as I can remember. Why would I wish those two men dead? Or you, for that matter?”
“To save yourself from the charge of stealing ritual items from the lord Amon and smuggling them out of the land of
Kemet.”
Every man and woman in Pentu’s household gaped.
“You know not of what you speak,” Pahure scoffed.
“You’d be hard pressed to prove I knew one of the three.”
“You undoubtedly met Maruwa in Hattusa. You met
Woserhet when he stopped in Tjeny, but I doubt you feared him at that time. You were too far removed from the scene of your crimes. Not until he became suspicious of Meryamon did he and the priest have to die.”
“How would I come to know a priest?”
“Meryamon grew to manhood in Abedju, as did you. As did his friend Nehi. The town is not large. You had to know each other, and your sister’s presence there along with the presence of Meryamon’s parents gave you ample opportu nity to meet and plan. I sent a courier downriver last night and will know for a fact within a few days.”
Pahure plastered a smile on his face. “You can’t prove a thing.”
“He doesn’t have to,” Amonked said. “He has merely to take you before the vizier and state his case. My word will attest to the truth of the charge.”
Baffled, the governor asked, “Pahure? Slay three men?
Steal from the lord Amon? I can’t believe it of him. Not for a woman with no wealth of her own.”
“Mistress Meret was but a stepping-stone. Wed to her, he would be looked upon as a brother to the governor of Tjeny.
He could move to Waset, to this dwelling, or to another fine dwelling in Mennufer and gradually begin to use the riches he amassed from the objects stolen from the sacred precinct.
As a man of wealth and position, he could easily become acquainted with those who walk in the shadow of Maatkare
Hatshepsut, and from there he could move into a position of influence and power. Or so he believed, at any rate.”
Pentu, sitting stiff and straight in his armchair, eyed
Pahure warily. “How certain are you of this charge, Lieu tenant?”
Bak nodded to Psuro, who ordered two Medjays to close in on the steward. Whistling a signal, he summoned Hori and Kasaya from the next room.
As the pair hurried into the hall, a smiling Hori held out a long-necked red jar like those used in the land of Amurru in which Ugarit was the primary port. “We found this jar buried in the garden, sir, behind the shrine of the lord In heret. It contains scrolls describing some property held in
Ugarit and names Pahure as the owner.”
Pahure rammed an elbow into the pit of one Medjay’s stomach and struck the other high between the legs with a knee. Their spears clattered to the floor and they both bent double, clutching their injured parts. Before anyone else could think to act, he raced toward the door. Hori stepped into his path. The steward plowed into the scribe with a shoulder, knocking him against Kasaya. The jar slipped from Hori’s hands and crashed onto the floor, sending shards and scrolls in all directions. Pahure ducked around the two young men. Leaping across the threshold, he vanished from sight.
