“I’ve just come from the vizier.” Amonked glanced around the courtyard, empty so early in the morning except for Bak and a couple of sleepy-eyed Medjays seated at the cold hearth, eat ing pigeon left over from the previous evening’s meal and dunking hard bread into milk. Hori’s dog was standing over a bowl of water, lapping loud and fast. The majority of Bak’s men were sleeping off another night of merrymaking.
“I convinced him Maruwa’s death and those in the sacred precinct might well have been committed by the same man.”
Amonked pulled close a low stool and sat down. “When I told him one of the trails you’ve been following has led you to Pentu, he agreed that you must now look at the members of the governor’s household.”
Bak stifled a yawn. Unable to further his investigation af ter speaking with Irenena, he had taken advantage of the un expected but welcome freedom from duty to go with Psuro in search of a good time. They had found what they sought.
Amonked had not quite caught him on his sleeping pallet, but had come close. “Am I to actively search for the man who brought about Pentu’s recall or can I only look for a po tential slayer among them?”
A hint of a smile touched Amonked’s lips. “Discovery of the traitor would be an added bonus, so the vizier said.”
Bak frowned. “He gave no definite instructions to seek the snake?”
“He merely inferred, but I see no need to burden Pentu with that small bit of information.”
“Nothing was ever proven.” Pentu ran his fingers through his thick white hair, betraying his distress. “I felt cruelly used and still do. To accuse a man in such a way, to tear him from a task he knows he’s doing well… It was uncon scionable. Utterly unconscionable.”
Amonked exchanged a quick glance with Bak, who stood in a thin rectangle of early morning sunlight, facing the dais on which the Storekeeper of Amon had been invited to sit with the governor of Tjeny. “You yourself were not accused, surely.”
“Not as such, no. But to lay blame on anyone in my household is to blacken my good name.”
Letting pass a statement so clearly true, Amonked scooted his armchair half around so he could see Pentu without al ways turning his head. The dais occupied the end of the re ception hall, the room Bak had seen four days before bright with laughter, good food and drink, and beaming guests. A servant had placed a camp stool in front of the dais for his use, but he had opted to stand rather than lower himself to the level of the two noblemen’s knees.
“What were you told when you were recalled?” Amonked asked.
“No reason was offered.” Bitterness crept into Pentu’s voice. “Not until I reported to the royal house was I given an explanation. And then a poor one.”
Amonked’s tone turned hard, brutal almost. “Someone in your household had taken an active interest in the poli tics of Hatti. Was that not sufficient reason to withdraw you?”
A stubborn look came over the governor’s face. “I refuse to believe any man close to me guilty of so foul a deed.”
“Word was brought to our sovereign in an unofficial man ner, carried by the Hittite merchant Maruwa. Later, after you were withdrawn, your successor verified the accusation at the highest levels of power in Hattusa.”
Pentu’s mouth tightened, sealing inside a rebuttal.
“Forgive me, sir,” Bak said, “but did you ever seek the truth? Did you question those who accompanied you to the
Hittite capital?”
“I spoke with them, yes. Each and every one denied his guilt.”
“You believed them.”
“They are honorable men, Lieutenant.”
Bak wondered at the governor’s apparent blindness. Was he really so trusting? Or did he know they were innocent be cause he was the man who had dipped a finger into Hatti’s politics? Amonked appeared to take for granted Pentu’s in nocence, but perhaps he erred.
“Exactly who accompanied you?” Amonked asked, for
Bak’s benefit rather than his own, Bak suspected.
The governor spoke with reluctance, though he must have known the names were readily available to all who chose to inquire. “My aide Netermose. My steward Pahure.
My friend Sitepehu, who served at the time as my chief scribe.”
A fat black dog carrying a bone in its mouth waddled around the nearest brightly painted pillar. It scrambled onto the camp stool and settled down to gnaw its prize. The dubi ous treat smelled as strong as the animal did, overwhelming the stringent scent emanating from a huge bowl of flowers beside the dais.
“Your wife accompanied you, did she not?” Bak asked.
Pentu released a long, annoyed sigh. “As did her sister
Meret. Also with us were a dozen or so servants, men and women important to our comfort while we dwelt in that land of strange customs and abominable food.” His head swiveled around and he gave Amonked a long, hard look.
“What’s this all about? Why bring up a subject long dead and most distasteful to me?”
Amonked rose from his chair and stepped off the dais. Ig noring the dog, he stood beside Bak, lending the weight of his authority to the younger man. “Maruwa has been slain.”
Pentu expelled a humorless laugh. “Have you come to ask that I mourn him, Amonked?”
“Some months before his death, while preparing to travel to Hattusa, he told a friend he expected to bring back to
Waset the name of the traitor in your household. Upon his return, he had not yet set foot on the good black earth of this city when he was slain. I think it unlikely that the two events are unconnected. The vizier agrees and has ordered Lieu tenant Bak to investigate the charge that brought about your recall, beginning with the members of your household.”
“Is the identity of the traitor-if one ever existed-now so important? A matter thought at the time to be worth dismiss ing?”
“That individual’s interference in the politics of Hatti was perceived as posing a threat to the king and might well have caused a breach between him and our sovereign. A serious matter should he have decided to march south and attack our allies, thereby bringing about a war.”
“Nothing of the sort happened.”
“Solely because the Hittite king, being a reasonable man, chose not to suspect Maatkare Hatshepsut of being a party to the problem and passed the word along informally, and be cause she acted without delay.”
Amonked glared at Pentu, daring him to rebut the charge.
The governor remained mute.
“Lieutenant Bak is to report directly to me and I to the vizier.” The implication was clear: the matter had the atten tion of the second most powerful individual in the land, and
Pentu had no choice but to cooperate, to treat Bak with the same deference he would show Amonked.
The governor slumped back in his chair, scowled at Bak.
“What do you wish, Lieutenant?”
“I wish to speak to the members of your household, first to Netermose, Pahure, and Sitepehu, each man alone. Before
I see them, you must tell them of my purpose and urge their cooperation.”
Bak watched the servant slip through the doorway to go in search of the three men who had accompanied Pentu to Hat tusa. Amonked had previously taken his leave. “Did you know Maruwa, sir?”
Pentu’s expression darkened at the very mention of the trader’s name. “I’d never heard of him until I learned, upon reporting back to Waset, that he’d carried the message that brought about my recall.”
“Did he never come to you in Hattusa? Was he not re quired to obtain from you, as envoy to the land of Hatti, a pass each time he wished to travel within the land of
Kemet?”
“Sitepehu dealt with such routine matters.”
Bak had no reason to doubt the governor, or to believe him, either. “Do you have many dealings with the priests and scribes who toil in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
“On the rare occasions when I come to Waset, I usually meet the chief priest and a few acolytes at various social oc casions. Not during the Beautiful Feast of Opet, when they’re fully occupied, but at other times throughout the year.” Pentu eyed Bak, visibly puzzled. “What does my so cial life have to do with the death of that wretched Hittite merchant?”
“Have you ever met the scribe Woserhet or the priest
Meryamon?”
“Aren’t they the two men who were slain in the sacred precinct?”
Bak was not surprised the governor had heard of the mur ders. Word of one death in the sacred precinct would not have gone unnoticed. News of a second killing would have spread throughout Waset at the speed of a falcon diving to earth to catch a rodent.
Pentu glared at Bak. “Why would I know them? Do you think I’m acquainted with every man who’s been slain in this city since we disembarked from our ship at the harbor?”
“This terrace should offer ample privacy, sir.”
Pahure, looking very much the efficient functionary, stepped through the doorway. He led Bak along a portico that shaded the roof of a narrow two-story extension added sometime in the past to the north side of the three-story dwelling. The outer edge of the shelter, lined with small pot ted trees and flowering plants, was a riot of color. Bees buzzed around blossoms whose sweet fragrance perfumed the air. A very young female servant hurried after them, carrying a basket containing several jars of beer and a lumpy package wrapped in clean white linen.
Bak dropped onto one of several low stools scattered along the portico and the steward sat beside him. The girl drew close a small table, deposited the basket on it, and spread wide the linen to reveal small, round loaves of bread so fresh out of the oven they smelled of yeast.
“You understand my purpose,” Bak said after the servant departed.
“Pentu left no doubt.”
Bak helped himself to a warm loaf, which had bits of date erupting through its golden crust. “Did you know the mer chant Maruwa?”
Pahure shrugged. “I may have met him, but if so I don’t recall.” He broke the plug from a jar and handed the brew to
Bak. His demeanor was serious, reflecting the gravity of the question. “You must understand, sir. I met a multitude of people during the course of my duties in Hattusa. As several years have passed since our return, I’ve forgotten many, es pecially those individuals I met in passing.” He took a bite of bread and washed it down with a sizable drink. “Also, Site pehu handled official affairs, while my tasks were related solely to household matters. I normally dealt with local mer 152
Lauren Haney chants, obtaining food, clothing, furniture, everything re quired for our day-to-day living.”
Bak studied the man seated before him. Pahure’s shoul ders were broad and muscular, giving an impression of strength that contrasted with his gently rounded stomach.
His manner was pleasant, ever so slightly subservient, yet
Sitepehu had once inferred that the steward was a man who usually got what he wanted. Certainly the latter trait would be useful to one who had attained the lofty position of stew ard to a provincial governor or envoy.
“Let me describe Maruwa,” Bak said, and he did so.
Pahure looked down his substantial nose at the officer. “I saw many such men while in Hatti, sir.”
Bak ignored what he assumed was a subtle attempt to put him in his place, an unexpected fracture in the steward’s fa cade of respect and deference. “Do you spend much time in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
A wry smile flitted across Pahure’s face. “I can’t remem ber when last I was inside its walls. I seldom come to this city and when I do, I’ve other, more pressing business.”
“Have you ever met a scribe named Woserhet or a young priest, Meryamon?”
“Aren’t they the men who were slain in the sacred precinct?”
Bak described them as best he could, asked again, “Have you ever met them, Pahure?”
“I’ve met many such men, Lieutenant. They come through Tjeny, pay their respects to Pentu and Sitepehu, sometimes even stay the night. I seldom can tell one from another and never can recall their names.”
Doggedly Bak pressed on, asking another question for which he expected to receive an equally unsatisfactory an swer. “Did you ever meet a Hittite trader named Zuwapi?”
“Zuwapi?” Pahure drew the basket close, sorted through the loaves of bread, finally selected one with sesame seeds dotting the crust. “One would think I’d recall a name that rolls so harshly off the tongue.”
Was that a yes or a no? Bak wondered. “Among other things, he deals in luxury items: fine linen, bronze vessels, aromatic oils. Goods exported from Kemet for trade in northern lands. Objects one would sorely miss when dwelling in a strange and distant city.”
“Ah, yes,” the steward smiled. “Small items for the ladies.
I several times purchased from him linens and perfumes for mistresses Taharet and Meret. Items not easy to find in Hat tusa. He was a godsend, I tell you.”
Gratified at having finally received an answer, and a posi tive one at that, Bak asked, “Can you describe him?”
Pahure seemed surprised by the question. “He’s very ordi nary, very much a Hittite.”
“Is he tall or short?” Bak asked, trying not to show his ir ritation with so vague a response. “Does he have any special features that would make him stand out from all other men?”
“None that I remember.”
Bak felt like a man trying to knock a hole in granite with a wedge of cheese. “Did anything happen when you dealt with him, or have you heard anything about him, that might lead you to believe he’s less than honest?”
“He was a sharp trader, one who demanded full value and more.” Pahure’s laugh exuded self-satisfaction. “But so am
I. I always came out ahead in our dealings.”
Bak allowed the steward a stingy smile. “Do you believe the charge true that someone in your household became em broiled in the affairs of the land of Hatti?”
“I can’t imagine any of us-or anyone else, for that mat ter-trying to cause dissension in that wretched land. Their royalty and nobility make enough trouble for themselves.”
Pahure’s expression turned scornful. “One would have to be completely witless to interfere in the politics of a nation where punishment by death is commonplace and where a man’s family and close friends more likely than not die with him.”
Bak found Netermose on the roof of the original dwelling, seated in the shade of a sturdy pavilion. Bushy trees growing in pots formed a screen of sorts, partly concealing several small granaries and a far less elegant shelter containing a loom, grindstones, brazier, and water jars. Additional potted trees lined the edge of the roof facing the river. Reed mats covered the floor beneath the pavilion, and thick pillows had been strewn around for seating. The aide sat on one, study ing rows of columns on a long roll of papyrus. Four slick haired brindle puppies played around him.
“I knew Maruwa well,” Netermose said, motioning Bak to a pillow. “When Pentu told us of his death… Well, suffice it to say, I felt as if I’d lost a friend.”
Bak was not surprised by the admission. He had noticed the dismay on the aide’s face when the governor had broken the news.
“I’m not much of a man of action, Lieutenant, but should you need help in snaring his slayer, I’ll do what I can.”
“At the moment, I need nothing but information.” Bak was again struck by the man’s advanced age and wondered what had placed him at Pentu’s beck and call. “How long ago did you meet him?”
“When first we went to Hattusa. He came for a travel pass.” Netermose rolled up the scroll, laid it beside the pil low on which he sat, and handed Bak a jar of beer. “When he learned I was reared on Pentu’s family’s country estate and that I sorely missed the company of animals, he invited me to go to his stable and look at the horses he meant to bring to
Kemet. The invitation was open, so I went often. I saw him almost daily each time he came through Hattusa.”
Netermose, then, had probably come from a long line of servants of Pentu’s family. He and the governor had un doubtedly played together as children, learned to read and write together as they grew to manhood, but always one the servant, the other the master. “He kept the horses in the cap ital and not at his home in Nesa?”
A puppy whimpered, trying to escape from a more sturdy brother, who had caught its ear in his mouth and was tugging at it. Netermose gently separated the two. “Has no one told you how he handled his business?”
“I assumed he collected horses from all over the land of
Hatti and stabled them where he dwelt, where men he trusted could care for them while he went off to trade for others.”
“He preferred to limit the distances the animals had to travel, so he kept four stables along the route between the capital and the Great Green Sea. Those horses he got from the north, he kept at Hattusa, those from farther south at
Nesa. He had another stable midway between there and the port city of Ugarit, where he kept a fourth stable. As for men he could trust, his wife had four brothers. Each managed a stable, tending to the animals and assuring their safety.”
A sensible arrangement, Bak thought. “Did you ever meet him after your return to Kemet?”
“I’d hoped I would, but our paths took different direc tions. He knew we dwelt in Tjeny, and the cargo ships carry ing his horses had to have passed us by, but he never stopped.” Netermose scratched the head of one of the pup pies. “I guess he couldn’t convince the ship’s master to take the time.”
“Or he believed he’d be unwelcome. After all, he was the man who brought word to Kemet that someone in Pentu’s household was causing trouble in the land of Hatti.”
Looking unhappy, Netermose gave the puppy a gentle shove, pushing it toward its brothers, and folded his hands in his lap. “So Pentu told us when he learned of the reason for our recall.”
“Did Maruwa ever hint that something was amiss?”
“Would that he had!”
“What would you have done?”
“I’d have warned Pentu, of course.”
A futile effort that would have been, Bak thought. “Who do you believe the traitor was?”
“The tale was untrue, I’m convinced.”
The resolute look on Netermose’s face told Bak that no less a being than the lord Amon himself would alter the aide’s conviction. Whether such certainty had come from deep within himself or had been born as a result of Pentu’s denials, he could not begin to guess.
Having followed that path to its end, he asked a question he had neglected to ask Pahure. “Pentu, like all provincial governors, must share the bounties of the land with our sov ereign and divert a portion to the lord Amon. Products gath ered yearly from his own estate and the fields of all who dwell in the province. Does he also send to the sacred precinct a share of the excess items made by the women of his household and the craftsmen who live on his personal es tate? Luxury items, to be specific.”
Netermose looked puzzled, as if unable to find the con nection between the governor’s obligation to the lord Amon and the murder of Maruwa. “We expect all who reside in the province to do so, so we can do no less.”
“Have you ever had occasion to meet any of the priests and scribes responsible for storing such items?”
“A senior priest comes each year to this house to thank
Pentu for his generosity, and other men at times come with him, but I’ve taken no interest in their exact duties.”
“I speak specifically of Woserhet, a senior scribe who toiled for the lord Amon, and of the young priest Meryamon, who dwelt and toiled in the sacred precinct.” Again he de scribed the two men.
“They may’ve come at one time or another, but I’m not especially observant. To me, one man with a pious de meanor looks much like all the others.” Netermose flung
Bak another perplexed look. “Why do you ask, sir?”
Bak glanced up at the lord Re, whose solar barque had journeyed at least two-thirds of the way across the brilliant blue sky. He had become so involved in what was beginning to seem a futile exercise that he had missed the midday meal. “What of a Hittite trader named Zuwapi? Do you know him?”
The aide frowned, further deepening the wrinkles on his brow and at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “I may’ve heard the name, but in what context I can’t say.”
“While you dwelt in Hattusa, Pahure obtained items from him for the women of your household. Objects imported from Kemet, difficult to find in the land of Hatti.”
Shrugging, Netermose pulled another puppy close and tickled its belly. “I knew he satisfied their needs for costly and what were, in Hattusa, rare items, but I’ve no memory of the man who supplied them.”
“The political situation in the land of Hatti is always pre carious.” Sitepehu waved a small bee away from a bowl of plump purple grapes sitting on the low table beside him.
“Kings come and go in regular succession, with fathers and brothers being murdered for the crown. Only the most adept in the art of survival cling to power.”
“Not a pleasant nation in which to dwell,” Bak said.
After convincing the cook to give him a loaf of bread and a bowl of cold mutton stew, he had sought out the priest.
They had settled themselves beneath the portico atop the dwelling’s extension, thinking the breeze would make it the coolest place to be in the burning heat of midafternoon.
“The land itself is most agreeable much of the year.” The priest smiled. “Oh, it’s not easy to accustom oneself to the cold season, especially when snow blankets the land, but the other seasons are most pleasant. The mountains are tall and impressive. The plain southeast of Hattusa goes on for ever, far beyond the distant horizon and not a sand dune in sight. Water is plentiful, falling from the skies in sufficient quantity to make the land bountiful. Magnificent trees, glori ous flowers, people of kindness and good humor who strive mightily to survive cruel laws, harsh gods, and weak kings.”
Breaking off a crust of bread, Bak dipped it in the stew, which tasted strongly of onions, celery, and pepper. “Your praises outweigh your criticisms, Sitepehu.”
“I was sorry we had to leave.” The priest’s expression grew bleak. “I wanted very much to help those good-hearted and generous people, yet I could do nothing for them.”
Bak eyed the priest with sudden interest, the well muscled body, the scar on his shoulder. A man who felt as he did might, with the best of intentions, have become involved in the politics of the land. “Were you surprised to learn of
Pentu’s recall?”
“I was dismayed when I was told we were to return to
Kemet, shocked when I learned the reason, and mystified by the charge.”
After licking the stew from his fingers, Bak reached for his beer jar. “You had no idea you dwelt side by side with someone who had more than a passing interest in the land of
Hatti?”
“None.” Sitepehu gave Bak a cynical smile. “If I dwelt there with a traitor, I do so to this day. Every man and woman who went with Pentu to Hattusa lives with him still.”
“You included?” Bak asked, surprised.
Sitepehu bowed his head in acknowledgment. “The lord
Inheret is a modest god, with few properties to support him, none of which include a house, and my duties for him are not demanding. Pentu provides a place where I and my son-my wife died of a fever two years ago-can live in comfort, and in exchange I help with his accounts.”
Bak nodded his understanding. While offerings flowed in vast quantities to the lord Amon and other major deities, the lesser gods were not so fortunate. Few of their priests were able to survive solely on the generosity of their followers.
“Who among you would be the most likely to dabble in the politics of Hatti?”
“I’ve asked myself that question time and time again. The present king, like those before him, occupies an unstable throne, but to side with anyone-the king or a contender would be foolhardy. Any of them could vanish overnight and another take his place.”
Bak thanked the gods of the land of Kemet that he had not been born into the uncertain and dangerous world of the Hit tites. “Did you know the slain merchant, Maruwa?”
“I knew of him.” Sitepehu absentmindedly rubbed the scar on his shoulder. “Netermose befriended him, so he al ways dealt with him, passing the necessary scrolls back and forth when need be.”
A gust of warm air swept along the portico, carrying the scent of flowers. Fallen petals chased one another across the rooftop.
Bak took a sip of beer, savored its slightly bitter taste.
“Did you ever meet the trader Zuwapi? He exports items from Kemet and transports them to Hatti. The usual trade goods: pottery, rough linen, small tools, and so on. He also deals in luxury items such as aromatic oils and fine linen.”
“He’d have to have come to me for a pass, allowing him to travel freely in Kemet, but the document is so routine I’d not remember. As for the items he exported from Kemet, they’d have been listed on the manifest of the 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.