"You understand what you must do," Bak said, looking first at Pashenuro and then Kasaya.
Pashenuro slipped the loop of his leather sheath onto his belt and retied the strip of linen. "I'm to follow Lieutenant Puemre's company onto the practice field-or to whatever task they have today-and I'm to speak with the sergeant, Minnakht, working my way into his confidence. With luck, and if the lord Amon smiles on me, he'll not only talk with an open and honest tongue, but he'll encourage his men to tell me what they can."
Bak fastened the clasp of his wide multicolored bead bracelet, tugged at the hem of his kilt to smooth it over his hips, and sat down on the sleeping platform, converted now to a bench cluttered with his neatly folded sleeping pallet, his sandals, Kasaya's shield, and a basket of bread so fresh it perfumed the room. The few other furnishings were the Medjays' sleeping pallets on the floor, two folding camp stools, and a basket of nonperishable provisions. A smaller basket containing writing implements and a few scrolls sat near the doorway to the second, empty room.
"Your purpose?" he asked Pashenuro.
"I'm to learn what I can about the dead man and…" The thick-bodied Medjay slid his dagger into the sheath, adjusted the weapon for greater comfort, and picked up his shield and spear, lying along the base of the wall. "Using all the guile I possess, I'm to learn what I can about the other officers without anyone guessing my purpose. Especially how they and Lieutenant Puemre worked and played together, whether friendly or as foes."
Bak grinned unexpectedly. "That should keep you busy through much of the morning."
"Much of the week, I'd guess." Pashenuro laughed. Bak sobered, his eyes darted toward the younger man. "What have you to do, Kasaya?"
The hulking Medjay, sitting cross-legged on his sleeping pallet, poured a dollop of oil into his hand and spread it over his arms and torso. "I'm to start with Lieutenant Puemre's neighbors, teaming what they know of him and of the people he knew and the places he went. Of the people they name, I'm to go only to the civilians who knew him outside the garrison."
"I'll be talking to the men in the barracks," Pashenuro reminded him.
Kasaya frowned at the unnecessary offering. "If I find the mute child, I'm to bring him back here and guard him with my life. The same is true of the craftsman who drowns himself in beer. As for the scarred man, once I learn where he lives and toils, I'm to stay far away, letting him think he's safe from your questions."
"What of the woman heavy with child?" Pashenuro asked. "The one who cared for the dead man's house." Bak slipped a foot into a sandal, his thoughts turning to the sketch he had found in the mute boy's bed. He had been convinced of a plot when he found it, but in the light of a new day, the idea seemed ridiculous. Why would any man of Kemet want to slay Amon-Psaro? He was a powerful king, yes, but he ruled a distant land. A land so far away, it seemed more mythical than real.
Still, a tiny suspicion lurked, an irritant like a minute grain of sand lodged in the corner of an eye. "If she cleaned the house for him and the boy, she also washed their sheets and made their beds. I should talk to her myself."
"Amon-Psaro's courier passed through on his way to Buhen soon after nightfall last night," Woser said. "He came again at daybreak, carrying Commandant Thuty's answer and instructions for me as well."
"The king's entourage is within a few hour's march of Semna!" Bak slumped onto the nearest stool, one of several scattered around the courtyard. "I don't want to believe it!"
"They'll march through its gate before dark. There they'll remain, awaiting the lord Amon."
"The young prince must've taken a turn for the worse." Woser strode across. the courtyard, pivoted, and strode back. Worry clouded his face. "The long journey and the heat of the desert at this time of year would be a strain on anyone. For a frail and ailing child…" He shook his head, the wrinkles on his brow deepened. "I pray Amon-Psaro understands that the lord Amon can sometimes be whimsical in his cures."
I pray Kenamon's skills as a physician are worthy of the challenge, Bak thought, sharing the commander's concern. "The god's barge must already have left Buhen," Woser said, taking another turn across the court, narrowly missing a basket of white thread wound into balls. The container stood at the foot of a loom on which a length of finely woven linen was stretched. "The vessel should reach the gates of Iken by dusk tomorrow. The lord Amon will spend but a single night here in the mansion of Hathor before journeying on, 'directly to Semna."
"He won't linger at the other garrisons along the Belly of Stones, visiting the gods as originally planned?" Bak whistled softly. "For time to be so critical, the prince's life must truly be threatened."
"The boy can't breathe in the life-giving air, so the courier told me. Each day that passes seems his last."
The two officers looked at each other, awed by a course of events they were helpless to alter, their mutual mistrust momentarily forgotten.
Woser was the first to turn to more practical matters, to tasks he could control. "All our plans for the lord Amon must be revised. The procession when he arrives will go on, but the presentation of gifts, the distribution of food and drink, the merrymaking, must be curtailed. We must assign additional sentries without delay and send more troops to patrol the desert track. We must…" He went on, listing the many and varied tasks that had to be done, squeezing four days' work into half the time.
Bak let his thoughts stray to his own pressing needs. If he was to take his place at the head of his men while they served as Amon-Psaro's guard of honor, he had only two days to lay hands on Puemre's slayer. An impossible task unless the witnesses, the mute boy and the besotted man, were found. As for the sketch, he prayed the child could somehow explain it away.
A new thought came to him. Perhaps Puemre had for some unimaginable reason taken a dislike to Amon-Psaro. Maybe he had made the sketch, hoping to bring misfortune to the Kushite king by means of sympathetic magic. If so, it had worked; the prince's health was failing daily. But what if I'm wrong? Bak wondered; what if there is a plot afoot? Tiny fingers of fear ran up his spine. Amon-Psaro would soon be encamped at Semna, a bare day's hurried walk from Iken. Too close by far.
"I must quickly get on with the task Commandant Thuty assigned me," he said. "Are your officers here, as promised?"
Woser scowled, the moment of mutual regard lost. "I trust you understand how much they have to do in too short a time."
"I'll not keep any of them long," Bak assured him.
Troop Captain Huy leaned over a broken section of battlement and eyed the rooftops of the lower city. Bak stood beside him, high above the escarpment on a partially fallen spur wall that projected from the eastern face of the fortress. In the distant past, the spur had served a purpose. Now, with the armies of Kush long ago defeated and warfare limited to desert skirmishes, with a powerful girdle wall in place, the spur had lost its value and had been allowed to crumble. Bak had demanded privacy, and he could think of no place more private in this or any other garrison.
"According to Puemre's personal record, he spent much of his youth on his father's estate near Gebtu." Huy spat a seed over the parapet and popped another date into his mouth. "One servant taught him to read and write. With another he learned to hunt and fish. A brave and respected veteran, a man I once knew, passed on the arts of war. The estate manager, of course, taught him the business of farming."
The tall, slender infantry officer was close to fifty. His eyes were a startling blue, his gray hair cropped even shorter than Bak's. He spoke in a wry voice, not quite poking fun at the dead man's upbringing, but letting Bak know the contempt he held for those who thrived on advantage and privilege. A long, ugly scar on his right shoulder left no doubt that he had earned his position, second only to Woser in the garrison hierarchy.
A breeze not yet heated by the sun rustled their hair. Swallows darted away, soon to return to their twittering young hidden in nests bored in the weathered mudbrick. The view wts glorious-and enlightening-showing clearly the tactical significance of the fortress and its island outlier.
In the hazy distance, the river made a sweeping bend through the desert, flowing broad and relatively free of obstacles. Below the bend, Iken's two white stone quays reached into the water to shelter the surprisingly large number of vessels that plied the hazardous waters of the Belly of Stones. The fortress loomed over the harbor and, a short walk north, the crucial point where the river literally broke apart, torn asunder by rocks and islands to form a multitude of swift-flowing, foam-shrouded rapids. A calm, smooth channel dammed downstream by a rocky cascade separated the lower city from a long tear-shaped island that supported only the most tenacious and water-tolerant brush and trees. Beyond, rising from the rocks of a second, higher island, a smaller fortress gave a second important advantage over an attacking army.
With no time to linger on details, he turned his attention back to Huy. He shared the troop captain's conviction that a man should earn his way, but he kept the thought to himself. "You've just described a life of bucolic gentility. That doesn't explain how Puemre qualified for service in the regiment of Amon."
Huy gave him a cool glance. "The trouble with the army these days is boredom. And boredom leads to impatience. You young officers have never had to face another army. All you do is sit in the garrison day in and day out, wearing calluses on your backsides, maneuvering for promotion."
Bak wanted to shake the man for his condescending attitude and at the same time he silently thanked him for the opening he had offered. "Are you suggesting we slay Amon-Psaro so the other Kushite kings will join forces and march against our army, giving our officers an honest opportunity to gain experience?"
Huy snorted. "You'd not make jokes if you'd ever faced them in battle as I have." He ran a finger down the scar. "The man who gave me this was outnumbered four to one, yet his courage never flagged. They're worthy foes. More than worthy. Fearsome and deadly."
Bak was impressed by his sincerity, or at least the appearance of sincerity. "Until ten months ago, I was an officer in the regiment of Amon. I knew my fellow officers. Lieutenant Puemre was not among them."
Huy eyed him with interest. "You were infantry?"
"No, chariotry."
"Humph." Huy's interest flickered out, and he stared across the lower city, hiding his thoughts in a frown. "When barely a man, Puemre was sent by his father to Iunu, where he labored as a scribe in the great mansion of the lord Ptah. He later moved on to Byblos to serve as chief scribe to our royal envoy there. Upon his return to Kemet, he joined the regiment of Ptah as an officer. Two years later-soon after you came to Buhen, I assume-he moved to Waset and the regiment of Amon. There he stayed a mere three months before coming south."
"His life was filled to the brim, it would seem." Bak's voice was as wry as Huy's had been. "Was he born a wanderer, I wonder, or did he go from one task to another for a reason?"
Huy seemed about to speak, but changed his mind and answered with a shrug.
"Troop Captain Huy!" Bak spoke slowly and deliberately, leaving no room for misunderstanding. "What you don't offer voluntarily, I'll read for myself in Puemre's personal record. Or learn from another source. Preferably not from his father, Chancellor Nihisy, when we're all standing before the viceroy, charged with dereliction of duty-or worse."
Huy swung away, his back rigid, his hands balled tight. He strode a few paces along the parapet, stopping at a place where a tall, heavy tower had fallen away from the wall and crumbled. A wasp flew past his head unseen. A swallow dived and scolded, protecting its nest from a man unaware of its Troximity. Two sentries patrolling the battlements atop the main wall met at a distant tower. They paused to stare at the officers on the spur wall-and probably to gossip about Puemre's death and the mission of the man talking so privately with their troop captain.
"Puemre was a highly respected scribe, you'll read in his record, and he was a good officer: brave, talented in the arts of war, a creative tactician. So we found him here in Iken." Huy pivoted, showing a face dark with suppressed anger. "He knew few men had his ability, and the knowledge gave him an arrogance that knew no bounds. He wanted the moon and the stars and the sun for himself, and anything he wanted he got, no matter what the cost to those around him."
"He used people?" "He trod on us." "What exactly did he want? Your position?"
"Mine. Commander Woser's." Huy laughed bitterly. "I've no doubt Commandant Thuty would've been in his way, for he made no secret of his desire to sit in the viceroy's chair."
Bak whistled. "Few men set their sights so high." "The men in his company believed he would one day walk with the gods. His fellow officers, I among them, thought him a demon."
Bak parked his rear against the parapet and studied the older officer. Huy's aversion to Puemre was palpable. Not many men harbored so intense a dislike without a particular reason. "What specifically did he do to you?"
The older officer's mouth tightened. "I didn't like his attitude, that's all."
Bak expelled a long, irritated sigh. "I didn't like the fact that he wore a belt clasp of the regiment of Amon. A clasp entitled only to those who helped rebuild the regiment, not upstarts like him. Yet I don't despise him the way you do." "I didn't slay him!"
"Have I accused you? No! I'm merely trying to identify the man who did."
Huy picked up a mudbrick clod and hurled it at the main wall. The missile slammed into the white-plastered surface, shattering. A patrolling sentry gave a little start and swung around, looking for the source of the sudden noise. Recognizing his superior officer, he raised his spear in salute and marched on.
"Puemre's first skirmish was with a band of desert tribesmen who'd been stealing cattle from the riverside villages." Huy brushed his hands together, dislodging bits of dirt. "When I assigned him the task, I advised him to waylay them where they'd least expect it, take them captive, and bring them back to Iken." The officer shook his head in disgust. "Naturally he knew more than anyone else. He felt it wasn't manly for one army to ambush another, so he marched across the desert, raising a dust cloud that could be seen as far away as Semna. Instead of him waylaying the tribesmen, they ambushed him among the dunes and a pitched battle resulted. Five lives were lost on our side, and twice as many of the enemy, who were poorly armed as usual. If he'd done as I told him, none would've died on either side."
Bak noted the angry flush on Huy's face, a failure to forgive a mistake any newly arrived officer might make. "There it should've ended, but it didn't, I assume."
"How right you are!" Huy picked up another clod and heaved it, this time well away from the sentry. "When taken to task for losing so many unnecessary lives and, worse yet, risking the loss of his entire company, he laid the blame at my feet."
"He surely didn't get away with it!"
"Fortunately, the gods smiled on me. I'd given him his orders in front of other men, men who could and did pass the truth to Commander Woser."
A valid reason to hate a man, Bak thought, but is it reason enough to kill? "What happened the night of Woser's meeting? The night Puemre disappeared?"
"Nothing out of the ordinary." Huy almost smiled. "Other than our reason for the meeting, of course. It's not often the lord Amon honors us with his presence."
"When did you meet and for how long?"
"We entered the commander's residence soon after dusk, the five of us together. I remember seeing a servant lighting the torches in the courtyard. We discussed for over an hour the duties we had to perform during the god's visit and the journey to Semna. After we came to an agreement as to who would do what, we left."
"Does Woser customarily call meetings so late?" "Only when he feels the need, as in this case."
Bak could not remember a time when Commandant Thuty had called a meeting after dark. "Did you disagree on any matter of importance?"
Huy's laugh held not a speck of humor. "Puemre never agreed to anything, significant or otherwise, that didn't show him in a praiseworthy light, especially when men of importance were involved."
"As in this case."
Huy gave him a scornful glance. "If you think to lay Puemre's death at our feet simply because we saw him last, your fame as a clever policeman will be as fleeting as the morning mist over the river."
"I'm searching for answers, not pointing a finger." Bak gave him a long, speculative look. "Who do you believe took his life?"
"We've a city filled with people who come to do business and leave when they've finished, many whose feet he trod on while serving as inspecting officer." Huy nodded toward the buildings below the escarpment. "He probably came upon one of them in a dark lane, a man who hated him. Or he might simply have been slain by chance, his life taken by a stranger who was frightened away before he could steal whatever jewelry Puemre wore that night."
A plausible theory, Bak thought, except for the fury that drove the murder weapon. "When did you last set eyes on him?"
"We left together, the five of us. We separated outside the commander's residence, each man going his own way. I saw Puemre walk down the street-alone-heading toward the main gate. I trod a different path, one that took me to my quarters and a much-needed evening meal. I've no wife, but my concubine and servants will vouch for me."
Later, as Bak threaded his way along a busy street, heading toward his meeting with the watch officer, he mulled over his interview with Huy. Could the officer have taken Puemre's life? He had certainly hated him enough, and with good reason. He had an alibi of sorts, but the members of his household would be sure to say he went straight home, whether or not he had. His theory about Puemre's death had come close to echoing Woser's, but otherwise he had been, with a bit of prompting, reasonably forthright. A good man trying hard to paint a true picture. Maybe.
Lieutenant Senu so closely resembled a monkey that Bak had to smother a smile. In his late forties, he was short and thick, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and short bowed legs. Cropped orange-red hair standing on end framed coarse, heavy-boowed features. His skin, too light to accept a tan, was mottled and peeling, a perpetual state, Bak imagined.
"I don't know what Troop Captain Huy told you," Senu said. "He has a tendency to forgive and forget. But Puemre was a swine. Plain and simple."
The watch officer, professing too many pressing tasks to take time out to answer questions, had suggested Bak come along while he inspected the sentries on the battlements. So Bak found himself once again on the wall, not the old crumbling spur wall, but the new girdle wall that ran north from the fortress, following the escarpment for many paces, then turning toward the river to form an outer enclosure around the city as well as the garrison. The freshly plastered walls were stark white, the walkways smooth, the towers and crenels sharp-edged, as yet unsullied by blowing sand.
Though the heat had climbed through the early hours of morning, the breeze had stiffened, easing the fire of the sun but filling the air with tiny needles of sand. Bak, tasting the grit, feeling it beneath his kilt and in his eyes and nose and ears, thanked the lord Amon he did not have to patrol these walls throughout the day, as did the sentries.
"Huy mentioned problems," he admitted, keeping his voice noncommittal, hoping to invite confidences. "Problems!" Senu laughed, his voice harsh and cynical. "To walk alongside Puemre was to become a victim." "What of the mute boy who lived with him? Did he misuse him?"
"Little Ramose?" Senu shook his head. "No, he was good to the child. Treated him like a son. Of course, that was different."
Bak eyed the officer with interest. "In what way?" They approached a sentry, a tall, sturdy young man wearing a thigh-length kilt similar to that of the officers. A dagger and sling hung from his belt and he carried a long spear and a pale brown cowhide shield. Stopping the man, Senu ordered him to stand at rigid attention, examined his appearance and the readiness of his gear, and sent him on his way.
Striding on toward the next sentry, roughly two hundred paces away, Senu explained without prompting, "Puemre got along well with ordinary mortals. Men and women of lesser rank who posed no threat and offered no obstacle. Besides, Ramose worshiped him. The boy would've given his life for him, and any man or woman who saw them together could see it."
Bak offered a silent prayer to the lord Amon that such was not the case, that the child still lived. "I've been told Puemre's men thought him a fine officer."
"Oh, they liked him alright. With good reason. He was brave and clever on the field of battle, a natural warrior if ever I saw one." Senu scanned the desert to the west, with its rolling dunes shrouded in a dirty yellow haze. His gaze lingered on a denser column of dust that marked the approach of a caravan. "Except for one time when first he came to Wawat, he never lost a man or a skirmish. The troops like that; it makes them feel safe-and proud."
"And the spoils of war are greater," Bak said in a wry voice.
"None came back empty-handed," Senu admitted, pausing to scratch his ankle with the tip of his baton of office. "Don't get me wrong. They had to abide by the rules. Puemre wasn't willing to risk his precious reputation so his men could fill their barracks with booty. They turned in everything of value, as they were supposed to."
From the size of the dust column, Bak guessed the approaching caravan was small, like Seneb's had been. "I've been told he was a hard and unforgiving inspecting officer."
Senu let out a short, bark-like laugh. "He gave many a trader a lesson in honesty. Few got by him without paying the proper tolls." Barely pausing for breath, he added in an off-hand manner, "If you ask me, that's where you should look for the one who slew him."
Too offhand, Bak thought, as if schooled by Woser. "Have you ever heard of a trader named Seneb?"
Senn's face took on a disdainful sneer. "A man rotten to the marrow of his bones. One who trades in flesh and blood, in the misfortunes of others, two-legged and fourlegged alike."
Bak waved off a fly buzzing around his head. "I've been told Puemre made his life a misery when last he was here." "A few months ago." The sneer gave way to a cynical smile. "I despised Puemre, but in that one thing I applauded him. Seneb would be here yet, starving most likely, if Woser hadn't crumbled to his pleas for a new pass so he could journey on upriver."
"He hasn't stopped at Iken on his way north to Kemet?" Bak asked, double-checking the trader's movements. As watch officer~Senu would be the first to know who passed through the gates of the city.
"Not yet, but soon he will." Senu's eyes suddenly darted toward him, his voice grew defensive. "Why question me about that swine? Has he been found in the river, too? I swear I've never touched him."
Bak saw no harm in setting the officer's mind at ease, and hearing of Seneb's plight might loosen his tongue. "He bypassed Iken, so he claims, and I first saw him at Kor. I confiscated his caravan, and we're holding him in our guardhouse in Buhen. He's to stand before Commandant Thuty, charged with as many offenses against the lady Maat as I can prove."
Senu stopped at a crenel and stared out across the desert wastes. "Sometimes the gods are too forgiving and justice is slow to come, but when at last the evil among us are brought to their knees, there's nothing more satisfying." He turned around and a smile spread slowly across his face. "I thank you, Lieutenant Bak, for renewing my faith."
Bak was beginning to like this odd-looking man. "What vile deed did Puemre do to hurt you?" He knew he was taking advantage of Senu's newfound goodwill, but he had no choice. Time was too pressing.
The watch officer nodded, as if he understood, and walked on. "When first he came to Iken, I stood at the head of the infantry, not here with the sentries. He made no secret that he coveted my task. But Woser insisted he start as an inspecting officer where he could prove himself worthy before leading men whose lives would depend on his ability."
"A sensible decision."
"Not the way Puemre saw it," Senu snorted. "One day a scroll came from the royal house in Waset. Suddenly I found myself a watch officer, and that swine stood at the head of my men." He looked away, but not before Bak saw the hurt in his eyes. "I spent a lifetime in the army, facing the enemy on the field of battle, and I worked my way up from common recruit to lieutenant. All he had to do was write a letter."
"I understand." The words sounded lame to Bak's ears, but his heart ached for a man so ill-used. "Will Woser soon right the wrong he had no choice but commit?"
Senn stopped twenty paces from the next sentry, too far away to be heard. "He told me the day we learned of
Puemre's death that as soon as the lord Amon comes and goes, I can again lead my company. For now, my task as watch officer is more important."
Bak allowed him time to inspect the sentry before asking his final question: "I must know when you last saw Puemre and how you account for your time after Woser's meeting."
Senu accepted the question easily; Bak was sure he had expected it. "I parted from him and the others outside the commander's residence and never set eyes on him again. From there, I went directly to my home in the lower city, where my wife and children awaited me."
Another man whose patience Puemre had stretched beyond endurance, Bak thought. Another man who claimed to be with people who would willingly repeat any story he told them.
Bak hastened along the lane, plowed past a half-dozen spearmen walking away from the commander's residence, and hurried inside. He was late for his next interview, this with the lieutenant who led the archery company. A scribe directed him to the living quarters on the second floor. He dashed up the enclosed stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.
"You never learn, do you?" A man shouting, his voice familiar yet unfamiliar. "First Puemre and now this snake Bak."
Bak stopped so abruptly he came close to stubbing his toe on the next step.
"Can I help it if men find me beautiful?" Aset's voice. Bak td no use for eavesdroppers, and his conscience urged him not to listen further, but he did. Shamelessly. "You have eyes for every man in Iken except me!" The man's voice again.
"Can you take me away from this garrison? This awful place of endless sun and heat, where my face will wrinkle and my skin turn to leather before I'm twenty? Can you offer me servants and a fine house and give me beautiful dresses and jewelry?"
"You know I can't!"
"Then go away and leave me alone." "Aset, Few men have that kind of wealth."
"Puemre did, and Lieutenant Bak has the same confident demeanor, a self-assurance born of wealth and security." Me? Bak wondered. Can she really be so naive she sees nothing beneath a man's skin?
"If riches are all you want, go to him!" The man's voice cracked, betraying his pain and anger. "Give yourself to him! See if I care!"
"I will. You just wait and see!"
Rapid footsteps came toward the stairwell. Bak shot upward, refusing to be caught listening. As he hit the top step, the man burst through the door. They slammed together, knocking the breath from them both, and fell to the floor, arms and legs entangled across the threshold.
"Oh, no!" Aset, wide-eyed and gaping, ran toward them.
She knelt at their heads and, paying no heed to Bak, bent over the other man, her look of surprise and shock melting to concern. Both men straggled to sit erect, forcing her back, and stared at one another. The man with whom she had quarreled was Nebseny, the one who had dragged her away from Bak's quarters the previous evening.
"You!" Nebseny spat. "I should've known."
Aset, seeing he was unhurt, deepened her look of concern and turned to Bak. Placing a hand on his arm, she gave him a gentle and worried smile. "Are you alright? Did this clumsy oaf hurt you?"
Bak, noting the fury on Nebseny's face, scrambled to his feet, distancing himself from both of them. He reached out to the gangly young man, offering to help him stand. Nebseny spurned the hand with a resentful glare and rose without aid.
Aset stood up and strode across the courtyard, her back stiff with purpose. Two servants, watching wide-eyed from a portal opening to the rear of the house, hastily withdrew lest she spot them. She stopped before a bow and a leather quiver filled with arrows leaning against the wall beside the door to Woser's reception room. She picked up the bow, almost as long as she was tall, and the heavy quiver and brought them back.
"Take this trash with you and get out!" she commanded, shoving them at Nebseny. "I never want to see them or you in this house again."
Bak cursed the gods and Aset, too. Nebseny was the man with whom he had come to talk.
"This is a place of business as well as your home, you selfish.. " Nebseny controlled himself, and added with a sneer, "Don't worry, my sweet. I'll not darken the door again except when summoned by your father." Shouldering his quiver and bow, he pivoted toward the stairwell.
Bak stepped into his path, barring his way. "I've come to speak with you about Lieutenant Puemre's death." "Get out of my way!"
"Commander Woser promised you'd talk with me." Nebseny spoke through gritted teeth. "I had nothing to do with that snake's death, nor do I know who slew him. I wish I did, for he did us all a good deed by cleansing this garrison of scum worse than that found in a stagnant pool." Bak knew jealousy was speaking, but what else? "Was he an accomplished archer as well as infantryman?" "His skills with a bow were adequate, that's all." "You were fortunate then. He had no basis to usurp your men and duties."
Aset slipped around Nebseny to stand beside Bak. She stood so close he could feel the heat of her shoulder next to his, her hair brushing his arm. Her voice was honeysweet. "Lieutenants Nebseny and Puemre had much in common. One was a mere soldier who wanted the good things in life; the other had the good things but wanted more to be a good soldier."
Her words were designed to goad the archer, as was her proximity to Bak. What did she want? he wondered. To set one against the other?
Nebseny affected to ignore her. "You've talked to Huy, I see, and to Senu. I can add no more."
Shouldering Bak aside, shoving him against Aset, the archer hastened down the stairwell, never looking back. The girl clutched Bak's arm as if for support and looked up at him with the large brown eyes of the lady Hathor in her guise as a cow. She raised moist red lips toward his, inviting intimacy. He was too angry with her for ruining his chance to talk with Nebseny to feel any kind of warmth. Nor did her father's proximity. entice him, nor her determination to escape Iken with wealth and position.
Gently but firmly, he pushed her away, pivoted on his heel, and followed Nebseny down the stairs. He left the building with a sigh of relief and a rueful laugh at his own expense. For the first time in his life, he was running away from a beautiful woman.
Not until he was halfway to the towered gate did he realize how much he had learned without exchanging more than a dozen words with Nebseny. The young officer was in love with Aset, crazed with jealousy. He had implied that the girl had, at the very least, encouraged Puemre's attentions. If that wasn't a reason for murder, Bak did not know what was. As for Aset, could she have slain Puemre, he wondered? She might well have had reason, especially if he spurned her, but she was too slightly built, he felt sure, and not strong enough.