Troop Captain Antef, the sergeant on duty had told him, had gone to the granite quarries. When he would return, no one could say.
Bak had hastened back through the narrow, crowded streets to the mansion of the lord Khnum, thinking the chief priest might-like Amethu and Simut-be a long-time resident in Abu, but unlike them a man bound to speak the truth, leaving no secrets buried in silence. He had again been faced with disappointment. The priest who had greeted him was young, new to the mansion and the town. His elderly predecessor had, not six months before, departed his worldly life and gone off to the Field of Reeds. The younger man could offer nothing of value.
A skiff speeding northward caught Bak's attention. The sail was down and two men were rowing, adding thrust to the current's downstream pull. Troop Captain Antef was one of the pair. Just the man Bak wished to see-and he appeared to be heading for the landingplace.
Bak had no idea how long Antef had dwelt in Abu, but few professional soldiers remained in one place for long. The queen's nephew and stepson Menkheperre Thutmose, who shared the throne but not the power, had begun to rebuild an army long neglected by the royal house. Ranking officers of proven incompetence were being removed and men could no longer inherit positions of authority from their fathers. Newly reorganized regiments were led by men who moved from place to place, proving themselves proficient and versatile.
He also assumed that, although required to report to Djehuty, Antef's real master resided elsewhere, probably in the capital. With little or nothing to lose, he might well divulge Djehuty's secret-if he knew it.
Bak trotted along the path above the river, praying the officer could-and would-help. Several women who had gathered at the well to gossip eyed him with curiosity, as did a pair of lovers lying deep in the shadows of a willow tree. He reached the stairway at the landingplace as Antef's skiff bumped stone. The troop captain leaped ashore and shoved the boat back into the current. His companion rowed on downstream.
Spotting Bak at the top of the stairs, Antef raced upward. "Lieutenant!" He clapped Bak hard on the-'back. "Have you come to greet me in friendship? Or to shackle my wrists and carry me off to the desert mines?"
Slipping out of arm's reach, Bak forced a smile. "Have you committed an offense deserving of so drastic a punishment?"
The troop captain's good humor evaporated, his eyes flashed anger. "I've kept my men so long at the granite quar- ries they no longer know how to soldier. If they'd ever have to stand on the field of battle, they'd not last a half hour. That's not an offense; it's an outrage."
They passed through the gate, nodded to the guard standing before the gatehouse, his spear raised in salute, and strode up the path toward the governor's villa. Antef walked fast, his anger driving him forward.
"You deserve no punishment for that," Bak said. "Unless I'm mistaken, mining the stone is Djehuty's responsibility." "As is the well-being of the garrison." Antef expelled a cynical snort. "The granite travels north on a barge, bound for the capital, while our troops stay here. Which is the most likely, Lieutenant, to gain the attention of those who walk the corridors of power?"
Bak well understood the problem. Their sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut, cared for nothing but the smooth flow of products traveling downriver to the royal house. Like Antef's soldiers, the men who manned the fortresses on the frontier, making sure trade objects continued to move north, were of no importance. Only when the flow was disrupted did they attract attention-and angry messages from the capital.
"You don't like Djehuty," he said.
"He has no more common sense than the granite we ship north." Antef shoved open the door of the governor's villa and strode into the anteroom, a light and bright chamber with two lotus-shaped columns supporting a high ceiling. "Unfortunately, for this enforced labor at the quarry I can blame no one but myself. If I'd had sufficient wit when first I came to Abu…" He paused, gave a low, bitter laugh. "Amonhotep can usually talk him around, but not in this case. I pushed too hard, spoke when I should've remained silent. The swine'll diver forgive. More important, he won't forget. And my men are made to suffer."
Could this be Djehuty's offense, Bak wondered, the reason so many people had been slain? Surely not. Ordering the army to continuous service at the quarries was a decision the governor could justify, for the stone would be shipped to the most important building projects in Kemet, the mansions of the gods, in most cases. Bak sympathized with Antef and his troops, as would any soldier, but he could offer no way out. "Five people have died and the next, I feel sure, will be Djehuty. Do you know of any tie that might've bound the victims together? Anything Djehuty might've done to warrant their deaths as well as his own?"
Antef hesitated a long time and finally said, "You'd best ask Amonhotep."
Bak gave him a long, thoughtful look. His answer was more forthright than those of Amethu and Simut but came down to the same thing: he had an idea what might have brought about the murders, but he would not be the first to step forward with the information. "If he won't tell me what I need to know, Troop Captain, I'll come back to you. And I'll expect the truth."
"I've been told you and your Medjays have moved into a house outside the walls of this villa." Antef's tone turned derisive. "Do you feel safer there, Lieutenant?"
"A suggestion has been made that I summon a unit of Medjays from the capital to patrol this compound. What do you think, sir?" Bak kept his voice level, pleasant, as if unaware of the lack of trust the proposal implied.
Antef's expression hardened. "If it's men you need, come to me. I've more than enough. Good, trustworthy men who long to be soldiers, not beasts of burden in the quarry. I can have them armed and on duty within the hour. A man in every room and every hallway, if need be."
Bak was tempted to accept the offer, at least in part, but before he could begin to negotiate terms, Ineni's voice whipped across the room.
"I won't have my home overrun by soldiers!" The young nobleman, who had been standing unseen in a doorway at the back of the anteroom, listening, strode toward the two officers. "We've plenty of guards, men who've been in our service for years. I'd trust them with my life."
As Hatnofer must have relied on them, Bak thought, and the other four who were slain. He resolved to speak with Amonhotep, under whose command they served, to make sure the guards stayed alert, their vigilance never faltering. "They're nothing but farm boys," Antef sneered, "trained to use a plow, not a spear."
Ineni's mouth tightened. "Set ten of our men against ten of yours, and we'll see who's most apt to win a battle." "Why put our men to the test? Why don't you face me man-to-man? Weapon of your choice."
"Silence!" Bak stepped between the two. "Haven't you seen enough death over the past few weeks?"
"The man's a fool," Antef muttered. Ineni glared.
Bak had sensed animosity between the two when first he had met them. He could not begin to guess its source, but he had a feeling their mutual dislike was long-standing. "I suggest you each go your separate way, staying well clear of the other. How can I lay hands on a slayer if I'm forever distracted by you?"
"I have to report to Djehuty," Antef grumbled, swinging away and hastening to the portal through which Ineni had come. Khawet shoved the door fully open. He took a quick step back, barely saving his nose.
"Oh, Troop Captain Antef, I'm so sorry." She reached out to touch his arm, then quickly withdrew her hand. "Are you alright?"
"Of course." His voice was gruff; a flush spread across his face. A blind man could have seen the admiration he held for her. He seemed not to know what more to say, so he gave her a quick nod. "I must go."