"Come," Antef said. "I've something to show you." He struck off through the sand, staying close to the granite outcrop. Where they were going Bak could not imagine.
"I lost an uncle in the storm." Antef glanced down, watching where he placed his feet. "How much shall I tell you? Shall I assume you know nothing and give you every detail?"
Bak could have sworn the officer was hiding another smile, teasing. "I'll leave that to your good judgment."
A man uttered a string of oaths. They glanced around, saw a short, muscular individual kneeling on a nearby ledge, holding a mallet in one hand, sucking a finger on the other. A soldier, Bak assumed, impressed to do duty as a stonemason, clumsy with the tools of a trade he surely resented.
The troop captain walked on, untroubled by so common an occurrence. "As a boy, I lived on a small estate near the provincial capital of Zawty. My father plowed and planted for our master; my mother served*our mistress. I had no future beyond the land. Until my uncle, who long before had entered the army, took me into his household in Mennufer. He was an officer, an infantry lieutenant, and so he desired me to be. Close on twenty years ago, when I reached an age to enter the army, he was posted here in Abu. He brought me with him. Djehuty was here at the time, a lieutenant temporarily assigned to the garrison while he awaited a more desirable post. He refused to have me, saying he had enough young and green spearmen from Abu without taking on one from afar. My uncle had no choice: he sent me back to Zawty and the life I thought I'd left behind forever."
"No wonder you dislike Djehuty!"
"Fortunately, the gods chose to smile on me." Antef veered around a slick-haired white dog sniffing a pile of oily leaves that must earlier have held a workman's morning meal. "A friend of my uncle, a lieutenant in Mennufer, offered me a place in his unit. With his guidance and a natural aptitude for the art of war, I rose rapidly through the ranks. My uncle returned to Mennufer and life went on. I'd already attained the rank of troop captain when he was posted again to Abu. You know what happened: he vanished in the storm."
"Did Djehuty remember you when you came back?" "No, nor would he care if he had." Antef gave a hard, cynical laugh. "In his eyes, I was-and may still be-of no greater value than a donkey or an ox, to him no different from the men you see there." He swung his hand in an arc encompassing the quarry from one end to the other.
Bak eyed four men down on their knees on a rock surface flattened by some previous removal, a square column, perhaps, or an obelisk. Using as a guide a cord stretched across the stone, pounding chisels with heavy mallets, they were cutting a row of slits in the granite. Wooden wedges protruded from finished slits farther along the cord. After this back side of the block was fully notched, water would be poured on the wedges, making them swell to fracture the stone.
"These men are soldiers, too?" he asked, surprised. "This is the work of craftsmen!"
"Oh?" Antef's voice dripped sarcasm. "Why would Djehuty summon experienced quarrymen? Men he'd have to feed and house in addition to my troops?"
Expecting no answer, he strode on, his anger propelling him forward so fast Bak had to walk double time. They rounded a high, stubby finger of granite and came upon a circular bay excavated from the parent outcrop. A ridge sheltered the spot from the rest of the quarry, isolating it. If not for the distant thud of mallets, Bak would have thought himself far away and alone.
Antef ushered him toward a large red granite block, rectangular in form, with rounded comers at one end and the other end squared off. Even before he saw the partially hollowed interior, he recognized the object as an outer coffin. Only royalty could command the use of hard stone for an eternal resting place. This had to be for one of Kemet's joint rulers, either Maatkare Hatshepsut or Menkheperre Thutmose. The queen, most likely, since construction of her memorial temple was well on its way to completion.
He walked closer, wondering where the men were who should have been hollowing it out and preparing it for ship ment north to the capital. A ragged crack midway along the length of the box gave him the answer. The break ran through both walls and what remained of the core, dividing it into two pieces. The coffin had been abandoned for good reason.
Resting his hands on the edge, he eyed the fault. "Maatkare Hatshepsut must not have been pleased when she learned she'd never rest in this."
"This magnificent folly was ordered by and for Senenmut, her most trusted advisor. She knows nothing about it, and I pray to the lord Khnum she never will."
Bak whistled. He had heard tales of the steward's arrogance, but not one came close to this.
Antef's voice turned contemptuous. "Djehuty agreed, all smiles and bows, that we'd do the work and remain mute. A fool paying homage to one who could fall from the lofty heights in an instant, taking all in his wake with him."
Bak better understood the troop captain's anger. The load he had to bear was heavy indeed. "From what I've heard of Senenmut, when he sets his sights on a thing, he doesn't easily give up."
Antef nodded, understanding him perfectly. "Even now, a new coffin is being cut at a quarry north of Abu. Quartzite it is. Not as spectacular as the one before us, but more than adequate. A coffin fit for royalty."
Bak eyed the officer thoughtfully. "Why do you tell me this? You've made no secret of the fact that you don't trust me. Are you hoping I'll pass word of this outrage to the capital?"
"You apparently believe I could, without a qualm, slay five innocent people to repay Djehuty for an — incident from the past. Now tell me, Lieutenant, why would I slay them for a long-past offense, and plan to slay Djehuty as well, when each day that goes by the swine gives me greater reason to wish him alone a victim of his own transgressions?"
So great was the officer's anger, Bak could feel it in the air. Antef had made a point, he thought, a good point.
Bak and Psuro shoved the skiff across the strip of rich black earth. The flat-bottomed hull tore away the dry and cracking surface, revealing soil still damp from the fallen floodwaters. The slope steepened. The vessel got away from them and slid out of control down the slick bank. Its stern struck the water with a splash, showering them. They leaped after it and waded into the river to scramble on board. Psuro took up the oars while Bak sat in the stern with the rudder. "User, you say he's called?" Bak asked.
"Yes, sir." The Medjay eased the skiff into deeper water, added, "He was a spearman back then."
"I thank the lord Amon you found him." Bak drew close a basket smelling of bread and braised meat and removed the lid. "You've done well, Psuro. I feared all who survived the storm were gone, either living in a faraway place or in the Field of Reeds."
Psuro rowed around a tiny island crowned with a single acacia. Other islands large and small abounded as far as the eye could see. The swift-flowing channels separating them, as often as not foaming over rocks hidden beneath the surface, would shrink or vanish as the water level dropped through the following months. The Medjay located a wide and smooth passage that promised to carry them north with a minimum of effort, shipped one oar, and held onto the other in case of need.
"User lives on an island near the upstream end of the rapids," he said. "He doesn't often come to Abu. I was lucky to find him at the market."
"He's a farmer now?" Bak took an elongated loaf of bread from the basket, broke off a chunk, added a slab of beef, and handed it to his companion.