“What reason would anyone have?” Kasaya asked.
“Woserhet was an auditor,” Hori said scornfully. “Audi tors make enemies.”
Kasaya matched derision with derision. “Within the sa cred precinct?”
“Priests are no different than anyone else. They can be tempted by wealth. They can be seduced by a beautiful woman. They can get frustrated and angry. Since he was an auditor…” The young scribe stubbed his toe on a rock and stumbled. “Well, I’d sure be unhappy if I found someone prying in my records.”
Ahead, Meryamon veered around a large family group and Bak lost sight of him.
“Was he slain in anger, sir?” the young Medjay asked.
Bak raised his baton of office, responding to the salute of four soldiers walking in the opposite direction. “An inspec tion of the partly burned documents might give us an idea of what he was doing. If we can find a reason among them for slaying a man, we may conclude that anger was not a factor.”
Hori did not have to be told who would go through the documents. “When am I to start, sir?”
“At break of day tomorrow. I’ve sealed the room, but have told the guards to allow you inside.” Bak veered to the edge of the crushed limestone path. The scribe and Medjay fell in line behind him and they walked around the family group.
When they were once again close enough to talk, he said, “I wish you to sort the scrolls that were scattered around the body into three groups: those too burned to read, those partly burned, and those you find undamaged.”
Meryamon, again in view, had increased his speed and was catching up with another loose group of people. Bak, his curiosity aroused, also walked faster.
“How can I help, sir?” Kasaya asked.
Noting the expectant look on the Medjay’s face, the hope that he could be of use, Bak gave him the only assignment he could think of. “You can stand guard, making sure no one enters the room and disturbs Hori.”
Kasaya nodded, satisfied with a task he must have known was unnecessary. “Yes, sir.”
“While you sort the documents…” Bak saw Meryamon closing on the people ahead. “… I’ll be searching out Woserhet’s scribe. With luck and the help of the lord Amon, he’ll know what the auditor was looking for, and he may even point us toward the slayer.”
Meryamon moved up close to a man with fuzzy red hair.
Briefly the two walked side by side. Whether they spoke to each other, Bak was unable to tell. He could not say exactly why, but he thought they did-and he could have sworn the priest passed something to the other man before quickly moving on.
“What are we to do today?” Hori asked.
“We can’t do anything,” Bak said. “The sacred precinct is deserted except for a few guards, and all who aren’t making merry must by this time be watching the ritual outside Ipet resyt. You’re free to enjoy the festival.”
The two young men exchanged a glance that told Bak they were not disappointed at their release from duty.
“And you, sir?” Kasaya asked.
“I hope to find Amonked at Ipet-resyt. He’ll want a re port.”
Meryamon merged into the crowd ahead. The red-haired man turned off the processional way into a side lane. He stopped in the shadow of a white-plastered mudbrick build ing and looked at something in his hand. Dropping it to the ground, he stepped on it, hurried on down the lane, and van ished among the small, decrepit houses that lined this por tion of the processional way.
Bak, more curious than ever, plunged off the thoroughfare and into the lane where the redhead had been. On the ground he found the crushed pieces of a gray pottery shard. Kneel ing, he picked up a few of the larger fragments and studied them. He saw signs of writing, a message destroyed.
“Is something wrong, sir?” Hori asked, eyeing the grayish bits with curiosity.
Bak shrugged. “I thought I saw the priest Meryamon pass something to another man. I wondered what it was, that’s all.”
“A note?”
Bak slipped out of the lane and looked up the processional way. Meryamon had vanished in the crowd ahead. “I’ll ask him when next I see him.”
Chapter Four
Bak, Hori, and Kasaya passed the final barque sanctuary and stopped at the southern end of the processional way to look upon the crowd ahead. After dwelling three years on the southern frontier, where man could eke out a living only on a narrow strip of land along the river, keeping the population low, the vast number of individuals gathered in this one place was staggering.
“I grew to manhood across the river and often came to the festival,” Hori said, “but I’ve never seen anything like this.
Each year more people come from afar and each year the procession is grander.”
“And more wonders are offered to tickle the senses,”
Kasaya said. “The food, the acrobats, the musicians…” He chopped off the rest of the thought, distracted by a sultry young woman passing by.
Bak smiled. “Are you as hungry as I am?”
Hori shook his head. “We ate not an hour ago.”
Clearing his thoughts of death and duty, Bak led the way in among the crowd that filled the large walled court in front of Ipet-resyt. At the back of the court rose the main gate through the high mudbrick wall that enclosed the lord
Amon’s southern mansion and its support buildings. The procession had earlier passed into the sacred precinct, leav ing the court swarming with people. They milled around the flimsy booths amid a buzz of talk and laughter, purchasing what struck their fancy or pausing to watch performances designed to please the eye and excite the senses: acrobats, dancers, and musicians; trained animals and mischievous monkeys; archery contests, pole fights and wrestling matches. Men and women from the land of Kemet shared their joy in the greatest of the gods with dark, smiling strangers from far to the south and bearded and mysterious foreigners from the north. The poor gaped at the wealthy, at their fine jewelry and elaborate, bejeweled wigs. The afflu ent inspected one another’s garb and hairstyles more furtively, but with an equally avid interest. Sharp-eyed po licemen and soldiers walked among them, seeking out thieves and mischief makers.
Attracted by the smell of roasting meat, Bak wove his way to its source, where a man squatted beside an open and very smoky hearth over which was suspended the well cooked carcass of a lamb. He traded garrison tokens for sev eral pieces, a loaf of bread and, at another booth, three jars of beer. Rejoining Hori and Kasaya, he found a section of wall near the rear of the court on which they could sit while they ate. The two young men consumed the food as greedily as he.
From where they sat, they watched the activity around them. Children played tag or hide and seek among the booths and in the crowd, shrieking their delight. Cats and monkeys poked through garbage thrown behind the booths and out side the wall, sniffing out bits of food before it could rot in the heat. Dogs walked among the people, ready to pounce on any edible scrap. Grooms led finely matched teams of horses pulling empty chariots out of the sacred precinct and through the multitude to vanish down a side street.
Their meal finished, Bak climbed atop the wall to scan the court in search of Amonked. He spotted his Medjays scat tered around, watching a variety of performances, but could not find Maatkare Hatshepsut’s cousin. He must have gone with the procession into the sacred precinct.
The number of revelers was increasing dramatically, with people approaching from all directions. The crowd was spilling out of the court and north along the processional way. Additional booths offering innumerable delicacies and temptations were being set up to accommodate the swelling throng. Fresh dancers and musicians and acrobats, wrestlers, stick fighters and boxers streamed into the melee. The sounds of merrymaking must have carried to the far edges of the city.