Bak sent the two young men on their way and set out to find Amonked. At the gate to the sacred precinct, a member of the royal guard noted his baton of office and allowed him to pass through. Inside, a large open court lay between the gate and the deep, columned portico that stood in front of the god’s mansion. The crush of people was intense. The fine clothing worn by most marked them as men and women of wealth and position. The rest were soldiers, priests, and envoys representing the kings of far-off lands.
Booths lined the walls, these containing offerings to the gods: huge mounds of fruits and vegetables; fowl and beef; jars of wine, beer, honey, aromatic oils; vessels of gold and bronze; masses of flowers. Bak could not recall ever seeing such a magnificent display of plenty.
Seven fine steers crowded into a corner, bawling, terrified by the smell of fresh blood. Nearby, butchers were killing, bleeding, and cutting up the animals’ brethren, more gifts to the gods. The air was heavy with the smells of manure, in cense, blood, perfume, and sweat.
He looked the length of the long court toward the south ern mansion of the lord Amon and relived for an instant the first time he had been brought to the ritual, a four-year-old child sitting high on his father’s shoulders. Then as now, he had glimpsed gold-the barques of the gods-over the many heads, but, as before, he could not see his sovereigns.
In spite of himself, in spite of the fact that Maatkare Hat shepsut had exiled him to the southern frontier and the youthful Menkheperre Thutmose held little power, he felt a pang of disappointment.
He spotted Amonked standing not far from the main gate with the chief treasurer Djehuty and Pentu, the governor of
Tjeny. With them were Pentu’s wife and her sister, a man with the shaven head of a priest, and one with white hair who stood as rigid as a soldier. Except for the priest and the older man, all wore sumptuous wigs and jewelry befitting their lofty status.
Amonked saw Bak, spoke a few words to his compan ions, and parted from them to join the policeman. “You’ve news.”
“Nothing of note, I regret to say.” Bak went on to report what he had seen and learned. “Perhaps tomorrow I’ll un earth more, but any further effort today will be futile.”
“Considering the circumstances, you’ve done well.”
Amonked clapped him on the shoulder, smiled. “Now come with me. I understand you met Pentu and Djehuty a few days ago. You must get to know them better.”
Before Bak could offer an objection, Amonked took his arm and ushered him toward the small group. Certain such lofty individuals as the chief treasurer of Kemet and a provincial governor would have no more than a vague mem ory of him standing on the ship with Commandant Thuty, he was surprised by the friendly manner in which the two men greeted him.
“You remember my wife, Taharet, of course.” Pentu took the tall young woman’s hand and gave her an adoring smile.
She bowed her head briefly, acknowledging Bak, and eyed him with an open curiosity that made him feel like a beetle crossing the sand beneath the sharp eye of a curious boy with an empty jar in his hand.
The governor glanced at his wife, passing along a secret thought, and smiled at the other woman. “This is her younger sister Meret, if you recall.”
“Yes, sir,” Bak said, choosing not to point out that he had never met either woman, merely seen them at a distance.
Meret’s eyes twinkled with good humor, as if she recog nized the situation in which he found himself. “We’d newly arrived in Waset and you were on the ship moored behind ours. You were with a garrison commander from the south, I believe.”
“Commandant Thuty, yes.”
“This is Sitepehu, Lieutenant.” Pentu laid his hand on the priest’s shoulder. “He’s high priest of the lord Inheret and a trusted adviser, a friend as close to me as a brother.”
Well formed in body and face, Sitepehu looked to be about forty years of age. An ugly puckered scar on his left shoulder testified to an early career in the army. Inheret was the divine huntsman, an ancient god identified with the lord Shu, son of the lord Re. Tjeny was his primary seat of worship.
The priest smiled, but before he could respond to the in troduction, Pentu beckoned to his side the older man with military bearing. “This is my longtime aide Netermose, a man of infinite patience, whose willingness to assist me in all my endeavors knows no bounds.”
Bak looked upon the aide with interest. The man’s deeply lined and unattractive features seemed not to fit his slight build and softly curling white hair. Most men in his position were much younger, men who would readily accept menial tasks and adapt themselves to their master’s whims in the hope of bettering themselves later in life.
“Can we not leave this place, my love?” Taharet asked.
“The heat is suffocating and the stench is making me ill.”
Looking shamefaced at her gentle but definite reminder that he was neglecting his duty toward her, the governor glanced around as if he had forgotten the brilliant sunlight, the milling crowd, the bawling cattle, and the competing smells. “Forgive me, dearest. Of course we must leave.”
“I’d hoped we could get closer to Ipet-resyt, where we could watch Maatkare Hatshepsut and Menkheperre Thutmose make offerings to the lord Amon. We’re so far away now…” The words tailed off and she looked hopefully at
Amonked.
“I’ve done my best, my love.” Pentu took her arm and walked her toward the gate.
“I sometimes wish your best would be more effective.”
Amonked and Djehuty exchanged a look of clear disap proval. Meret’s face was expressionless, her feelings about the exchange closed to the world. Sitepehu and Netermose carefully avoided each other’s eyes as if embarrassed by the governor’s show of weakness.
Outside the sacred precinct, the aide led them across the crowded court to a half circle of shade cast by a sycamore whose limbs reached over the wall. The people occupying the space, farm servants if their appearance told true, took one look at the lofty intruders and hastened away, leaving them in relative peace and quiet.
Taharet took a square of linen from beneath a bracelet and patted the moisture from her forehead. Smiling at Amonked, she said, “We have a dwelling near here, sir.” She pointed gracefully toward several blocks of large interconnected multistory houses built to the east of Ipet-resyt. “You can see it from where we stand. The three-story building with trees growing from pots beneath the pavilion on the roof.”
“How nice,” Amonked said.
Bak smothered a smile. Amonked’s voice had been as neutral as Meret’s expression had been. Since a babe, he had walked the corridors of the royal house. When the need arose for tact or dissimulation, he had no master. As in this case, where he disapproved of the woman, but preferred not to alienate her doting husband.
“Ah, here comes Pahure.” Pentu smiled at a man hurrying out of a shadowy lane separating two of the building blocks.
“He’s my steward. Thanks to him, our temporary move to
Waset has gone so smoothly I’ve barely noticed the change of residence.”
Several male and female servants followed the steward.
Upon entering the court through a side entrance, Pahure strode toward Pentu and his party, while the others veered into the throng, intent on merrymaking. The belt of his calf length kilt was snug across the beginnings of a paunch. His broad beaded collar accented heavily muscled shoulders and upper arms. Bak guessed him to be close on thirty-five years.
Pentu introduced him, as generous with his praise as he had been with Netermose and Sitepehu. The moment he paused for breath, Taharet began firing questions at Pahure about several household tasks.