Lieutenant Karoya eyed the busy market, his expression glum. “I’ve had scant time to give the matter the attention it deserves. My duties during the Beautiful Feast of Opet are many and varied, and the offenses my men detect each day are multiplied ten times ten over those of any ordinary day.”
He raised a hand as if to stave off comment. “I know, sir. I’m making excuses where none should be made.”
Bak ducked out of the way of two men carrying a large rectangular wooden box that looked much like an unadorned coffin. “I can see for myself how many ships lie along the waterfront and how busy this market has become.”
His elbow bumped a wooden support, making the rickety stall beside them rock. Strung beads hanging from a cross beam rattled, earning Bak a scowl from the proprietor, a wrinkled old man who sat on the ground surrounded by his wares: beads and amulets, bracelets and anklets, combs, per fume bottles, and the sticks and brushes used for painting the eyes and lips.
“I wish I had more time. From what little I’ve learned,
Maruwa was a decent man and deserves better.” Karoya’s at tention was focused on three harbor patrolmen standing in the middle of the broad pathway between the rows of stalls, questioning a man caught substituting false weights for true.
The miscreant was on his knees, with two patrolmen holding him and one applying a stick to his back and legs. A crowd had begun to form around them, blocking the pathway, forc ing others to watch whether or not they wanted to. The on 118
Lauren Haney lookers talked among themselves, some curious, some com plaining, some thrilled by the small spectacle. A few offered wagers as to exactly how long the scoundrel could hold out before admitting his offense.
Bak queried Karoya with a glance, and the young Medjay officer nodded. Together, they stepped into the open, making themselves visible. Men of authority keeping an eye out for trouble. The crowd seemed mild enough, but like all sponta neous and uncontrolled gatherings, could quickly go out of control.
“Have you learned anything about his activities here in
Waset?” Bak asked.
“Not much.”
“Was he not a regular visitor to the city?”
“He came often enough, once or twice a year. But mer chants come and go. They seldom establish long or deep friendships. Not here at the harbor, at any rate.” Karoya paused, letting a braying donkey have its say. “I wish I could be of more help, sir, but you see how it is.” He swung his arm in an arc encompassing the growing crowd and the noisy activity around them.
Bak sympathized. The waterfront was lined with ships four or five deep and the market was three or four times larger and busier than when last he had seen it. “I’d suggest you go to the garrison for help, but by the time you’ve trained more men, the festival will be over.”
“I’m sorely tempted nonetheless.”
Karoya studied the gathering crowd, the increased bet ting. A resolute look settled on his face and he whistled a signal to his men. They jerked their prisoner to his feet and lowered their spears to a diagonal, the points slightly above head level should they need to force their way through the crowd. Onlookers stepped aside, opening a path, and they half walked, half dragged the rogue to the side lane that led to their building.
The Medjay officer visibly relaxed. “The men I’ve talked with-both sailors and other merchants-all agreed that
Maruwa was good-natured, easy to be with, and was utterly honest in his dealings. As far as they know, he had no woman troubles, no debts, no bad habits.”
“What of Captain Antef’s suggestion that he might’ve been involved in Hittite politics?”
Karoya stepped away from the booth and led the way into the rapidly dispersing crowd. “If he was, either no one knew or no one will speak of it.”
“I assume you’ve talked with Hittites dwelling in Waset?”
“Yes, sir. Well, with one, at any rate. I spoke with a man named Hantawiya, who’s a kind of informal leader among them. He seemed not to like Maruwa very much. I guess the merchant had taken a woman of Kemet as his concubine and it didn’t set well with Hantawiya, but he could find nothing bad to say about him.” Karoya smiled, remembering. “I could see he wanted to.”
Bak stepped hastily around a woman carrying a large basket of coarsely ground flour. She reeked of sweat and a harsh perfume. He was not convinced one man’s opinion of another was in any way satisfactory. “He made no connec tion between Maruwa and the sacred precinct of the lord
Amon?”
“The subject never arose, and I’m certain it would’ve if
Hantawiya had suspected such a thing. He’s the kind of man who seeks reasons for disapproval, and he’d certainly not condone one of his countrymen getting involved with a god of any land but that of Hatti.”
“He sounds a disagreeable sort.”
“He is.” Karoya sidled past a mound of greenish melons displayed on the ground. “I can’t believe Maruwa’s murder is connected to those in the sacred precinct, yet your de scription of the men’s throats…” He shook his head, obvi ously mystified. “What in the name of the lord Amon can the connection be?”
“I can’t say I knew Maruwa well, but I enjoyed his com pany, respected him. I suppose I thought of him as a friend.”
Commander Minnakht, master of the royal stables, walked beneath the portico that shaded a long line of open door ways, from which came the strong smell of horses. The thud of hooves, the rustle of hay, an animal’s soft nickering could be heard within. “He seemed a fine man, and I mourn his death.”
“Did he speak of other men he provided with horses?”
Bak asked. Each time he inhaled the rich smell of the stable, a twinge of homesickness touched his heart. Most of the time he did not regret his exile to the southern frontier and his life as a policeman, but now and again-here and now he yearned to return to the past and resume the life of the chariotry officer he had once been.
“He told me more than once how proud he was that we thought all his horses worthy of the royal stables. From that,
I assumed we were his sole customers. We and Menkheperre
Thutmose, of course. Maruwa also delivered horses to the royal house in Mennufer on a regular basis.”
“Who exactly do you mean by ‘we’? You and…”
“Those of us who looked at the animals he brought and made the decision to keep them. I speak of myself and the men who see to the animals’ training.”
The commander was a large man in every respect. He was tall and heavy, his legs solid and muscular. His neck was so thick it seemed a part of his head. He had the largest hands
Bak had ever seen, and the thickest wrists. His voice was deep and strong, his manner self-assured.
A hefty young man emerged from the large walled circle surrounding the well in front of the portico. Two heavy wa ter jars were suspended from a yoke across his shoulders.
The acrid smell of sweat wafted from him as he walked past and entered the nearest doorway.
Bak peeked inside. Beyond a high mound of straw mixed with manure, he saw a narrow room, somewhat like a store house but longer, with openings all along the roof to let in light and air. No horses were there, but several men were laying fresh straw, while others were filling the water and grain troughs that lined one wall. Each animal’s position was marked by a stone fixed into the floor, with a hole in the center for tying the creature.
He thought of the many long days his own team had spent in an identical stable, and could not help but wonder if they missed the companionship of others of their kind.
Smiling at such a flight of fancy-the two horses were more than content, gamboling around the large paddock at his fa ther’s small farm-he turned his thoughts to more produc tive exercise.
Captain Antef had suggested Maruwa might have been in volved in Hittite politics, but could he have assumed Hittite when in reality the merchant had been embroiled in the pol itics of Kemet? He would not have dealt directly with either