“He dwells in Mennufer and journeys often to Ugarit.”
Antef bared his teeth in a tenuous smile. “Where he is now, I can’t tell you.”
Bak muttered an oath. “If he’s not here in Waset, who sees that his cargo is properly loaded?”
“I do, sir. He sends me a list of what I’m to transport, and
I check off the items as they’re delivered to me.”
“He must be a trusting soul.”
“I’ve carried his trade goods for years, and I’ve never once failed to deliver each and every object to the port of his choice.” Antef stepped into Bak’s path so he could walk no farther along the deck. “Sir! You must speak up for me to the harbormaster. He must release my ship. I’ve goods on board that I must deliver to Ugarit for shipment by donkey train to cities farther inland.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
The promise was empty. Bak had no intention of letting the ship leave the harbor. The more valuable of the goods he had seen might well have come from a storehouse of the lord
Amon.
The lord Re was hovering above the western horizon when Bak walked into yet another open plot of ground con taining a well and a grove of date palms. This was the fifth well he had found in his thus far vain search for Maruwa’s concubine. The smell of burning fuel and the odors of foods being cooked for the evening meal wafted through the air, reminding him that another treat awaited him at his Med jays’ quarters, food gleaned by Pashenuro from the daily re version of offerings.
At the apex of the irregular triangle of scruffy grass was a well encircled by a wall, while a healthy grove of date palms filled the opposite end. Several acacias grew in a clump near the well, shading a mudbrick bench. Two women sat there, chatting with five others. One of those who stood balanced a large water jar on her head, while the others supported simi lar jars on their hips. Two jars stood at the feet of the women occupying the bench.
The woman holding the jar on her head noticed Bak, mur mured something to her friends, and they stopped talking to stare as he approached them.
“I’m Lieutenant Bak. I’m looking for a woman who may dwell nearby.” He kept his expression grave, hoping to dis courage light conversation and questions. “I must speak with her of a matter of note. A very serious matter.”
A young woman holding a jar on her hip flashed bold eyes at him. “Her name, sir?”
“Irenena.”
“The Hittite’s woman,” she said, exchanging a look with the others.
“What do you need of her?” a seated woman asked.
“Has she not had enough unhappiness?” the woman with the jar on her head asked. “Must you give her more?”
“Leave her be,” another woman said. “Let her mourn her loss in peace.”
He raised a hand, silencing them. “I’m seeking the man who took the Hittite’s life. With luck she can help me lay hands on him.”
Again the women looked at one another, sharing a thought. The oldest in the crowd spoke for them alclass="underline"
“She’d want to see his slayer punished. I’ll take you to her.”
“They’ve been very kind to me.” Irenena stood beneath the pavilion on the rooftop outside her small home, looking down at the well and the women disappearing into several lanes leading to their dwellings. “I feared when I learned of his death they would turn their backs, thinking me the whore of a vile foreigner, left alone and helpless. But no. They knew I loved him and he loved me, and they respect that.”
“You’ve dwelt here long?” Bak asked.
“Maruwa brought me here almost ten years ago.”
The view below was most attractive, one few city dwellings offered. The dusty green of the trees, the white plastered wall around the well, and the white dwellings en closing the open area were softened by the late evening light. A yellow cat lapped water from a bowl left by some anonymous donor, while her kittens played hide and seek in the grass. A woman on the rooftop across the way crooned a song of love to her baby.
“May I offer you a jar of beer, Lieutenant?”
He accepted and followed her into the home she had made for herself and Maruwa. Her dwelling, in reality the second story of the building, consisted of a large room for living and sleeping, a tiny room for storage, and a kitchen with an open roof covered by loosely spread dry brush that would provide some shade and let out the smoke. The furnishings were sparse but of considerable value, many of the pillow covers, floor mats, and wall hangings imported from the northern lands through which Maruwa had traveled.
While she placed sweetcakes on a flat dish, he studied the comfortable room and the woman herself. Small and sturdy, she had dark hair sprinkled with white, and her round face was no longer youthful. Maruwa must surely have loved her as a wife, a woman to share his time with through eternity, not one to take and throw away.
“Shall we sit on the roof?” she asked. “The breeze is al ways lovely at this time of day.”
Following her outside, he said, “Before you came here, where did you dwell?”
She raised her chin and her voice took on a note of defi ance. “I was not what you think, sir. I was a respectable woman, a widow. A burden to my eldest brother, a servant to his wife. When Maruwa said he wanted me, I accepted his offer gladly. A rash move, perhaps, a situation that could have ended as rapidly as it began, with me impoverished and alone. Instead our love grew and now here I am, a widow in my heart if not in reality. Unlike before, Maruwa left me suf ficient means to take care of myself.”
“I meant no offense, mistress. I’ve been told he usually re mained in Waset long after he delivered his horses to the royal stables.” Bak allowed a smile to touch his lips. “I doubted he stayed behind for the animals’ sake, nor would he have been long detained by a plaything.”
The rigidity went out of her stance, and she mirrored his smile. “Will you sit with me, sir?” she asked, nodding to ward a reed mat spread out beneath the pavilion.
After he complied, she set the cakes beside him and of fered a jar of beer. The breeze, as she had predicted, wafted gently across the rooftop, bringing with it the scent of flow ers.
“How can I help you?” she asked, seating herself on the opposite side of the bowl. “I wish justice done, punishment for my beloved’s slayer while still he lives as well as in the netherworld.”
Bak took a drink of beer, savoring the warm, rather thick but tasty brew. “Was Maruwa involved in Hittite politics?”
He no longer believed the merchant would have become so foolishly embroiled, but of all the people he had talked to, she would know best.
“What on earth gave you that idea? He was the least po litical man I’ve ever met.”
“Did he ever speak of the politics of Kemet, of our two sovereigns, one seated on the throne at Waset and the other occupying the royal house in Mennufer?”
“He thought the situation odd, but who doesn’t? Espe cially men and women from other lands, places where life is harsher and kingship more precarious.” She must have real ized he wished her to be more specific and shook her head.
“No, sir, he showed no more concern with the affairs of
Kemet than with those of his homeland.”
“On the day he died, I’ve been told, he never left the ves sel on which he brought the horses. Most of the sailors dis embarked, as did the captain, but he chose to remain on board with the animals.”
“He would have.” Rather than taking into her mouth the morsel of sweetcake she held, she dropped her hand to her lap as if she had lost her taste for the delicacy. “They were his responsibility. He’d have stayed with them until they were safely delivered to the royal stables.”
“You didn’t see him at all that day?”
“No, sir.” The words caught in her throat; she paused, re gaining control. “I never knew exactly when to expect him.
Sometimes upon his arrival he’d summon me, but not often.
He preferred that I wait here in the comfort of our home rather than wander around the market while he cared for the horses. If only…” She bit her lip, cutting short whatever she had intended to say, acknowledging the futility of regrets.