A fat black dog carrying a bone in its mouth waddled around the nearest brightly painted pillar. It scrambled onto the camp stool and settled down to gnaw its prize. The dubi ous treat smelled as strong as the animal did, overwhelming the stringent scent emanating from a huge bowl of flowers beside the dais.
“Your wife accompanied you, did she not?” Bak asked.
Pentu released a long, annoyed sigh. “As did her sister
Meret. Also with us were a dozen or so servants, men and women important to our comfort while we dwelt in that land of strange customs and abominable food.” His head swiveled around and he gave Amonked a long, hard look.
“What’s this all about? Why bring up a subject long dead and most distasteful to me?”
Amonked rose from his chair and stepped off the dais. Ig noring the dog, he stood beside Bak, lending the weight of his authority to the younger man. “Maruwa has been slain.”
Pentu expelled a humorless laugh. “Have you come to ask that I mourn him, Amonked?”
“Some months before his death, while preparing to travel to Hattusa, he told a friend he expected to bring back to
Waset the name of the traitor in your household. Upon his return, he had not yet set foot on the good black earth of this city when he was slain. I think it unlikely that the two events are unconnected. The vizier agrees and has ordered Lieu tenant Bak to investigate the charge that brought about your recall, beginning with the members of your household.”
“Is the identity of the traitor-if one ever existed-now so important? A matter thought at the time to be worth dismiss ing?”
“That individual’s interference in the politics of Hatti was perceived as posing a threat to the king and might well have caused a breach between him and our sovereign. A serious matter should he have decided to march south and attack our allies, thereby bringing about a war.”
“Nothing of the sort happened.”
“Solely because the Hittite king, being a reasonable man, chose not to suspect Maatkare Hatshepsut of being a party to the problem and passed the word along informally, and be cause she acted without delay.”
Amonked glared at Pentu, daring him to rebut the charge.
The governor remained mute.
“Lieutenant Bak is to report directly to me and I to the vizier.” The implication was clear: the matter had the atten tion of the second most powerful individual in the land, and
Pentu had no choice but to cooperate, to treat Bak with the same deference he would show Amonked.
The governor slumped back in his chair, scowled at Bak.
“What do you wish, Lieutenant?”
“I wish to speak to the members of your household, first to Netermose, Pahure, and Sitepehu, each man alone. Before
I see them, you must tell them of my purpose and urge their cooperation.”
Bak watched the servant slip through the doorway to go in search of the three men who had accompanied Pentu to Hat tusa. Amonked had previously taken his leave. “Did you know Maruwa, sir?”
Pentu’s expression darkened at the very mention of the trader’s name. “I’d never heard of him until I learned, upon reporting back to Waset, that he’d carried the message that brought about my recall.”
“Did he never come to you in Hattusa? Was he not re quired to obtain from you, as envoy to the land of Hatti, a pass each time he wished to travel within the land of
Kemet?”
“Sitepehu dealt with such routine matters.”
Bak had no reason to doubt the governor, or to believe him, either. “Do you have many dealings with the priests and scribes who toil in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
“On the rare occasions when I come to Waset, I usually meet the chief priest and a few acolytes at various social oc casions. Not during the Beautiful Feast of Opet, when they’re fully occupied, but at other times throughout the year.” Pentu eyed Bak, visibly puzzled. “What does my so cial life have to do with the death of that wretched Hittite merchant?”
“Have you ever met the scribe Woserhet or the priest
Meryamon?”
“Aren’t they the two men who were slain in the sacred precinct?”
Bak was not surprised the governor had heard of the mur ders. Word of one death in the sacred precinct would not have gone unnoticed. News of a second killing would have spread throughout Waset at the speed of a falcon diving to earth to catch a rodent.
Pentu glared at Bak. “Why would I know them? Do you think I’m acquainted with every man who’s been slain in this city since we disembarked from our ship at the harbor?”
“This terrace should offer ample privacy, sir.”
Pahure, looking very much the efficient functionary, stepped through the doorway. He led Bak along a portico that shaded the roof of a narrow two-story extension added sometime in the past to the north side of the three-story dwelling. The outer edge of the shelter, lined with small pot ted trees and flowering plants, was a riot of color. Bees buzzed around blossoms whose sweet fragrance perfumed the air. A very young female servant hurried after them, carrying a basket containing several jars of beer and a lumpy package wrapped in clean white linen.
Bak dropped onto one of several low stools scattered along the portico and the steward sat beside him. The girl drew close a small table, deposited the basket on it, and spread wide the linen to reveal small, round loaves of bread so fresh out of the oven they smelled of yeast.
“You understand my purpose,” Bak said after the servant departed.
“Pentu left no doubt.”
Bak helped himself to a warm loaf, which had bits of date erupting through its golden crust. “Did you know the mer chant Maruwa?”
Pahure shrugged. “I may have met him, but if so I don’t recall.” He broke the plug from a jar and handed the brew to
Bak. His demeanor was serious, reflecting the gravity of the question. “You must understand, sir. I met a multitude of people during the course of my duties in Hattusa. As several years have passed since our return, I’ve forgotten many, es pecially those individuals I met in passing.” He took a bite of bread and washed it down with a sizable drink. “Also, Site pehu handled official affairs, while my tasks were related solely to household matters. I normally dealt with local mer 152
Lauren Haney chants, obtaining food, clothing, furniture, everything re quired for our day-to-day living.”
Bak studied the man seated before him. Pahure’s shoul ders were broad and muscular, giving an impression of strength that contrasted with his gently rounded stomach.
His manner was pleasant, ever so slightly subservient, yet
Sitepehu had once inferred that the steward was a man who usually got what he wanted. Certainly the latter trait would be useful to one who had attained the lofty position of stew ard to a provincial governor or envoy.
“Let me describe Maruwa,” Bak said, and he did so.
Pahure looked down his substantial nose at the officer. “I saw many such men while in Hatti, sir.”
Bak ignored what he assumed was a subtle attempt to put him in his place, an unexpected fracture in the steward’s fa cade of respect and deference. “Do you spend much time in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon?”
A wry smile flitted across Pahure’s face. “I can’t remem ber when last I was inside its walls. I seldom come to this city and when I do, I’ve other, more pressing business.”
“Have you ever met a scribe named Woserhet or a young priest, Meryamon?”
“Aren’t they the men who were slain in the sacred precinct?”
Bak described them as best he could, asked again, “Have you ever met them, Pahure?”
“I’ve met many such men, Lieutenant. They come through Tjeny, pay their respects to Pentu and Sitepehu, sometimes even stay the night. I seldom can tell one from another and never can recall their names.”
Doggedly Bak pressed on, asking another question for which he expected to receive an equally unsatisfactory an swer. “Did you ever meet a Hittite trader named Zuwapi?”