“While you dwelt in Hattusa, Pahure obtained items from him for the women of your household. Objects imported from Kemet, difficult to find in the land of Hatti.”
Shrugging, Netermose pulled another puppy close and tickled its belly. “I knew he satisfied their needs for costly and what were, in Hattusa, rare items, but I’ve no memory of the man who supplied them.”
“The political situation in the land of Hatti is always pre carious.” Sitepehu waved a small bee away from a bowl of plump purple grapes sitting on the low table beside him.
“Kings come and go in regular succession, with fathers and brothers being murdered for the crown. Only the most adept in the art of survival cling to power.”
“Not a pleasant nation in which to dwell,” Bak said.
After convincing the cook to give him a loaf of bread and a bowl of cold mutton stew, he had sought out the priest.
They had settled themselves beneath the portico atop the dwelling’s extension, thinking the breeze would make it the coolest place to be in the burning heat of midafternoon.
“The land itself is most agreeable much of the year.” The priest smiled. “Oh, it’s not easy to accustom oneself to the cold season, especially when snow blankets the land, but the other seasons are most pleasant. The mountains are tall and impressive. The plain southeast of Hattusa goes on for ever, far beyond the distant horizon and not a sand dune in sight. Water is plentiful, falling from the skies in sufficient quantity to make the land bountiful. Magnificent trees, glori ous flowers, people of kindness and good humor who strive mightily to survive cruel laws, harsh gods, and weak kings.”
Breaking off a crust of bread, Bak dipped it in the stew, which tasted strongly of onions, celery, and pepper. “Your praises outweigh your criticisms, Sitepehu.”
“I was sorry we had to leave.” The priest’s expression grew bleak. “I wanted very much to help those good-hearted and generous people, yet I could do nothing for them.”
Bak eyed the priest with sudden interest, the well muscled body, the scar on his shoulder. A man who felt as he did might, with the best of intentions, have become involved in the politics of the land. “Were you surprised to learn of
Pentu’s recall?”
“I was dismayed when I was told we were to return to
Kemet, shocked when I learned the reason, and mystified by the charge.”
After licking the stew from his fingers, Bak reached for his beer jar. “You had no idea you dwelt side by side with someone who had more than a passing interest in the land of
Hatti?”
“None.” Sitepehu gave Bak a cynical smile. “If I dwelt there with a traitor, I do so to this day. Every man and woman who went with Pentu to Hattusa lives with him still.”
“You included?” Bak asked, surprised.
Sitepehu bowed his head in acknowledgment. “The lord
Inheret is a modest god, with few properties to support him, none of which include a house, and my duties for him are not demanding. Pentu provides a place where I and my son-my wife died of a fever two years ago-can live in comfort, and in exchange I help with his accounts.”
Bak nodded his understanding. While offerings flowed in vast quantities to the lord Amon and other major deities, the lesser gods were not so fortunate. Few of their priests were able to survive solely on the generosity of their followers.
“Who among you would be the most likely to dabble in the politics of Hatti?”
“I’ve asked myself that question time and time again. The present king, like those before him, occupies an unstable throne, but to side with anyone-the king or a contender would be foolhardy. Any of them could vanish overnight and another take his place.”
Bak thanked the gods of the land of Kemet that he had not been born into the uncertain and dangerous world of the Hit tites. “Did you know the slain merchant, Maruwa?”
“I knew of him.” Sitepehu absentmindedly rubbed the scar on his shoulder. “Netermose befriended him, so he al ways dealt with him, passing the necessary scrolls back and forth when need be.”
A gust of warm air swept along the portico, carrying the scent of flowers. Fallen petals chased one another across the rooftop.
Bak took a sip of beer, savored its slightly bitter taste.
“Did you ever meet the trader Zuwapi? He exports items from Kemet and transports them to Hatti. The usual trade goods: pottery, rough linen, small tools, and so on. He also deals in luxury items such as aromatic oils and fine linen.”
“He’d have to have come to me for a pass, allowing him to travel freely in Kemet, but the document is so routine I’d not remember. As for the items he exported from Kemet, they’d have been listed on the manifest of the ship on which he transported them, prepared and approved at the point of origin.”
Vowing to take a look at Antef’s manifest, Bak fished around in the stew for a chunk of mutton. “As high priest of the lord Inheret, you must often have dealings with those who toil in the sacred precinct of the lord Amon.”
“Not as often as you’d think.” Sitepehu smiled. “I pay my respects when I come to Waset, and Pentu provides food and a sleeping pallet on the rare occasions when a priest or scribe comes through Tjeny, but that’s about all.”
“Do you recall any who stopped within the past few months?”
“A ranking scribe stayed overnight five or six weeks ago.
He had a document from Hapuseneb himself, demanding that I show him the records of the lord Inheret’s meager es tate. He asked also for a list of Pentu’s personal offerings to the lord Amon.”
His interest quickening, Bak hastily swallowed a bite of meat. “His name was…?”
“User? Woser? Woserhet. Yes, that was the name.”
Bak felt like shouting for joy. At last he had come upon a man who had tied the auditor to… Well, not directly to
Maruwa, but indirectly through Pentu’s household. “What was he looking for?”
“He never said.” The priest must have noticed Bak’s growing excitement for he eyed him with open curiosity.
“He seemed disappointed when he left, as if he’d been un able to find what he hoped to.”
“Did Hapuseneb’s letter demand that you specifically show Woserhet your records, or was it more general, asking all to whom he spoke to open their files to him?”
Sitepehu had no trouble remembering a request he obvi ously took as being of some note, which indeed it had been: a demand made by the chief priest himself. “My name was not upon it, nor was that of Pentu. Woserhet was far from being a garrulous man, but I gathered he’d traveled throughout the land, speaking with many priests and officials along the way.”
“Did Pentu know of his visit?”
“He wasn’t home at the time, though someone may’ve told him later.” The priest plucked a grape from the cluster.
“A nobleman had come south from Mennufer to visit the tomb of the lord Osiris in Abedju. His rank was such that no less a man than the governor could accompany him.”
“No, sir, you cannot speak with either mistress Taharet or mistress Meret.” The elderly servant looked sincerely regretful. “They left well before midday, saying they meant to call on a friend whom they seldom see. I believe they’ll be away for the remainder of the day.”
Bak had hoped to question the two women before night fall. Still he felt a sense of relief at not having to speak with
Meret. He wanted to believe her an intelligent woman who had looked upon him as a friend, a man who had shared a similar loss to hers, but he feared she might have misunder stood, thinking him more interested in her as a woman alone than he actually was.
“Did you go to Hattusa with your master when he served as envoy to the Hittite kingdom?”
“I did, sir.”
“Then I must ask a few questions.”
The lord Re had vanished beyond the western horizon when Bak finally left Pentu’s dwelling. Long shadows lay across the city, darkening the narrow streets and lanes.