True, Bak thought, but more than one man had been so tempted by wealth while living that he had set aside all thoughts of death and the weighing of his heart on the scale of justice before the lord Osiris. “The priest Meryamon also slain, if you recall-handled the same objects that were held in the storehouse where Woserhet died. That’s too much of a coincidence to take lightly.”
“Humph.”
Bak leaned a shoulder against a brightly painted wooden column, jarring the roof. A sparrow let out a startled chirp and flitted into the sky. “As a man who regularly removed and replaced items kept in the storehouse, Meryamon could easily have held back a number of objects and altered the records.”
“No priest would do such a thing.”
“Priests suffer from the same fallibilities as other men, sir.”
“Steal from a god? The greatest of the gods? No.”
Bak could not begin to guess if the overseer’s denials were heartfelt or if he was merely defending his territory.
“The entire storage block, I understand, is filled with objects used in the sacred rituals.”
“I believe I told you so the last time we spoke.”
“I know that many items offered to the lord Amon are consumed, such as aromatic oils, perfumes, the linens used to clothe his image, and so on. On the other hand, ritual im plements, such as libation vessels and censers, are reused time and time again. Are they kept forever or, when the storehouses become too crowded, are some of them dis posed of?”
User stared past Bak, watching the scribe latch and seal the treasury door, securing the wondrous riches of the lord
Amon. The old man looked toward the overseer, who dis missed him with a wave of his hand, and shuffled across the lane to enter a smaller building.
“You were saying?” User’s eyes focused on Bak and he nodded. “Oh, yes. Each year when we take inventory, we separate out items no longer of use. We distribute a few to the lord Amon’s small mansion in Mennufer and to his vari ous shrines. The rest go to the royal house, where they’re stored if deemed worth keeping, either for use there or to be given as gifts to some wretched foreign king or princeling. If unworthy, the objects are destroyed. The pottery items are broken up, while those made of metal are melted down and recast.”
Bak cursed to himself. Another path to explore. “Does this happen often?”
“No, Lieutenant, it doesn’t. To give away anything of value is to drain the life from the lord Amon.”
Gold was the flesh of the god, but to think of the lesser metals and other materials as the blood of the deity was stretching the imagery too far. “Are linens or perishable items such as aromatic oils ever sent to the royal house?”
“We sometimes send small gifts to our sovereign, items for her personal use.”
“And each transaction, from beginning to end, is docu mented.”
“Of course.”
Bak scowled. He had traveled full circle and was back where he started. Items intended as offerings and objects used in the rituals had been taken from the storehouses of
Amon. By Meryamon? Could the young priest have stolen undetected the large quantities hinted at by the many valu able objects placed among the cargo on the deck of Antef’s ship?
User stared at Bak for a long time, thinking thoughts he could not begin to guess. Slowly the overseer’s look of stub born resistance turned to one of alarm. “You don’t think
Woserhet found discrepancies in the treasury!”
Where that idea came from, Bak had no idea. “I suppose it’s possible, but I doubt the thief dared aim so high. I think the thefts occurred in the storage block where he was slain.”
“If there’s the slightest chance…” User bit a lip, nodded to himself. “Yes, a criminal so vile might well begin to think himself untouchable and look toward the treasury as a source of greater wealth.” His eyes darted toward Bak, he said, “Can I help you in any way, Lieutenant?”
Bak was surprised by the man’s change of heart, but not so much so that he failed to leap at the offer. “I need to bring in another auditor, one unconnected to the sacred precinct. A senior man, as Woserhet was.”
User stood up, the movement abrupt, decisive. “I suggest you speak with Sobekhotep. He’s my counterpart in the royal house. Tell him we’d like to borrow the best man he has.”
Chapter Thirteen
A distant trumpet blared, followed by the slow beat of a drum and the clamor of sistra and clappers. Swallowing a chunk of cold fish, Bak walked swiftly to the end of the nar row, deeply shadowed lane and looked out upon the pro cessional way. To the south, the thoroughfare was blocked by large numbers of spectators looking toward the mansion of the lord Amon-Kamutef, one aspect of the lord Amon, called the bull of his mother. The building, located across the processional way from the first barque sanctuary, where he and his Medjays had awaited the lord Amon seven days earlier-a lifetime ago, it seemed-was enclosed by scaf folds and construction ramps. Another of the many public examples of Maatkare Hatshepsut’s devotion to the gods.
He had had no time to think of the progression of the fes tival, to pause and watch the various processions to the gods that marked the week’s advance to the finale, the lord
Amon’s return voyage from Ipet-resyt to Ipet-isut. The gen tle early morning breeze, the temperate air, the smell of in cense and the rhythmic beat of drums were tempting, seductive. He glanced eastward toward the lord Khepre, still too low in the sky to burn away the blue haze hanging over the swollen river and flooded fields. Yes, he could stay for a short while.
Tossing the last of the fish to a skinny cat and flinging away the leaves in which it had been wrapped, he hurried along the processional way. Reaching the throng, he veered onto the trampled grass verge and wove a path through the spectators, about half the number who had watched the inau gural procession on the opening day of the festival. He was surprised to see so large a crowd so early in the morning, but the majority, he guessed, had come from afar and wished to make the most of their journey, seeing as much as possible during the eleven days of festivity.
He made his way to the barque sanctuary and climbed the ramp to stand in the portico, already occupied by a half dozen priests and four infantry officers. The raised platform proved an excellent vantage point, for he could look over the heads of the spectators and watch the procession come out of the god’s mansion.
The trumpet sounded again. The inconsequential chatter of the onlookers dropped to a murmur. A buzz of expectation filled the air. Men, women, and children eased forward, crowding the soldiers standing along the procession’s route.
Men beating drums and women with sistra and clappers strode out of a passage through the center of the scaffolding, their backs to the newly risen sun. A contingent of priests came next, a dozen or more men draped in white robes, holding colorful banners and the standards of god and sover eign. Other priests followed, each shaven bald and wrapped in a long white robe that covered him from neck to ankles.
Half of these oddly garbed men purified the air with incense, while the remainder sprinkled milk and water on the ground over which the deity would be carried.
The lord Amon-Kamutef followed, his golden shrine held high on the shoulders of priests. Voices, Bak’s among them, rose in adulation. The sides of the shrine were open, reveal ing a golden god, his penis erect, standing stiff and straight.
Beneath him, two rows of priests held the long poles sup porting the shrine. Shrouded in white, with nothing showing but their shaven heads and bare feet, they looked like a walk ing platform for the god. Perhaps in the distant past they had been intended to represent a snake. Another aspect of the lord Amon was Amon-Kematef, a primeval creator god who could resurrect himself by taking the form of a snake shed ding its skin.
On either side of the deity walked Maatkare Hatshepsut and Menkheperre Thutmose, each touching a leg of the im age as if steadying it. They were too far away to see clearly, but Bak thought they were bedecked much as they had been in the opening procession of the festival. He could well imagine how hot the royal regalia would become as the sun rose higher and the day grew hotter.