Standing up, he muttered through gritted teeth. “You’d think her a woman of the city for all she knows, not one who grew to womanhood in a country village.”
“She probably knows no more than the cheese her mother made and her mother’s mother before her.”
Pahure snorted his contempt. “One day, if the gods choose to smile upon me, I’ll dwell here in Waset-or in the north ern capital of Mennufer. I’ll have a multitude of bright and willing servants and a steward of my own, one who’ll train those servants for me.”
Bak squelched the urge to raise an eyebrow. The steward had taken upon himself a task he had no need to do; now he was complaining. Or was today’s schooling a means of looking after his own interests? “It can’t be easy to live up to mistress Taharet’s high standards.”
Pahure said nothing, nor did his face betray his thoughts.
A good steward never discussed his master and mistress, and
Bak felt certain that this man performed his duties in an ex emplary manner.
While the steward showed Benbu the finer points of se lecting a plump duck, Bak wondered how the man intended to make so great a leap in status. Was he so filled with ambi tion that he believed he could reach whatever goal he set himself? Or had he merely been airing a distant dream?
The thought was still fresh when two dressed ducks, cov ered with leaves to keep away the flies, were safely stowed away in the basket. “As steward to an envoy in Hattusa, you must’ve been considered a man of influence.”
“No more so than in Tjeny.” Pahure chuckled. “There
Pentu can be likened to a minor king and I to his vizier.”
Bak acknowledged the jest with a smile. “Did you like the land of Hatti?”
“Not at all.” The steward’s face took on a look of distaste.
“It’s a foul land. Cold in the winter, hot in the summer, peo pled with men and women thick of body and slow in thought.”
An impression of the people at odds with those of Site pehu and Netermose, Bak noted. “How’d you happen to contact Captain Antef when you were looking for a suitable ship on which to return to Kemet?”
Pahure queried Bak with a glance, as if wondering where that question had come from. “I saw his vessel in the port of
Ugarit. It was large enough for our needs, so I asked him to speak with Pentu. A wasted effort, it turned out. He’d al ready made arrangements to take on another man’s goods and hadn’t sufficient room for all of us, the animals we wished to bring back, and our household belongings.”
“He failed to tell you when first you spoke with him?”
The steward scowled. “I think he felt Pentu might be of use to him, so he saved the truth until after they’d met.”
“Has Pentu been of help to him?”
Pahure flashed Bak a satisfied and none too kind smile.
“Pentu forgot he existed the moment he left the reception hall.”
Unable to think of further questions, Bak left Pahure to his task and hurried to Ipet-resyt for a much belated midday meal. The outer court teemed with pleasure seekers, men, women, and children indulging themselves with food and drink and the multitude of entertainments. Music and laugh ter filled the air. The heady aromas of flowers and perfumes competed with the equally tantalizing odors of cooked meats and fresh breads. The long arms of the lord Re reached into the court, filling it with intense light and en veloping everyone in heat. Sweat ran freely down men’s and children’s naked backs and legs, while women’s shifts were stained and damp.
Each day the multitude of booths, the acrobats and singers and musicians, the various processions that ended at Ipet resyt, drew larger crowds at an earlier hour. The merrymak ing daily grew louder and more raucous, the nights of revelry longer. As if everyone wished to make the most of a festival shortly to end.
While standing with a dozen other people before one of the many crowded food stalls, waiting for the vendor to serve him, Bak evaluated what he had learned through the morning. Nothing, as far as he could see.
He accepted a round loaf of crusty bread, its center cavity filled with fresh braised lamb, and found a shady place on the surrounding wall where he could sit and eat. The thought nagged: Had he been wasting time much better spent in the sacred precinct? Or should he see Antef imprisoned and the cudgel applied? Would the captain know the name of the man stealing from the lord Amon? If not and if the seaman’s arrest set Zuwapi to flight-providing, of course, that the merchant was in Waset, as Bak believed-he would have completely severed his link to the thief. No, better to wait. Better to see what Hori and Thanuny would discover. Better to go back again to Pentu’s dwelling and question mistress Meret. The very thought sent his spirits plummeting.
“Did I not tell you my sister is ill?”
Bak formed a smile that was none too genial. “A servant told me she’s quite well. I understand she spent the morning on this terrace, overseeing women who were dyeing thread to be used to embroider designs on clothing and bright pil lows.”
Taharet had the grace to blush; nonetheless, she flung her head high, added a chill to her voice. “If you wish to see her as a policeman, Lieutenant, she can’t help you. If you’ve come to court her, you’re wasting your time. You have noth ing to offer a woman of refinement.”
Untouched by her attempt to demean him, he shifted to a more relaxed stance and eyed her speculatively. The same servant who had betrayed her lie had directed him to the por tico atop the extension to Pentu’s dwelling. There he had found her by herself. Two stemmed drinking bowls partially filled with a deep red wine stood on a low table between the stool on which she sat and another stool, telling him she had not been alone for long.
Her open dislike was a total reversal from her warmth of a few days earlier. Why had her attitude changed so com pletely? Why was she so reluctant to let him speak to mis tress Meret? She must have known of his background from the beginning: the son of a physician, neither a man of means nor impoverished. She would, without doubt, have asked before setting in motion any kind of matchmaking, and Amonked would not have painted an untrue picture.
“I’ve heard that you and your sister, daughters of a mer chant, grew to womanhood in Sile.” He did not mean to infer that she was no better than he-although such was the case, he felt sure-but he could see by the fresh spots of red on her cheeks that she thought he did.
“Just because Sile is on the frontier, you mustn’t assume it offers no culture or knowledge. My sister is far more accom plished than many women who dwell in this city.”
“I’m not in the habit of underestimating anyone.”
Taharet gave him a look that would have silenced a herald trumpeting the call to battle. “She has all the skills required of a mistress of the house and is accomplished in other areas as well. She can direct a servant to cook to perfection, and can make sure a house is cared for in a superlative fashion.
She can spin and weave and sew. She can play the lute and the harp, and she’s served as a chantress to the lady Hathor.
She speaks several tongues common to the lands north of
Kemet, and she often helped my father in his business by translating the words of passing traders. Does that surprise you, Lieutenant?”
“Not at all.” He reached uninvited for a date in a bowl on the table beside her, earning a frown for his impertinence.
She had done nothing to encourage him to remain, neither inviting him to sit nor asking him to share the fruit. “I’ve known children on the southern frontier who can understand the tongues of every village along the Belly of Stones and every tribe in the surrounding desert. I would assume those who dwell in Sile, on a busy trade route joining Kemet with lands farther north, would be equally adept.”