He popped a date into his mouth and savored it with closed eyes. “My ship hit a sandbar south of Abu and we snagged the prow on a fallen tree. By the time my crew repaired the damage, we were far behind Amonked’s flo tilla.”
“Would that you had caught him,” Bak said. “Since you both grew to manhood in the royal house, he might listen to you.”
“Do you imagine us as playmates?” Baket-Amon’s fleshy body shook with laughter. “I was a hostage prince, one among many. Son of a minor king with no army to fear and small tribute to give. His blood ran in royal veins, and his closest playmate was the pampered daughter of the most powerful ruler in the world.” He rubbed the sleek back of the girl sitting before him. “I doubt he knew I existed until
I returned to Waset, a man representing my people to the royal house.”
A young woman with freckles and fuzzy red hair strolled into the courtyard. She wore a girdle similar to that of the seated girl and carried a lute. She walked up behind the prince, kissed him under the ear, and slumped down beside his right leg.
“You know what he’s come for,” Nofery grumbled.
“Of course. It’s important that I know of every act or deed that could have any impact on the farms and villages for which I’m responsible.” Baket-Amon placed a date be tween his lips, leaned forward, and kissed the girl with the lute, passing the sweet fruit into her mouth. “Let me assure you, I feel strong resentment for the woman who sent him here. My well-being and that of my people depends upon the army of Kemet occupying the fortresses along the Belly of Stones.”
“Will you plead our case to him?” Bak rubbed his arms, trying to warm them. “Commandant Thuty can say nothing more. He’s too angry to speak with patience and guile. But a word or two from you, a man Amonked knows and no doubt respects, might convince him of a truth he would otherwise fail to see.”
Baket-Amon’s expression changed, not in any definable way but in a new stillness of his body and a dimming of the light in his smile. “I fear I can do nothing. Amonked and I…” His eyes darted toward a rear door, where two naked young women clung together in a seductive pose, beckoning him. He stood up, looking like a man saved from a charging hippopotamus. “I wish I could help. Indeed I do. For my sake as well as yours. But I cannot, I will not get down on my knees before him and touch my forehead to the floor.”
He rushed out of the courtyard. The women seated on the floor exchanged a startled look, scrambled up, and hur ried after him.
Bak snapped out an oath. “How can he be so stubborn?
Can he not swallow his pride? Would it not be more ra tional to approach a man he knows and convince him of the truth rather than turn his back on his allies and his people?”
“He’s unpredictable, Bak. You know he is.” Nofery handed him a fresh jar of beer. “He may yet speak with
Amonked. He may think over your plea and realize he must.”
“I’ll offer a prayer to the lord Amon before I go to my sleeping pallet, and another to the lord Horus of Buhen.”
Bak stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and eyed the door through which the prince had disappeared. “I’ve never seen a man so popular with your women. The appeal can’t be his lofty title. No other local prince who patronizes this place of business receives so much attention.”
She gave him a wry smile. “I’ve seen none of my girls turn you down when you’ve seen fit to lie with them.”
“They don’t come to me in vast numbers, as they do him.” Bak paused, grinned. “I thank the lord Amon.”
She laughed, but quickly sobered as the sweet, melodious sounds of harp, lute, and oboe filled the air, coming from the rear of the house where Baket-Amon had fled. “They tell me he’s a brilliant lover, and never rough like some men are.”
Bak barely heard. His thoughts had returned to the prince’s refusal to speak with Amonked. Something had happened between them. Something unpleasant, without doubt. Still, how could Baket-Amon allow pride to jeop ardize the well-being of every man, woman, and child who dwelt along the Belly of Stones?
Chapter Four
“Amonked wants you to accompany him when he inspects
Buhen?” Nebwa gave a cynical laugh. “May the gods be blessed!”
“Isn’t he afraid you’ll unduly influence him?” Bak asked.
“I’m to guide, not instruct. So he said.” Thuty curled his lip in disgust. “He suggested I bring along a couple of sen ior officers. You two must come, and I’ll select two or three others, as well.”
Bak exchanged a quick glance with Nebwa. They both understood that by taking along more men than specified,
Thuty meant to see how far he could push Amonked.
“How many troops occupy this garrison when it’s fully manned?” Amonked asked.
“The optimum number would be about a thousand.”
Thuty paused outside the door of a two-story structure so large it filled the building block, a building that housed troops, the company offices, and services. The members of the inspection party-Lieutenant Horhotep, Sennefer,
Nebwa, Bak, and three additional officers of Buhen closed ranks around him and Amonked. All five men se lected by the commandant had been accepted with no word of complaint from the inspector. “I’ve heard that several hundred more were posted here when first the fortress was built, but those days are long past. Now we have around four hundred.”
“Would that number be sufficient should the fortress be attacked or besieged?”
A good question, Bak thought. Interesting. Especially coming from the storekeeper of Amon, a man who knows nothing of the needs of war.
“We’d have to fall back from the outer wall, abandoning the outer city and animal paddocks, but I believe we could hold the citadel as long as our supplies lasted.” Thuty added, the words grudging but honest, “We’d like to be lieve we’ve tamed this wild land to a point where we won’t be attacked.”
Lest Amonked take the final statement at face value and use it for his own purposes, Bak added quickly, “It’s easy enough to draw together sufficient men to fall upon a car avan spread across the desert or to raid vulnerable farms and hamlets, but quite another to muster a large enough force to attack a fully manned walled city.”
The inspector’s eyes rested on Bak for an instant, his thoughts hidden behind an expressionless mask. A mask carefully molded, Bak suspected, by a lifetime of tiptoeing among those who held the reins of power.
Thuty led the party into the building.
They walked corridor after corridor, passing room after room. Amonked paused now and again to ask a question, which Thuty answered, or simply to watch a man at work.
Many of the soldiers were on the practice field outside the walls of the fortress. Those who remained went on with their tasks, studiously ignoring the intruders. As far as Bak could tell, the inspector missed nothing, yet his expression throughout was noncommittal, registering neither approval nor disapproval. Nor did he react in any way to the men’s silence, their excessive concentration on their tasks.
Back on the street, the inspector asked, “How many men have taken local women as wives and now call Wawat their home?”
Thuty looked as surprised by the question as Bak was.
What difference would numbers make if the army was torn from the Belly of Stones? Or was Amonked in fact con cerned about all those who had made this land their home?
“A hundred and fifty, maybe more, dwell in the oasis across the river. More than two thousand live along the river between here and Semna.”
“I see.” Amonked raised his head, sniffing the air. The odor of baking bread wafted from a doorway brightly lit by the sun. “Ah, the cooking area. If that bread tastes as good as it smells, we must share a loaf.”
Obediently, Thuty headed toward the kitchen. Amonked stopped outside the door to look back at the barracks build ing.
“Impressive,” he said. “The structure is in excellent con dition, Commandant, and the space inside could not be bet ter arranged for more efficient use.” He nodded, smiled.