with raiding tribesmen. He’s taking too many valuable ob jects not to make himself a target, and I’ll point that out.”
Thuty’s intentions were well meant, Bak knew, but he wanted more than a few fine words on a scroll. Plunging down the stairs at the commandant’s heels, he said, “I’d like to take along a unit of archers or spearmen. They’ll give us added authority and, should we need personal pro tection for any reason, we’ll have them.”
“An excellent idea.” Thuty stopped abruptly at the bot tom of the stairs, swung around, queried Nebwa with a glance. The troop captain knew more of the day-to-day workings of the garrison than the commandant himself, and knew which men could be removed from duty, causing the least disruption.
Nebwa pulled up short to avoid bumping into the pair below. “I’ve twenty archers awaiting reassignment. They can be ready within the hour.”
The trio hastened on down the hall, Thuty to fetch a scribe and dictate his letters, his subordinates to prepare to join a caravan and a party of travelers who would, at best, resent their presence. Bak prayed the commandant’s deci sion to send Nebwa would not prove a mistake. He con soled himself with the thought that Imsiba could conduct a parallel investigation in Buhen, thereby satisfying Amon ked that all was being done that should be-and responding to a tiny nagging fear within himself that he might be wrong in assuming the slayer was one who had dwelt within the house.
“You and Nebwa are going upriver with Amonked?” No fery laughed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the com mandant slew Baket-Amon just to have an excuse to send men along with the inspection party.”
Bak placed a finger to his lips. “Silence, old woman.
Should a rumor like that spread along the river, reaching the ears of Baket-Amon’s subjects and allies, Thuty would be forced to leave Buhen.”
“What of Amonked? Will the people dare threaten a man of royal blood? One sent to Wawat by Maatkare Hatshepsut herself?”
“Suffice it to say, those twenty archers we’re taking along may prove a godsend.” Settling back on his stool, he raised his drinking bowl, inhaled the tangy aroma of the deep red wine it contained, and drank. “Delicious. I wish I could tarry, but I’m to meet Nebwa at the quay within the hour.”
Nofery’s house of pleasure was quiet, most of its occu pants resting after a busy night. The old man who cleaned was wielding a rush broom in a rear room, sending dust drifting across slender shafts of light falling through the courtyard’s lean-to roof. Bak had found the obese old woman seated on a low stool, examining the many objects she had received during the past few evenings in exchange for the pleasures provided. Spread out on the bench before her were jewelry of small value, items of clothing, woven reed sandals and baskets and mats, fresh and dried fruits and vegetables, pottery dishes and ornaments, several mea sures of grain, and a few small weapons: two daggers, a mace, and a scimitar. The lion lay in a patch of sun across the court, gnawing on a bone, growling softly at times in contentment.
Bak removed the weapons from the bench and laid them on the floor beside his stool. The troops were forbidden to trade away army issue equipment.
Nofery gave him a black look, but she knew the rules as well as he did and could not complain. She had succumbed to greed and lost.
“The prince said, when I saw him yesterday at the quay, that his past had come back to taunt him. Do you have any idea what he meant?”
“His past?” She gave an exaggerated shrug, letting him know how indifferent she was to his questions, how much she resented the loss of the weapons. “He was a mere child when I left the capital, one hostage among many who lived and studied in the royal house, rubbing shoulders with the sons of the nobility. I had no way of knowing him.”
“You counted princes among those who loved you.
Don’t deny what I know for a fact.”
Her smile was fleeting, grudgingly given. “They were young, yes, but they were men. This one was a child of six or seven years, a duckling who never strayed from the poul try yard. I never knew of his existence until I came to
Buhen.”
“Too bad. He grew into quite a man.”
“That he did.”
Bak sipped from his bowl, studying her across the rim.
He always thought of Nofery as the least sensuous of women, but something in her voice made him wonder if she, like the young women who toiled in her place of busi ness, had shared Baket-Amon’s passion. Her face gave away no secrets.
“When did you last see him?”
“Two nights ago, when you were here.” With a dramatic sigh, she gave the weapons a final, rueful look, turned to face the bench, and picked up a copper bangle to study it for value. “He left at daybreak, fully sated.”
“He didn’t come back last night? Before he was slain?
He told me he meant to.”
She laid down the bangle and picked up a bronze ring with a mounting of yellowish stone. “I expected him-he seldom missed a night when he was in Buhen-but no, he never returned.”
“I can’t believe he’s dead.” The captain of Baket-Amon’s ship, a tall, bony man of middle years, slammed the palm of his hand against the frame of the brightly painted deck house, as if to punish the structure for the prince’s death.
“He was so much a man, so strong and virile, so well-liked by one and all.”
Bak glanced across the quay, where Nebwa and the arch ers who would accompany them upriver were boarding the traveling ship that would transport them south to Kor. They all carried baskets and bundles containing rations, extra clothing and weapons, and whatever else they would need on the long trek south past the Belly of Stones.
“Did he have any enemies that you know of?”
“None.” The captain walked forward, passing the empty stalls, and sat on the edge of the forecastle, head down, hands between his knees. The cattle had been led away to the animal paddocks, where they would remain until the ship was allowed to sail. “Could the one who took his life have erred, slaying the wrong man?”
“He was a man not easily mistaken for another,” Bak reminded him. The mildness of his manner belied his im patience to be gone.
“Yes. Yes, of course.” The captain looked up, a puzzled frown on his face. “He was big, bigger than most, and as strong as an ox. Was he slain from behind?”
Bak thought it best to be frank. The captain would resent anything less. “He was stabbed in the breast. By someone he knew, I’d wager, someone he trusted who caught him unaware.” He leaned back against the nearest stall. The smell of fresh fodder tickled his nostrils. “Did he stay on board last night?”
“Yes, sir.” The captain cleared a roughness from his throat. “Most of the night he was here, but I can’t say he slept. Oh, maybe an hour or two, but he spent much of the time pacing. Sometimes here on deck, sometimes on the quay where he had more room.”
“Did he tell you what troubled him?” The question was crucial and both men knew it.
“Would that he had.” The captain spoke with genuine regret. “He wasn’t a man to confide in anyone. Not those of us who knew him well, at any rate.” He cleared his throat again, blinked hard. “I’ve heard he talked freely to the women he played with. Have you spoken with any of the girls at Nofery’s place of business?”
“He said nothing to them.” Bak glanced toward Nebwa, busy with the men stowing their gear. “He hinted, when last I saw him, of some unpleasant secret in his past. Do you know anything about his younger days?”
“I’ve been with him barely three years.”
“Long enough to have heard many tales.”
The captain managed a crooked smile. “I know he was a wild one when he was young. And even now…” The hint of humor vanished. “Well, his wives are fine women and his children are as good as can be, especially his first born son. I thank the gods they seldom traveled to Waset with him-or anywhere else, for that matter-so the chil dren were spared the knowledge that he spent his nights engaging in the diversions of the flesh.”