The sergeant, his face flushed with fury, balled his hands into fists. With a mighty effort, he restrained himself.
Sennefer leaned close to Bak and murmured, “If Hor hotep survives this journey, the gods will have blundered exceedingly.”
“I’d be pleased to serve as the instrument of their wrath.”
Amonked, who may or may not have heard, turned to his advisor. “I understand there’s a trail along the ridge,
Lieutenant. I wish you to take that route to the caravan.”
He paused, awaiting a response. When he received none, his voice sharpened. “You’ve seen all you need to see here,
Lieutenant. I suggest you leave at once.”
Horhotep pivoted, hiding his expression, and strode away, his steps quick and stiff, his back as rigid as a tree.
Surprised by the order, Bak looked closely at Amonked.
As usual, the inspector’s face revealed nothing. Was he growing weary of his adviser’s abrasive manner? Or, better yet, had he begun to mistrust Horhotep’s continual fault finding?
The inspection party caught up with the caravan within the hour. Amonked and his companions hastened to rejoin
Nefret near the foremost donkeys, where the air was cleaner. Bak and Nebwa lagged behind, talking to the drov ers. The archers were strung out along both sides of the caravan, well out of the dust and far enough away to see approaching strangers. The feral dogs roamed up and down the line or wandered off into the desert or down toward the river.
With the ridge no longer restricting their view, they could see the vast undulating plain to the west, a barren land covered with golden sand from which protruded dark, isolated islands of rock. To the east, beyond gentle mounds of windblown sand, they caught glimpses of green and spotted flashes of silver. The sparse vegetation, the gleam ing water relieved the eye and reassured both men and an imals that the life-giving river was close by, a place to drink one’s fill, to rest, and to bathe.
The serenity was short-lived. Soon after the inspection party returned from the watch station, men appeared with out warning, taking up positions at the edge of the desert, where sand met the river’s verge, watching the caravan slowly trudge past. They stood at a distance, to be sure, but were ever-present, nagging reminders of how strongly the people resented Amonked’s mission.
Midday came and went. At infrequent intervals the desert trail drew close to the river, giving the members of the caravan a better look at those who watched them. One man or two or three, sometimes a family, sometimes the entire population of a tiny hamlet. They stood quietly, watching, their immobility and silence more fearsome than threats.
Seshu drew Bak aside and pointed toward the distant figures. “Those people are beginning to erode the confi dence of my drovers. Can you not do something to make them stay home?”
Bak gave him a regretful smile. “You’ve been making this journey for years, Seshu. You know what I face. They may be acting in unison, but they’ve no single man to lead them.”
“Who is Prince Baket-Amon’s heir, do you know?”
“His firstborn son, a child eight years of age.”
Seshu groaned. “And the mother to serve as regent.”
“Yes.” Bak eyed the small vague images standing along the river. “Baket-Amon kept her in Ma’am and there she’ll remain until his body is prepared for the netherworld.” That groan troubled him. “I’ve no doubt she’ll soon hear what these people are doing. The question is: Can she do any thing to stop them and would she if she could?”
“She has the power, but she’ll do nothing. She doted on her husband.”
Bak looked hard at the caravan master. “Are you telling me she’ll encourage the people to make a display against
Amonked, not because she resents his mission but as a way of demanding that her husband’s slayer be brought to jus tice?”
Seshu spread his hands wide, shrugged. “Her way of thinking is not my way. Nor yours.” He saluted the drover of an approaching string of donkeys, their backs piled high with fresh hay. “Are you close to learning the name of his slayer?”
Bak sneezed and sneezed again. “I’m no further along today than I was the morning I learned his ka had fled.”
Seshu muttered a curse. “Two days ago, I’d have sworn not a man along the river would raise a hand against a caravan, mine or any other. But today? Well, I’d make no wagers now.”
Staving off a feeling of futility, Bak sought out Sennefer, whom he had yet to question about Baket-Amon. He spot ted the tall, slender nobleman, walking alone on a parallel course to the caravan. He loped across the sand to intercept him. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” he asked, falling in beside him.
“I’ve grown weary of donkeys and drovers and dust, and of the constant bickering between Nefret and Amonked.”
Sennefer stared regretfully at the rolling sands to the west.
“One would think, with so large a landscape surrounding us, that it would be easy to find a place to be alone. Un fortunately, I’m a stranger to the desert. I fear I’d get lost.”
“I’d not go far without a guide,” Bak admitted.
Sennefer turned to look at the river and the farmers watching the caravan. “I’d like very much to bathe. Would I not be safe if you went down to the water with me?” He gave Bak a disarming smile. “I saw you and Nebwa re turning this morning, and you came to no harm.”
Bak, not sure how serious the nobleman was, returned the smile. “Seshu intends us to camp tonight inside the walls of Iken even if we must march through an hour or two of darkness. There you can bathe in safety.”
“Will we not be resented at Iken as we were in Buhen?”
“You will be, yes, but Commander Woser will see that you remain unharmed.” Bak was on the verge of saying “as
Commandant Thuty did,” but Baket-Amon’s murder in the house the inspection team had occupied made the adden dum questionable.
The nobleman bowed his head in reluctant acquiescence.
“I understand you knew Prince Baket-Amon,” Bak said.
“I knew him and liked him. I shall miss him.” Sennefer spoke with a real regret. “He came now and again to my estate in Sheresy, where we hunted and fished and played games of chance.”
“At Amonked’s invitation?”
“I usually invited him myself. I found him to be a most congenial man.”
“You must often have seen him in Waset then.”
The nobleman’s soft laugh contained more than a hint of cynicism. “The older I get, Lieutenant, the less often I visit the capital. I find the life of a courtier to be demeaning.”
He glanced quickly at Bak, offered a wry smile. “Kowtow ing to first one man and then another. Hoping not to offend anyone who has the ear of our sovereign. Always on my best behavior, with very little time to myself. I much prefer
Sheresy.”
Considering Sennefer’s close relationship to Maatkare
Hatshepsut’s cousin, Bak thought it best to make no com ment. “Did you see the prince while you were in Buhen?”
“If I’d known he was there, I’d have sought him out. But
I had no idea until I heard of his death.” Regret once again crept into Sennefer’s voice. “To think he was but a few steps from my bedchamber when he was slain. I shall al ways wonder if he came to see me, if I was inadvertently responsible.”
And so shall I always wonder, Bak thought. “If I knew more about him I might more quickly lay hands on the man who slew him. Will you help me?”
“What can I tell you?” Sennefer stared at the caravan, his thoughts far away. “He was a man with a smile on his face at all times and he had the most generous of hearts.
He was so greedy for life he was exhausting to be around.
I went twice with him to houses of pleasure in the capital, places he often frequented. He was a memorable carouser, believe me, and his appetite for women was insatiable.”
Bak remembered the prince in Nofery’s place of busi ness, the young women at his feet and those awaiting him at the door. Were they mourning his loss or had they al ready begun to forget? “I’ve been told he was a skilled hunter, but the most accurate of bowmen sometimes strike in error. Did he ever fell a man by mistake, do you know?”