“I’ve never seen a slipway used,” the captain admitted.
“My days have been spent on the water, not sailing the arid sands.”
“It’s a task not taken lightly. Nebwa set an entire com pany of spearmen to tow the barque. A larger vessel, even with its cargo off-loaded, would be far heavier and more difficult to manage.”
“Did not our sovereign’s father take a large fleet of war ships up the Belly of Stones and bring them back downriver many months later?”
“During times of high water,” Bak pointed out. “And he had the might of an army to tow the vessels.”
Minkheper looked back along the slipway to where it vanished in the distance. “I’ll make no firm decision until
I’ve seen the rapids through the whole of the Belly of Stones, but I’ve already begun to question the advisability of cutting a canal through here.”
Bak offered a cautious prayer of thanks to the lord Amon that the captain was a sensible and rational man.
Turning south, they walked along the slipway, well out of the dust drifting up from the caravan. Two feral dogs trotted across the plain to join them, exploring the smells left by those who had last trod a similar path.
“As a man who wishes to be appointed admiral,” Bak said, “you must’ve approached this expedition to Wawat with a certain amount of caution.”
The captain flashed a smile. “You’d do well in the cap ital, Lieutenant. You’re more aware than most of the haz ards one must face when climbing to the airy heights of our bureaucracy.”
Bak laughed. “I doubt I have the tact.”
Minkheper’s expression darkened. “You never know how far you’ll go until you must.”
Bak was not sure how to interpret the statement, the sud den gloom. Did Minkheper feel he was stooping too low in his quest for a position of status? “What did you learn of Amonked before you accepted the task?”
“An interesting question.” The officer gave Bak a curious look. “Are you asking to further your investigation into
Baket-Amon’s death? Or are you seeking a character flaw in the hope of aiding Commandant Thuty and all those whose lives will be disrupted should Amonked tear the army from this frontier?”
“My goal is to find the man who slew the prince.” Bak hated himself for sounding so righteous.
Minkheper’s lips twitched with a suppressed smile. “I learned nothing about him to his discredit. He’s often ac cused of bowing too readily to our sovereign’s wishes, but is also considered a man of integrity. As I’m to give my conclusions to her rather than to him and he’ll take no part in my decision, I thought this journey to be to my advantage.”
“Even if you recommend she give up her plan to cut a canal through the rapids?”
“If Amonked is as honorable as he’s reputed to be, he’ll respect my conclusions and tell her so.” Minkheper scooped up a shattered length of wood lying at the side of the slip way. He called out to the dogs and threw it hard, but they refused to chase it. No one had taught them to play as puppies. “He’s neither blind nor stupid, Lieutenant. He’s seen the same rapids I have and he knows the toll so dif ficult a task can take on human life. Should he by chance forget, he has merely to look at Thaneny to remind him of the dangers of working with hard stone.”
Bak wondered if Minkheper truly believed in Amonked’s integrity. Could a man of principles kowtow, in all good conscience, to Maatkare Hatshepsut’s every whim? “I’ve been told he acts on our sovereign’s behalf, taking guests to Sennefer’s estate in Sheresy so they may hunt and fish and enjoy the good things of life.”
“So I hear.”
“You’ve not been invited?” Bak asked, surprised.
“I’ve been too much on board my ship, sailing far away from the capital.” Minkheper’s smile carried a touch of cyn icism. “Perhaps when I’m an admiral, I’ll be so rewarded.”
No invitation to hunt; therefore, no opportunity to see
Baket-Amon at play. At least not with an official party.
“Why, I wonder, does he take them to Sennefer’s estate rather than his own?”
The captain’s smile broadened. “You’ve made a common error, I fear. Most men assume, because he’s our sover eign’s cousin, that he’s a man of wealth. He isn’t.”
“He has an estate, does he not?”
“A small one, yes, near Mennufer. Too far away from the river to hunt birds in the marshes or to fish and too far from the desert. The house is modest, they tell me, not large enough to entertain exalted guests. His dwelling in Waset where he received me-is rather grand, befitting his status as a courtier and his relationship to the royal house. That property, I believe, came to him when he wed Sennefer’s sister.”
“Is the marriage a good one?”
“Your questions are excellent, Lieutenant, but misguided.
He adores his wife.” Minkheper’s quick smile faded.
“Much to his dismay, the gods have forbade that she give him children.”
“Thus the lovely Nefret.”
Minkheper nodded.
A shadow flitted across the sand, drawing Bak’s eyes toward the setting sun and a falcon soaring low over the escarpment, seeking its evening meal. He wondered if it was missing a tail feather. “How long has she been a part of his household?”
“Too long to have remained childless, and too long to act like a child when she must know by now that he wants a woman.”
“Would he have slain Baket-Amon to keep her as his alone?”
Minkheper raised an eyebrow. “If he’s your best suspect,
Lieutenant, I fear we’ll be plagued forever more by the local farmers.”
So the captain believes Amonked innocent, Bak thought.
He prayed fervently that such was the case. If only he could find a new reason for Baket-Amon’s death, another suspect.
The sun had vanished behind the escarpment, leaving a pinkish afterglow, when Amonked displayed their traveling pass and the foremost donkey plodded through the northern gate of the fortress of Iken. Commander Woser and his senior staff greeted the inspector and Nebwa at the gate.
Leaving an officer behind to guide the caravan to its camp ing place, they hurried off to the citadel, which stood atop the escarpment, overlooking a river dotted with islands and partly submerged rocks and offering a broad view of the western desert. Close in size to Buhen, the white towered walls loomed tall and impressive over the lower city through which the caravan marched.
Still mulling over Minkheper’s words, Bak walked along the long train of donkeys, which followed a well-trod path across a stretch of barren, windblown sand. Sensing night fall, fodder, and rest, the animals had quickened their pace.
The drovers joked and laughed, secure within the fortress walls. He, too, was glad to be there, no longer menaced by the silent men and women along the water’s edge or the unseen enemy in the desert.
The path narrowed to pass between blocks of ruined houses. The stone and mudbrick dwellings, many partially collapsed, some showing signs of burning, all buried in sand to varying depths, were reminders of a time when the land of Kemet had abandoned Wawat to Kushite kings and, many years later, of a war waged to retake the fortresses along the Belly of Stones. Flimsy lean-tos and mud-daubed reed mats had been tacked onto broken walls and collapsing roofs to shelter the many people who came from far upriver or out of the desert to do business. Iken was an important trading and manufacturing center, a place Bak assumed
Amonked would view with favor.
The drovers’ good spirits were quickly quenched. The bright-garbed men and women who dwelt among the ruins abandoned their smoky hearths and evening meals to stand along the lane, their voices mute, their backs turned as the inspection party passed by. An action that spoke more truly than words of their feeling about Amonked’s mission. Bak allowed himself a secret smile. Even these people, residents of faraway lands, preferred that the army remain.