Bak threw him a surprised look. “Are you suggesting we remain with the caravan, sir?”
“I’ve talked with Lieutenant Horhotep and he agrees that the inspection party is sorely in need of your expertise and good sense.”
Nebwa looked incredulous. “Horhotep agrees?”
Amonked’s mouth twitched, betraying a smile. “I could issue an order that you travel on with us, but I’d rather not force you against your will.”
“What of Captain Minkheper?” Bak asked. “We expected to escort him to Buhen.”
“He can remain here, under guard.”
“I suppose we could take him with us. His task remains undone. He has yet to see the river between here and
Semna.”
A far-off honking drew Amonked’s eyes toward a for mation of wild geese, dark spots flying north high above the river. “He’s convinced, as I am, that the rapids below
Iken run for too long a distance and are too mighty to be breached. He’s preparing a report to explain the conclusion.
Our sovereign will have to be satisfied with that.”
Bak had heard many times of Maatkare Hatshepsut’s in sistence on having her way, whether or not the object or deed she desired was the best choice or even made sense.
He himself had been the victim of her wrath. He had to admire Amonked, who seemed untroubled by the thought of facing her with news she did not wish to hear.
His thoughts leaped back to the inspector’s suggestion that he and Nebwa remain with the caravan. As far as he was concerned the trip upriver would be no hardship. With
Imsiba in charge of the Medjays at Buhen, they were in good hands. The journey would give him an opportunity to visit garrisons he had never had a chance to see, and he could make good use of the additional time to prepare for his appearance with Minkheper before the viceroy. His friend, on the other hand, was a man with responsibilities.
He was second-in-command of Buhen, accountable for the well-being and training of the men in the garrison, and he was a devoted husband and father.
Nebwa must have guessed Bak’s thoughts, for his eyes began to twinkle and he assumed a pose of exaggerated severity. “I haven’t taken a look at the fortresses south of here for over two years. It’s about time I did.”
“So you see,” Bak said, “you’ll remain at Askut while we’re gone. We’ll stop by on our way north to pick you up. You, Hor-pen-Deshret, and Nefret.”
Minkheper formed a crooked smile, one of forced humor.
“I’d hoped to see the Belly of Stones in its entirety. Did you have to snare me before we reached Semna?”
Bak occupied a campstool beside the portable bed on which the captain sat. The room, given fresh air and light by two small, high windows, was located on the second floor of the commander’s residence. Of a good size and opening onto a central courtyard, built to serve as a room for lofty guests in a fortress seldom visited by anyone of high status, it was used for storage by Ahmose’s wife. She had provided the bed to acknowledge Minkheper’s rank but at his urging, had shoved woven reed chests, tall wine jars and beer vats, and baskets filled with imperishable food stuffs against the wall. The smell of spices mingled with onions and wine and grain, tickling Bak’s nose.
“Would that you’d never offended the lady Maat, Min kheper.” He studied the prisoner, unable to understand and all the sadder for it. “I see you as a good and brave man, one who slew another good man to appease a god I know not, to follow a custom foreign to me. I’d set you free if I could, exile you to a distant land. But, like you, I must obey the will of my gods. The lady Maat. The lord Amon.
All the deities of Kemet great and lesser.”
Minkheper ran his fingers through his sunny hair, tried another smile. “Believe me, if I could repeat that wretched morning in Buhen, if I could once again glimpse Baket Amon standing in the street, I’d close my eyes and turn away.”
“I think you too upright and honest to ignore the de mands of your god.”
“Don’t place me on a pedestal, Lieutenant. I’m a man and nothing more.”
Bak eyed the captain, his thoughts tumbling. How best to ask the question that would give him an answer he was not sure he wanted to hear? “Before his death, I pleaded with Baket-Amon to go to Amonked, to tell him of the need for our army to remain in Wawat. He refused, saying his past had come back to taunt him. I assume he meant you.”
“No doubt he did.” Minkheper glanced toward the door, where a pretty young servant was sweeping the courtyard, all the while humming a merry tune. “He saw me at the harbor, so he said, when I made a last inspection to assure myself that our ships would have a secure mooring while we traveled upriver.”
“You were in command of the fleet, but you were also a member of the inspection party. Did he guess you were staying at the house where they were quartered?”
“He wasn’t surprised to find me there.” The captain could not help but notice Bak’s troubled expression, and quickly guessed the cause. “Did he come to see Amonked to plead your case? I can’t say with certainty. I only know that I heard a commotion in the street and went to the door to learn the cause. While I stood there, listening to the young men of Buhen ridicule our sailors, I saw him standing at the far corner of the block, looking toward the house.
Whether or not he meant to approach before I appeared, I know not.”
“I’ve wondered time and time again if I brought about his death. Now I suppose I’ll never know.”
“Let me put it this way: Instead of walking away when he saw me, as most men would when under threat, he came forward.”
Bak gave him a sharp look. “He was convinced you’d follow him, I’d guess, and thought it best to face you then and there.”
“We were preparing to sail south to Kor. I hadn’t the time.”
That Bak could understand. As a man determined to at tain the rank of admiral, Minkheper might well have set aside his personal mission. “He chose to come forward, but did he enter the building by choice?”
“He asked if I knew of a place of privacy.” Minkheper stood up and walked to the door. Turning his back on the sunlit court, he stood in the portal, making his face hard to see. “I bade him go inside, into the room where you dis covered his body.”
“He invited death?”
“He walked into the room, looked around, and nodded his approval. Then he just stood there. Waiting.” Minkhe per’s voice wavered. “I asked if he had come, intending to die. He said he could no longer tolerate the suspense, the uncertainty of never knowing which day would be his last.
He said the death of the child in Thutnofer’s house of plea sure, the slaying of my brother, and even the effort of living life to its fullest had stolen the heart from him.” The captain paused, sucked in a tortured breath. “He’d lived his life to the utmost, he said, sired an heir he looked upon with pride, and had given his people prosperity and peace. What more could a man leave behind?”
“The prince took his own life, with you as his instrument of death,” Bak said, appalled.
Minkheper left the doorway, an ironic smile on his face.
“So I concluded, but too late.”
Bak stared at the man standing before him. A man of courage and kindness, honest and true. A man who, if al lowed to reach the lofty rank of admiral, would serve the land of Kemet with honor and aptitude. Never before had he snared a slayer with so much regret. Yet he could not set him free. Justice must be done, order restored.
Bak returned to the commander’s residence to prepare reports on his discovery of Baket-Amon’s slayer and the defense of the caravan under Nebwa’s command. The latter, a favor to the troop captain, whose stout-hearted effort to learn to read and write had borne small fruit, was the lengthier of the two and took more time. Many men had to be commended, their exploits described in the hope of ap propriate reward.