The stocky Medjay clung to the smile as if to life itself.
“I’ve made an appearance, sir, as you suggested. But I much prefer beer to wine, and I know not how to talk to men of quality and wealth. Can I now go back to the barracks?”
“You’ve done well to stay this long,” Bak said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Go if you like. You’ve made your presence known, and I can ask no more.”
The sergeant thrust his nearly full bowl into the hand of a startled servant and hurried through the crowd toward the exit.
“Showing off your Medjays, Lieutenant?” Hapuseneb laid a hand on Nebwa’s back and an arm across Bak’s shoulders.
Bak greeted the wealthy trader with a smile. “They’ll get no notice otherwise, and to be promoted as they should be, they must attract the attention of the mighty.”
Nebamon, walking as usual in the younger merchant’s shadow, nodded agreement. “Unfortunate, but true, I fear.”
“I’ve left my drinking bowl somewhere. Can’t speak my piece properly with a dry mouth.” Hapuseneb beckoned a servant and soon held a bowl filled to the brim. “Thanks to all the gods in the ennead, to Commandant Thuty, and most of all to you…” He raised his bowl high, aimed it briefly at Nebwa, and let it linger before Bak. “…we can go on about our business unhampered. My caravan masters thank you.
The captains of my ships thank you. And I…thank you.”
Nebamon raised his bowl to Bak alone. “I, too, am grateful, Lieutenant. My trade goods are already on board a vessel bound for Abu, and the loss I faced has been averted. I owe you more than I can say.”
“I’m in your debt, not the reverse. It was you who first told me of the headless man.”
Hapuseneb raised his bowl higher. “To Userhet. The swine!”
The trio around him raised their bowls to his.
A short time later, as the two traders wandered off, Nebwa said, “I hear you’re to take mistress Rennefer before the vizier tomorrow.”
Bak gave his friend a wry smile. “So Commandant Thuty told me.”
“What a sly dog he is to pass her on that way.”
Bak’s smile was short-lived. “I’ve been told the vizier has already made his decision-based on my report, not our appearance before him.”
Nebwa gave him a quick glance. “She surely deserves to speak her piece.”
“He’ll hear her out. And then he’ll order her taken upstream and thrown to the crocodiles.”
Nebwa scowled. “She’s truly a woman with her face turned backward, a demon of the night, but to see her punished that way when Roy, Wensu, and Userset met death in a quick and clean manner makes no sense.”
Bak agreed. He knew Rennefer had courted death when she had tried to slay her husband, but she had failed where the others had succeeded. Did her lack of success not demand some consideration?
“I’ve not yet seen Imsiba,” Nebwa said, breaking a long silence. “Is he still among the missing?”
“I can’t imagine where he’s gone. I hope he’s not…Ah, there he is!”
With relief surging through him, Bak nodded toward the door, where the big Medjay had paused to speak to the departing Pashenuro. Sitamon stood close by his side, wearing a simple white sheath, a gold chain from which hung a dozen or so lotus blossoms of gold inlaid with blue and red stones, and four gold bangles.
Rather than taking her directly to the room where the women sat, Imsiba guided her through the throng toward Bak and Nebwa. The Medjay touched her constantly on the shoulder or back or arm. She glanced often at him, giving him the soft, warm smile of a woman newly sated in body and spirit.
Nebwa watched the approaching pair with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t know where they were hiding out, but from the looks of them, I’ve a good idea what they’ve been doing.”
“If she decides to return to Kemet, his choice won’t be easy.” Bak wanted more than anything else to be fair and generous, but he could not keep the worry from his voice.
Nebwa gave him a sharp look. “Do you think she’s convinced him to learn the ways of ships and trading?”
“I pray she hasn’t,” Bak said fervently. “He’d do well, I’ve no doubt, but he wouldn’t be happy chained to a great vessel like Mahu’s and the endless demands of business.”
Nebwa opened his mouth to say more, but the pair in question was upon them, stifling his words.
Sitamon smiled at Bak. She had interwoven a fall into her hair and added beads that made a tinkling sound when she moved her head. “I must thank you, Lieutenant, for finding the man who slew my brother. I thought Userhet my friend, one I could trust with all I possess. If you’d not been so persistent, I’d have placed him in charge of my affairs.”
Bak waved off her gratitude. “To seek out a man like Userhet is more satisfying by far than any other task I can think of.”
“So Imsiba has told me.” She laid her hand on the Medjay’s arm, smiled up at him. “I’ve tried to convince him he has the wit to become a man of business, but he refuses to listen, preferring instead to pay homage to the lady Maat.”
“Have you decided to remain in Buhen?” Or will you persuade him to go with you to Kemet? he wondered.
“I’ve a house here, and the harbor is as good a place as any from which to sail a cargo ship.” She glanced at Imsiba, smiled tenderly. “And my son and I have found new friends.
Yes, I’ll stay.”
“I’m delighted,” Bak said with a passion borne of relief.
Imsiba smiled. “No more than I, my friend.”
The vizier, Bak noticed, had settled down in the armchair and a servant had placed a small table at his elbow. Another hovered close, offering food and wine. A third waited nearby with a garland of flowers and a fresh cone of perfume. Aides milled around, making sure his every wish was anticipated.
The viceroy had escaped the great man’s proximity to draw the commander of Iken into a corner to discuss some matter of import-or maybe the upcoming marriage of the commander’s daughter. Thuty, with three local princes in tow, each garbed as a man of Kemet to prove his devotion to that rich and powerful land, had been forced to remain to make introductions and offer praise of such staunch allies.
“A wonderful party.” Captain Ramose’s voice. “Excellent food, fine wine, superb company. What more could a man ask for?”
Bak glanced around, saw Ramose speaking with the stout admiral in charge of the vizier’s flotilla. Both men were be-wigged and bejeweled, bright birds of passage dripping sweat. They walked on, the admiral’s hand on Ramose’s shoulder. Bak had to laugh. For a man who, only four days earlier, had claimed to have no affinity for the nobility, the captain was doing quite well.
Imsiba touched Sitamon’s arm, turning her toward the room in which the women sat. “Come, my sister, I’ll deliver you to Tiya and the ladies.”
“When you return, bring Mery with you,” Bak told him.
“He’s playing with the other children in the columned court at the back of the building, and he’ll probably need a wash before the vizier lays eyes on him.”
286 / Lauren Haney
“I’ll bring him.” Imsiba made as if to go, but a fresh thought stopped him. “I know no one but our sovereign hands out the gold of valor, my friend, but surely the vizier will vow to see you get a golden fly.”
Bak could do nothing but laugh. He had twice earned the coveted prize, both times laying hands on men whose foul deeds had been an affront to the lady Maat, greatly upsetting the balance of justice. Neither time had he been awarded the prize.
Acknowledgments
I wish to thank the members of my San Francisco writers group for their astute critiques of this novel in its format-ive stage: Karen Southwick, Jane Goldsmith, Cara Black, and Tavo Serina. I miss our Saturday morning meetings, both the critiques and the “book talk.”
When my personal library fails me, Dennis Forbes, editorial director of KMT, A Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt, can always be counted on to provide invaluable information about ancient Egypt, as he did frequently while I was writing this novel.