Kames’s eyes darted toward a man checking the four sides of a block of stone, making sure they were square to each other and the top surface. Evidently not quite satisfied with what he saw, he moved closer to watch. The stone was one of many that would be stacked to create the square columns of the lower colonnade. The sides of the stone, like that of its mates, were rough, not yet dressed to a smooth surface. The final smoothing would be done after they were installed, before reliefs were carved and painted. Other stonemasons were scattered nearby, forming blocks similar in shape and size. The tapping of mallets on chisels made Bak think of giant birds, pecking away at some equally colossal food source. Two rows of square columns would ultimately stand before the retaining wall that held back the fill beneath the upper colonnade. As Bak had noticed before, the roof over this portico would form an open terrace along the front of the temple.
For the first time, he was struck by the fact that no construction ramps marred the facade to either side of the central ramp. “You surely use a ramp to raise these blocks into position, and also the architraves and roof slabs that will sit on top. Why is none here?”
Several of the men glanced at each other and exchanged surreptitious grins. The chief stonemason’s expression turned stormy. Bak saw at once that he had poured natron into an open wound.
“The last time our sovereign visited this temple, we had to take down the ramp we had here and another at the southern colonnade.” Kames’s nostrils flared with anger. “Senenmut said she wished to see the facade unencumbered by ramps, and so it was. I thought it wise not to replace them for a while, to rough out many of the column parts so we can position them all at one time. Thus saving us extra effort should she soon come again.”
A prudent decision, Bak suspected. Much effort was required to build or tear down a ramp. Not as much as building a permanent mudbrick or stone structure, but the number of hours expended could be better used elsewhere. “Did Pashed not shoulder more than his burden of responsibility, while Montu sought the ear of Senenmut, taking much of the credit for building this temple?”
Kames shook his head in mild disgust. “Oh, I know.
Pashed complained all the time, saying this, that, and the other. Always critical of Montu, with never a word of praise.
But you have to understand: Montu was an artist while Pashed is a mere artisan. You can’t expect an artist to take an interest in the dreary day-to-day tasks of a project as big and important as this one.”
An unexpected puff of air lifted the dust from the steep slope to the north and flung it on the men below. Bak snapped his eyes and mouth shut as grit peppered his face and shoulders. Kames’s attitude was so different from that of the others to whom he had spoken that he could not help but wonder about the discrepancy. “Were you and Montu related in any way?”
A toothy grin let him know the stonemason understood exactly what he was getting at. “We weren’t even friendly.”
The smile, the flippant tone, promised a game of words Bak refused to be drawn into. A stream of curses drew his eyes to the northern retaining wall, where a crew of workmen were dragging a sledge laden with stone blocks up a construction ramp. Given time, Kames would explain himself, he felt sure. “You know Amonked has bade me look into the many accidents that have occurred since construction began on this temple.”
The stonemason’s smile was swept away by an inexplica-ble bitterness. “I wish you luck, Lieutenant.”
Bak eyed him closely. That he had struck a sensitive spot was apparent. “You and your men work with the stone, sometimes placing heavy blocks high above a man’s head.
Have you lost anyone to an accident?”
Kames glanced at the men scattered in front of what would one day be the colonnade, beckoned Bak to follow, and walked far enough away that none could hear. “A man died. Ahotep. A foreman.” He spat out the words, his voice hard, rough with emotion. “Seven months ago, it was. We’d just begun to raise the columns at the northern end of the portico, the end nearest the southern retaining wall.”
“How did it happen?”
“A part of the cliff broke away, sending stones plummet-ing down the slope and onto the temple.” Kames stared bale-86
Lauren Haney
fully at the cliff and went on with obvious effort. “Ahotep had gone up the ramp along which we were raising the blocks. We’d reached no higher than the second course, so the ramp was low. He was checking the placement of stones, making sure they were seated properly. An enormous boulder came hurtling down from the face of the cliff, bringing others with it and tearing away lesser rocks and earth. The retaining wall collapsed and he was struck down. Buried.
We dug him out, but could do nothing for him. His back was broken. He lived an hour that seemed a day, unable to move, helpless.” The stonemason cleared his throat, but could not clear away the grief on his face. “His death was a gift of the gods.”
Laying a gentle hand on Kames’s shoulder, Bak said, “He was close to you, I see.”
“He was my firstborn son.”
Bak muttered an oath. No wonder the old man ached.
“Were any other men injured?”
Another puff of air, this stronger than the first, blew dirt across the terrace. Bak swung away and raised his hands to his face, protecting eyes and mouth. As the breeze abated, he saw Kames wiping tears from his cheeks, tears of anguish, he felt sure, not moisture caused by the grit.
“Four were hurt,” the stonemason said. “Two will never toil again as once they did, their limbs too damaged to regain strength. The others are now raising the walls of a set of chambers our sovereign is having built in the mansion of the lord Amon in Waset.”
A bitter blow, Bak thought. Most of the work crews were men who had toiled together for years. To lose so many would not only upset the smooth functioning of the crew, but would rend the survivors’ hearts for months to come. “Do you, like most of the men toiling here at Djeser Djeseru, believe a malign spirit responsible for the accident?”
“I’d like to think not. I’d like to believe that one day I’ll lay hands on the one who loosed the rocks and break his back as my son’s back was broken. A vain hope, I’m forced to admit. How could a man make a cliff face fall?”
Eyeing the cliff looming above the northern retaining wall, Bak made a silent vow to climb up and see if he could find an answer to that question. Unfortunately, four months was a long time. Too long, he suspected, to find telltale signs of a man-if a man had indeed been responsible. The cliff face and the tower-like formations that had formed at the front of it were high and steep, cracked and pitted, scarred where rock had broken away and fallen. The slide might well have been a natural occurrence. “Does the accident have anything to do with your dislike of Pashed, your sympathy with Montu?”
Kames flung Bak a quick, smoldering look. “Pashed allowed us no time to mourn, no time to make peace within ourselves. He sent the crew back to this northern end of the portico. The men feared another rockfall above all things, but what choice did they have? They returned and here they remain. Montu faced Pashed, saying no men should be put to such a test. His words struck deaf ears.”
Bak had always heard that if a man came close to drowning, he should immediately go back into the water. If such was the case, and he had no way of knowing the truth of the matter, Pashed had done the right thing. “Was Montu sincere, or did he wish to make himself look good in your eyes and Pashed look bad?”
“Why would he wish me to think well of him? I’m a lowly stonemason, a man of no wealth or influence.”
Uneasy about the open tomb, Bak stood at the rim and looked into the darkness below. Would Menna never bring the priest? Did the guard lieutenant have another report he felt more important than seeing that the shaft was filled before nightfall?