The Right Hand of Amon (31 page)

If possible, Huy's face turned paler than before. "My skiff was damaged deliberately?"

Bak described the damage to the hull, the missing dowel and butterfly cramp. "And from the way the stanchion broke, it must also have been weakened."

Huy's face turned grim as the truth began to dawn. "We were meant to die together."

"Exactly." Bak rubbed the back of his neck, trying to banish the soreness from his muscles. "I might've taken my boat out alone, but with a hole in its hull, I couldn't. You were busy through much of the day, watching your officers and their men practice the drills they'll perform for Amon-Psaro, so you couldn't take your skiff out until they'd finished."

Huy muttered a savage oath. "I worked the men like oxen, making no secret of the fact that I wanted to quit early because we planned to sail to the island."

"Many things could've gone wrong." Bak's voice was as grim as Huy's face. "For example, I could've taken a barge to the island, though I've never done so before, and waited for you there. But I didn't. Everything fell into place for our would-be slayer, just as it was meant to."

Huy eyed a heron wading in a shallow backwater across the channel and scowled. "1 can understand Puemre's murderer wishing you dead, especially if you're treading close on his heels. But why slay me?"

Bak gave the older officer a speculative look. "What do you know of Puemre's death that you've failed to tell me?" "Why would I hold anything back?" Huy snapped. "Puemre was a swine, true, and I've no reason to grieve for him, but his death-any death-is an offense to the lady Maat. A lie only magnifies that offense."

"You must know something," Bak insisted.

Huy scrambled to his knees-not for the first time-and leaned out over the river. He wretched once and again and again, vomiting water yellow with bile, his body, racked with pain and exhaustion. When he finished, he leaned back against the boulder and closed his eyes. Bak allowed him to rest. Huy was a strong and determined man, but no longer young. He had spent the heat of the day standing beneath the blazing sun and had come close to drowning. He had earned Bak's respect, and he had earned the right to be left in peace while he collected himself.

"I know Puemre's father is the chancellor," Huy said, his eyes still closed, "a favorite of Maatkare Hatshepsut herself, and laying hands on his slayer would naturally be important to you. But you seem driven by the task."

"I'd forgotten Nihisy," Bak admitted, laughing softly at

himself. "I've been too worried for Amon-Psaro."

Huy's eyes snapped open. "Amon-Psaro? What are you talking about? Have you been holding secrets within your heart that bear on the workings of this garrison?"

Bak hastened to tell him all he knew. "So you see now why I dared not trust you," he concluded, "and why I've asked the questions I have."

"Woser told us he was certain a trader slew Puemre. I took him at his word." Huy snorted. "Because it was easier, I guess, to look to a stranger than to a friend."

"The commander was laying a false trail. He feared Nebseny slew Puemre, and he even worried that mistress Aset might've done it."

"Woser loves Aset above all others. After her mother died, he made her his sole reason for living." Huy rubbed his eyes, red-rimmed from the water. "Maybe now that you've cleared the air between them and between her and Nebseny, he can enlarge his life, perhaps wed Sithathor, the widow he's been visiting since he took command of Iken."

A pair of crows swooped down, landing on a rock protruding from the river a few paces above the rapids. One bird, its wings fluttering for balance, hopped down to the water to pluck out the sodden carcass of a rat. Its mate squawked, calling to a third crow perched on an acacia on another small island.

"As for me," Huy went on, "I disliked Puemre for blaming me for the lives he lost during the first skirmish he fought, but as all the world knew his accusation had no substance, I carried no burden of anger, no wish for revenge."

"You came too close to drowning for me to suspect you any longer," Bak reminded him. "If my thinking is right, the man I seek is either Inyotef or Senu."

"I can't believe either man an assassin."

"I'm convinced I'm right," Bak said, his tone as unyielding as that of the older officer.

"And if you err?"

"I'll have no choice but to look at every man in this garrison, far too many for the few short hours until the Kushites march into Iken. The thought is intolerable."

"We can and will surround Amon-Psaro with guards, every man in the garrison if need be." The certainty evaporated from Huy's voice. "But if one of those two happens to be the guilty man . . ."

Bak had no wish to go again through the various options available to protect the king, each and every one faulted. Fruitless speculation gave birth to frustration and depression, two feelings that could only get in the way of clear thinking. "Will you tell me of Senu and Inyotef, sir?"

A tiny smile flitted across Huy's face, probably because of the formality from a man who had not long ago kneed him in the groin and knocked him senseless. "Senu made a mistake when young, as many inexperienced men do. He saw his company winning a battle, and he urged them to charge forward, forgetting to notice the men to left and right, the way the front line wavered, the numbers of wounded falling. Carried away with success, he urged his men well ahead of the others, allowing them to be trapped in a dry watercourse. Puemre never let him forget his error."

"Puemre made a costly mistake of his own."

"He blamed everyone but himself for that, while Senu has spent a lifetime blaming himself for his error."

A flock of swallows plunged from the sky, small winged missiles chattering with excitement. Wheeling in midair, they darted back and forth across the water, feasting on a cloud of insects too small for the human eye to see.

"Inyotef told me Puemre constantly reminded him of his age and his crippled leg," Bak said.

"I counseled him and Senu both to ignore him, pointing out that he'd soon use his influence to have himself transferred to the capital, where he could walk the corridors of

power. The man who tried to hurt him would merely hurt himself."

Bak gave him a long, speculative look. "You told me he wanted your job. One stepping-stone among many, you said. First you would fall to his ambition, and Woser and Commandant Thuty and the viceroy would fall behind you. He surely couldn't be in two places at once: here in Wawat and in faraway Kemet."

A touch of pink colored Huy's pallor. "His climb to power on the southern frontier was my own personal dread, one I believed unwise to share. The strength of a garrison lies in the solidity of its troops. I wanted no internal warfare among the officers. There was enough bad feeling as it was."

Bak, who also now and again tailored the truth to fit necessity, smiled his understanding. Huy was a good man, he felt, one any good officer would be proud to serve. "Do you have any idea why Senu or Inyotef would hate AmonPsaro? I speak now of the past in addition to the present."

"I don't know." Huy eyed a dragonfly flitting around the islet. "I just don't know."

Bak saw a reluctance in Huy to speak, a truth hidden in his heart that he preferred not to divulge. While he waited for the disclosure he knew the officer would be honorbound to make, he watched the swallows, their hunger satisfied, streak away to the west and the steep face of the escarpment where their nests were hidden. A movement caught his eye, the sound of laughter reached his ear. The stubby prow of a boat nosed its way around the island to the north, a cargo vessel making its ponderous way upstream from they fortress. He shot to his feet to stand atop the boulder, waving his arms to attract attention.

Bak knelt beside Huy, sitting cross-legged in the prow of the cargo ship, sipping from a cup filled with a heady brew of beer sweetened and strengthened with dates. The breeze had died soon after they rounded the long island and the crew had taken up the oars. An aging sailor sang an old river song, beating out the rhythm on a large overturned pottery bowl, setting the tempo for the rowers. The river was smooth and still, a sheet of copper blended with gold, reflecting the evening sky. Birdsong rose from the trees along the water's edge. Traces of smoke drifted from the city, teasing the nostrils, hinting of food and drink. A falcon soared overhead, alone and lordly in his heavenly kingdom.

Other than the sailors and their two unexpected passengers, the vessel was empty and riding high on the water. The cargo of food and materials had been unloaded at the island fortress; the men ferried across to work there would remain overnight. Bak, his spirits restored by a jar of the ordinary beer more suited to his taste than the sweeter brew, had been watching Huy since their rescue. From the older officer's troubled expression, he guessed the time had come to press him further.

"Have you thought yet of any reason why Senu or Inyotef would wish Amon-Psaro dead?"

Huy started, torn from his reverie. "I don't think ... No! I can't help you."

"You've thought of something, sir, something that troubles you. Your expression betrays you."

Huy stared at the bowl, cracked and worn from use. "I call both of them my friends, Lieutenant."

"Did you not in the distant past call Amon-Psaro your friend?" Bak's voice was gentle, but firm. "Did he not once save your life?"

"As you did today." Huy rose to his feet and walked to the rail, where he looked out across the water at the distant city, lying in the shadow of the escarpment, and the massive fortress towering above, its white walls gleaming in the last rays of sunlight. Much of the pallor had gone from his face, but his eyes were deep-sunk, the flesh below them darkened by exhaustion. "Senu's wife is a woman from far to the south. He took her as his own many years ago when first he traveled to Kush. He cares for her above all others, and she cares as much for him. She's given him many children." A smile touched his lips. "How Senu keeps his sanity in so chaotic a household, I'll never understand."

Bak, who had expected some momentous disclosure, was puzzled. "From what I've seen since I came to Wawat, men who take wives from the south aren't uncommon, especially the traders, but some soldiers as well."

"This woman," Huy said in a voice made ponderous by reluctance, "is a member of the royal family of a Kushite king, Amon-Psaro."

Bak stiffened. "No wonder you hesitated to tell me." "Such a position is often precarious and can sometimes be downright dangerous," Huy pointed out, "but I was told by one who should know that she's too far down the line of inheritance to be a threat to the throne. Nor would she feel menaced by Amon-Psaro's arrival here in Iken." "Who was your informant?" Bak asked, barely able to contain his excitement. "Can I speak with him?"

"He was long ago laid to rest in his tomb." Huy must have known the man well, for a sadness clouded his face. "Many years before his death he was an envoy of Akheperenre Tuthmose, our present sovereign's deceased husband. Senu accompanied him upriver more than once to the courts of the various tribal kings."

Bak tamped down his excitement, cautioning himself to jump to no conclusions. Huy was right about a woman of royal blood. Unless she was a daughter or sister or one of more distant parentage who attracted the favor of the king, she would be one among many, a ewe in a herd of ewes to be handed ever to the most tempting bidder. Yet what if Senu had stolen away a royal favorite? Unlikely, but as plausible as any other theory Bak could conceive. He must speak with Senu or the woman as soon as possible.

Vowing to hurry straight from the harbor to Senu's house, he asked, "Have you any ... ?" His voice was lost in a flourish of drumbeats as they neared the quay. "Have you any idea how well Senu knew Amon-Psaro?"

"He's never spoken of him to me or to anyone else as far as I know, but neither do I mention I once befriended a king."

Bak eyed the officer with curiosity. "Most men would be proud of so lofty a comrade."

"Can I call a man my friend when I've not set eyes on him for more than twenty-five years?"

"You've mixed emotions, I see, about meeting him again."

"I'll not draw attention to myself, of that you can be sure." A stubborn pride glowed in Huy's eyes. "If he chooses to recognize me, I'll be delighted. If he doesn't, so be it."

The officer's modesty was a trait to envy, Bak thought, and one seldom developed to so great an extreme. Perhaps, if the occasion arose-and if he could keep Amon-Psaro alive-he might get the opportunity to whisper a word in the king's ear. "Are you prepared now to tell me more about Inyotef?"

"I know less about him." "But ... ",

"I've heard. . ." Huy hesitated, sighed. "I've no way of knowing how true the tale. I was gone then, assigned to far-off lands." He sipped from his bowl, emptying it, and set it on the forecastle. "They say Amon-Psaro was a wild creature when first he went to our capital, a prince of the river and the desert, one who could never be confined within the walls of the palace. Oh, he studied like the royal children and played with them, they say, and he learned the ways of Kemet. But he valued his freedom above all things."

"What was Inyotef's role in the prince's game?" Bak could well imagine the kind of knowledge a young sailor could pass on to an innocent but willing child.

"First, Amon-Psaro took Inyotef's family as his own." Huy's smile turned inward. "A peasant family, they were, much like mine. A mother and father to substitute for his own lofty parents living in faraway Kush. A sibling or two close to him in age, and Inyotef, like an older brother."

Bak noticed a sailor standing close by, poised to take up the mooring rope. He backed out of the way, drawing Huy with him. "And then?"

Huy gave a cynical laugh. "Anion-Psaro grew to manhood. No longer in need of a family, he went out in search of life. From what I was told, Inyotef helped him find it."

Bak, born and raised near the southern capital, had grown up hearing tales of hostage princes and young men of noble birth slipping out of the palace, of wild carousing and ungoverned and licentious behavior. As he grew older, he had learned to sort fact from fiction, but a few of those tales, he knew, had been close to the truth.