Lauren Haney - The Right Hand of Amon

Bak was surprised at Minnakht's depth of feeling, like a man grieving for a friend rather than an officer. "What of mistress Mutnefer? Did he speak to you of her?"

"Many times. He thought her a kind and gentle woman, one to love through eternity. He meant to take her with him when he went back to Kemet." Minnakht's eyes spilled over. With an annoyed grimace, he brushed away the tears. "He planned to make her his wife."

Bak gave him a sharp look. "His wife? She told me he meant to keep her as his concubine."

"He talked many times to me of facing his father over the matter, but he never told her. He wished to surprise her."

Bak had seldom heard so sad a tale. No wonder Minnakht was upset. "It's best she never knows. Her life's already filled with toil and poverty. To add the knowledge of what might have been would double the hardship."

"She'll not hear it from me, of that you can be sure." Minnakht glanced at Bak as if searching for approval. "I mean to take her for my wife, if she'll have me."

"Mutnefer?" Bak asked, startled by the admission. "My wife died in childbirth two years ago. I've felt no great need for a home and family since her death, but now the time has come. I want Mutnefer, and I wish to take the child as my own."

"You're certain Minnakht was in the barracks when Puemre was slain?" Bak asked.

"Yes, sir." Pashenuro's eyes darted along the line of men carrying old, dry bricks up the path from the supply boat to the island fortress. "He stayed the night, as always."

They stood at the gate, watching the men work with an ant-like patience and tenacity. The sun was dropping toward the western horizon, the shadows lengthening, the northern breeze carrying away the intense heat of the day. The sharp chirp of a sparrow sounded above the roar of the rapids. The mound of bricks on deck shrank rapidly as crewmen shifted their cargo onto trays suspended from yokes across the shoulders of the infantrymen. They, in turn, plodded up the steep path, balancing the unfamiliar load with care, and deposited the bricks at the base of the walls, where they were raised to the scaffolding or ramparts for use by m1n repairing broken sections of wall.

"Would his men lie for him?" Bak asked.

"Others were there, too," Pashenuro said. "Outsiders who'd have nothing to gain by saying they saw him when they didn't: eleven guards traveling north with a royal envoy and three spearmen journeying upriver for assignment at Semna."

"I see the sense in Minnakht's taking Mutnefer as his wife," Bak admitted, "but when he confessed he coveted her, I was sorely tempted by the obvious conclusion. If I thought Puemre's death an ordinary murder, I'd have locked him away then and there."

"I like him." Pashenuro's eyes darted toward another cargo boat coming around the end of the long island, an idle craft Minnakht had searched out after his men had found several productive sources of brick. "Lieutenant Puemre was lucky to have him in his company."

"Pashenuro!" A mason perched high on a scaffold beckoned.

Bak could see his presence was an added burden the Medjay did not need. "You've much to do before nightfall, so go on about your business. I can check the repairs without dragging you around with me."

Bak was more than satisfied with the work that had been done. The repairs on the long eastern wall, which had suffered the least through the years from natural and human erosion, were completed. The fresh plaster holding the patches together could not entirely be disguised, but the wall was whole, with no sign of neglect except for damaged spur walls invisible from the interior. He strode back to the much shorter northern wall and the gaping hole at the west comer, where most of the men were working. Pashenuro had vowed the whole span would be fixed before nightfall. "Those men deserve a reward."

Bak swung around, startled more by the echo of his ownthoughts than the unexpected presence behind him. "Senu! What brings you to this island outpost?"

The short, stocky lieutenant watched a tray of bricks being raised to a broken section of battlement. "I came upon Sergeant Minnakht and his men, tearing down a block of ancient buildings and carrying them away from Iken brick by brick. I wanted to see for myself where all those bricks are going."

What's a watch officer doing way out here? Bak wondered. Especially so near the end of the day when he must soon inspect the sentries assigned to night duty? True, Senu had commanded most of these men before Puemre was given the company; but to come so late? "We'll leave a few buildings standing"-he grinned-"those dwellings that are fully occupied."

Senn laughed. "There's a warehouse not far from my quarters I wouldn't mind seeing pulled down. It was long ago used to store grain; today it holds nothing but rats."

"If you're serious about its destruction, speak with Minnakht."

"I will. The pests are everywhere." Senu eyed the long eastern wall with a studied interest. "How's your search progressing for Puemre's slayer?"

A fishing expedition, Bak thought. Why am I not surprised? "I've been side-tracked today and have faced a major setback, but I'm confident I'll soon lay hands on the guilty man."

If Senu noticed how meaningless the words were, he gave no indication. "Now there's been another death, I hear. The murder of an innocent child. Did the same man slay him, I wonder?"

"I've had no time to tie the threads together, but could his death so soon after that of his master be a coincidence?" Giving Senu no time to form an answer, Bak took his arm and ushered him along the finished wall. "Come, let me show you the work we're doing."

As, they walked, he pointed out several repairs, then said, "I've been told you once fought with our army in Kush, winning the "gold of valor."

"That was a long time ago, twenty-seven years." Senu's face clouded. "I was a callow youth, more foolhardy than brave. I did what I had to do to survive, and the king handed me a golden fly."

Bak glanced at the officer, surprised by his disparaging tone. "You take no joy in the award?"

"Joy?" Senu's laugh was hard and bitter. "I wear the fly only when I must. Only on the most ceremonial of occasions."

Senu was a scarred man, Bak saw, the wounds deep within his heart. What had happened? Was the incident sufficient to fuel a plot to slay Amon-Psaro? "You faced Amon-Psaro's father in battle?"

"Faced him?" Senu scoffed. "He chased us into a narrow valley blocked by sand and hunted us down like vermin. Not one man in four survived." His mouth tightened; he visibly shook off the wrath clouding his visage. "Has your quest for the murderer taken you in any special direction?"

"We're narrowing down the possibilities." Bak saluted the cargo vessel's master, standing at the gate having a final word with Pashenuro before sailing back to Iken. "What saved you from the Kushite army?"

"Woser came with his company." Senu's snort reflected the bitterness of memory. "He was a lieutenant, greener than I was but with fresh troops and the courage of the lady Sekhmet. When the Kushite king saw he might soon become the victim of his own trap, he withdrew, leaving those of us still living cowering among the rocks."

"You must've done something right, Lieutenant. The gold of valor isn't awarded lightly."

"In our desperation, we took many lives." Senu's laugh was sharp and brittle. "Does the number of dead make a hero? No, it's the way one stands up to the enemy."

Bak agreed, yet he could not understand so complete a rejection of the golden fly. A portion of the tale was missing, he was sure. "I've been told you've served in Wawat for many years and even far to the south in the land of Kush."

"My wife came from this part of the world, and my children were all born here." Senu's eyes darted toward the two men at the gate. "I think of the Belly of Stones as my home."