Lauren Haney: Cruel Deceit

“To what do I owe the honor of this visit, sir?” Pentu, seated in his armchair on the dais in his spacious audience hall, tried very hard to form a welcoming smile. “Especially at so early an hour.”

Amonked did not return the smile. “We wished to speak with you, you and the members of your household. We knew if we came later, we’d not find you home.”

From Pentu’s appearance, they had caught him dressing in his festival best. He wore a calf-length kilt of fine linen and his eyes were painted, but he had not yet adorned him self with jewelry and wig. Like innumerable other people in

Waset, he and his retinue were readying themselves for the short walk to Ipet-resyt. There they would watch the lord

Amon leave his southern mansion and make his way to the waterfront, where he would board the sacred barge and sail north to Ipet-isut, thereby culminating the Beautiful Feast of

Opet.

“Your presence is always a pleasure,” Pentu said, “but we’ll be far better prepared to receive you later, after the day’s festivities end.”

“Frankly, Pentu, the word ‘pleasure’ does not apply.”

Amonked glanced at Bak. “My young friend can explain.”

A female servant, arranging flowers in a large bowl on the dais, noted his peremptory tone and glanced up at her mas ter. Pentu’s expression was stormy, his body as tense as a

tautly pulled bowstring. Sensing an impending crisis, she rose quickly to her feet. She dropped a blossom, stepped on it in her haste to leave, and departed. The sweet scent of the crushed flower filled the air.

The governor scowled at Bak. “I can’t imagine why you’ve come again, Lieutenant. I thought we were rid of you.”

“I told Bak he wouldn’t need my authority. I believed you to be a fair and courteous man.” Amonked’s voice sharp ened. “It seems I erred.”

Pentu flushed at the rebuke.

“We’ve come to reveal the name of the one who brought about your recall from Hattusa,” Bak said.

“Now look here, young man…”

Amonked raised a hand, silencing him. “I’ve taken the liberty of summoning the members of your household. As soon as they arrive, we’ll begin.”

In less serious circumstances, Bak might have smiled.

Normally unassuming in appearance and behavior,

Amonked could don a cloak of power as easily as his cousin,

Maatkare Hatshepsut, should the need arise. “We’ll not keep you long, sir. What I have to reveal is easily explained.”

“Governor Pentu has all along denied that any member of this household would foment trouble in the land of Hatti.”

Bak, standing with Amonked beside the dais, glanced at

Pentu, who occupied the sole chair on the raised platform.

The governor stared straight forward in stony silence, one hand clutching his long staff of office, the other the arm of his chair. “His refusal to believe in spite of the fact that our pres ent envoy to Hattusa verified the accusation was one of sev eral factors I considered when thinking over the problem.”

Bak eyed the three men-Sitepehu, Netermose, and

Pahure-standing before the dais, and Taharet and Meret, seated side by side on low stools. All but the priest had been interrupted in various stages of adorning themselves for the

festival. Sitepehu, who had to rise early to make the morning offerings to the lord Inheret, wore the full-length kilt, jew elry, and robe of his priesthood; his shaven head gleamed in the light streaming down from a high window. Netermose, who had barely begun to dress, wore nothing but a knee length kilt and broad multicolored collar. Pahure wore a long kilt, broad collar, and bracelets, but had not applied eye paint or donned a wig.

Both women wore lovely white sheaths of the finest linen, but there the resemblance ended. Meret was fully groomed, bewigged, and bejeweled, ready to leave the house. Taharet was partially made up and her hair hastily combed. She wore no jewelry. She had obviously been caught unprepared for guests-or for the necessary accusa tions. Her discomfort at having to show herself when not looking her best was apparent, a gift from the gods Bak had not expected.

“Of more significance,” he went on, “was mistress

Taharet’s sudden disapproval of me and her refusal to allow me to speak with mistress Meret.”

“You’re a common soldier,” Taharet said, her nose high in the air. “Unworthy of my sister.” She was clearly annoyed at not being provided with a chair beside her husband, a po sition of honor due to the mistress of the house. A momen tary oversight on Pentu’s part that Bak and Amonked had reinforced by suggesting stools for the women.

“So you would have me believe,” Bak said, bowing his head in mock deference.

She opened her mouth as if to reply, but Meret took her hand and squeezed it, cutting off whatever she meant to say.

“The men of the household all expressed a healthy respect for the violence and cruelty of Hittite vengeance. Taharet and Meret, on the other hand, offered no comments about the Hittites’ brutality even though they spoke the tongue of

Hatti, associated with the people of that wretched land, and had to have had a knowledge of its ways.”

Pentu’s mouth tightened. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Lieutenant.” He did not raise his voice, but none who heard him could miss the ominous tone.

“Am I?” Bak asked, directing the question at the two women.

“My wife is a fine woman, above reproach, and so is her sister. To accuse either of them of wrongdoing is an affront

I’ll not tolerate.”

That Pentu feared his wife was the guilty party, Bak had no doubt. “I accuse one of becoming involved in the politics of the land of Hatti. How deeply embroiled the other was, I hope to discover. At the very least, she maintained a silence that brought about your recall from Hattusa.”

Sitepehu sucked in his breath. Pahure muttered a curse.

Netermose took a quick step forward as if to come to some one’s aid. Who he should help he seemed not to know, for he looked uncertainly from Pentu to the women and back again.

The governor slammed a fist on the arm of his chair, star tling everyone. “The charge is false!”

Bak studied the women, Taharet staring back defiantly,

Meret sitting demurely, one hand in her lap, the other hold ing her sister’s hand, despair clouding her face. His heart ached for her, but he could do nothing to ease her anguish.

What had been done in Hattusa was too serious, threatening the throne of a king friendly to Maatkare Hatshepsut and the peaceful relations between the two lands. On a level more personal to every man and woman in Pentu’s household, not one of them would have returned alive to Kemet if that king had not chosen, because he also valued that friendship, to close his eyes to the vile deed.

He pointed his baton of office at Taharet. “You, mistress, have much to account for.”

“Get out!” Pentu leaped from his chair. “Get out of my house. My wife is innocent of wrongdoing, and I’ll allow no more of these… these… false charges.”

Bak whistled a signal. Psuro and four Medjays hurried through the door and across the room. “Take her away,” he said, pointing at Taharet.

Pentu’s face paled. One did not arrest an individual for treason on a whim. Especially with Maatkare Hatshepsut’s cousin serving as a witness. “No! It can’t be.” The worm of doubt crept into his voice, his face. “It’s untrue, I tell you.”

Taharet stared at him, shocked and dismayed by his wan ing confidence. As a Medjay reached for her, she ducked away and dropped to her knees before her husband. “I’ve done nothing wrong, my beloved. I swear I haven’t.”