Lauren Haney: Place of Darkness

The commandant’s residence was the heart of the garrison, serving both as military headquarters and as a dwelling for Thuty and his family.

Hori gave the bowl Bak held a brief, distracted glance.

“You’re to stop by the garrison for Troop Captain Nebwa.

He wants to see all three of you at once.”

Bak and Imsiba exchanged worried looks. Whatever the commandant had to say, it must be serious indeed.

Bak, Imsiba, and Nebwa found Commandant Thuty

seated in his armchair in his private reception room, reading a scroll Bak recognized as the garrison daybook for the current week. Thuty raised his eyes from the document and beckoned them inside. Taking care where they walked lest they step on a toy or a discarded scroll or one of twenty or more arrows littering the floor, they crossed the room to stand before him. He had to have noticed the bowl in Bak’s hand, but he made no comment. Instead, he turned around and snapped out an order to a boy of five or so years who was trying to stuff arrows into a quiver. If any of the missiles survived the child’s rough treatment, the gods would surely have performed a miracle.

Watching the boy scurry away, Thuty shook his head in dismay. “Why did the lord Amon bless me with so many children?”

The question, oft-repeated, required no answer.

The commandant laid the scroll on a low table beside his chair and wove his fingers together across his stomach.

“Clean the playthings off those stools and sit down.” He nodded toward several low seats scattered around the room, providing transitory surfaces for dolls, pull toys, balls, and a child’s board game. “I’ve a most important item to discuss.”

Bak sat between Nebwa and the big Medjay. Feeling somewhat ridiculous with a bowl on his lap, he placed the honey and its precious cargo on the floor by his feet. The room was hot; a slight breeze drifting through the courtyard door had not the power to dry the thin film of sweat coating his face and body. A strong scent of braised catfish and onions wafted through the air, reminding him that he and Imsiba had missed their midday meal.

Thuty stared at the bowl, obviously curious, but before Bak could explain, his eyes darted away, his thoughts leaping to the purpose of his summons. “I’ve been asked to take command of the garrison at Mennufer. I like Buhen better than any other place I’ve been, but I feel I must move on to the more prestigious post. I’ve accepted the task.”

Bak was stunned, the news too difficult to grasp. Imsiba gaped, unable to believe. Nebwa, the commandant’s second-in-command, muttered an oath beneath his breath, his usual response to so startling a pronouncement.

“When will you leave, sir?” Bak managed.

Thuty’s eyes settled on Nebwa, as if he had asked the question. “I’ll remain in Buhen until my replacement arrives. The officer selected, Commander Neferperet from the garrison at Waset, should report here in about a month.”

The troop captain, an untidy, coarse-featured man in his early thirties, looked stricken. “A man new to this land of Wawat?”

Bak’s heart leaped out to the officer, one of his closest friends. All who dwelt in Buhen knew of Nebwa’s long posting in the garrison and his high level of competence. Few had doubted he would be given command should Thuty leave.

Thuty looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “I know you hoped to replace me as commandant of Buhen, but Viceroy Inebny thought to make you commander of Semna instead.

Later, he said, you’ll have the additional experience needed to occupy my chair.”

“I understand, sir.” Skipping a rank was unusual and they all knew it, but Nebwa’s disappointment was plain. He was as well-schooled in the commandant’s many duties as Thuty himself.

“I countered with a suggestion I believe far more advantageous-to you and me both.” Thuty leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His brows were heavy, his chin firm, and the normally hard set of his mouth was relieved by what looked suspiciously like self-satisfaction.

The same look he displayed when proclaiming a positive outcome to an impossible assignment not yet begun. “I wish you to go north with me, Troop Captain, north to Mennufer.”

Bak sucked in his breath, startled by the idea, dismayed at the thought of losing so close a friend.

“Sir?” Nebwa asked, as if not sure he had heard right.

“Mennufer is a large and important training garrison directly under the eye of Menkheperre Thutmose.” Thuty spoke of their sovereign’s nephew and stepson, co-ruler in name only, a youth who had taken upon himself the task of rebuilding an army that had languished from years of neglect. “If I’m to do my task well-and I’m determined to do so-I must have as my right hand a man I can trust, one of unusual competence and ability, one uninvolved in political intrigue. I see you as that man.”

Nebwa looked doubtful. The son of a common soldier, born and reared in Wawat, he had always been posted on the 12

Lauren Haney

southern frontier. Of equal importance, his wife was a local woman. A move to Kemet would not be easy for either of them. “Is that an order, sir?”

“I’d make you my second-in-command, Nebwa, as you are here, and head of all training. I believe the rank of troop captain too low for such a responsible task.”

“I’ll be leaving everything I know, sir.” Nebwa glanced at Bak and Imsiba. “Including men I hold closer in my heart than I would a brother.”

Thuty waved off the objection. “I suggested to Inebny that Lieutenant Bak also accompany me to Mennufer.”

Bak felt as if he had been hit hard in the stomach: a bit sick and his breath torn away. “What of my men, sir? How can I leave them?” Immediately after the words were spoken, shame washed through him. Imsiba, his logical successor, was as competent a leader of men as he was. Maybe more so. To leave behind a friend so close would be abominable, but if the big Medjay gained by the loss, the breach should be easier to accept.

“The Medjays in Mennufer are civil police.” Thuty’s eyes drifted toward the bowl on the floor. He paused as if losing his thought, then looked back at the man to whom he was speaking. “I need a dependable force to maintain order in the garrison, a force part of and yet separate from the army, as you and your men are here. And so I told Inebny. He’s agreed that you may go with me as a unit, should you desire.

If so, he’ll request a fresh company of Medjays to replace the men.”

“Am I to go with them, sir?” Imsiba asked. The very fact that he had been summoned with Bak portended change.

“I recognize how invaluable you are to Bak’s company, but I hesitated to recommend that you move north with us.

You’re fully capable of standing at the head of the new unit of Medjays, and you’re worthy of promotion to an officer’s rank. In addition, I know your wife’s cargo ship sails out of Buhen and her business thrives.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve a choice to make, Sergeant. To step into Bak’s sandals and move up in rank, or to go with your friends to Mennufer.” He looked back at Nebwa, who clung to his doubtful expression as if it were molded of gold, and added,

“If they decide to go.”

Bak thought of how fond he had become of this desolate fortress to which he had initially been exiled. Buhen was his home, a place he loved above all others. How could he leave? How could any of them leave? “Can you give us a few days to think on the matter, sir?”

“A day or two at most. Should you choose to go, Inebny will need time to summon replacements.” A scowl flitted across Thuty’s face, an afterthought that must be aired. “One thing more you must know, Lieutenant, Sergeant. If you choose to go with me, I can promise no increase in rank.