Lauren Haney: Place of Darkness

He wanted to shout for joy, but had he found anything to shout about? The shrines of gods contained no wealth except for the god himself and his accoutrements. Once removed, as these had been many generations before, nothing remained to steal. That did not mean the tomb Menna-or Montu-and the fishermen had been searching for was not close by. But where?

Returning to the terrace, he saw that Senenmut and his followers were walking among the rough-finished statues and architectural elements on the opposite terrace, stopping before first one image and then another. The porters had settled down with the carrying chairs near the old mudbrick temple of Djeserkare Amonhotep and Ahmose Nefertari.

They, at least, would be safe should a rock slide occur.

Senenmut’s guards stood at full alert around him and his party, while the other guards had spread throughout the construction site, searching for trouble.

He saw no one on the rim of the cliff, nor any movement on its vertical face. The lord Re had begun his descent to the western horizon, and shadows filled the deepest crevices.

The tower-like formations appeared to be separating themselves from the parent rock. Within the hour each individual formation would stand out in full relief against the cliff face.

“It’s time we showed Tracker here. .” He nodded toward the dog. “. . the tunic we took from the fishermen’s house.”

“You’ve found something?” Hori asked, his eyes lighting up, betraying the fact that he was tiring of the activity at Djeser Djeseru.

While Bak quickly explained what he had discovered, Kaemwaset retrieved a torn and dirty linen tunic that smelled of fish and sweat from the top of a tall column where he had left it earlier. The priest had proved to be the most proficient of the four when the patrol officer who had loaned them the dog had instructed them on how best to use him.

Openly pleased at playing so important a role,

Kaemwaset gave Tracker a good long sniff of the garment.

Bak, Hori, and Kasaya stayed well clear. The officer had warned that the fewer men to touch the cloth, the less confused the dog would be by conflicting smells.

Tracker put his nose to the pavement. He immediately headed off in the wrong direction, trotting back and forth among the fallen columns as if confused by too many paths.

Not surprising since the fishermen had frequently carried lights along the terrace, pretending for the workmen’s bene-fit to be the malign spirit.

“Take the dog into the main court,” Bak told Kaemwaset.

The priest grabbed Tracker’s collar and scrambled with him over the wall. Hori followed.

Bak stopped the Medjay before he could cross after them.

“You must stay on the terrace, Kasaya.”

“But, sir!” the young man said, crushed.

“Someone must keep a close watch on the cliff above Djeser Djeseru-especially when Senenmut climbs up to the temple-and you’ve the keenest eye of any of us. Should you see movement of any kind, any sign of trouble, call me.”

He handed over the small mirror. “At the same time, signal the officer in charge of the guards Maiherperi assigned to help us. The quicker you pass on the news, the more men he can get out of the way should a rock slide occur.”

“Can I not go with you and still keep watch?”

“I fear you’d become too distracted.” Bak laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Senenmut’s life and the safety of many others, men we’ve come to know and like, may well depend upon your quick reaction.”

Clearly not placated, Kasaya mumbled, “Yes, sir.”

Certain the Medjay would do what he must, like it or not, Bak clambered over the break in the wall. Kaemwaset released the dog. Tracker was less confused in the main court, as if the fishermen had trod the same path time and time again. Following a trail no man could see, he trotted toward the rear of the building. Bak and his companions hurried after him. At the opening into the colonnade court, the dog ranged back and forth again, as if he had either lost the scent or had too many choices. Staying well back, they watched him explore with his nose each trail of invisible footprints in turn. He followed one path to the robber’s shaft, another along the northern colonnade and into the ruined columned hall at the back of the temple.

Hori groaned. “Not in there, I pray.”

“The heart of the temple is slowly collapsing,” Bak explained to Kaemwaset, “not at all safe.” He eyed the darkness into which Tracker had vanished. “We saw no sign of intrusion among the columns, no footprints in the dust. Why do you suppose he went in there?”

The dog loped out from among the columns and sniffed his way directly to Bak. Tail wagging, he looked to Kaemwaset as if expecting a reward for a task well done.

Bak, grinning in spite of himself, suggested the priest move closer to the break in the wall, where the dog had seemed the most confused, and give him another good, long sniff of the tunic.

The response was immediate. Tracker followed the scent to the corner where Bak had found the shrines, making him fear the dog was once again tracking the wrong man. He sniffed the paving stones in the area, retraced his steps, and went into the colonnade court. His nose drew him to the corner that lay behind the shrines. There he sniffed the floor and the intersecting wall, then stood up on his hind legs, stretch-ing himself as high as he could. He looked at the men behind him, pawed the wall, barked. His meaning was clear: he wanted to cross the wall.

Bak’s hopes shot upward. He had assumed the rocks and debris outside filled the corner where the walls intersected.

Maybe not. “Let’s go around,” he said, sounding much calmer than he felt.

As they hurried to the main court, Tracker dropped onto all fours and paced back and forth in front of the wall, whimpering, not wanting to leave. Though torn, Hori turned back to stay with him.

Bak and Kaemwaset exited the main court, ran past a startled Kasaya, and hurried westward along the terrace, which disappeared beneath the high mound of dirt and rocks that had piled up against the thick sturdy walls of the temple.

The climb upward was fast and easy, the debris packed solid by time and weather. At the top and around the corner where no one could see from the front of the building, they found the surface to be soft and loose, newly placed. It had clearly not fallen from above. A few paces farther, they discovered where it had come from. In the corner, where the colonnade court joined the main court, they found a large excavation dug down to the paving stones of what had originally been an open platform facing the cliff.

“Hori!” Bak called. “Somebody’s been digging here.

Bring the dog.”

“He’s on his way, sir. He heard you out there.”

Tracker raced around the corner and sped across the mound, flinging dirt in his wake. He half ran, half slid down into the excavation. Following his nose, he sniffed every square cubit of pavement, his tail wagging hard and fast.

From where he stood atop the mound, Bak spotted beneath the dog’s feet a telltale sinking of the paving slabs. Under-neath, he felt sure, lay a tomb.

If the shrine on the opposite side of the wall had been built for the deceased, six shrines most likely meant six tombs of six royal ladies.

“Lieutenant Bak!” Kasaya yelled. “I see a man on the hillside north of Djeser Djeseru, coming down the trail. I think it’s Lieutenant Menna.”

Bak ran to the corner of the building and looked out across the workmen’s huts and Maatkare Hatshepsut’s new temple. The man was a long way off, but the light was striking him at an advantageous angle. He looked like Menna, walked like him.

Why would he approach the valley by such an indirect route? he wondered. Had he had time to go all the way to the top of the cliff or had he met the fishermen somewhere along the way? Were they even now preparing a foul deed? Was he simply being cautious, approaching the valley by way of a high path that offered a good view of the temples?