Lauren Haney: Curse of Silence

“I dared hope he’d died.” Seshu, his face rueful, stopped at an intersecting path that would take him to the animal paddocks. “It seems the gods have chosen not to bless us.”

“I don’t believe it!” Nebwa’s voice was hard, his ex pression resolute, the troop captain at his most stubborn.

“He wouldn’t have the nerve to come back.”

Flinging a skeptical look Bak’s way, Seshu turned around and walked up the path.

A spate of laughter drew Bak’s eyes to a party of soldiers cleaning windblown sand out of the sunken road which abutted the terrace that ran along the base of the citadel wall. He did not envy them. The sun beat full-force on the tall towered wall, which rose stark white above the desert sand, catching the heat and holding it close, turning the deep-set road into an oven. High above, a sentry patrolling the battlements walked out onto a projecting tower to look down upon the rapidly emptying market.

“Whether true or not,” he said, “we must tell Comman dant Thuty of the rumor, along with the tale that the army’s to be torn from Wawat. And we must go now, before he hears from another source.”

“He won’t thank us for passing on such nonsense.”

“Nor will he thank us if we tell him nothing and the rumor gets out of hand.”

“Lieutenant Bak! Sir!”

Bak’s eyes darted forward to where his scribe Hori was trotting toward them along the path, dodging men and women laden with trade goods and a couple panting dogs too tired and hot to bark.

The pudgy youth of fifteen or so years swung in beside his superior officer. “Commandant Thuty has summoned you, sir. You and Troop Captain Nebwa.”

“What now, I wonder?”

“The scribe who brought word to the guardhouse said a courier came from Ma’am, bringing a message from the viceroy.” Hori licked beads of sweat off his upper lip.

“Soon after, he heard the commandant yelling at mistresses

Tiya and Meryet, ordering them to silence the children and keep them out of his way.” Tiya was Thuty’s wife and

Meryet his concubine. The many small children of the household were always underfoot, usually ignored by their unabashedly tolerant father.

“Oh-oh,” Nebwa murmured.

Bak muttered an oath. Thuty could be erratic at times, but he was basically a fair man. What could the viceroy’s message have contained that would make him strike out at those closest to him?

“He’s a mid-level bureaucrat! Storekeeper of Amon!”

Commandant Thuty’s voice pulsed with fury. “What can our sovereign be thinking? A man like that. One who doesn’t know a thing about the army, probably doesn’t know how to heft a spear or even march in step, and he’s supposed to inspect the fortresses of Wawat!” Thuty raised a fist and smashed it down hard on the arm of his chair.

“By the beard of Amon! What malign spirit has possessed her?”

Bak exchanged a quick look with Nebwa, standing be side him before the commandant. Normally lacking in tact, too honest and straightforward to exercise patience, Nebwa had for once been silenced, as unwilling to break in on the tirade as Bak was. Neither had seen fit to pass on the ru mors they had heard in the market.

“Not even Inebny, the viceroy, the most powerful man in Wawat and Kush, can stop that wretched inspection. Do you know why?”

“No, sir,” Bak and Nebwa chorused. The fact that Thuty had not thought to offer them seats or beer to quench their thirst was a measure of his anger.

Thuty bounded onto his feet and stalked across his pri vate reception room to the open door. He was a short, pow erful man, with thick dark brows and a strong chin thrust forward under a tight, angry mouth. The courtyard outside was as still as a tomb sealed for eternity. To attain such rare peace, Tiya and Meryet must have removed their chil dren from the building.

“He’s our sovereign’s cousin!” Thuty spat out. “Cousin to Maatkare Hatshepsut herself. One who crawled the cor ridors of power as a babe and who’s walked them ever since. One well-practiced in pleasing the most lofty of the land.”

“I don’t see the point, sir.” Bak ran his thumb under the waistband of his kilt, trying to displace some of the grit collected there. He felt as dirty as Nebwa looked. “The viceroy inspects the fortresses on a regular basis. Why would she send another man to tread in his footsteps?”

“Doesn’t she trust Inebny?” Nebwa asked.

Thuty gave the pair a surprised look, as if it had never occurred to him that in all his ranting and raving he might not have made himself clear. “Why aren’t you two seated?

Where’s the beer I ordered for us?” He walked out into the courtyard and yelled for a servant to bring the beverage.

Nebwa winked at Bak, who returned a quick smile and glanced around the room in search of something to sit on.

Weapons were stacked against the wall. Toys were scat tered across the floor and on every chest, table, and stool.

Beside Thuty’s armchair, a basket overflowed with scrolls.

He brushed the playing pieces for a game of senet into the drawer of a game table and set several child-sized bowls on top, freeing a stool for its proper use. Nebwa grabbed a portable camp stool in one hand and with the other scooped up from the floor a rag doll, a wooden pull toy, and several balls, and threw them into a basket. Practicing, Bak as sumed, for the time when his baby son would reach an age to clutter.

Marching back to his chair, Thuty adjusted the thick, colorful pillow and dropped onto it. While the two younger men settled themselves before him, he rubbed his forehead, his eyes, the stubble on his chin. Not until the servant had come and gone and each man had sampled the thick, acrid brew in his jar did he begin to speak. He sounded tired, worn down by his outburst.

“Amonked, storekeeper of Amon, is this very instant on his way upriver, inspecting the fortresses of Wawat. Ac cording to Inebny-warned by several dependable sources in the royal house-our sovereign has dismissed as of no consequence our military actions against raiding tribesmen who covet what by right is ours. She wants to shut down most of the fortresses along the Belly of Stones and turn the rest into storehouses for trade goods traveling up and down the river. The army would be pared down to a few men. The bureaucrats would reign supreme.”

So the rumor is true, Bak thought, appalled. No wonder

Thuty is so upset.

As commandant of Buhen, the largest fully manned for tified city on the frontier, Thuty loosely administered the chain of ten fortresses strung farther south along the seg ment of river known as the Belly of Stones. This was a most rugged, desolate, and arid land, and the river was filled with rapids and small islands, making navigation im possible except at the highest flood stage. Even then, ships could only make the voyage with extreme difficulty and at great peril. Much of the year, trade goods were carried past the Belly of Stones on donkey caravans traveling the desert trail alongside the river. Troops were garrisoned in the area to protect and control traffic through this natural corridor, collect tribute and tolls, and conduct punitive military expeditions. None of these tasks was of sufficient importance to earn a man the gold of valor, but Bak had no doubt of their necessity.

“We’ve blinded the woman with our success,” Nebwa growled. “If we’d ever lost a gold caravan or if one of her precious envoys had been carried off to the desert to stand as a hostage in exchange for riches, she’d not be so quick to dismiss us as useless.”

“Does Menkheperre Thutmose know of this?” Bak asked. The young man of whom he spoke was Maatkare

Hatshepsut’s stepson and nephew, co-ruler in name only, the individual many people believed to be the sole rightful heir to the throne. While she resided in Waset surrounded by loyal advisers, the youth lived in the northern capital of