Lauren Haney: Curse of Silence

He patted her fat knee, covered by the long white shift she wore. “Now admit it, old woman. You’d miss me and the tasks I set you.”

“Like I’d miss a thorn in the sole of my foot.” Her voice was gruff, but her eyes twinkled.

Laughing softly, Bak stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. “The inspector is named Amonked.

Cousin to our sovereign.”

She stared at him, thinking thoughts he found impossible to read but suspected would cost him dearly. Suddenly she began to chuckle. “Storekeeper of Amon. Not much of a task, if you ask me. I’d have thought his unquestioning devotion worth far more than that to our sovereign.”

“You never cease to amaze me,” Bak admitted, laughing.

“Did you know every man in the capital?”

“I knew of Amonked, that’s all.” She glanced at Amon aya coming through the door, carrying a basket filled with beer jars. The youth drew a low table close, set his burden on top, and hurried away. “He never came to the place of business where I toiled, nor did I ever see him when I was summoned elsewhere to entertain men of status or worth.”

Bak reached for a jar, broke the dried mud plug that sealed it, and handed the drink to her. She had once been young and beautiful, a courtesan who had counted princes among her customers, so he had been told by a man who had known her long ago. The years had stolen her good looks but not her memories, unpleasant for her but good fortune for him. Prying those memories from her oft times took more patience than the lord Amon himself possessed, but the knowledge she passed on was well worth the effort.

The knucklebones clattered, a man moaned, and Nebwa burst through the door. He grabbed a jar from the basket, broke the plug, and swung around to hand it to Seshu, close behind. Both men’s hair was damp, betraying a recent dip in the river, and both wore spotless white thigh-length kilts similar to the garment Bak wore.

“Look at the two of them,” Nebwa said, eyes darting from Bak to Nofery and back again. “As somber as a priest and a god’s chantress.”

Seshu walked up to Nofery, smiled, patted her cheek.

“Nice chair, my dear. As the most delightful woman on the southern frontier, it befits you.”

Bak choked on a laugh, and Nebwa looked uncertain how to react. To treat the old woman in so impudent a manner required either a strong friendship or uncommon courage. She guffawed, laughing so hard the tears flowed, and Seshu with her. The two officers joined in.

When the laughter died away, Bak asked Seshu, “Did you agree to lead Amonked’s caravan?”

“I did.” The caravan master found two stools and drew them close, offering one to Nebwa. “I can’t say I like the swine’s purpose. Without the army manning the garrisons along the Belly of Stones, the land of Kemet may as well surrender the whole of Wawat. But… well, I couldn’t re fuse the task. I know better than most the marauding tribes who make sporadic raids along the Belly of Stones-and there’s the rumor about Hor-pen-Deshret.”

“A tale as false as a ceremonial wig,” Nebwa stated with conviction.

Ignoring a certitude he obviously did not share, Seshu said, “I’d never rest easy if I turned my back and let this caravan walk into trouble. Not only Amonked could be injured or slain, but many drovers as well.”

“I’ve heard of no recent raids,” Nofery said.

“There’ve been none.” Seshu rested both hands on his knees, his beer jar between them. “The tribesmen have been quiet this year, staying well clear of the river, because water has been plentiful on the desert and food has been available for animals and men. From what I hear, none of the wa terholes has dried up, and most of the oases are lush. But that doesn’t mean they’ll ignore temptation.” He paused, drank from his jar, added, “I can’t see a man of Amonked’s status traveling with as few amenities as you and I would.”

The four looked at one another, sobered by his words.

They, like all who lived on the frontier, knew how fierce tribesmen could be when tempted by sufficient bounty. All three men had firsthand experience, having personally faced desert raiders in combat, while Nofery had seen caravans straggle into the fortress with most of the donkeys strayed or stolen and more men dead than alive.

Rather than belabor the point, Bak took a fresh beer for himself and passed replacements to the others. “Nofery was about to reveal her deepest, darkest secrets.”

“Aha!” Seshu’s brow cleared, his voice grew husky with false emotion. “Have you been holding out on me, my love?”

A smile flitted across her face. “We were speaking of

Amonked as a youth. As I told Bak, I didn’t know him. He was younger than I, and not one to spend time in houses of pleasure. Still, the world of the nobility is small, and I knew of him.”

She reached down to pet the great tawny cat, making him purr. “Amonked was reputed to be a nice, good-natured boy, a favorite of Hatshepsut, then a princess. The king’s first and most favored daughter, spoiled by both mother and father. He was her shadow, a child she could always depend upon to do her bidding.” Nofery’s expression darkened, her voice turned grim. “Unless he’s changed, he’ll see she gets her way even if he firmly believes the army should retain control of the Belly of Stones.”

“He surely doesn’t expect to travel upriver with so many people! So many belongings!” Seshu stared, appalled, at the seven ships standing off Buhen, preparing to moor at two of the three stone quays reaching into the river. “Look at those decks!” he exclaimed, pointing down from the tall fortified wall on which he stood with Bak and Imsiba.

“Each and every one piled high. Baskets and chests. Carry ing chairs. Jars of all sizes…”

“Filled with fine wines and oils, no doubt,” Imsiba said, wrinkling his nose in disapproval.

“He’s brought along at least two women.” Bak shaded his eyes with a hand, lessening the sun’s glare on the water.

“Do you see them? They’re seated in the pavilion set against the deckhouse of the foremost traveling ship. The one with the red and white banners flying from the mast head.”

“Commandant Thuty must stop this madness,” Seshu said. “We haven’t enough donkeys in the whole of Wawat to carry everything I see on those decks.”

The caravan master was exaggerating, at least in part.

The ships’ crews would remain behind, and their nonper ishable rations were undoubtedly a good portion of the cargo.

More than a week had passed since the commandant had first announced Amonked’s inspection. Now Bak and his companions awaited their first look at the storekeeper of

Amon and his inspection party. A cool northerly breeze blew across the battlements, alleviating the heat of the mid morning sun, bright and intense in a brilliant blue sky. A dog stood at the river’s edge, barking at a turtle secure within its shell.

Except for three little boys tormenting a small brownish snake, the two stone terraces overlooking the harbor were empty of life. The residents of Buhen, men, women, and children who rarely missed the opportunity to watch the arrival of visiting dignitaries, had failed to appear. Instead of crowding the terraces and chattering with excitement, instead of raising their voices in greeting, they had refused to welcome the man they feared would destroy their way of life.

“Careful!” Bak murmured half to himself as a broad beamed cargo ship swung across the strong midstream cur rent, heading toward the upriver side of the southern quay.

The vessel rode low under a heavy load. The oarsmen toiled to the beat of a drum, rowing with an urgency visible from a distance. The helmsman yelled orders impossible to distinguish so far away, but the stridence of his voice be trayed a concern at docking so large a ship in unfamiliar waters. A large group of men, soldiers armed with spears and shields, stood on the deck, poised to abandon ship if need be.