Lauren Haney: Face Turned Backward

“Userhet and Mahu are neighbors,” Bak said. “They often play the game of senet together.”

Imsiba gave the pair a sour look. “I’ve always thought Mahu too upright a man to use friends in lofty places to gain an advantage.”

“You know how fond of himself Userhet is! He’d not be here if he thought a shadow would fall anywhere near him, darkening his precious reputation.”

“Mahu’s reputation is equally spotless, my friend, but if Userhet pleads his case, insisting he sail out of Buhen without an inspection, I’d say ‘tarnished’ could better be used to describe them both.”

“I see you’ve a way with words, Sergeant.” A tall, slender man of thirty or so years emerged from the gloom of the passageway behind them, his eyes twinkling with good humor. Though his face was bony and pocked, ravaged by some childhood disease, he was a man of elegant movements and infinite grace, wearing a broad collar, bracelets, and armlets. Each piece of jewelry was a treat to the eye, with every bead made of gold, carnelian, turquoise, or lapis lazuli-not the bronze and faience affairs worn by most everyone else in Buhen.

“Hapuseneb!” Bak was never quite sure how he should treat this man, the most successful trader south of the land of Kemet. So he had long ago opted for equality. “I didn’t expect to see you in Buhen!” He glanced toward the quay, though he knew none of the merchant’s ships were moored there. “How did you get here?”

“You see that magnificent vessel with the patched yellow sail?” Hapuseneb pointed to a small, very ordinary fishing boat riding the swells near the water’s edge. “I borrowed it last night and sailed in from Kor, where my own ship lan-guishes-thanks to your friend Nebwa.”

“Don’t tell me he caught you smuggling contraband!” Bak laughed.

The merchant gave a cynical snort. “One of my caravan masters, a man of no sense whatsoever, tried to bring three 34 / Lauren Haney young women across the frontier without passes. Nebwa impounded the lot: women, donkeys, and trade goods. He can keep the women through eternity, for all I care, but I want my donkeys returned, and the merchandise they carry.

As I couldn’t persuade him to release them, I came to Buhen, hoping to convince Thuty so we can soon load my ship and sail north to Kemet.” He shook his head in mock resignation.

“He agreed, but only if I sail into Buhen and submit to a second search. The viceroy’s command, it seems, is of greater influence than my poor cries for understanding.”

Smiling at his own joke, Hapuseneb knelt at the water’s edge, drew the borrowed skiff in close, and stepped aboard.

Bak and Imsiba turned away and led their inspection crew on down the quay.

“Hapuseneb seems a good man,” Imsiba said. “I wish more were like him. Quicker to accept this task we must do and slower to complain.”

Bak slowed his pace as they approached the gangplank and lowered his voice so no one else would hear. “If we find no ivory through the week, and if Nebwa finds none at Kor, we’ll speak to Commandant Thuty. By then we’ll have inconvenienced and angered a sufficient number of men to convince the viceroy we’ve done our duty. With luck, he’ll consign these blanket inspections to the netherworld.”

“Oh, I don’t blame you, Lieutenant.” Userhet glanced at Imsiba and the men standing by the gangplank, awaiting Bak’s signal to board. “I’m sure you’d much rather be elsewhere.”

“Yes, sir,” Bak said, using formality to distance himself from potential argument.

“I understand Commandant Thuty received a message from the viceroy, ordering a widespread search for contraband.” Userhet paused, giving Bak a chance to comment, perhaps to confirm or deny, maybe even go so far as to fill in details.

“The commandant seldom confides in me, sir.”

“How many ships have you inspected so far? Two? Three? And you must’ve examined half the fishing boats along this part of the river and most of the ferries. Yet you’ve brought nothing to the treasury, nor have you turned in anything of lesser value to the main storage magazine.”

“No, sir.”

Close to the end of the previous day Nebwa’s sergeant had confiscated a cage of half-grown monkeys suffering from starvation and thirst. Maybe the overseer had not yet heard about the animals-or maybe he did not consider them of value.

Userhet frowned, tried again. “To search every vessel and come up empty-handed seems a waste of time. Yours and that of everyone else.”

Mahu laid a hand on his shoulder. “We live on the frontier, my young friend. We’re bound to be inconvenienced once in a while. Especially men like me, who come and go time and time again, more often than not carrying valuable and rare cargo.”

“Your reputation is above reproach,” Userhet insisted. “You shouldn’t be subjected to such an indignity. If I had the authority, I’d send you on your way this instant.”

“I appreciate the thought and I’m grateful,” Mahu smiled,

“but even if you could, I wouldn’t accept. What would my fellow seamen think if I were allowed to slip away unscathed while they are forced to submit?”

Bak had thought Mahu a pleasant man; the statement earned him respect. “We should be finished before midday, sir.”

“Lieutenant Bak!” Hori’s voice, insistent, urgent.

Bak swung around, saw the chubby youth running down the quay, clutching his scribal pallet under his arm.

The boy slid to a halt, took a couple of deep breaths. “Sir, there’s been a shipwreck! A long day’s walk to the north. It must’ve happened during the storm.” He paused, wiped the sweat from his face. “Captain Ramose found it at first light.

You must go, sir. The crewmen are gone-either drowned or run away-and the cargo has vanished.

“Not long before dusk, we found a sheltered spot at the mouth of a dry watercourse, a desert wadi. Captain Ramose deemed it safe and there we tied up for the night-unaware of what lay just around a stony ridge, awaiting discovery.”

Tjanuny, the oarsman Bak had chastened the previous day, paused for dramatic effect.

Imsiba, who sat at Tjanuny’s back, oars shipped while the current sped the skiff downstream, tore his gaze from the east bank along which they sailed and rolled his eyes skyward. Stifling a smile, Bak stared expectantly at the wiry sailor. Soon after arriving in Buhen, he had learned that the people of this wretched land enjoyed nothing more than playing games with their betters. Patience, he had discovered, gave them the chance to amuse themselves and gave him the answers he needed, but he dared not inspire exaggeration by a show of too deep an interest.

“The wadi goes back some distance but is narrow, and the water at its mouth is deep. The banks rise steep and rocky, leaving no space for crops.” Tjanuny scratched a flank, stole a look at Bak. “I and three of my fellows left the ship to walk along the water’s edge. We thought it a good place to search for wood and other items of small value flung ashore by the storm.”

Bak eyed the land sweeping by to either side, a poor, thirsty land where the term “of small value” was the literal truth. To the west, a blanket of sand bleached white-gold by the midday sun clung to the top of the escarpment, sometimes creeping down a long-dry wadi or drifting over the dark cliffs to be nibbled away by the swollen river. Now and again the escarpment drew back, making room for a narrow floodplain of rich black soil that sustained a number of small villages.

Palms, tamarisks, and acacias, their roots soaked by the receding waters, edged fields, ditches, and the river. Men plowed the higher, dryer land, drawing clouds of birds to the overturned earth and the worms and insects thus exposed.