At the door of the commandant’s private reception room, they saw that Amonked had arrived ahead of them. Seated with Thuty amid a clutter of toys, stools, and baskets filled with scrolls, he occupied an armless wooden chair that looked suspiciously like the one Nofery had acquired from
Waset. Had the commandant, who would not give up his own chair for anyone of less importance than the viceroy, borrowed her treasure in recognition of his guest’s lofty position?
“I must admit I’m looking forward to going home,”
Amonked said, smiling at the newcomers. “To seeing my wife again, to sleeping in my own bedchamber, to having at my beck and call servants and scribes who fill my days with ease and comfort.”
“I regret our inability to provide such luxuries,” Thuty said in a wry voice.
“I’m in no way being critical, Thuty. I understand the limitations of distance and difficult passage.” Amonked gave the younger officers a satisfied smile. “I should. After all, I trod many miles through this land of Wawat along a desert trail unfit for any but the most hardy-man and beast alike.”
“Frankly, sir, you surprised us all.” Bak, pulling up a stool, tempered his words with a smile. “When first we saw you, we thought you’d never forsake your carrying chair.
Instead, you seldom used it, allowing Thaneny to ride in stead.”
“Thaneny.” Amonked’s demeanor grew sorrowful. “He, like Sennefer, wanted to see the world beyond Waset.
Should I feel glad I allowed him a few weeks of enjoyment, or should I regret for the rest of my life that I brought him along?”
Bak could think of no answer other than to point out that
Thaneny had been spared a lifetime of yearning for a woman who treated him with disdain. Still, was not the world a better place to dwell than the netherworld? He kept the thought to himself.
Nebwa, clearing toys from a low bench and drawing it forward, cut through the uncomfortable silence. “I, for one, would never have guessed you’d one day stand at my side, dagger in hand, holding off a contingent of thieving tribes men. You never once mentioned you knew how to use that or any other weapon-and with skill, too.”
The inspector patted his stomach. “I wasn’t always this plump, you know.”
“I wish you were returning to Waset with more to show for your effort,” Thuty said, frowning at Bak and Nebwa, clearly referring to the many men they had allowed to re turn to the desert and the escape of Hor-pen-Deshret.
Amonked raised a hand, halting the reproach. “I’ll shoulder the blame if blame is to be had. It won’t be the first time I’ve stood before our sovereign empty-handed, nor will it be the last.”
“I pray she doesn’t hold it against you when you rec ommend that our army continue to occupy the fortresses along the Belly of Stones. You will make that recommen dation, won’t you?” The commandant seemed never to hear often enough the reassurance he sought.
“With Hor-pen-Deshret free, I can do no less.” Amon ked’s eyes met Thuty’s with no hint of deceit.
Bak and Nebwa exchanged a conspiratorial glance.
Thuty noticed, gave them a thoughtful, rather suspicious look. He had the good sense to remain silent.
Bak stood with Nebwa and Seshu atop the towered gate that opened onto the central quay, an ideal vantage point from which to watch the departing flotilla. Thuty, standing on the quay with the priests of the lord Horus of Buhen and the same local princes who had welcomed the inspector so long ago, waved a farewell. Amonked, on the deck of his ship, returned the salute as his sailors stowed away the gangplank. Imsiba stood behind the official party at the head of the guard of honor Thuty had deemed appropriate for the departing official. The day was bright and clear, the breeze sporadic and changeable in direction. The air smelled clean and fresh, unaccountably free of dust.
The terraces at the base of the fortress wall were jammed with people, every soldier in the garrison jostling for space with the civilians who dwelt within and with many dozens of people from the nearby villages. Rumors abounded all along the Belly of Stones that the inspector would recom mend that the army remain. Amonked had boarded his ship amid cheers and whistles and clapping, an uproar of grat itude and good feeling.
“Amonked is a fine man,” Nebwa said. “It’s a pity he’s not in a position to inherit the throne.”
Bak watched the inspector’s ship swing slowly away from the quay. The song of the oarsmen and the beat of the accompanying drum carried across the water. “Some times an adviser who stands behind the throne, whispering in a ruler’s ear, has more power than the ruler herself.”
“According to Nofery,” Seshu reminded them, “he’s a follower, not a leader.”
Nebwa grinned. “So am I, but that’s not prevented me from rising through the ranks.”
“Whether he’d be a good ruler or a bad one is of no significance,” Bak said. “Menkheperre Thutmose will one day sit on the throne, and he’ll be a remarkable king.”
Seshu laughed. “Do I detect a bias in his favor, Lieuten ant?”
“Do you see what I see?” Nebwa chortled. “Amonked holding out his hand, inviting Nefret onto the deck with him. I was sure he’d have nothing more to do with her, that he was prepared to send her back to her father.”
“Maybe he’s forgiven her for all her complaints.” Seshu eyed Sennefer’s ship, following Amonked’s out of the har bor, its colorful banners flapping in the breeze. “We didn’t hear a word out of her all the way north from Askut.”
Bak recalled the quiet, solemn-faced young woman who had kept very much to herself from the day she rejoined the caravan. If Amonked had talked with her, making peace, he had not done so until they arrived at Buhen. “She said nothing to me, but according to Sennefer, Thaneny’s death distressed her greatly.”
“And so it should,” Seshu said with feeling.
“I’d wager Lieutenant Ahmose’s wife taught her a thing or two,” Nebwa said. “She and the other women stuck on that godforsaken island.”
Bak’s eyes shifted to the great cargo ship making a smooth exit from its mooring place-thanks to the captain of the vessel owned by Imsiba’s wife. An experienced ship’s master, he stood on the forecastle, shouting orders, easing the hull away from the quay. Sitamon had volun teered his services and Amonked had readily accepted, re calling the vessel’s less than graceful and potentially dangerous arrival at Buhen.
Amonked’s ship, he saw, had begun to swing northward for its downstream voyage. The drummer beat a quicker tattoo, the oarsmen followed with a louder, faster song that paced the swifter strokes of their oars. Pawah ran across the deck to stand with his master and the concubine. He waved farewell to Commandant Thuty and his party on the quay. Amonked pointed upward, toward the men on the battlements. The boy waved again, this time with the verve of one bidding good-bye to men he considered close friends. The inspector followed suit.
The trio stood at the railing for some time, looking back at Buhen as if reluctant to see the last of a place to which they would probably never return. When they finally turned away, tiny figures in the distance, Amonked placed one arm around Nefret’s slender waist and another around Pawah’s thin shoulders.
For all their sakes, Bak prayed the closeness would con tinue through eternity.