“We were getting ready to leave when they came.”
“I’m Lieutenant Bak, a police officer passing through
Waset. I stand at the head of a company of Medjays who at present have nothing to do. If you’ll permit me, I’ll send for a few of them. They can ease your path through this city.”
The man stood proud and unyielding. “I thank you but no.
We’ve been here four days and this is the first…” The woman laid a trembling hand on his arm and gave him a pleading look. “We’ll accept your kind offer,” he said.
“I’m grateful for your help,” Karoya said. “If I’d had to summon my men, those vile rogues would either have heard my whistle and gotten away or, in their eagerness to hurt a man they considered of no account, would’ve…” He shrugged. “The lord Amon alone knows how far they’d have gone.”
“You couldn’t have faced them alone,” Imsiba said in a grim voice.
“Thanks to the gods, we came upon them when we did.”
Bak veered around a scattering of reddish pottery shards ly ing in a puddle of oil spilled by one of the many merchants who had come to Waset for the recent celebration of the
Beautiful Feast of Opet. During the festivities, a greatly ex panded market had lined the waterfront. Now back to nor mal, a dozen or so stalls served the needs of the nearby dwellings and the sailors passing through. “That kind of senseless hatred can drive a man into an uncontrollable and vicious frenzy, almost impossible to rein in.”
The three friends walked on in companionable silence.
Thoughts of what could have happened were driven away by the pleasure they took in each other’s company and the spo radic breeze that almost made bearable the stifling midday heat. The ships moored along the waterfront rocked gently on swells so shallow they barely rippled the river’s surface.
Their hulls creaked, a loose corner of sail flapped against a yard. Ducks, their heads hidden under their wings, rested in the shade cast by the vessels, while a lone egret walked from rock to rock along the water’s edge, searching for insects.
Sailors assigned to guard duty sat with drooping eyes or lay snoring in any bit of shade they could find.
“When do you sail north to Mennufer?” Karoya asked.
“The day after tomorrow, I suspect.” Bak looked upstream toward the large cargo ship Imsiba’s wife had recently pur chased, the vessel that would carry them to their new post and a life far different from that on the southern frontier. Two smaller ships moored nearby would accompany them, carry ing men and supplies too numerous for the one vessel.
“Commandant Thuty must first appear before our sovereign,
Maatkare Hatshepsut herself, to offer obeisance as the new commandant of the garrison there. The vizier suggested he report tomorrow morning to the royal house.”
“I can’t tell you how much I’ll miss you.”
“I, too, will feel a loss.” Bak, who disliked saying good bye, made his voice light, teasing. “We’ll surely meet an other time. Perhaps you’ll someday be posted in Mennufer.”
Karoya chose to ignore the jest. “I’d counted on going hunting with you in the desert. If I ask Commandant Thuty to come along, do you think he’d delay your departure?”
“Best we leave right away,” Imsiba said, only half joking,
“before Amonked finds another excuse to keep Bak in
Waset.”
Amonked was cousin to Maatkare Hatshepsut. He had grown fond of Bak, and had also come to depend upon him to solve any serious crime occurring in the southern capital.
Thuty, who was determined that Bak and his Medjays would serve with him in Mennufer, would not rest easy until he was well on his way to his new post, with officer and men by his side.
“Amonked bade goodbye to all of us last night,” Bak said.
“You were there; you heard him.”
“Nonetheless…”
Bak had to laugh. What could possibly happen at this late date to prevent his accompanying his Medjays and his com mandant to Mennufer?
“I’m amazed at how many possessions you men have col lected since arriving in Waset. You’ve been here a month, no longer.” Scowling, Bak looked around the courtyard of the building where they had been quartered since coming from
Buhen. Much of the area was stacked high with baskets and chests and bundles. “I’ve always believed women to be more easily lured by wares than are men. I see I err.”
The entire company of Medjays stood among their belong ings, looking everywhere but at him, unable to meet his eyes.
“I know you were on the frontier for a long time, far from a market displaying the innumerable desirable objects found in Waset, but you’ll find as many if not more available in
Mennufer. I suggest you get rid of…”
Moans, groans, and yelps of dismay cut him short.
Sergeants Psuro and Pashenuro exchanged a glance, each silently urging the other to speak up for the men. Bak won dered how many of the bundles belonged to them.
Pashenuro, a short, stout man, second among the Medjays to Imsiba, cleared his throat. “Sir, you gave the men garrison tokens to use as they wished during the Beautiful Feast of
Opet. It’s to their credit that they chose to buy objects they especially like or can use in the future rather than waste them on beer or women.”
“We thought it best to use the tokens here, sir, close to the garrison that issued them.” Psuro, thick of body with a face scarred by some childhood disease, looked as if even he was not convinced by that feeble argument.
Bak smothered a smile. “Commandant Thuty and his wife will not be pleased to find no space left on deck for their household goods.”
“They’re already on board,” Imsiba said, striding through the portal from the lane, “as are my own household items. I fear all heavy objects you men have acquired must be stowed in the holds of the smaller ships, the rest wherever we can make room.”
The chubby police scribe Hori, followed by the large, floppy-eared white dog the youth had rescued as a puppy, hurried through the entry. “You’re all packed? Good. We’re ready to load your belongings, everything but your sleeping pallets and cooking bowls. Keep them here with you; you’ll need them tonight.”
Bak stood aside to watch his men gather up and carry off the weapons in the police arsenal and their personal belongings. His own clothing and weapons had been loaded earlier, along with Hori’s possessions and the few police records they had brought from Buhen. He planned to cross the river at dusk to spend the night and bid goodbye to his father and the two fine chariot horses he had kept as his own when he had been exiled to Buhen. He had thought to take them with him to Mennufer, but had decided to wait to see what the fu ture held. A future of promise, he was sure. He felt sad about parting from his father, but looked forward to the journey north and a new life in the northern capital.
As he watched the men and listened to their chatter, so comfortable in his presence they had no need to guard their tongues, his heart swelled with an affection he knew they shared. Thanks to the generosity of Commandant Thuty, they had all been given the opportunity to remain together and serve in Mennufer as a single unit.
A tall, tough-looking Medjay policeman strode toward the exit. He carried a thick bundle of spears on his shoulder and held a wooden cage containing two doves, which he treas ured above all things. At the sound of footsteps in the lane outside, he backed away from the portal.
Thuty walked into the courtyard, let his eyes slide over the
Medjay, who was too burdened to salute, and stopped in front of Bak. “Here you are, Lieutenant. We’ve been looking for you.” He was a short, broad man with well-defined muscles that rippled beneath his oiled skin. His mouth, normally hard-set, was more unyielding than usual.
Troop Captain Nebwa, second-in-command to the com mandant, crossed the threshold behind his superior officer, clapped the Medjay on his free shoulder, and nodded at Bak.