by Lauren Haney
“I once was a charioteer.” Bak spoke automatically, his at tention focused on the animals on deck.
Sixteen horses, blacks and bays, each tied securely within adjoining stalls erected in front of the deckhouse. The ani mals’ neighing was loud and unnatural, sharp with alarm.
They flung their heads wildly, trying to rear up, to tear them selves free of the bounds that held them in place. Their hooves pounded the wooden deck, their flanks slammed against the plank walls of their stalls. Something on board that ship had frightened them, and that fear was building upon itself, driving them wild.
“What the…?” Nebwa slid to a halt at Bak’s side.
Imsiba ran up to join them, frowning. “Something’s very wrong, my friend. A snake, do you think?”
“Horses are valuable animals,” Nebwa growled, “much too costly to leave untended.”
“If most of the crew were given leave,” Imsiba said, “and only two or three remained, a viper would set them running fast enough.”
“Summon the harbor patrol,” Bak told the boys. “Ask if they’ve any men who know horses. We must lead them off that ship as quickly as possible, and we could use some help.”
“Yes, sir.” Wide-eyed with excitement, the one boy shoved the puppy into his mother’s arms and together they raced away.
Bak dashed up the gangplank which, he thanked the gods, had been left in place. Nebwa and Imsiba followed close on his heels. They stopped at the top and looked around, searching for the reason for the horses’ panic. Other than the animals, they saw no sign of life. No sailors, no guards, no ship’s master. Nothing but mounds of cargo lashed to the deck, none of which looked as if it had been disturbed by a man bent on theft, but all of which could hide a reptile.
A more likely place of refuge for a snake was the bow, where a dozen bags of grain were stacked in front of the forecastle beside a large mound of sheaved straw and hay. A stack of empty sacks, as well as loose grain and bits of straw and fodder littering the deck, spoke of a lengthy voyage dur ing which a considerable amount of feed had been con sumed by the horses.
Nebwa spoke aloud what they all were thinking: “Who, in the name of the lord Amon, would abandon a shipload of horses with a snake on board? You’d think they’d at least have left a man to stand watch at the gangplank while the others summoned help.”
“We must first tend to the horses. When they’re safe, we can seek an answer to that question.” Bak’s eyes raked the deck, settled on a tunic someone had flung onto the forecas tle railing. He scooped it up, swung around, and eyed his two friends, neither of whom had any knowledge of horses.
“Find a dead end lane in which we can hold these animals,
Imsiba.”
“Yes, my friend,” the Medjay said and hurried off.
Bak turned to Nebwa. “If I can calm them one at a time, can you lead them to Imsiba?”
“Just tell me what I must do,” the troop captain growled, eyeing the animals with undisguised mistrust. He had grown to manhood on the southern frontier and had dwelt there al ways. He had never been near a horse in his life.
Thanking his friend with a grim smile, Bak walked slowly to the closest stall, speaking softly to the horse inside, a bay mare with a white blaze between her eyes. She looked to be carrying young. Nebwa stood a couple paces away, scanning the deck, ready to lash out with his baton of office should a snake slither through the loose straw spread on the floor of the stalls.
Bak had no idea how tame the mare was-or any of the other horses, for that matter. The ship was built and fitted like a vessel of Kemet, but since far more horses were im ported than exported, he suspected they had been brought from some distant land. Which meant the mare had been on board for some time. As far as he was concerned, no sane man would ship a wild horse for any distance at all.
Therefore, he had to assume she was fairly tame, at least partly trained, and somewhat trustful of man.
Throwing the tunic, which smelled of sweat, over his shoulder, willing himself to forget the snake, to concentrate on the one horse and ignore the others, the noise they were making, their terror, he held out a hand. The mare pulled away, whinnied with fear. He forced himself to be patient, to speak softly, gently, revealing no hint of how anxious he was to get her out of that stall, how much he feared the other an imals would work themselves into so frenzied a state that one or more would break a leg or knock down a wall and do serious damage to itself and another.
Slowly, oh so slowly the mare began to calm down. He sensed that the horse in the next stall was also growing qui eter, a good sign that no snake was close by. Again he held out a hand, offering friendship. The mare whinnied in fright, but did not back off. He cautiously leaned over the wall and reached for her rope halter. She jerked away. He remained where he was, leaning toward her, hand held out between them, and continued to speak to her, to cajole her. At last she turned her head and warily sniffed his hand. Soothing her with gentle words, he caught hold of the halter, eased her head around, and rubbed her muzzle.
In no time at all, she allowed him into the stall. He hated to blind her, but decided he couldn’t trust her outside the en closure and especially on the gangplank. He flung the tunic over her head. Talking all the while, he led the trembling mare out of the stall, across the deck, and onto the gang plank. She snorted and held back as she felt the slope be neath her hooves, but she obeyed.
Nebwa, who had spoken not a word throughout, followed them onto the shore, staying well clear lest he frighten the horse. A unit of harbor patrolmen awaited them at the bot tom of the gangplank. The officer who stood at their head or dered the men back, giving the mare plenty of room and no reason to fear. With solid ground beneath her feet and Bak’s soothing voice filling her ears, her trembling subsided. He tore the tunic from her head and handed her over to Nebwa who, talking to her as gently as Bak had, led her to the mouth of a narrow lane where Imsiba waited.
The patrol officer came forward and identified himself as
Lieutenant Karoya. He was a tall, slim young Medjay who had a tribal tattoo on his left upper arm. “Well done, sir.”
“I hope some of your men know horses, Lieutenant.
We’ve fifteen more to take off that ship.”
“I’ve three men who can help. All served as archers in the regiment of Amon and were assigned to chariotry compa nies.” Beckoning the trio, he studied the ship and its excited cargo. “Have you any idea what’s frightening them, sir?”
“A snake, we think. We’ll need three or four men with cudgels to keep watch.”
A half hour later, Bak led the last animal off the ship.
“Now,” he said to Karoya, “let’s see what made those horses so afraid.” He let his eyes travel over the empty stalls and the hay and grain at the bow. “The lord Amon alone knows what we’ll find.”
The young officer nodded. “I saw the ship arrive this morning, a couple of hours before you summoned me, but I paid no heed after that. With so many people coming early for the festival and the market so busy…” He smiled rue fully. “Well, you can imagine how it is, sir. Many vile crimi nals have come to prey upon the law-abiding.”
A harbor patrolman took the horse from Bak and led it to the mouth of the dead end lane. There several other mem bers of the harbor patrol were preparing to lead the calmed and willing animals to the garrison stables, where they would be cared for until their owner could be found. Nebwa, whose lofty rank would cut short any official resistance, would go with them.
Bak suggested that he, Karoya, Imsiba, and a half dozen harbor patrolmen conduct a sweeping search of the deck, be ginning at the bow. After the young officer sent the rest of his men off to keep an eye on the market, they crossed the gangplank and walked forward.
While his mates stood by, brandishing their cudgels, one of the harbor patrolmen took up the long pole used to probe the depths of the river so the vessel would not run aground and prodded the sheaves of fodder and hay in front of the forecastle. A low
moan sounded from within the mound.
Bak and the others looked at each other, startled. The patrol man cautiously dug away the straw. In moments, he exposed two sailors bound tightly together. Both were senseless, but one had begun to come around.
Bak exchanged a worried glance with Imsiba and Karoya.
No snake had attacked these men. They had no doubt been left to guard the cargo. If the horses, as valuable as they were, had not been taken, what else of value had been on board?
Leaving Imsiba to bring the sailors to their senses and the patrolmen to continue their sweep of the deck, Bak hurried sternward. The smells of hay and manure dwindled as he walked alongside the deckhouse, a lightweight, portable structure built of slim poles walled and roofed with colorful reed mats woven in a chevron pattern. In air less pungent, he caught a whiff of an all-too-familiar metallic odor. Mutter ing an oath, he swept aside the mat that covered the doorway and looked inside. The interior was gloomy, heavily shad owed, but the man on the floor lay in the long slab of light that entered through the opening. Bak had no doubt he was dead. His throat had been cut, the wound deep and gaping.
His head and upper body lay in a pool of drying blood.
Smelling death, the horses had panicked.
“Karoya!” he called.
Taking care not to step in the reddish puddle, he knelt be side the body. The weapon was nowhere in sight, but it had to have been fairly long and very sharp and the man who wielded it strong.
Karoya pounded up the deck. He peeked inside, spat out a curse, and tore several mats off the wall to allow more light to fall on the scene. The body was that of a man of about forty years. His light brown hair was held back from his broad, clean-shaven face in a single thick braid that lay coiled in the blood. He wore a long-sleeved, knee-length tu nic fastened at the shoulders with ornamental bronze pins. A gold signet ring adorned the middle finger of his right hand; he wore several plain gold bangles on his left wrist and an amuletic pendant around his neck.
“A man of Hatti,” Bak said.
“Maruwa, he’s called.” Karoya swallowed hard, looked away from the body. He appeared close to being sick. “I should’ve guessed when I saw the horses that he’d come back to Kemet.”
Bak pretended not to notice the younger officer’s discom fort. “You know him?”
“I’ve seen him here at the harbor, but that’s all. He came regularly-every six months or so-to bring animals from the land of Hatti to revitalize the bloodline in the royal sta bles.”
The shadow of a man fell over the body. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “That’s Maruwa! What’s happened?
Where are his horses? Where are the sailors I left on guard?”
Karoya caught the man’s arm and forced him back, away from the deckhouse. “This is Captain Antef, sir. Master of this ship.” He stared hard at the seaman. “Where have you been, sir? Where are all your men?”
The captain, a once-handsome man going to fat, stiffened his spine, pulled his head back, and stretched to his greatest height. “I did as I always do, as regulations require. I went to customs to report our arrival, to give them a copy of the manifest and arrange for an inspector to come aboard as quickly as possible.” He glared at Bak. “Who are you?
What’s happened here? Did someone steal Maruwa’s horses, slay him?”
By this time, the search party had realized something was wrong other than a snake and they, too, had come to the deckhouse.
“Where are the members of your crew?” Bak asked the captain.
“Why should I tell you? I don’t know you. As far as I know, you’ve no business here at all.”
“Answer the question!” Karoya snapped.
Antef flung a resentful glance at the Medjay officer. “I left two men on guard and permitted the rest to leave the ship. I saw no reason for them to remain. Maruwa said he’d stay behind to look after his horses, and the rest of the cargo was of no exceptional value.”
“When did you last see Maruwa?” Bak asked.
“I bade him good-bye as I left the ship. He was on deck, tending the animals.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Two hours at most. Probably less.”
“The men told us they were struck from behind and that’s the last they remember,” Bak said. “They had no idea how long ago, but sailors on a nearby ship last noticed them and Maruwa about a half hour before the horses began to fret.”
Mai, the harbormaster, paced the length of his second story office and back again to stand before the broad open ing in the wall that looked out upon the harbor. He stared at the ships and the people wandering through the market, but the grim expression on his face told the men who stood be fore him that his thoughts were with the dead man. “The reason for the slaying could not have been a theft gone wrong?”
Karoya shook his head. “The most valuable of the cargo, the horses, were there, and according to Captain Antef…”
The young officer glanced at the ship’s master, standing be tween him and Bak. “… Maruwa was wearing the only jew 18
Lauren Haney elry he brought on board. All the pieces were made of gold.
A thief could’ve taken them with ease.”
“But did not.” The harbormaster was a tall, stout man with a fringe of curly white hair. Lines of worry cut deep into his brow. “Nothing else was disturbed?”
“I saw no sign that the cargo had been rifled by men in pursuit of wealth that wasn’t there,” Antef said.
Mai gave the captain a thoughtful look. “I’ve never known you to transport cargo that didn’t pay for itself.”
Antef stiffened, indignant. “Belowdecks, we carried cop per ingots and stone ballast. On deck we carried grain, hay, and straw for the horses in addition to leather goods and woolen textiles popular with the people who come from less temperate lands to dwell in Kemet. All of sufficient worth to give a profit, none valuable enough to kill for.”
Mai dropped onto a low chair placed so he could keep an eye on the harbor and at the same time look at the men with whom he spoke. “If not theft, then why mark Maruwa for death? He was as diligent and industrious as any man I’ve ever met.”
“Politics.” Antef’s response was prompt and certain. “He may’ve gotten himself involved in Hittite politics, and we all know how dangerous that can be.”
“Antef could well be right.” Mai took a deep drink of beer and set the jar on a low table beside his chair. “Hittite poli tics are like quicksand: deceptively placid when left un touched, but slippery, avaricious, and deadly when trod upon.”
Bak, seated on a stool before the harbormaster, whom he had met some weeks earlier, sipped from his own jar of beer.
He licked the thick, slightly gritty foam from his lips. “Did you know him well, sir?”
“Evidently not as well as I believed.” Mai, who had thrown aside formality after Antef had gone, grinned like a boy caught with his fingers in a honey jar. “He discovered I like olives, the ripe black ones cured in brine. Each time he imported horses, he brought several jars to me.” He reached for his beer jar, hesitated. “You didn’t happen to find any on board, did you?”
“No, sir,” Karoya said, with a hint of a smile. He occupied a stool beside Bak. “I’ll have my men look. If they see them, we’ll bring them to you.”
“I’d be most appreciative.” Mai drank again and rested the jar between his thighs, all hint of humor vanishing. “I thought Maruwa unconcerned with the politics of his home land, but perhaps I erred.”
“He never spoke of such things?” Bak asked.
“Never.” Mai looked out at the harbor, his expression sad.
“I’ve heard from other men who’ve traveled to that far-off land that its politics are always volatile, with bad blood among various factions, some loyal to the past king, some to the present king, and some agitating for a new king. As a re sult, few men hold the throne for long, and when they’re un seated, all who share their power are also deposed.”
He laughed harshly. “If they’re lucky. Many are slain and their families with them, so they say.”
Karoya shuddered. “A cruel, harsh land, sir.”
A long silence ensued while the three men thanked the gods that they lived in a land where murder was an offense to the lady Maat and, while not unheard of at the highest levels of power, was not as common as in less enlightened lands.
“The horses will have to be moved from the garrison to the royal stables,” Bak said. “I’ll speak with Troop Captain
Nebwa, and he’ll see the task completed.”
“Good,” Mai said, nodding approval. His eyes darted to ward Karoya. “Maruwa was slain here at the harbor, Lieu tenant, so his death falls under your jurisdiction. You must do all you can to snare the slayer.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
The harbormaster’s eyes slid toward Bak. “How long will you remain in Waset, Lieutenant?”
“We’ll not sail until the Opet festival ends.”
“I know I’ve no business to ask before gaining the ap proval of your commandant, but would you be willing to as sist Karoya, should he need your help?”
“I’d be glad to, sir.”
Later, as Bak walked along the waterfront after bidding good-bye to Mai and Karoya, he admitted to himself how disappointed he was that another man held the responsibility for tracking down and snaring the one who had slain the Hit tite merchant. He knew he would be at a disadvantage in searching for a killer in an alien community in a city he no longer knew well, but the challenge tempted.
Chapter Two
The processional way was lined with men, women and chil dren who had come from near and far to participate in the
Beautiful Feast of Opet. This, the grandest of the many fes tivals held throughout the year, celebrated their dual sover eigns’ renewal as the divine offspring of the lord Amon.