Free The Right Hand of Amon by Lauren Haney Page B

vanished through the pylon gate.
    Kenamon, Bak thought, a man who had treated the ills of many who walked the halls of the royal house. If Puemre's father was a nobleman, Kenamon would know him.
    "My son." Kenamon clasped Bak's shoulders with long, bony fingers. "My heart is filled with joy to see you again. It's been ... How long?"
    Bak gave the priest a broad, warm smile. "Less than a year. Have you forgotten so soon, my uncle, the night I took leave of my senses in Tenethat's house of pleasure?"
    The old man, so small and frail he looked as if the faintest breeze would blow him away, chuckled. "Ah, yes, the night you drew attention to the less than honest behavior of certain of our sovereign's favorites."
    His eyes grew wide in exaggerated alarm. He clapped a hand to his mouth and peered around as if searching for an eavesdropper lurking in the long evening shadows of the fluted columns which surrounded the forecourt of the mansion of Horus of Buhen. Then they laughed together, the old man with mischievous eyes, the younger with delight. Kenamon's exalted position as the chief prophet's envoy had neither restored his respect for authority nor stolen his sense of the ridiculous.
    With their lalfghter waning, the old priest drew Bak into the broad rectangle of shade cast by the god's mansion. The large painted reliefs of Horus and the queen striding across the facade made his white-robed form appear smaller than ever.
    He studied Bak from head to toe and nodded his approval. "Your exile appears to have done you no harm.
    You stand as straight and tall as before, with no lack of confidence, and I hear you have your rank back. Yes, I'd say your father has every reason to be proud of you." "How is my father?" Bak asked.
    "Well and happy, though he longs for your return to the capital."
    Kenamon went on, speaking at length of the news for which Bak hungered. He could have chatted forever if not for the problem of Puemre.
    "You know, of course, that I stand at the head of the Medjay police here in Buhen."
    "Yes." Kenamon smiled his pleasure. "The viceroy told me Commandant Thuty named you and your men to serve as Amon-Psaro's guard of honor."
    "It was a great privilege to be chosen, but. . ." He went on to explain the commandant's expanded authority and his own, the finding of a dead man, and his determination to resolve the death quickly so he could travel upstream with the sacred image. At the end, he gave the old priest a fond smile. "Now that I know you're the physician traveling with the lord Amon, I'll look upon the healing of the prince with greater confidence."
    Kenamon's voice grew stern. "When I tend the ill or injured, my son, I'm but an instrument in the god's hands. The fate of this boy, like all I've treated before and all I'll treat after, will rest with the lord Amon alone."
    Bak felt the blood rush to his cheeks. "I understand, sir, but I've noticed through the years that the lord Amon smiles more often on you and those you visit than on those cared for by some of the other physicians."
    "You're as impertinent as your father!"
    Bak thought he spotted a twinkle in the old man's eyes, but decided it best he change the subject. "You must forgive me, my uncle, but I've come not only to learn of my father and renew our friendship, but to ask a favor of you, one related to this man I found in the river."
    Kenamon's eyes sharpened with interest. "You intrigue me, my son. What do you wish of me?"
    "He was a lieutenant called Puemre, assigned to the fortress of Iken. His father is probably a nobleman whose name is..."
    Kenamon caught Bak's arm. "Not Nihisy, I pray." Bak stiffened, alarmed by the concern in Kenamon's voice and face. "What's wrong, my uncle?"
    The old priest rubbed his eyes as if to wipe away what he did not want to see. "I must see the body before I know for a fact, but if he's who I think he is, his father Nihisy has just been named chancellor by our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut herself."
    Bak sucked in