by Lauren Haney
Distracted by the question and pleased he had consulted her, she licked the honey from her fingers. "Djehuty. Hmmmrn." Absentmindedly, she reached for another sweet. "Yes, son of a nobleman. One who also served as governor of the province, as did his father before him. And his father's father, so I heard." She took a bite, chewed. "Djehuty, sent as a boy to the capital to rub shoulders with the royal children. An only son, I seem to remember, spoiled by his mother and father alike. A stubborn youth, who did as he wished, heeding no one's advice, ofttimes taking upon himself authority too great for his age or abilities."
Nebwa snorted. "Sounds a true son of the nobility. I hope for your sake, Bak, he's outgrown such childish, headstrong behavior."
"I'll find out soon enough. We sail at first light tomorrow, and if the gods smile on us, we'll arrive in Abu nine or ten days hence."
Imsiba eyed him across the top of the beer jar. "Would that I could go with you, my friend."
"And I, too," Nebwa said, raising his jar to Bak. "No slayer alive could hide his guilt for long with the three of us…" He glanced at Nofery, read the hurt on her face at being left out, smiled. "… and Nofery hot on his trail."
Bak shook his head at what he knew was impossible. "Kasaya and Psuro will go with me. With no rank to get in their way, they can ask questions of all those men and women who might answer me with silence, thinking me a threat to their masters. Besides, I trust both with my life, and so should you."
Nebwa's eyes darted Bak's way. "You don't think it'll come to that, do you?"
"I don't know." Bak gave him a rueful smile. "Amonhotep has added nothing to what he told us in the commandant's presence. Djehuty, he claims, has tied his hands, saying he prefers to tell me the tale himself, filling in the details. The reason, Amonhotep refuses to give."
"How can he blind you to the facts?" Imsiba asked, indignant.
Nebwa gave the big Medjay a long, thoughtful look. "I think we must find an excuse to follow Bak to Abu. To walk with a friend along a familiar sunlit street is one thing; to walk alone with strangers down a dark and unknown path is foolhardy."
Chapter Two
Bak crossed the gangplank and stepped onto the landingplace, a natural stone shelf flattened to suit the needs of man. With Lieutenant Amonhotep in the lead, he traversed the smoothed surface in a half dozen steps and climbed a long flight of stairs cut into the natural stone of the island of Abu. At the top, he turned to look down upon the sleek traveling ship that had carried them north. The long stretch of rapids just upstream of Abu had proven no obstacle to the agile craft. Instead of men letting the vessel down through the rocky channels with ropes, as was necessary in many parts of the Belly of Stones, a pilot had come aboard to sail it among the many small islands and down swift and foaming passageways that, though less hazardous than those near Buhen, were still dangerous.
Bak waved at the two Medjays standing on deck amidst the baskets and bundles of supplies and weapons they had brought from Buhen. Psuro, a man of good sense and courage, close to thirty years of age, was thickset in build, with a face scarred by some childhood disease. The younger of the pair, Kasaya, was the biggest and strongest man in Bak's unit, not greatly gifted with intelligence, but good-natured and likable. They would stay on board until Bak obtained suitable quarters for the three of them.
The journey from Buhen had been pleasant, a lazy time of fishing from the deck, swimming, eating, and sleeping. He and Amonhotep had talked about everything but what lay uppermost in their thoughts: the death of three people in the governor's household. He could not imagine why Djehuty had silenced the young aide. It made no sense.
Curiosity had nagged him throughout the voyage, but now that the time had come to learn exactly what he faced, he hesitated to walk into the villa. Taking a deep breath, shoving aside his apprehension, he strode toward the arched gateway built into a long bare wall, behind which tall palms waved in the breeze and leaves rustled on sycamores and acacias and several other varieties of tree. Very little of the house, which was located near the center of the walled compound, could be seen from where he stood. A second story, much smaller than the first, perched atop the rear rooms. A donkey brayed somewhere in the distance, and two yellow curs snarled at each other across a dirt-encrusted bone. The odors of roasting meat and baking bread wafted through the gate, a siren's bounty beckoning him inside.
"I've nothing to fear." Djehuty stared at Bak, daring him to argue the point. "Why should I? The first two who died were peasants, people I doubt I'd have recognized if I met them on a lane outside these walls. The third was a soldier I respected, admired in many ways, but not a man I invited into my private rooms."
Bak offered a silent prayer of thanks to the lord Amon for the scroll he held in his hand, and another to Commandant Thuty for preparing it. From what little he had seen so far of Governor Djehuty, he would need it. The man thought of no one but himself.
"Sir, as a result of your summons, I've spent nine long days journeying north from Buhen. I've been told three men of this household have died, yet I've been given no details. I know only that two of the victims could as easily have lost their lives as the result of an accident as at the hands of another. Have I come for nothing or for a purpose?"
Djehuty, a tall, white-haired man, angular of face and body, thrust himself forward in his armchair. His eyes glinted; his words came out in a dangerous purr. "Your voyage north was comfortable, Lieutenant?"
"I fished most of every day, sir, and slept." Bak knew if he allowed himself to be intimidated now, this man would never let him go about his task without interference. Djehuty would try at every turn to manipulate him and would then demean him as one too weak to stand up for himself. That he could not permit. "The time would've been better spent if you'd not silenced Lieutenant Amonhotep, if he'd been free to tell me of the dead men and describe the way they died."
Djehuty's mouth tightened. "Impertinent young…" "Sir!" Amonhotep stepped forward, drawing the governor's angry scowl. "Commandant Thuty was very reluctant to lose Lieutenant Bak, even for a few weeks. We must make the most of his time here. Who knows how long he'll be able to stay?"
Picking up on the hint, Bak stepped to the base of the dais on which Djehuty sat and offered the scroll. "I've a document for you, sir, from Commandant Thuty."
The governor glowered at the papyrus roll and the man who held it. Bak could guess his thoughts. In theory, a governor held more power than a commandant, but this particular commandant of Buhen was known to be a personal friend of the viceroy of Wawat and Kush, a man whose responsibility for the movement of trade and tribute gave him the ear of the vizier and, more importantly, of their sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut herself.
Djehuty formed a cool smile and leaned back in his chair, hands resting on the arms, thus forcing his aide to take the document, break the seal, untie the string, and pass it on. As the governor unrolled the scroll and began to read, Amonhotep sneaked a cynical glance at Bak.
To hide his contempt for such trifling displays of authority, Bak half turned away from the dais and glanced around the audience hall. Swathes of light from high windows struck four tall palm-shaped columns supporting the high ceiling and fell across the stone-paved floor. Close to empty now, the hall had teemed with life when first he and Amonhotep had entered. Twenty or more people, mostly farmers and craftsmen with a sprinkling of traders, had been milling around the columns, murmuring among themselves, awaiting their turn to make a supplication or air a complaint or ask for a judgment, one man against another. A flock of scribes had whispered together at the rear of the room, while guards stood at rest- near all the doors.
Then as now, Djehuty had occupied the spacious armchair, well padded with thick pillows, on the low dais that dominated one end of the room. Beside the chair, a large, widemouthed bowl of fragrant blue lily blossoms perfumed the air, shielding the governor from the reek of his subjects' sweat. A scantily clad farmer; on his knees before the dais, had been pleading for lower taxes, whi
le a scribe, seated cross-legged on the floor nearby, recorded the proceedings.
Spotting Amonhotep and Bak, the governor had risen partway out of his chair. The man on his knees had squealed in dismay. Djehuty had dropped back onto the pillows, ordered the scribe to look into the matter further, and announced the end. of the day's audience. The petitioners had melted away, angry and resentful at the abrupt dismissal, but resigned to come again another day. The scribes had hesitated to leave, curious about the newcomer at the door. A flick of Djehuty's wrist had sent them scurrying from the hall. All the guards had been dismissed except the man at the double doors, as if Djehuty feared more than anything else that a petitioner might enter unbidden.
An irritated grunt from Djehuty drew Bak's attention back to the dais. The governor, he saw, was staring at the open scroll with distaste, but with a reluctant acceptance of its contents.
In spite of a curiosity honed to the sharpness of a dagger by Amonhotep's silence, Bak hesitated once again to press forward. Partly because he feared Djehuty would never cease to be difficult. Mostly because he had stepped into an unknown world, where the chance of failure was great. Yet he dared not fail, for the vizier would be sure to hear if his mission went awry. Pushing aside so loathsome a thought, he asked, "Now will you tell me, sir, of the three deaths you summoned me to resolve?"
Djehuty shifted in his seat, glanced at his aide, cleared his throat. "The first to die was the servant Nakht, a mere boy, so they tell me."
"He was eleven years of age," Amonhotep explained, "small for his years, quiet, a child who toiled from dawn to dusk with no complaint."
"I didn't know him." Djehuty scowled, impatient with such petty details. "His place was by the river, where the fishermen bring in their catch day after day, and in the kitchen. He cleaned the many fish required to feed so large a household as this one." He rose slightly in his seat, adjusted a pillow. "Early one morning he went down to the river, and he never returned. My housekeeper, mistress Hatnofer, grew impatient and sent a servant out to look for him. Three fishermen remembered seeing him at daybreak, walking along the shore north of the landingplace. The servant found a child's footprints in the mud, but nothing more. Later in the day, a farmer pulled the boy's body out of the river some distance downstream from Abu, where the current had carried him. We all believed he fell into the water, cracked his head on a rock, and drowned."
"Could he swim?" Bak asked "Like an eel," Amonhotep said. "And according to the fishermen, he knew the river far too well to drown-better than they, in fact." He gave Bak a wry smile. "They're a superstitious lot. They're convinced a spirit from deep within the river pulled him into the depths. They say only a creature not of this world could've robbed him — of the ability to swim."
Djehuty dismissed the fishermen with a wave of his hand. "The second to die was the guard Montu. He was an older man, I was told. A spearman brought from the garrison, long past the age of facing an enemy on the field of battle. He was assigned to patrol the gardens, to fend off the town children who ofttimes climb over the compound wall to take for themselves a succulent melon or an armload of fruit. Hatnofer had told me he wasn't much good at the task, and she was thinking of replacing him."
"The children liked him." Ignoring Djehuty's thin-lipped frown, Amonhotep explained, "They came into the gardens, not to pilfer, but to listen to his tales of warfare and courage, stories of the past when our sovereigns marched off to war, leading our armies to victory."
"For some reason," Djehuty said, raising his voice to override his aide, "probably to eat his evening meal undisturbed, he climbed onto the roof of the cattle shed."
"He often spent time there," Amonhotep said. "He could look down upon the garden, and when his joints ached, he had no need to walk the paths."
With a loud clearing of his throat, Djehuty stared pointedly at his aide. Amonhotep lowered eyes Bak could have sworn were twinkling at a jest the governor failed to see. How often, he wondered, did the aide tease his master, and how far dared he go?
"He was seen alive on the roof at dusk," the governor said, "and the following morning he was found dead at the base of the stairway he would've descended, the shaft of his spear broken, the point in his breast. The stairs are steep, and the sergeant of the guard found a smear of oil near the top, spilled from Montu's evening meal, he assumed."
"So you believed he slipped, breaking the shaft as he fell." Bak raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Did he reach the ground first and the spearpoint fall on him, driving itself deep into his breast? Or did the stub of the shaft bury itself in the ground, allowing him to fall on the point?"
Djehuty shifted on the pillows; his eyes sought Amonhotep, looking for. an answer that would blunt the point of Bak's sarcasm.
The aide shrugged. "As I said when first we met, Lieutenant, who wants to believe in the abhorrent?"
Bak had known many men who had mastered the art of self-deception. He disliked admitting it, but at times he stood among them, as eager to believe what he wanted to believe as the most adept. But in time the truth had to be faced no matter how hard to swallow. "Tell me of the man who was stabbed, the one whose death convinced you a murderer walked among you."
"His name was Senmut," Djehuty said. "He was sergeant of the guard, the man who found Monta dead. A man in the prime of life, close to me in age. One who worked and played with the vigor of a youth, the strength of a bull."
Of the three who had died, Bak noticed, this was the first the governor had praised. "You knew him well, sir?" "He grew to manhood in Abu, and so did 1. We played together as children, soldiered together as men. We wagered over anything and everything, we shared the same beer jars, we lay with the same women in houses of pleasure both here and in faroff lands." Djehuty's voice strengthened, took on a note of pride. "He was a man among men."
Could Senmut have been chosen for death, Bak wondered, because of his friendship with Djehuty? Or was the slayer unaware they were close? "How did he die?"
Djehuty's voice grew taut. "One morning, inside the rear gate, he was found with a dagger in his breast."
"The dagger was his own," Amonhotep said, noting his superior's distress. "We longed to believe he was slain by someone from outside the wall, from the city of Abu, which abuts these grounds — but the gate was latched on the inside. The thrust to his breast was true, giving him no time to secure the latch. He was last seen after darkness fell the previous evening, checking the guards assigned to night duty. The guard at the front gate reported no one leaving after Senmut made his rounds, and with the rear gate latched…" The officer spread his hands wide, accenting the obvious. "Whoever slew him spent the night inside this compound."
Bak whistled. No wonder Djehuty had taken fright! No wander he had asked the vizier's advice-and acted on it! Bak paced the gravel path beside the shallow pool, his thoughts flitting in every direction, probing possibilities, seeking a reason that would account for the three deaths, anything that might give him a path to follow.
Djehuty, who had tired of the audience hall, had suggested they adjourn to the garden, where a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of a small, tidy grove of pomegranate, date, and sycamore trees. He and Amonhotep faced each other on two wooden benches shaded by a bower of lush grapevines. The musty scent of fresh-turned earth wafted across the pool from several newly planted garden plots. Other small plots outlined by irrigation ditches and low mud walls contained maturing lettuce, onions, and radishes, beans and chickpeas, and a long, narrow stand of melons. Cornflowers, poppies, and daisies grew among the trees, while the blossoms of the blue lily floated on the surface of the pool, perfuming the air.
"How long ago was the youth Nakht slain?" Bak asked, pausing before the arbor.
Djehuty glanced at Amonhotep, passing on the question. "I remember thinking when I arose this morning that Montu was slain a month ago today, exactly thirty days. As for the boy…" The aide stared at the pool, trying to recall. "Yes, he died ten days before the guard did, a week to the day." A
sudden thought brought his head around and he gave Bak an odd look. "They both were slain on the final day of the week, and so was Senmut, ten days after Montu's demise."
Bak stood quite still. "Today is the final day of this week."
"You don't think… T' Amonhotep stared, appalled. He had been absent from Abu for eighteen days, almost two weeks.
Bak swung toward the governor. "Did anyone die on the grounds of this villa ten days ago?"
Djehuty autontatically shook his head, then his face drained of color and he moaned. "It was an accident. It had to be. No man or woman was near the animal."
"What are you saying?" Amonhotep looked ready to shake his superior. "Did someone meet a violent end while I was gone?"
"Lieutenant Dedi." Djehuty's shoulders slumped, and he spoke barely above a whisper. "It happened in the stable here in the compound. He was found in a stall, trampled to death by a horse gone mad."
"What exactly happened?" Bak demanded, his voice so harsh he frightened an approaching duck and her brood, sending them fluttering toward the nearest ditch. "Horses don't go mad without cause. And men don't walk into a stall containing an animal whose spirit is troubled." As a former charioteer, Bak could speak with authority.
"This horse went mad, I tell you." Djehuty rubbed his face as if to wipe away the problem. "Maybe the creature ate tainted food. Maybe a mouse or rat frightened him. Maybe he took a dislike to Lieutenant Dedi's smell." He shook his head, unable to come up with a satisfactory reason. "Maybe the signs of madness were there all along and Dedi failed to see them. He was young and green, new to horses."
"I doubt his death was an accident," Bak said. "It fits too neatly into the pattern."
"Pattern!" Djehuty sneered. "Coincidence, more likely." Bak felt like strangling him. Each time Djehuty had to face a new horror, he retreated farther from the truth. "You must see, sir, that if Lieutenant Dedi was slain exactly ten days ago, and the sergeant ten days before him, and the spearman ten days earlier, and the servant.. " A new realization struck and his voice faltered. "By the beard of Amon!"