by Lauren Haney
"He should, yes." The scribe who answered, one whose duty it was to present the petitioners to the governor, looked decidedly uncomfortable.
"I waited all morning yesterday," a grizzled farmer grumbled. "As my time to be heard came close, he got up from his chair and walked out. Now here I am again when I should be toiling in my fields, plowing the earth and planting new crops."
"I was here, too," a plump scribe said. "And I also waited for no good reason."
"And I," a couple of men spoke up together.
Why am I worried about me? Bak chided himself. These are the people who have waited before and may have to wait again, while Djehuty goes on with whatever he wishes to do, indifferent to their needs.
"His father was a good man, as honest and fair as they come," an elderly craftsman said. "But this one…" He spat on the spotless white-plastered floor, showing his contempt. "He surely didn't come from the old man's loins. He must've been spawned by some sailor passing through Abu on a cargo ship."
Hiding a smile, Bak hurried across the room and out the door near the dais. If Djehuty had heard that last remark, he would be furious. He took great pride in the long, unbroken line of men from which he was descended, those men who, during the long-ago reign of Kheperkare Senwosret, had excavated tombs overlooking Abu from the high escarpment west of the river. He probably laid claim in his dreams to an even older and grander heritage.
Bak found Amonhotep in Djehuty's private reception room. The young officer sat on a stool at the foot of the governor's empty chair, sorting scrolls and placing them in baskets marked according to content. They would ultimately go to Simut, who would have the documents filed away in the records storage room.
He looked around, smiled his approval. Every chest, table, and stool stood in its proper place. The woven mats covering the floor were no longer strewn with crumbs or clothing or any other objects. The pillows on the armchair had been fluffed up and the leopard skin draped over its back. White lilies floated in a large, low bowl of water, their strong, sweet scent freshening the air.
The aide gave him a wry smile. "If ever you need a servant, would you take me into your household?"
Bak grinned. "Should I become a man of wealth-an unlikely occurrence, I warn you-I'd compete for your services with spear or bow or fists, if, need be."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Few men are as devoted to their masters as you are." Amonhotep gave an odd little snort. Bak suspected cynicism, bitterness, a helplessness to alter the situation, but as always the aide would commit himself no further.
"The governor wishes to see me, I understand." Amonhotep laid down the scroll he had been reading and, rose to his feet. Bak had heard the expression "he girded his loins," but had never been sure of its meaning. Now he was. The aide visibly braced himself, as if about to face a foe on the field of battle.
Taking the act as forewarning, Bak followed him out of the room with leaden feet. What new manner of mischief could Djehuty have thought up?
A short corridor took them to a spacious bedchamber, where the governor lay in a mass of rumpled sheets on a fine cedar bed decorated with inlaid ivory images of the ramheaded god Khqum. His head and shoulders were propped up on several folded sleeping pallets and pillows. Beer jars, a basket of bread, and a bowl half full of coagulating stew sat on a nearby table. The room smelled strongly of sweat and the thick-bodied brindle dog curled up on a pillow atop a reed chest.
Bak, thinking of all those people standing in the audience hall, awaiting this man, had trouble concealing his disgust. The governor pulled himself higher on the pallets and his lip curled into a sneer. "So nice of you, Lieutenant, to respond at last to my summons."
Bak feigned indifference to the taunt. "I came as soon as I received your message, sir."
"I've been told you've moved out of your quarters in Abu."
Amonhotep gave him a surprised look. As close as he was to the governor and as important to the smooth functioning of the province, Djehuty apparently failed to keep him as informed as he should.
"That's right." If the swine wants an explanation, Bak thought, let him ask for it.
Djehuty stared at him, waiting. When Bak failed to oblige, he raised his chin high. His smile, meant to display triumph, betrayed defiance instead. "I, too, have decided to leave Abu. I plan today to sail north, to travel to my estate in Nubt, where I'll have no further need to live in fear."
Bak silently cursed the man-and himself. He should have guessed the urge to flee would sooner or later be irresistible. "Do you plan to take your staff with you? Your steward, chief scribe, and all those men closest to you?"
"Of course." Djehuty flashed him a contemptuous look, a man of noble birth looking with scorn upon a peasant. "I'll need servants, too, and guards. That accursed Ineni has let the household staff dwindle to only seven men and women. Not enough. Not nearly enough."
"You'll be no safer there than here." Bak kept his voice hard, matter-of-fact. "The man we seek knows every square cubit within this compound. He has to be a-member of your household. If you take even a portion of them, you've as great a chance of taking the slayer as you have of leaving him behind."
"I trust the men closest to me, and I need them." Djehuty's chin jutted. "You're just trying to frighten me, to justify your presence in my home."
"If you trust them so much, why won't you let anyone but your daughter and Lieutenant Amonhotep enter your rooms?"
"Someone-a townsman who's lost his wits maybe, or a wandering desert tribesman-has found a way to get inside our walls, to trespass on my property. He's the slayer, the man you should be looking for."
Bak's head spun. Djehuty's thought processes defied comprehension. "If you go to Nubt, I'll have to go with you." "No!" Djehuty's voice rose. "I'll not have you there!" The dog raised its head, disturbed by its master's strident voice, but made no move to come to his aid. Reassured that it would not attack, Bak stepped forward to tower over the reclining man. "Are you ordering me back to Buhen, sir?" "Go away! Get out of my sight!"
Amonhotep moved up beside Bak. "What of the vizier, sir? How will you explain to him your lack of faith in the man he suggested you summon?"
Djehuty gave his aide a sullen look. "Lieutenant Bak is like a fly, buzzing around, asking endless questions, making vile insinuations. No man would tolerate such behavior, least of all the vizier."
"If you wish me to go, I will," Bak said. "But first you must prepare a document explaining to one and all that I've tried to convince you the slayer will strike again four days from now, and you're the most likely target. You must make clear that you've refused to listen and I should in no way be blamed should you die."
"I can write it up now, sir," Amonhotep said, "and have witnesses acknowledge it before midday."
Djehuty stared at first one officer and then the other. Defiance melted away and the shock of realization took its place. His trusted aide had allied himself with Bak. More important, he had no alternative but to place himself in Bak's hands. Suddenly he pulled a sheet up to his chin and huddled down in the bed, a man shrunk within himself.
"You'll stay in Abu?" Bak demanded. Djehuty nodded.
Bak stared down at an individual who looked utterly defeated. If he wanted the truth, this was the time to get it. "You hold a secret within your heart, one you've thus far failed to divulge. If you wish me to lay hands on the slayer before he lays hands on you, you must tell me."
"No." Djehuty shook his head in an exaggerated fashion. He squirmed beneath the sheet. "I have no secret." "Governor Djehuty. You must speak up."
"I have no secret!" he cried.
"What have you done that you'd rather die than admit?" "Nothing!" Djehuty gripped the sheet so tight his knuckles lost their color. "I've never committed an unspeakable deed! Never!"
Unspeakable deed, Bak thought. The words were an admission, but of what? "Need I remind you that five people have been slain?"
Djehuty closed his eyes and clamped h
is mouth tight, armoring himself in an impenetrable silence. Amonhotep shook his head, signaling how hopeless it was to. pelt him with further questions.
Bak glared at Djehuty, contempt filling his heart, leaving no room for pity. He thought again of all those men and women waiting in the audience hall, most of them poor, people who toiled day after day to eke out a meager living. All who believed in right and order. All who expected to stand before their provincial governor, seeking and getting justice.
"Get out of bed and clothe yourself," he commanded. "Petitioners await you in the audience hall."
Amonhotep glanced his way. Surprise that anyone should speak so abruptly to the governor gave way to a tenuous smile. "The lieutenant's right, sir. You mustn't disappoint all those who depend upon you, need you."
"They didn't need me yesterday." Djehuty stopped wiggling, pouted. "They hated me, whispered — about me behind my back."
"You're the governor of this province, sir. You must show them how strong you are, how wise."
Strong? Wise? Bak closed his eyes, grimaced. How could the aide stoop so low?.
Djehuty clutched the sheet, trying to decide. "They're awaiting me, you say?"
"You'd better get dressed," Bak said in a curt voice. "Most have fields to plow and seed to sow. They can't wait all day."
Djehuty hesitated a long time, threw back the sheet, hesitated again, and finally swung his long, thin legs off the bed. Amonhotep gave Bak a brief but grateful smile. Convinced the aide could bolster Djehuty's pride enough to get him moving, Bak slipped out of the room.
Standing at the rear of the audience hall, Bak spoke with the guard as they awaited Djehuty's appearance. A few of the people he had seen here eatlierin the day had given up and left the building, but most remained. Years of waiting had given them tenacity, though not the ability to suffer in silence. They grumbled, whined, complained, made futile threats and demands. He had no idea what he would do if the governor failed to show up. Perhaps he could search out Troop Captain Antef and try to convince him to mete out justice, at least temporarily.
A whispered warning drew his eyes to the door behind the dais. Djehuty strode into the room, silencing the aggrieved. Baton of office in hand, he stared straight ahead, his face set, defying those in attendance to utter a word against him. Amonhotep followed close behind, his grim expression betraying the ordeal he had gone through to prepare his master to do his duty.
Djehuty climbed onto the dais and took his seat. His eyes darted toward Bak and his mouth tightened. "Who will approach me?".
The scribe brought forward the first petitioner. The young farmer Bak recalled seeing earlier in the day dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor.
"This is Sobekhotep," the scribe said, "a farmer of the village of
…" He went on to give the necessary particulars, beginning with where the young man dwelt, who his parents were and his wife, and added details of his small farm.
Sobekhotep rose to his knees to present his tale, one all too common along the river. A ship had anchored near his farm one dark and moonless night. The next morning, when he and his family awoke, the ship was gone and so were his cow and calf and a dozen or so geese. "The sailors took them in the dark of night, I know for a fact.". "How can you be sure?" Djehuty demanded.
"Who else would take them? Not my family nor my neighbors, and there was no one else about."
Djehuty's mouth tightened at what sounded like impudence but was probably no more than fear. His voice turned mean. "How dare you come before me, expecting justice, when you've given no description of the vessel, leaving us with no way of finding her master and crew?"
The young man's face flamed. The men and women who were watching, listening, exchanged resentful glances. Angry murmurs swept through the room. Again the governor had failed them. Djehuty's mouth snapped shut. Naked fury showed on his face.
With shaking hands, Sobekhotep removed a folded cloth from beneath his belt. He opened the packet, revealing a grayish pottery shard, which he handed to the scribe. "I made a drawing of the symbols on the prow, sir. The vessel is moored at the quay at Swenet even now."
Someone in the audience hall tittered. Someone else sputtered, unable to contain himself. A third individual laughed outright, setting off the rest. Djehuty sat as still as a statue, his body paralyzed by anger. Amonhotep whispered in his ear. Djehuty shook his head. Looking frantic, the aide whispered long and hard. With obvious reluctance, Djehuty nodded.
Amonhotep stepped forward and spoke. "We'll summon the captain of that ship and call him to account. If your animals and fowl still live, you'll have them back. If not, the master of the vessel must repay you three times their worth."
Murmurs filled the audience hall; the people nodded approval. This was the law they believed in, not the cruel whimsical law they had seen before and feared they would see again.
For the remainder of the morning, Djehuty sat stiff and straight in his armchair, his cheeks ruddy in a pale face. Like a man suffering from shock, he merely went through the motions, too distracted to pay attention. Amonhotep listened closely to each petitioner, as his master should have. He whispered in Djehuty's ear, making those who watched believe he consulted him, and pretended he got a response. He then made wise and honest judgments, announcing them in Djehuty's name as if they were the governor's decisions and not his own.
"You're a master of tact," Bak said, "a man any ranking officer would be proud to have on his staff."
Amonhotep flushed. "I did what, I had to do, that's all." Bak, sitting at the edge of the dais in front of the governor's chair, scowled at the aide seated beside him. "You saved Djehuty today, making him look far more worthy than he is, but can you continue to do so?"
"If he lets me, yes."
"For his own good, he'd better." Bak stood up, paced to the nearest column and back. "I've heard tales of men so angered by unfair treatment that they traveled all the way to the capital to stand before the vizier and plead for justice. I doubt the men in this province have been pressed that hard. Not yet, at any rate. I know the vizier is Djehuty's friend, but one who's so desperate he'll go to the capital carries ten times more weight than one who seeks justice in his own province."
"Djehuty hasn't always been this erratic." The aide clasped his hands tight between his knees. He refused to meet Bak's eyes. "Fear has made him worse each day, and you're the man responsible."
"What would you have me do? Tell him he's safe and let him offer himself to the slayer?"
Looking miserable, Amonhotep shook his head.
Bak eyed the officer, wondering how far he could trust him. He had to tell someone in the governor's villa where he and his men had moved. The aide was the most logical, the man first to know of any incident requiring Bak's presence. He had been in faroff Buhen at the time of Lieutenant Dedi's death, so he could not be the slayer. But his loyalty lay with Djehuty, an unquestioning loyalty that boded ill for anyone who threatened the governor in any way. Bak's one advantage was his desire to keep Djehuty alive.
"Who told Djehuty my men and I have moved to Swenet?"
Amonhotep shook his head. "I don't know. I wasn't by his side every moment-I had tasks to perform, errands to run-and I suppose someone could've entered his rooms, but…" He hesitated, frowned. "Khawet? Did you tell her of your move?"
"We told no one." Bak thought it best to reveal the bare _minimum. If he mentioned the archer, he would have to admit the man had probably drowned. One word to Djehuty, who seemed chastened now but could quickly go on the offensive, and they might well be sent back to Buhen. "Someone left a deadly gift on our doorstep. I thought it best we move to safer quarters."
Amonhotep stared, appalled. "A gift? What was it?" "I'd rather not say. With luck, the one who left it will let slip the fact that he did so."
"I see."
From the bemused look on the aide's face, Bak doubted if he did. "I feel you should know where we've gone, but I'd like your sacred vow that y
ou'll keep the location to yourself, not even sharing it with Djehuty."
Amonhotep appeared none too pleased with the last stipulation, but he nodded. "I swear by the lord Khnum I'll tell no one."
Later, as Bak watched the aide leave the audience hall, shoulders bowed beneath the weight of responsibility, he prayed he had trusted the right man. If he had erred, if another attempt was made on his life, he would know in which direction to look first. Or would he? Who had told Djehuty of his move?
Chapter Twelve
"I can't just walk away and leave them," Khawet said. "Why not?" Bak eyed the five nearly naked men spread across the roof of the cattle shed, cleaning fish and laying them out to dry. "Not a man here is neglecting his duty, and they all know their tasks very well."
"Hatnofer always said that our servants would feel neglected if we didn't watch them closely."
"All men need supervision, but the more accomplished they are in their tasks, the greater distance you must maintain. If you don't trust their judgment, they grow lazy and resentful."
She flashed him a smile. "How profound you are today, Lieutenant!"
He returned the smile but offered no further comment. With a father as erratic as Djehuty and a substitute mother as difficult to please as Hatnofer, he was amazed her instincts were serving her so well. The servants seemed more aware of him than her, and certainly more wary. She was a familiar and comfortable figure, while he was a stranger who reminded them of death and a slayer still free to take another life.
Several times, ha, had surprised furtive glances from the three men sitting a few paces away surrounded by loosely woven reed baskets from which water leaked. Their task was to gut, bone, and scale the morning's catch. Another man took the cleaned fish and spread them out in the sun to dry.
