of pleasure. He'd just wed a woman of Kush and was giving up the life of a wanderer to return to Kemet. I last heard they'd settled here, but whether in Abu or Swenet, I don't know.'
'He's a man we can trust?' Psuro asked, a flicker of hope shining through the gloom.
'We talked and drank long into the night. He seemed a man of good sense and honor.'
Looking none too pleased with so vague an answer, the Medjay nodded. 'If he's here, I'll find him.'
Bak walked inside for the third jar of water.
Kasaya, immobilized by thought, knelt beside a second sleeping pallet he had just spread out on the floor, a folded sheet in his hand. 'I know we're not far from the governor's villa, sir, but do you think it wise to spend the night here?
What if someone else is slain? From what you say of Djehuty, he'll be the first to lay blame-if he's not the one to die.'
Bak gave the young Medjay a quick smile. 'As soon as we eat our evening meal, I plan to return to Djehuty's house. I see no need to open the door to disaster.'
Chapter Four
Bak, stifling a yawn, stood in front of Nebmose's house, letting the chill morning breeze awaken him. He had gotten some sleep, thanks to Psuro and Kasaya, but not enough. The night had passed without incident; the occupants of the governor's villa had slept in peace. He doubted the police presence had made a difference. Hatnofer had died because she had been close in importance to Djehuty.
He eyed the small, neat garden that surrounded the family shrine inside the main entrance to the property. Venerable trees, thick bushes, and lush flowering plants filled the space with color. Birds chattered from on high, while tiny, fuzzy ducklings swam with their mother on a small, shallow pool and frogs sat on lily pads, soaking up the sun. Bees waded in pollen, humming an ancient tune while they harvested the sweet juices hidden inside the flowers. Bak could well imagine how impressed a distinguished visitor might be, striding through the gate after a long, wearisome voyage. The garden was like the Field of Reeds, where the justified dead spent eternity.
He followed the path to the shrine, a small, white-plastered structure with a cornice painted red and green. A narrow flight of four steps carried him to an entrance flanked by red columns. He had expected the building to be empty. Instead he found an ancestor bust on a limestone plinth. A fresh offering of flowers lay at the base of the red-painted, summarily formed figure with the head of a man. The last of the family might be gone, but someone remained to care. Leaving the shrine, he crossed the garden to the gate, which was almost as high as the wall around the compound and securely barred on the inside. He opened it and looked out onto one of the many lanes that ran through Abu. Two neighbors' gates, both on the opposite side of the lane, had been cut through walls equally tall and solid. The few windows he saw there were narrow and very high, admitting light and air, but allowing no view of the world outside. The far end of the lane vanished in a jumble of small, sometimes squalid dwellings. As was usually the case in Kemet, the poor touched elbows with the wealthy, but seldom met face-to- face.
Returning to Nebmose's- compound, he barred the gate behind him and hurried around the house. Beyond the empty stables and the granaries, he found a dusty yard in which a cluster of palms were being smothered by tamarisks. The mouth of a well gaped open in front of a squarish building containing four long, narrow storage magazines with a portico in front. Three of the chambers were empty; the fourth contained a chariot with a broken axle. He strode to a narrow gate shaded by the warring trees, lifted the pole that barred entry, and pulled it open. The lane outside was narrow, meant solely for foot traffic. Toward the south, it disappeared in a huddle of small houses. In the opposite direction, it passed the governor's villa and dwindled to nothing among a patchwork of fields that covered the northern end of the island.
Disappointed in spite of low expectations, he swung the gate shut, dropped the bar in place, and walked back to the house. Hatnofer's slayer could have come and gone unseen through the front entrance or the back, or from Djehuty's villa. Other than the audience hall and the visitors' quarters, the rooms were all used for storage. The house had been empty of life, the woman alone-or so she had thought. Anyone could have slain her.
'It seems a terrible waste, doesn't it?'
Bak, standing in the doorway of the stable, eyeing a long row of empty stalls, started and swung around. The governor's son Ineni stood behind him, looking past him into the `shadowy building.
'In days gone by, when I served as a charioteer with the regiment of Amon, I dreamed of a stable like this each time I had leave to go home.' Bak gave the young nobleman a wry smile. 'My horses, a worthy team but creatures of no discernment whatsoever, were content with the lean-to where my father housed his donkey.'
A brief smile lit Ineni's face. He stepped around Bak and led the way down the dimly fit corridor. Each stall, built of mudbrick with an arched ceiling, would have held two horses. Now the wooden gates were gone, as were the leather trappings that had hung from the walls and the chariots that had stood in the yard outside. The building had been swept clean and nothing remained but a few bits of straw, traces of grain, and dark stains on the hard- packed earthen floor, which still gave off a faint odor of manure. A waste it was, agreed Bak, an abomination to allow so useful a building to lie idle.
'I came here often as a child,' Ineni said. 'The horses were some of the finest in Kemet, the stallion from the faroff land of Hatti. They were beautiful, spirited, the stuff of dreams. I longed to become a charioteer.' He stooped, picked up a straw, and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. 'But the gods stepped in, and now I'm a farmer.' He laughed-at himself, Bak felt sure. 'Don't misunderstand. The life of a farmer suits me. I manage my father's fields with a skill not many men can claim.'
Bak was surprised. Not because Ineni's family had an estate, perhaps more than one, at a distance from Abu. Most noblemen lived off the labor of those who toiled on land far from the cities where they spent most of their days. Not one in a thousand would call himself a farmer.
'What happened to the horses?' he asked.
'When my father took this villa as his own, he had me move them to our estate in Nubt, a half day's sail north of here. They're there yet, as are their descendants.'
Bak paused in front of an empty stall and asked with reluctance, fearing the answer, 'What happened to the horse that took Lieutenant Dedi's life?'
'I… ' Ineni hesitated, then evaded the question. 'My father ordered me to have it slain.'
Bak eyed the young farmer closely. 'Did you obey?' Getting no answer, glimpsing defiance in Ineni's downcast eyes, he said, 'Horses were my life for more than eight years, Ineni. I cherished my team, and if anyone had suggested I slay them, I'd've cut off my hand first, the hand I use to thrust my spear.'
Ineni's eyes darted to Bak's face, searching for a lie. Evidently satisfied, he glanced toward the open doorway and lowered his voice lest anyone hear. 'As soon as I took the poor, terrified beast out of the stall, away from the scent of death, he quieted. My father had insisted he was mad, but I could see he'd simply been consumed by fear. I had him taken that night to our estate in Nubt, and there he will remain, alive and well. My father need never know.'
Bak nodded approval. 'He'll not hear the tale from me.' They reached the end of the corridor and turned back, sharing the silence and a vision of the stable as once it had been. Somewhere in the dark, a cat growled. A half- grown rat shot out of a stall and down the passageway a pace ahead of a huge orange tomcat. As the rodent raced into the sunlight outside the door, the cat leaped with a ferocious snarl. Clamping its teeth into its kicking and squeaking prey, it trotted off.
'Why, do you believe, was Hatnofer slain?' Bak asked. Ineni gave a short bark-like laugh, rending their brief camaraderie. 'You surprise me, Lieutenant. You told us yesterday, did yoW not, that the next to die would be one who walked close to my father. Have you since decided you erred?'
Bak chose to ignore the sarcasm. 'She died because of her importance in this household, of that I've no doubt, but you are equally important. As are Amonhotep, Antef, Simut, and Amethu. Why was she chosen over the rest of you?'
'I see no mystery there. She was small and no longer young. And she walked alone into an empty building, easy prey.'
Bak opened the gate to the govemor's compound and glanced into the yard containing the well. Two young
