'And at the same time risk his own life,' Kasaya added. 'No officer wants to be accused of incompetence, especially if men have died at his orders.' Psuro frowned, thinking. out loud. 'Djehuty's poor leadership caused the deaths of more than one hundred men, but we've known that for some time.'
'No officer-no soldier, for that matter, wishes to be thought a coward,' Kasaya said, 'yet rumor hints that he behaved in a craven manner during the storm.'
'Look at him now,' Psuro sneered. 'Hiding away in his bedchamber like a frightened babe.'
Bak swallowed another bite of stew. 'If he took Min's life, especially if he did so with his own hands… Now there's a secret that if divulged would not only destroy his reputation but might well cost him his life. I doubt even his friend the vizier could turn his back on such a crime.'
'We have no witnesses,' Psuro said with a slow, thoughtful nod, 'and as long as he doesn't admit to wrongdoing, he knows we can do nothing.'
Bak aired the thought that had kept him awake far into the night. 'A secret too dreadful to reveal, whether the death of Min or some other vile deed, would surely be an abomination to the gods.' He took a bite and let the stew slide down his throat, cooling, soothing. 'Would he not, then, do all in his power to remain alive, giving himself time to seek absolution so he could enter the netherworld and the hall of judgment with a free conscience? Would he not wish his heart to reveal no trace of deceit or treachery when it's weighed against the feather of truth?'
Psuro and Kasaya stared, both men silenced by the reminder that the stakes reached beyond Djehuty's worldly life. If he had ordered Nenu to slay Bak, the one man who might be able to save his life, the risk he took was awesome, an invitation to spend eternity unjustified, unable to enter the Field of Reeds.
'There must be something else,' Bak said. 'Some other reason for his mad behavior. Something I've overlooked.' 'My fathei is very ill, Lieutenant.' Khawet stood in the hallway outside Djehuty's private reception room, a reddish pottery bowl in her hand. The contents smelled of vomit. 'I can't let you see him.'
'I must speak with him.' Bak's voice broke, the vehemence straining his bruised throat. Irritated, he tried again. 'If he wishes me to save his life… If you wish me to save him, you'll let me see him.'
'I can't.' Her voice was tense; the flesh stretched tight across her face. 'Don't you understand? He's too ill to see anyone.'
He was reluctant to add further pressure, but if he was to save Djehuty, he had no choice. 'My father, a physician, believes speech can free a man from worry.'
'If you have a message, one that will drain my father's heart of fear and anxiety, I'll relay it to him.' Her voice turned chilly. 'If you've nothing but endless questions, I can't help you. I won't add weight to his burden.'
Bak glanced pointedly into the empty reception room, which was as clean and neat as if the governor had never set foot inside. 'Where's Lieutenant Amonhotep? Did not Djehuty order him to remain by his side at all times?'
'I needed more herbs. As soon as my father slept, I asked Amonhotep to go to the market for me. He wanted instead to send a servant, but I insisted he go. He was sorely in need of a respite.' Her mouth tightened. 'You'll not gain admittance through him, Lieutenant. Even he, as exhausted as he is, wouldn't be so foolish as to let you disturb a man so ill.'
Bak bit back a sharp reply. At times she was as impossible as Djehuty, as stubborn. 'You've surely heard that Nenu, one of the guards here in this household, tried to slay me last night, and he, in turn, was slain.'
'I've heard the tale, yes.' She gave him a sharp look. 'What does that have to do with my father?'
'Nenu told me as he lay dying that Djehuty ordered him to take my life.'
She flung up her head, startled. 'He wouldn't do such a thing. The guard lied.'
'Perhaps.' Though his voice was difficult to control, he hit exactly the right note: noncommittal with doubt seeping in.
'Why would he?' she demanded, defensive. 'If your theory is correct, if you're his only chance of survival, as Amonhotep believes, it would make no sense.'
'Now you know why I must speak with him.'
She hesitated, glanced down at the bowl, scowled. 'I'm giving him a herbal broth that should relieve his stomach. When he's able to see you, I'll summon you.'
Bak strode away, cursing the day the vizier had suggested he come to Abu. Why were people always so unwilling to do what was best for them?
'He's worked himself into such a state he can keep no food in his stomach. I didn't want to leave him, but how could I refuse mistress Khawet? Her days are already too long and filled to the brim. So I went to the market for her.' Amonhotep held out a basket from which several bundles of dried herbs protruded. Beneath lay linen- wrapped packets containing crushed herbs and potions. 'Actually, I didn't mind. I needed a reprieve, as she, said.'
Bak had intercepted the aide at the back gate opening onto the narrow lane behind the governor's compound. 'She told me he was sick, very sick.'
'He is, but the illness is of his own making, I'm sure.' 'If that's the case, her broth is unlikely to settle his stomach enough for me to speak to him.'
'I'll see that you do.' The aide's voice was firm, the words a promise.
'Do you have any idea why he'd order Nenu to slay me?' 'It makes no sense.' Amonhotep stared down the lane at a young woman heavy with child, dragging a naked boy of three or four years along behind her. The child was dirty, his face tear-stained, his arm stretched as high as it would go. 'I was surprised when he told me to remove the guard from his post at Nebmose's villa so he could use him to run errands. Until then, I didn't know he knew the man.'
'Nenu admired Senmut, the sergeant who was slain. And Senmut was close to Djehuty.'
Amonhotep nodded, understanding the tie. 'What of the soldier who slew Nenu?'
'We took him to the garrison.' A whine drew Bak's attention to the woman and child, who rounded the corner at the end of the block and walked out of sight. 'He thought Nenu was attacking me, trying to escape. An honest mistake, but to use his weapon without thought…' Bak shook his head in disgust. 'Antef will deal with him.'
'I expect soon to see him in fhe audience hall.' Amonhotep gave a cynical snort. 'If Djehuty can ever tear himself out of bed. Or if he survives the next two days.'
He'll survive, Bak thought grimly, if 1 have to sit beside his bed and guard him myself. 'When can I talk to him?' 'After midday.' The aide gave Bak a humorless smile. 'I think it best not to warn him that you'll be coming, but I'll need time to pacify mistress Khawet.'
Chapter Sixteen
Bak sat on the bench at the back of Nebmose's villa, elbows on knees, and buried his face in his hands. His throat was sore and scratchy. A dull pain throbbed in his shoulder. He was tired, discouraged, at a loss as to where to turn next. Nenu alive might have revealed a path to the truth. Nenu dead raised a new set of difficulties.
He could not imagine why Djehuty had ordered the guard to slay him. Could he have misunderstood the dying man's meaning? No. Only a long stretch of the imagination could interpret the words in any other way. The governor wanted him dead. If the past was any indication of the future, he might never reveal the reason. So far, Bak had had no luck in prying the truth from him. How could he believe another interview would be more productive?
He would try again, and again and again if need be, but in the meantime he had to look elsewhere.
Raising his head, he stretched out his legs and leaned back against the wall, letting inactivity heal his battered body and the breeze soothe his troubled soul. He thought of all he had learned about the five deaths: Nakht, Montu, Senmut, Dedi, and Hatnofer. Each had been slain in the light of day and, with the probable exception of Dedi, slain by a horse frenzied by an unknown method, each had been killed at close range while facing, the slayer. Which meant he was someone known and trusted by all. Djehuty? No, his fear was real, attesting better to his innocence than witnesses swearing he was elsewhere at every slaying. Who else then? All who held lofty positions in the villa would have been trusted. If Nenu was to be believed, and Bak did believe him, he had had nothing to do with the murders. He had known he was dying, and with his heart so soon to be weighed against the feather of truth, he dared not lie. Amonhotep, Simut, and Antef had each been far away during the time of at least one slaying, but the whereabouts of the others remained unknown. He had been lax in that respect, allowing
