high roof was supported on a single wooden column painted red. Windows close to the ceiling allowed light to enter and air to circulate. The household gods Bes and Taurt stood in niches along one wall, while a small ancestor bust occupied a third niche.
Simut's short kilt and lack of jewelry testified to his intent to spend the day in the comfort of his own home. 'Now that that wretched inventory is complete, I thought to escape for a few hours the cares of my daily task,' he explained.
His wife, short and round like her husband and as cheerful as a sparrow, hurried in with open jars of beer and a basket of sweetcakes that smelled of yeast, with bits of dates and raisins peeking through a crusty brown surface. She placed the food and drink on a low woven reed chest between the stools on which the men sat, brought out drinking bowls, and hustled away.
Simut, plucking a cake from the basket, examined his guest's bandages and bruises with an open and curious mien. 'From what I hear,' Lieutenant, you put on quite a show last night. The tale's already reached near-mythical proportions.'
'The men of Swenet and Abu are easily amused.' Bak made no attempt to hide his irritation. 'I caught my man in spite of them, but I couldn't keep him alive.'
'My wife just returned from the market.' The scribe handed a drinking bowl to his guest and ajar of beer. 'She heard Nenu was the one who took all those. lives in the governor's household and he was attempting last night, not for the first time, to slay you. Frankly, I find it difficult to credit him with so many vile deeds. He seemed a lackadaisical sort, one without enough purpose to plan so elaborate a scheme.'
'He was a tool, nothing more, one used by the governor to…'
Simut gave him a startled look. 'You're accusing Djehuty of murder? Surely he's not responsible for all those deaths!' 'Only for Nenu's attempts to slay me.'
'Oh, come now, Lieutenant. Why would he want dead the one man who…' Simut noticed the look of conviction on Bak's face and his voice tailed off. He shook his head, utterly mystified
Pouring beer into his drinking bowl, Bak admitted, 'To be quite honest, I don't know. I suspect he wanted to prevent me from learning the secret he's refused all along to divulge.'
'A secret born in that fatal sandstorm five years ago.' 'So I believe.'
'I wish I could help you, but I know almost nothing of that tempest.' Simut took a bite of cake, swallowed it, added, 'What little I do know I've told you.'
'Have you?' Bak's voice carried an edge of cynicism. Simut frowned. 'What are you implying, Lieutenant?' Bak set bowl and jar on the table, stood up, and strode to the door. Abruptly he swung around. 'You told me of a nephew who died in the storm, a young man you loved as a son. Yet you neglected to mention that he was Nebmose, the man who owned the villa Djehuty claimed for the royal house and took as his own.'
'I thought…' The scribe blinked, taken aback by Bak's accusing stance and tone. 'Well, I… I guess I just assumed you knew.'
'You told me you once resented Djehuty for returning alive, but you no longer harbor the feeling. What of Nebmose's villa? That lovely house and outbuildings now sitting idle except for an infrequent lodger. And the farmland north of this city. An estate most men would covet.'
Simut gave him a pained look. 'I'm satisfied with my lot, Lieutenant.'
Bak walked to the niche holding the ancestor bust. A bowl for burning incense stood before the image. Someone had dropped a broken needle into the small mound of cold ashes, indicating a lack of reverence he could not imagine in the individual tending Nebmose's shrine. 'Forgive my poor manners, Simut. My time is running out and I'm floundering.
The scribe acknowledged the apology with a stiff smile. 'If Nebmose had lived, he'd've wed and had a son of his own. As it was, he left no one, nor did he ever document his wishes with respect to his property. Djehuty has no more right to it than I, but at least now it'll go to mistress Khawet and not a stranger.'
Bak tore his eyes from the small, red-painted figure and stared at Simut, barely daring to breathe. The scribe's unmistakable belief that Khawet was entitled to Nebmose's property came close to verifying the suspicion that had been growing in his thoughts all morning. An idea he. had gone out of his way to deny but must now face.
Like the young man who had lived in the adjoining villa, Khawet would have been about twenty years of age when the sandstorm occurred. Close in age, thrown together by proximity, similar in their noble heritage, they most likely would have developed a strong bond. A marriage would have been logical, a merging of the two estates.
Though certain he now knew the answer, Bak asked, 'Who's leaving offerings in Nebmose's family shrine?' 'She is. Khawet.'
'And she's caring for the house and garden?'
'She's always kept close watch on the servants who toil there, yes.'
Releasing a long pent-up breath, Bak dropped onto his stool. 'The lord Amon preserve-me for being so dense!' Simut blinked, not understanding.
'I knew she wed Ineni at the age of twenty,' Bak explained, 'much later in life than most, but I-assumed Djehuty held her close. I should've realized by the way she treats her husband that he was second best, that another man took pride of place in her heart. Ineni himself told me so, but I let his words pass over my head as a cloud does.' His eyes leaped toward Simut. 'Were she and Nebmose wed when he died?'
'The marriage contract had yet to be witnessed and sealed.'.
'Why wait so long past marriageable age when they dwelt so close together?' Bak could not keep the growing excitement out of his voice.
Simut, sensing the younger man's agitation, answered with alacrity. 'As Nebmose approached manhood, his father sent him to the royal house in Waset to rub shoulders with his equals. Khawet now and again accompanied her father to the capital, and there she and the young man consummated their love. Or so I believe. He entered the service of an envoy to faroff Naharin, and she vowed to await his return. I, for one, thanked the lord Amon when he came back with no other wife, but he was as true to her as she was to him.
'Negotiations had been concluded and the marriage contract prepared when Nebmose's father died. They waited to wed until the period of mounting had passed. Before they could do so, Djehuty summoned his troops, and they marched off to Uahtrest to punish the desert tribesmen. Nebmose never returned, and Khawet wed Ineni instead.'
'At Djehuty's insistence,' Bak said in a grim voice. 'Ineni knew of her love for Nebmose and wanted to wait. Djehuty issued an ultimatum.'
The two men stared at each other, the scribe with a dawning awareness, Bak with growing conviction. Many of the answers he had sought for so long fell into place, even Djehuty's attempts to slay him. The governor had a secret, probably one he was hiding from Khawet, and he had feared Bak would reveal it. Perhaps he had contributed more directly to Nebmose's death than mere negligence as a commander. Khawet had learned that secret-or had a good idea what it was-probably from Hatnofer. She had decided to seek revenge. Djehuty, though a master of self- delusion, had at some point coma, to suspect his daughter of wishing him dead.
No wonder he was ill. No wonder…
'By the beard of Amon!' Bak shot to his feet. 'She's with her father now! Giving him herbal broth to soothe his stomach!'
'This is only the ninth day!' Simut was clutching at air and he knew it. 'She wouldn't spoil her pattern now! Would she?'
Bak leaped toward the door. 'Go summon a physician. Quickly!'
Racing up the stairs to the second story of the governor's villa, Bak spotted Amonhotep seated, head bowed, hands locked between his knees, on a stool in Djehuty's private reception room. The aide, his face drawn and pinched with worry, looked a perfect picture of dejection and exhaustion. 'Where's mistress Khawet?' Bak demanded.
Amonhotep, too tired to. think clearly, failed to notice the urgency in his voice. 'Amethu came not long ago, wanting to know of Djehuty's health. She spoke with him briefly. I think they talked of you and of Nebmose's villa and of Nebmose himself.'
Bak muttered a curse. When he had spoken with the steward, he had seen no reason to urge silence. Now it was too late. 'And then?'
'After Amethu left, she had me take a brazier out on the roof. When I had the fire going, she took the herbs
