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, while 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
