Mutnefret summoned the scribe who managed the estate.
Teti was a rangy man of thirty-five or so years, with the deep tan of one who spent more time beneath the sun than indoors with his writing implements and scrolls. Bak saw right away how quick the household servants were to obey him and the high degree of respect they showed him.
The scribe listened to his mistress’s order that Bak should see all the male servants. Stifling a visible curiosity, he took him outside the walled compound to a mudbrick bench, where a slight breeze stirred the air beneath one of four sycamore trees that shaded several outbuildings built against the wall. He told a boy of ten or so years-his son, Bak suspected-to summon the men of the estate. The boy hurried off, racing across a field of yellow stubble to speak with two men who were tending a mixed herd of cattle, sheep, and goats.
While they waited, Bak explained that he had been attacked and assumed the assailant dwelt on the west bank. He provided no specific details.
“My mistress told true, sir. Our servants were here through the night.”
“I must see them nonetheless.”
“Yes, sir.” Teti wove his fingers together and laid his hands in his lap. His thumbs chased circles around each other. He looked like a man uncomfortable with the silence but at a loss for words.
“What did you think of your master, Teti?”
“I thought our previous master the finest of men. As for Montu. . Well, they say if you’ve nothing of note to say about a man, it’s best to say nothing.”
“I’ve been told he shirked his duty at Djeser Djeseru.”
Bak smiled, inviting confidence. “I’ve yet to see a black goat turn white overnight.”
A faint smile touched Teti’s lips, but still he chose his words carefully. “I’ve thanked the lord Thoth many a time that our mistress trusts me to manage her properties. Hers and mistress Sitre’s.”
Bak eyed the scribe thoughtfully. “Are you inferring that Montu would’ve taken what was theirs and used it for his own purpose?”
“Not at all,” Teti said with conviction, “but he would’ve liked to control their holdings.”
“I don’t understand. If he didn’t want their wealth for itself, why would he. .?” Even as he formed the question, Bak remembered the way Montu had demanded that the paintings and sculpture at Djeser Djeseru be altered. “I see.
He wanted to be in authority and to demonstrate how important he was.”
“Yes, sir.” Teti seemed surprised by Bak’s perspicacity, and pleased that he understood. “When first our mistress wed him, she let him make a few decisions concerning the running of her estate. He used no common sense whatso-ever. She recognized the failing and saw how dangerous he could be to the well-being of all that was hers and her daughter’s. She said nothing to him, but quickly guided his interests elsewhere and told me to continue as before.”
Bak smiled. In her own way, Mutnefret had used a tactic similar to that of the craftsmen at Djeser Djeseru.
He shoved the thought aside as the first of the farmhands approached. While he and Teti had talked, he had seen the boy running from field to palm grove to field to pigeon cote to paddock, sending men striding toward the house. One man came to stand before Bak, followed by the rest in rapid succession. As on any prosperous estate, they were men of all ages who carried on a multitude of duties. He spoke a few words to each, letting them know they had no reason for fear, then allowed them to return to their tasks. The man with whom he had fought at Djeser Djeseru was not among them.
Where the intruders’ presence on the estate might have suggested Montu was a tomb robber, the fact that they were not to be found here told him absolutely nothing.
As the last man walked away, Bak said, “Are you aware, Teti, that Lieutenant Menna suspects Montu of being a tomb robber?”
“So my mistress has said.” The scribe shook his head. “I don’t believe it. He was indolent and authoritarian and thought far too much of himself, but I truly believe he was no thief.”
Bak described the shard he had found among Montu’s possessions, the sketch.
Teti laughed. “He could’ve picked that up in a dozen different places. A neighboring farm. A village garbage dump.
A vacant plot of land in Waset.” He paused, struck by a thought. “If the jar was from olden times, he may’ve found it in one of the old cemeteries on the ridge north of our sovereign’s new temple. I saw him two or three times, walking among the hillside tombs and those on the plateau just above the floodplain.” He spotted Bak’s sudden interest, smiled.
“Those tombs are empty, sir, with nothing left to steal. No-mads sometimes camp in them when they bring their herds to the river.”
Were those the same tombs Menna mentioned? Bak wondered. Tombs long ago plundered, the guard officer had said.
“Isn’t that a bit farther afield than you normally travel, Teti?
Especially after toiling here from dawn to dusk. What were you doing? Did your mistress tell you to follow him?”
“Oh, no, sir.” The scribe looked sincerely surprised by the question. “When he didn’t come home as expected, she always assumed he was visiting a house of pleasure he frequented, amusing himself with a young woman whose company he enjoyed.”
“I’ve an idea that you’re a man who’d go out of your way to look after her interests, if you felt the need.”
“In this case, sir, I was looking after my own interests.”
Teti spoke with an indignation that melted away as fast as it had formed. “You see, sir, I lost my wife last year, and I’ve three children to raise. Oh, they’ll get plenty of mothering 190
Lauren Haney
from the women who dwell on this estate, but they need a true mother and I need someone to share my sleeping pallet.
I’ve found a young woman, daughter to an artist who dwells in the village below the ridge. My mistress has given me leave to visit her there.”
Bak gave the scribe a long, speculative look. “What’s the artist’s name?”
“Heribsen, sir.”
Bak could not help but smile. “Was he the man who gave your mistress-or, more likely, you-the idea of letting Montu believe he was the master of her estate when in reality you manage her affairs quite well?”
A quick smile flitted across the scribe’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”
Poor Montu, Bak thought. Could a man of such arrogance that he allowed himself to be made a fool of be clever enough to rob the old tombs and dispose of the jewelry in complete safety? Would he have had the patience to smuggle jewelry out of the land of Kemet a few pieces at a time over an extended period? Or had Montu been smart enough to make himself look the fool?
Chapter Thirteen
Bak did not reach Djeser Djeseru until late in the day. He found Pashed seated, elbows on knees, head in hands, on a stone cube at the end of the partially completed southern section of the upper colonnade. The chief architect was alone, with no other man nearby. Workmen at the opposite end of the incomplete colonnade had just hauled an architrave up the construction ramp and were preparing to position it across the space between two columns. The foreman was cursing, urging the men to greater effort before the lord Re entered the netherworld and darkness fell. The men were grumbling because they wished to postpone the task until the next morning.
The crunch of Bak’s sandals on grit roused Pashed, who raised his head to see who was approaching. Bak was alarmed by how distraught the architect looked. His face was drawn, lines were deeply etched around his mouth.
“Pashed! What’s troubling you?”
