and tries to flee. I wish that vile thief to stand before the vizier as quickly as possible. We must make an example of him.”
Bak picked up the honey jar he had set on the floor by his stool. An unexpected thought welled up in his heart, a suspicion. “Does Menna know of this discovery?”
“He does. I sent a messenger to him the instant the harbormaster brought the objects to me-as darkness was falling yesterday.”
“He saw the bracelets in the tomb, sir. I pointed them out to him. I can’t believe he didn’t recognize them.”
“Rest easy, Bak. I provided no details about the jewelry, and he’s had no opportunity to see the pieces.”
Bak let out a long sigh of relief. He had come to like Menna and was not happy at suspecting him of stealing and worse.
“Imen.” Menna, striding up the causeway beside Bak, appeared bewildered by the guard’s duplicity. “I’ve known him for years. I’d have trusted him with my life.”
“You can never tell what lies within another man’s heart.”
Bak hated cliches, but could think of no words more appropriate.
“Still, the deceit hurts. I thought him an honest man, not one to rob the dead.”
They veered around a sledge on which a twice-life-size, rough-cut limestone statue of Maatkare Hatshepsut in the guise of the lord Osiris was being pulled up the causeway.
Moisture rolled down the faces and bodies of the men pulling the sledge beneath the harsh midday sun. The bitter odor of sweat lingered in Bak’s nostrils long after they passed by.
“What will people think of me?” Menna asked. “How will this affect my future?”
“You’ll look no worse for Imen’s deception,” Bak said in a neutral voice.
“I should’ve seen a problem. I should have.”
Bak could find no words to set Menna’s heart at rest. His first inclination was to blame the officer for not being more aware of his men’s inclinations. If he walked in the guard officer’s sandals, he would tour the cemeteries each day to see that the men were at their assigned posts and remained alert.
He doubted Menna left Waset more than once or twice a week. Would such diligence have mattered, though? Would he, Bak, spot a dishonest man among his Medjays or would he turn a blind eye to one he knew and liked, as Menna had done?
“Caught at the wrong time, he could have a foul temper,”
Menna said. “Do you think he slew Montu? A falling out of thieves?”
“We’ll soon know.”
They strode past a second sledge, this one carrying two large rectangular blocks of pinkish granite, and hurried onto the terrace. A crowd of men standing at the unfinished end of the northern retaining wall immediately caught their attention. Pashed had stopped all work on the wall after the rock slide and had vowed to keep the men away until the malign spirit was snared. Something had to be wrong.
“Hurry,” Bak said, breaking into a run.
Menna put on a burst of speed to catch up. “Another accident?”
So Bak feared. Side by side they sped across the terrace, swerving to left and right around rough-finished statues and architectural elements. Someone at the edge of the crowd spotted them and called out. Men stepped aside to let them through.
They found Pashed and Kasaya standing at the leading edge of a small landslide. The prone form of a man lay on his back on the pavement between them, covered below the shoulders by rocks and debris that had rolled down off the slope. A spear point and part of the shaft lay uncovered to his right, while a red and white spotted cowhide shield lay well clear of the debris. Perenefer knelt near the head, concealing the man’s identity. As the two officers came forward, he turned around, shifting his position, revealing the face of Imen.
Snapping out an oath, Bak knelt beside the foreman. He touched the body, seeking warmth, though its pallor told him Imen was dead. A bloody mess on the side of the head was covered with flies in spite of Perenefer’s efforts to wave them off. “When did this happen?”
“Sometime in the night,” Pashed said. “His body has grown stiff.”
“If only I’d seen the jewelry,” Menna muttered to himself.
“If only I’d gone to Amonked’s house the moment I heard of its discovery.”
“Who found him?” Bak asked.
“We did,” Perenefer said. “A few of my men and I. We spotted the slide at first light and came right away to clear it.
This is what we found.”
“It wasn’t a big slide,” Pashed explained, “but enough of the slope had fallen to remind the men of the last one. Of the injured and dead. They didn’t need another reason to fear.”
Bak studied the disturbed hillside and the fallen stones and debris that nearly covered the remains of the wall that had partly collapsed a few days earlier. From the hole left higher up the slope, about halfway to the base of the cliff, a large boulder had come loose and begun to roll, setting off the slide. He could see its upper surface behind the fallen wall, which had stopped its descent and that of the debris that nearly covered it. He was willing to bet his best beaded collar that the slide had been no accident.
“Get rid of these flies,” he said to Kasaya. “Water will do.”
A boy stepped forward with a goatskin water bag and flooded the wound, washing away the insects. They rose in a swarm and buzzed around all who were close, refusing to abandon so tasty a meal. Waving off the most persistent, Bak bent close to inspect the wound. Or wounds, he discovered.
Above Imen’s right ear he found a shallow injury that had broken the skin. A bit lower and farther back was a much deeper indentation that resembled the injury to Montu’s head. The guard had first been struck down and had later been slain.
Without a word but with an expression so grim every man in the crowd understood, Bak circled the end of the half-collapsed retaining wall and climbed the slope. Kasaya, unbidden, went with him. When they reached the hole where the boulder had been, they saw right away that it was too deep for the huge block of stone to have come away without the help of a man.
“Someone’s tried to cover his tracks,” the Medjay said, pointing to what looked like a fresh layer of dust, sand, and pebbles on the uphill side of the hole.
Bak brushed away the loose dirt. Beneath, he found the normally hard-packed sand and rocks greatly disturbed, as if the man who had loosed the boulder had dug up the ground to conceal all signs of himself and the lever he had used to pry it loose.
“What do you think happened, sir? Someone struck Imen on the head, then tried to make his death look like an accident?”
“He got away with murdering Huni and Dedu, and no one the wiser. Or so he believed.” Bak rose to his feet and looked down the slope at the dead man. “I guess he thought to try his luck a third time.”
“He must’ve come here right after he tried to slay you.”
Bak’s smile held not a trace of humor. “He’s worried, Kasaya. He’s covering his tracks in the hope of getting away free and clear, with no suspicion touching him. We’d best move quickly before he slays all who can point a finger at him.”
“I must go back to Waset to report to Amonked.” Bak stood with Kasaya within the ruined mudbrick temple of Djeserkare Amonhotep and his esteemed mother Ahmose Nefertari, with no one else nearby to hear. “While I’m gone, and for as long as it takes, I wish you to search out the source of the jars of honey containing the smuggled jewelry.”
“But sir! You said yourself the sketch of the bee was most likely a symbol to attract the attention of the man destined to receive the jewelry. One jar in a hundred might be so marked, one in a thousand, and those not seen by the multitudes.”
The plea had some merit, but Bak could no longer justify his failure to follow up on the symbol. “The fishing boat that ran down my father’s skiff vanished from view on this side of the river. Therefore, you must begin here, going from one farm to another, one village or hamlet to another, one place of business to another.” Bak handed the young Medjay the upper portion of a broken jar similar to the one he had found in Buhen. On it he had sketched a necklace with a pendant honeybee. “Take this with you and show it to every man and woman you meet.”
