Imsiba spoke aloud Bak’s thoughts. “To find so small a thing when we need so much…I fear the gods have turned their backs to us.”
All Bak could think of was Maiherperi’s final warning: most men do wrong without thought, and you’ll bring them to justice with no great effort. But a time may come when the man you seek is so clever at hiding his actions that you’ll never find him. Bak prayed this was not the case, for if so, how could he hope to wipe away the doubt and suspicion which had fallen on his men?
“You lost it?” Bak asked, incredulous. “You lost your spear three days ago and you said nothing?”
Kasaya, his eyes glued to his feet, seemed to shrink within his hulking body. “Yes, sir.”
“Why did you not report it?”
Beads of sweat glistened on the young policeman’s broad forehead. “I thought…” His voice dropped to a low mumble. “I thought I’d find it and there’d be no need.”
“I pray to the lord Amon you’ll never be moved to use your wits again!” Bak jerked his arm from Hori’s grasp to aim an accusing finger at the biggest, strongest, youngest, and, he was convinced, the most stupid man in his company. “You and you alone are responsible for the rumors which say one of us took the goldsmith’s life.”
Kasaya shifted his weight, swallowed hard.
“Sir!” Hori said, dismayed. “If you don’t sit still, I’ll not finish tonight.”
Bak reined in his temper. Open anger was unseemly in an officer and would gain him nothing. The damage caused by the loss could not be undone. He lowered his arm and held it out to Hori, who began to spread a thick brown salve smelling of mold over the scorched flesh.
They were in their quarters, Bak seated on a stool and Hori on his knees in front of him. A neat white bandage, wound around Bak’s torso, covered the burn on his side. Strips of linen, a pottery water basin, and a bowl containing the salve were scattered around them. Imsiba glared at Kasaya from beside the stairway leading to the roof.
“Tell me,” Bak said in a more rational tone. “Where and how did you lose it?”
“I left it at the place where Lieutenant Nebwa trains his spearmen.” Kasaya’s eyes flitted toward Bak, back to his feet. “Outside the walls of this city.”
Bak checked the impulse to be sarcastic. “Go on.”
“I went there to watch them practice, sir. Hoping to see better, I thought to climb a rocky mound. I couldn’t go up so steep a place with one hand, so I…” Kasaya’s voice wavered. “I laid my spear on the ground, out of sight between two boulders.”
“You forgot it,” Imsiba growled.
Kasaya stiffened as if slapped. “Yes, sir.”
Bak wanted to wring the young Medjay’s neck and hang him up like a goose awaiting the cooking pot. “Were you seen by anyone, or were you alone?”
“I kept to myself, but other men stood above me on top of the mound. Officers, they were, and four sergeants and two of lesser rank.”
Bak’s eyes darted toward Imsiba. Had the gods looked on them with favor after all? Imsiba met his glance, raised the butt of his spear a hand’s breadth off the floor, and squeezed the shaft for luck.
“Sir!” Hori exclaimed.
Bak glanced down, saw salve smeared across his leg, ribbons of linen dangling from the half-bandaged arm. He had pulled it from Hori’s grasp without noticing. Offering the arm to the scribe, he asked Kasaya, “Did you know the men atop the mound?”
“Commandant Nakht was there. The others I didn’t know.”
“Did I not tell you and all the men in our company, long before we reached Buhen, that you must learn before all other things the names and faces of the officers in this garrison?”
Kasaya croaked a word or two, cleared his throat, said, “I know them now.”
Bak thought he had never met a man so aggravating. “Can you tell me which men stood atop that mound?”
Kasaya wriggled in place, nodded.
“Speak!” Imsiba commanded. “This instant!”
“The commandant was there.” Kasaya glanced at Imsiba, whose scowl grew murderous, and the rest came tumbling out. “The man who translated for him, Harmose, was with him. Lieutenant Nebwa was there with his sergeants and a herald who signaled his commands on the trumpet. Lieutenant Paser was there and so was another lieutenant-Mery he’s called.”
“I see no other way.” Imsiba’s voice rang with conviction. “You must go to mistress Azzia and question her. If she refuses to speak, she must be made to tell the truth.”
He and Bak sat cross-legged on the roof, filling themselves with cold roasted pigeon and the thick lentil soup Hori had warmed on the brazier. Familiar clusters of stars glittered bright and strong in the inky sky. Moonlight seeped over the dark shadowy battlements at the far end of the block. Rooftops spread out around them like a flat plain, lumpy with the bodies of men, women, children, and animals who had abandoned the hot, cramped houses to sleep in the cool, gentle breeze wafting across the city. The night sounds were muted, the usual chorus of howling dogs was silent.
“If she’s innocent of wrongdoing?” Bak asked, trying to sound reasonable, certain he failed.
“The wounds will heal, the bruises fade.”
Bak pictured her as he had last seen her, sitting on the floor among her husband’s possessions, head bowed, the light glinting on her lovely smooth shoulders. “No.”
“You vowed she’d not turn your head!”
“She was the commandant’s wife, Imsiba! A foreign woman, yes, but a woman of quality. Only at the viceroy’s command can she be dealt with so harshly.”
Imsiba retreated into silence, allowing the truth of Bak’s words to hang between them like a vaporous cloud.
Bak set his bowl on the rooftop, placed his hand on the Medjay’s knee. “Listen to what I believe, and judge my words fairly.”
Imsiba’s nod could barely be seen in the darkness.
“If Azzia knows the man we wish to snare and if she truly loves him, I doubt the most strenuous beating would bring his name to her lips. She seems a gentle woman and vulnerable, but I saw the will of a lioness when she threw the spear at Heby. On the other hand, if she cares nothing for him and points a finger his way, he’ll deny his guilt. To admit the truth would be to forfeit his life. Am I not right?”
Imsiba let out a long sigh. “Yes, my friend, you are. I’ve no doubt which of the two the viceroy would believe. The words of any woman found with her husband’s blood on her hands would carry little weight.”
“We need proof the one we seek is guilty,” Bak said, pressing his advantage. “I know of no other way to be certain his denials will go unheeded.”
“Proof!” Imsiba’s laugh was bitter. “We don’t even know his name.”
“No, but the lady Maat may well have guided the hand of that witless Kasaya. Thanks to him, we’ve more reason than before to suspect the four who were on the battlements the night Nakht was slain.”
“You speak of the lieutenants Mery, Nebwa, and Paser…” Imsiba hesitated, then added reluctantly, “…and Harmose.”
Bak dipped his drinking bowl into the larger bowl nested in the brazier, wiped away the soup dripping down the side, and licked his finger clean. “All who stood atop the mound could’ve seen Kasaya place his spear between the boulders. Nakht has gone to the netherworld. Of the others, I doubt any but those four can read.”
“Another man, perhaps one of Nebwa’s spearmen, might’ve found the weapon later.”
“Or a villager?” Bak asked in a wry voice.
The reminder of Tetynefer’s message to the viceroy brought a grim smile to Imsiba’s lips. “I think both unlikely,” he conceded.
Bak hunched forward. “According to Harmose, Nakht spoke with Mery, Paser, and Nebwa, each man alone, a few hours before he was slain. I think it safe to assume he also spoke alone with Harmose. They were all four near the residence when Nakht was slain, and all have traveled to the mines.”
