Djehuty had implied, Bak recalled, that he had not known Montu. "Did he give a reason?"
"Who knows?" Nenu shrugged. "My friend was afraid mistress Hatnofer would catch her eavesdropping, so She slipped away."
His older companion grinned. "Maybe the governor wanted to show her who was master. I would've if I'd had sufficient nerve-and the power to go with it."
"You were afraid of her?" Nenu barked out a disdainful laugh. "She seldom had occasion to so much as notice me, but I'd have stood up to her if she ever talked to me like she did most everyone else around here." He looked at Kames as if daring him to challenge the claim. "A woman like her… Well, she talked big, threw her weight around, but she bowed low to a show of strength."
The older man winked at Bak, deriding the young man's braggadocio. "Some men like doing battle with women; I don't."
Nenu gave him a searching look, as if he suspected a slur on his manhood.
A flock of pigeons wheeled overhead, wings whirring. They swooped down all at once, dropping onto the walls, the granaries in the next yard, the roof of the servant's quarters.
"I've heard Sergeant Semnut stood up to mistress Hatnofer more than once." Bak had heard no such thing, but from the way Djehuty had praised his old friend, the assumption seemed logical. Hopefully the charge, true or not, would distract the pair from the superstitious nonsense Nakht's mother had used to evade his questions.
"Now where'd you hear a. thing like that?" Kames asked. "It's what you'd expect, I grant you, but…"
"Senmut had no time for her!" Nenu curled his lip, disgusted. "He could get a smile and an arch look from any woman he wanted. Why would he bother with a dried-up old cat who approached all who came near with bared fangs and extended claws?"
Kames rolled his eyes skyward. "Two of a kind, they were. Each time I saw them talking, I expected a storm, the likes of which I've seen only as a youth, sailing aboard a warship — on the great green sea." He frowned, as if disappointed. "But they never fought, just looked at each other like two wrestlers ready for a match, both unwilling, maybe afraid, to strike the first blow."
Nend shoved himself away from the wall and glared down at the older, smaller man. "You never liked him, did you?" Kames stood up slowly, warily, and backed off a couple — of steps, startling the pigeons on the ground, setting them to flight. "You're4oo easily impressed by bluster, Nenu. By a man's words, not his deeds."
An argument suited Bak's purpose, for it would loosen tongues, but he was well aware of how fast men could come to blows in a garrison untroubled by warfare. He pulled his legs close and shifted his weight forward, ready to leap between the pair should the need arise.
Nenu, his chin thrust out, took a step toward the older guard. "What do you mean by that?"
Keeping a wary eye on the younger man, Kames edged toward his spear. Bak hissed a warning. The guard flinched, startled, and stepped back a pace. "Senmut was a good, reliable soldier, that I grant you, but he wasn't to be trusted in a game of chance or with another man's woman."
"How would you know?" Nenu scoffed. "How long's it been since a woman's shared your sleeping pallet?"
A flush of anger spread across Karnes's face, banishing caution. He took a quick step forward, fists balled, and swung on Nenu. The younger man, caught by surprise, ducked backward. Snarling a curse, he dropped his head low, ready to ram the man who had dared attack him.
"Enough!" Bak lunged toward the pair, glaring at them, daring them to disobey.
They stared defiance, forgetting for an instant who and what he was. Then comprehension flitted across their faces;, they backed off, formed forced, half-embarrassed smiles.
"At the time of his death, Senmut was in charge of the household guards." Bak spoke in a cold and harsh voice, emphasizing his authority. "He was assigned to the garrison before he came here, was he not?"
Nenu shifted from one foot to the other, cleared his throat. "He was-until the governor had him reassigned." "Senmut never failed to remind all who would listen that they were long-time friends." Kames stared straight ahead, taking care not to look at Bak or the younger guard. "Troop Captain Antef, when first he came to Abu, was unimpressed by the claim. He assigned him to quarry duty along with everybody else. Senmut thought himself above standing out in the sun all day, ordering men to toil like beasts of burden, so he outflanked Antef and got himself the softer task." Bak scowled at the men before him, letting them know they had yet to satisfy him. "You've both lived in Abu for some time, and you know of the desert storm that stole the lives of many men in the garrison, leaving only a few survivors. Was Senmut one of those men? One who came back alive?"
The guards stood as stiff as posts, and as silent. "Well?" Bak demanded. "Was he?"
"Yes, sir!" Nenu said. "At least I've heard he was." "Was Montu also a survivor?"
"So they say," Kames answered.
Bak gave the pair a long, speculative glance. "That storm was surely the most important event in the history of Abu. The names of those who came back alive must be carved into the hearts of all who live here. Why do you feign ignorance?"
The guards looked at each other as if seeking help, or support.
Kames, the first to look away, shuffled his feet, seemed not to know what to do with his hands. "I never once heard Montu mention the storm, nor do l know anyone else who has. As much as he talked, as many tales as he told, he never uttered a word about a time you'd think he'd brag about through eternity."
"Nor did Sergeant Senmut." Nenu gave his fellow guard a furtive glance. "I was told when first I came to Abu never to mention the storm. The men in the barracks said none who came back ever spoke of it, as if it were an awful nightmare they wanted to forget forever more."
"Or were ordered to forget," Karnes mumbled beneath his breath.
Bak left the guards outside the villa, well satisfied with what they had told him. The direction in which Nakht's mother had pointed, the idea she had given him, looked considerably more appealing than before. Of the five people slain, two had survived the storm and a third individual's parent had survived. Would the same prove true of Lieutenant Dedi and mistress Hatnofer?
He turned down the corridor leading to the scribal office. Barely eighteen years of age, Dedi had, according to Kames, never set foot in Abu until three months ago. He could not have marched into the desert with that ill-fated caravan. But perhaps his father had served in Abu, as had Nakht's, and had been among those who survived the storm. Making a wager with himself that such was the case, adding a prayer to the lord Amon to ensure success, Bak stepped through the doorway, drawing the eyes of the ten scribes who toiled there and of Simut, seated on a thick pallet before them.
The chief scribe pursed his lips in disapproval. "Here again, Lieutenant? I fear we'll have to make new seating arrangements, adding a permanent space for you."
A youthful scribe tittered. The older, more experienced men dropped their eyes to the scrolls spread across their laps and set their pens to scratching, hiding smiles or smothering laughter.
Eager to prove his theory, Bak ignored the jibe. "I'm in need of a personal record, that of Lieutenant Dedi." "We're not in the habit of letting anyone and everyone borrow our records. You must go first to Governor Djehuty and if he deems you worthy, he'll see you have clearance to take the scroll."
Swallowing a sharp reply, Bak strode between the two rows of seated men and stopped before the chief scribe. "I've not come to borrow, only to read, a task I prefer to do here."
"Well…" Simut hesitated, frowned. "Well, I'm not sure…"