"You're the governor of this province, sir. You must show them how strong you are, how wise."
Strong? Wise? Bak closed his eyes, grimaced. How could the aide stoop so low?.
Djehuty clutched the sheet, trying to decide. "They're awaiting me, you say?"
"You'd better get dressed," Bak said in a curt voice. "Most have fields to plow and seed to sow. They can't wait all day."
Djehuty hesitated a long time, threw back the sheet, hesitated again, and finally swung his long, thin legs off the bed. Amonhotep gave Bak a brief but grateful smile. Convinced the aide could bolster Djehuty's pride enough to get him moving, Bak slipped out of the room.
Standing at the rear of the audience hall, Bak spoke with the guard as they awaited Djehuty's appearance. A few of the people he had seen here eatlierin the day had given up and left the building, but most remained. Years of waiting had given them tenacity, though not the ability to suffer in silence. They grumbled, whined, complained, made futile threats and demands. He had no idea what he would do if the governor failed to show up. Perhaps he could search out Troop Captain Antef and try to convince him to mete out justice, at least temporarily.
A whispered warning drew his eyes to the door behind the dais. Djehuty strode into the room, silencing the aggrieved. Baton of office in hand, he stared straight ahead, his face set, defying those in attendance to utter a word against him. Amonhotep followed close behind, his grim expression betraying the ordeal he had gone through to prepare his master to do his duty.
Djehuty climbed onto the dais and took his seat. His eyes darted toward Bak and his mouth tightened. "Who will approach me?".
The scribe brought forward the first petitioner. The young farmer Bak recalled seeing earlier in the day dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the floor.
"This is Sobekhotep," the scribe said, "a farmer of the village of
…" He went on to give the necessary particulars, beginning with where the young man dwelt, who his parents were and his wife, and added details of his small farm.
Sobekhotep rose to his knees to present his tale, one all too common along the river. A ship had anchored near his farm one dark and moonless night. The next morning, when he and his family awoke, the ship was gone and so were his cow and calf and a dozen or so geese. "The sailors took them in the dark of night, I know for a fact.". "How can you be sure?" Djehuty demanded.
"Who else would take them? Not my family nor my neighbors, and there was no one else about."
Djehuty's mouth tightened at what sounded like impudence but was probably no more than fear. His voice turned mean. "How dare you come before me, expecting justice, when you've given no description of the vessel, leaving us with no way of finding her master and crew?"
The young man's face flamed. The men and women who were watching, listening, exchanged resentful glances. Angry murmurs swept through the room. Again the governor had failed them. Djehuty's mouth snapped shut. Naked fury showed on his face.
With shaking hands, Sobekhotep removed a folded cloth from beneath his belt. He opened the packet, revealing a grayish pottery shard, which he handed to the scribe. "I made a drawing of the symbols on the prow, sir. The vessel is moored at the quay at Swenet even now."
Someone in the audience hall tittered. Someone else sputtered, unable to contain himself. A third individual laughed outright, setting off the rest. Djehuty sat as still as a statue, his body paralyzed by anger. Amonhotep whispered in his ear. Djehuty shook his head. Looking frantic, the aide whispered long and hard. With obvious reluctance, Djehuty nodded.
Amonhotep stepped forward and spoke. "We'll summon the captain of that ship and call him to account. If your animals and fowl still live, you'll have them back. If not, the master of the vessel must repay you three times their worth."
Murmurs filled the audience hall; the people nodded approval. This was the law they believed in, not the cruel whimsical law they had seen before and feared they would see again.
For the remainder of the morning, Djehuty sat stiff and straight in his armchair, his cheeks ruddy in a pale face. Like a man suffering from shock, he merely went through the motions, too distracted to pay attention. Amonhotep listened closely to each petitioner, as his master should have. He whispered in Djehuty's ear, making those who watched believe he consulted him, and pretended he got a response. He then made wise and honest judgments, announcing them in Djehuty's name as if they were the governor's decisions and not his own.
"You're a master of tact," Bak said, "a man any ranking officer would be proud to have on his staff."
Amonhotep flushed. "I did what, I had to do, that's all." Bak, sitting at the edge of the dais in front of the governor's chair, scowled at the aide seated beside him. "You saved Djehuty today, making him look far more worthy than he is, but can you continue to do so?"
"If he lets me, yes."
"For his own good, he'd better." Bak stood up, paced to the nearest column and back. "I've heard tales of men so angered by unfair treatment that they traveled all the way to the capital to stand before the vizier and plead for justice. I doubt the men in this province have been pressed that hard. Not yet, at any rate. I know the vizier is Djehuty's friend, but one who's so desperate he'll go to the capital carries ten times more weight than one who seeks justice in his own province."
"Djehuty hasn't always been this erratic." The aide clasped his hands tight between his knees. He refused to meet Bak's eyes. "Fear has made him worse each day, and you're the man responsible."
"What would you have me do? Tell him he's safe and let him offer himself to the slayer?"
Looking miserable, Amonhotep shook his head.
Bak eyed the officer, wondering how far he could trust him. He had to tell someone in the governor's villa where he and his men had moved. The aide was the most logical, the man first to know of any incident requiring Bak's presence. He had been in faroff Buhen at the time of Lieutenant Dedi's death, so he could not be the slayer. But his loyalty lay with Djehuty, an unquestioning loyalty that boded ill for anyone who threatened the governor in any way. Bak's one advantage was his desire to keep Djehuty alive.
"Who told Djehuty my men and I have moved to Swenet?"
Amonhotep shook his head. "I don't know. I wasn't by his side every moment-I had tasks to perform, errands to run-and I suppose someone could've entered his rooms, but…" He hesitated, frowned. "Khawet? Did you tell her of your move?"
"We told no one." Bak thought it best to reveal the bare _minimum. If he mentioned the archer, he would have to admit the man had probably drowned. One word to Djehuty, who seemed chastened now but could quickly go on the offensive, and they might well be sent back to Buhen. "Someone left a deadly gift on our doorstep. I thought it best we move to safer quarters."
Amonhotep stared, appalled. "A gift? What was it?" "I'd rather not say. With luck, the one who left it will let slip the fact that he did so."
"I see."
From the bemused look on the aide's face, Bak doubted if he did. "I feel you should know where we've gone, but I'd like your sacred vow that you'll keep the location to yourself, not even sharing it with Djehuty."
Amonhotep appeared none too pleased with the last stipulation, but he nodded. "I swear by the lord Khnum I'll tell no one."
Later, as Bak watched the aide leave the audience hall, shoulders bowed beneath the weight of responsibility, he prayed he had trusted the right man. If he had erred, if another attempt was made on his life, he would know in which direction to look first. Or would he? Who had told Djehuty of his move?
Chapter Twelve
"I can't just walk away and leave them," Khawet said. "Why not?" Bak eyed the five nearly naked men spread across the roof of the cattle shed, cleaning fish and laying them out to dry. "Not a man here is neglecting his duty, and they all know their tasks very well."