The big Medjay waded out to meet them, the look on his face one of intense relief. Bak, his knees so weak he could barely stand, shoved Nenu roughly through the shallow water. The guard stumbled. To save himself, he grabbed his captor's arm. Bak staggered, came close to falling. A soldier raced forward and plunged his spear deep into Nenu's breast. The guard crumpled to the earth. The crowd gasped.
"No!" Bak croaked.
He signaled Kasaya to snare the soldier and knelt beside Nenu. He spoke fast, aware the guard's life was draining away. "Did you slay mistress Hatnofer and the others in the governor's household?" His throat hurt; his voice sounded raspy.
"No," Nenu whispered.
"Did you leave those gifts in my quarters? The fish, the doll, the scorpions?"
Nenu, looking puzzled, tried to raise his hand. Bak lifted it for him and laid it on his chest. The guard inched it upward to clutch the spear. "Scorpions?"
The confusion on his face verified Bak's guess: someone else had left the unwanted gifts. "Did you strike me with a sling while I stood at the water gauge?"
Nenu licked his lips as if about to speak, but shook his head instead, the effort to talk too great for his failing strength.
"Why did you try to slay me?" The question was too broad, demanding too much of a man breathing his last. "Who told you to slay me?"
"I won't…" Nenu frowned, trying to think or maybe just to form the words. "Governor Djehuty. He said…" He coughed. Blood bubbled from his mouth. His head fell to the side and his body went limp. His ka, his eternal life force, had fled.
"Is it possible?" Psuro asked. "Would the governor order slain the man who's trying to save his life?"
"Who knows? He becomes more irrational each day." Bak tilted the bronze mirror to reflect the early morning sun and raised his chin to examine his neck. Dark bruises marked the flesh, fingerprints of the dead guard. "He reeks of fear."
Kasaya swallowed a mouthful of bread spread liberally with honey. "I'd be afraid, too, if I knew I would die in only two days' time."
The monkey, perched on the young Medjay's knee, licked honey from its sticky hands. The black dog lay against Psuro's thigh, sniffing a chunk of bread the monkey had thrown aside. A soft breeze drifted across the rooftop, carrying the mingled odors of the river, animal waste, and beer. In a nearby lane, a woman hummed a love song in a light, sweet voice.
"No, as witless as he is, I doubt he'd have me slain for trying to save him." Bak laid the mirror on the rooftop, broke a chunk from a flat slab of fresh bread, and dunked it into the fish stew left from the previous evening. The cold stew was soft and bland, easily swallowed. "More likely, he wants me gone before I learn the secret he refuses to tell."
Psuro swirled his bread in the stew, stirring it up. "What could be so important, so shameful he'd take another man's life rather than speak out?"
"And at the same time risk his own life," Kasaya added. "No officer wants to be accused of incompetence, especially if men have died at his orders." Psuro frowned, thinking. out loud. "Djehuty's poor leadership caused the deaths of more than one hundred men, but we've known that for some time."
"No officer-no soldier, for that matter, wishes to be thought a coward," Kasaya said, "yet rumor hints that he behaved in a craven manner during the storm."
"Look at him now," Psuro sneered. "Hiding away in his bedchamber like a frightened babe."
Bak swallowed another bite of stew. "If he took Min's life, especially if he did so with his own hands… Now there's a secret that if divulged would not only destroy his reputation but might well cost him his life. I doubt even his friend the vizier could turn his back on such a crime."
"We have no witnesses," Psuro said with a slow, thoughtful nod, "and as long as he doesn't admit to wrongdoing, he knows we can do nothing."
Bak aired the thought that had kept him awake far into the night. "A secret too dreadful to reveal, whether the death of Min or some other vile deed, would surely be an abomination to the gods." He took a bite and let the stew slide down his throat, cooling, soothing. "Would he not, then, do all in his power to remain alive, giving himself time to seek absolution so he could enter the netherworld and the hall of judgment with a free conscience? Would he not wish his heart to reveal no trace of deceit or treachery when it's weighed against the feather of truth?"
Psuro and Kasaya stared, both men silenced by the reminder that the stakes reached beyond Djehuty's worldly life. If he had ordered Nenu to slay Bak, the one man who might be able to save his life, the risk he took was awesome, an invitation to spend eternity unjustified, unable to enter the Field of Reeds.
"There must be something else," Bak said. "Some other reason for his mad behavior. Something I've overlooked." "My fathei is very ill, Lieutenant." Khawet stood in the hallway outside Djehuty's private reception room, a reddish pottery bowl in her hand. The contents smelled of vomit. "I can't let you see him."
"I must speak with him." Bak's voice broke, the vehemence straining his bruised throat. Irritated, he tried again. "If he wishes me to save his life… If you wish me to save him, you'll let me see him."
"I can't." Her voice was tense; the flesh stretched tight across her face. "Don't you understand? He's too ill to see anyone."
He was reluctant to add further pressure, but if he was to save Djehuty, he had no choice. "My father, a physician, believes speech can free a man from worry."
"If you have a message, one that will drain my father's heart of fear and anxiety, I'll relay it to him." Her voice turned chilly. "If you've nothing but endless questions, I can't help you. I won't add weight to his burden."
Bak glanced pointedly into the empty reception room, which was as clean and neat as if the governor had never set foot inside. "Where's Lieutenant Amonhotep? Did not Djehuty order him to remain by his side at all times?"
"I needed more herbs. As soon as my father slept, I asked Amonhotep to go to the market for me. He wanted instead to send a servant, but I insisted he go. He was sorely in need of a respite." Her mouth tightened. "You'll not gain admittance through him, Lieutenant. Even he, as exhausted as he is, wouldn't be so foolish as to let you disturb a man so ill."
Bak bit back a sharp reply. At times she was as impossible as Djehuty, as stubborn. "You've surely heard that Nenu, one of the guards here in this household, tried to slay me last night, and he, in turn, was slain."
"I've heard the tale, yes." She gave him a sharp look. "What does that have to do with my father?"
"Nenu told me as he lay dying that Djehuty ordered him to take my life.'
She flung up her head, startled. "He wouldn't do such a thing. The guard lied."
"Perhaps." Though his voice was difficult to control, he hit exactly the right note: noncommittal with doubt seeping in.
"Why would he?" she demanded, defensive. "If your theory is correct, if you're his only chance of survival, as Amonhotep believes, it would make no sense."
"Now you know why I must speak with him."
She hesitated, glanced down at the bowl, scowled. "I'm giving him a herbal broth that should relieve his stomach. When he's able to see you, I'll summon you."
Bak strode away, cursing the day the vizier had suggested he come to Abu. Why were people always so unwilling to do what was best for them?
"He's worked himself into such a state he can keep no food in his stomach. I didn't want to leave him, but how could I refuse mistress Khawet? Her days are already too long and filled to the brim. So I went to the market for her." Amonhotep held out a basket from which several bundles of dried herbs protruded. Beneath lay linen-wrapped packets containing crushed herbs and potions. "Actually, I didn't mind. I needed a reprieve, as she, said."
Bak had intercepted the aide at the back gate opening onto the narrow lane behind the governor's compound. "She told me he was sick, very sick."