Lauren Haney: A Vile Justice

Thuty planted his elbows on the arms of his chair and eyed Bak over entwined fingers, stretching the silence as if mulling over the idea. "I see no reason why I can't loan you to Djehuty for a few weeks. Let me summon a scribe and bind you in writing to my command."

Bak, seated on a mudbrick bench, stretched out his legs and leaned back against the white-plastered wall, savoring his last few hours in Buhen. The courtyard was sunny and warm, unusually quiet for so late in the morning, with no customers patronizing Nofery's house of pleasure.

The sound of a broom moving briskly across the floor could be heard in the front, most public room in the house, while a soft snore came through a portal to the rear, where the younger women slept.

"You leave _ tomorrow?" The query came from a third open door, from which the smell of roast goose drifted. Beneath a lean-to, which shaded half the court, a young lion cub lay sprawled, licking its paws and cleaning its face. Its ears pricked at the sound of its mistress's voice, but it never paused in its ablutions.

"At first light." Bak's eyes began to twinkle. "Too early, I fear, to bid you goodbye-unless you'd prefer I awaken you."

Nofery came out the door, scowling. "The very thought is abhorrent."

Mice scurried unafraid through the straw and the palm frond roof over the obese old woman's head, competing with sparrows for seeds and nest materials. She transferred her scowl to the movement on the roof, then glanced critically at the lion. Her eyes soon darted around, and she spotted a stool, which she dragged close to Bak. She plopped down, her heavy legs and ample buttocks making the stool almost disappear.

"It pains me deeply to admit it, Bak, but I fear I'll miss you. All the bar you consume, the humor you so often exercise at my expense, the use you make of my knowledge and friendships, the…"

Bak reached forward and pinched her fleshy cheek. "Be silent, old woman. Tears will flow from my eyes if you go on with your confession of fondness."

She slapped his hand away. "Fondness, indeed! It's the demands you make that I'll miss. Like I'd miss a toothache." "How would you ever manage without me?"

"None too well, I'd guess." Nebwa sauntered in from the front room, holding in each hand two pottery beer jars, their plugs already broken away. "If you hadn't made her your spy when first you came to Buhen, she'd still be eking out a living in that hovel in the outer city."

Nofery lifted her head high and sniffed. "Will you never learn tact, Troop, Captain? I've no regrets about days gone by, nor do I wish to relive that life in words."

Chuckling, he sat on the floor beside her and handed her a jar of beer. "Drink, my little dove. Drown your sour disposition in the finest brew in Buhen."

Imsiba followed Nebwa into the court, carrying a small basket lined with leaves. "If the beer won't cheer her, perhaps this gift sent by Sitamon will put a smile on her face." Sitamon was Imsiba's beloved, an attractive young woman he planned soon to take for his wife.

He handed the basket to Nofery and joined Nebwa on the floor. She folded back the leaves to reveal a dozen or more small cakes made of crushed dates and nuts, dripping with honey. Her eyes. locked onto them, and she licked her lips. They were her favorite delicacy, a fact Sitamon knew well.

"So…" Nebwa demanded, winking at Bak, "… are you going to eat them all yourself or will you share a few?" Flashing him a contemptuous look, she handed the basket over. He took a sweet and passed it on. Bak and Imsiba refused the offer. Sitamon had meant them for Nofery, and she should have them.

She helped herself and took a bite, delighting in the taste and texture. "Would that I could go to Abu, too," she said, her voice tinged with yearning.

Bak gave her a surprised look. "How many times have you told me you prefer Buhen to any other place?"

"Can I not sometimes feel a longing for my homeland?" She frowned, as if unable to believe he could be so obtuse. "Can I not dream sometimes of returning to a valley of broad green fields and prosperous villages and cities where men and women walk the streets clad in fine linen and exquisite jewelry?"

Bak knew she had long ago been a courtesan in the capital, a creature of beauty who had lain with the most lofty men in the land. She seldom mourned the past, but now and again memories lay heavy within her breast. He asked, "Have you ever heard of Djehuty, sired in Abu and now governor of the southernmost province of Kemet?"

Distracted by the question and pleased he had consulted her, she licked the honey from her fingers. "Djehuty. Hmmmrn." Absentmindedly, she reached for another sweet. "Yes, son of a nobleman. One who also served as governor of the province, as did his father before him. And his father's father, so I heard." She took a bite, chewed. "Djehuty, sent as a boy to the capital to rub shoulders with the royal children. An only son, I seem to remember, spoiled by his mother and father alike. A stubborn youth, who did as he wished, heeding no one's advice, ofttimes taking upon himself authority too great for his age or abilities."

Nebwa snorted. "Sounds a true son of the nobility. I hope for your sake, Bak, he's outgrown such childish, headstrong behavior."

"I'll find out soon enough. We sail at first light tomorrow, and if the gods smile on us, we'll arrive in Abu nine or ten days hence."

Imsiba eyed him across the top of the beer jar. "Would that I could go with you, my friend."

"And I, too," Nebwa said, raising his jar to Bak. "No slayer alive could hide his guilt for long with the three of us…" He glanced at Nofery, read the hurt on her face at being left out, smiled. "… and Nofery hot on his trail."

Bak shook his head at what he knew was impossible. "Kasaya and Psuro will go with me. With no rank to get in their way, they can ask questions of all those men and women who might answer me with silence, thinking me a threat to their masters. Besides, I trust both with my life, and so should you."

Nebwa's eyes darted Bak's way. "You don't think it'll come to that, do you?"

"I don't know." Bak gave him a rueful smile. "Amonhotep has added nothing to what he told us in the commandant's presence. Djehuty, he claims, has tied his hands, saying he prefers to tell me the tale himself, filling in the details. The reason, Amonhotep refuses to give."

"How can he blind you to the facts?" Imsiba asked, indignant.

Nebwa gave the big Medjay a long, thoughtful look. "I think we must find an excuse to follow Bak to Abu. To walk with a friend along a familiar sunlit street is one thing; to walk alone with strangers down a dark and unknown path is foolhardy."

Bak crossed the gangplank and stepped onto the landingplace, a natural stone shelf flattened to suit the needs of man. With Lieutenant Amonhotep in the lead, he traversed the smoothed surface in a half dozen steps and climbed a long flight of stairs cut into the natural stone of the island of Abu. At the top, he turned to look down upon the sleek traveling ship that had carried them north. The long stretch of rapids just upstream of Abu had proven no obstacle to the agile craft. Instead of men letting the vessel down through the rocky channels with ropes, as was necessary in many parts of the Belly of Stones, a pilot had come aboard to sail it among the many small islands and down swift and foaming passageways that, though less hazardous than those near Buhen, were still dangerous.

Bak waved at the two Medjays standing on deck amidst the baskets and bundles of supplies and weapons they had brought from Buhen. Psuro, a man of good sense and courage, close to thirty years of age, was thickset in build, with a face scarred by some childhood disease. The younger of the pair, Kasaya, was the biggest and strongest man in Bak's unit, not greatly gifted with intelligence, but good-natured and likable. They would stay on board until Bak obtained suitable quarters for the three of them.