Lauren Haney: A Vile Justice

The journey from Buhen had been pleasant, a lazy time of fishing from the deck, swimming, eating, and sleeping. He and Amonhotep had talked about everything but what lay uppermost in their thoughts: the death of three people in the governor's household. He could not imagine why Djehuty had silenced the young aide. It made no sense.

Curiosity had nagged him throughout the voyage, but now that the time had come to learn exactly what he faced, he hesitated to walk into the villa. Taking a deep breath, shoving aside his apprehension, he strode toward the arched gateway built into a long bare wall, behind which tall palms waved in the breeze and leaves rustled on sycamores and acacias and several other varieties of tree. Very little of the house, which was located near the center of the walled compound, could be seen from where he stood. A second story, much smaller than the first, perched atop the rear rooms. A donkey brayed somewhere in the distance, and two yellow curs snarled at each other across a dirt-encrusted bone. The odors of roasting meat and baking bread wafted through the gate, a siren's bounty beckoning him inside.

"I've nothing to fear." Djehuty stared at Bak, daring him to argue the point. "Why should I? The first two who died were peasants, people I doubt I'd have recognized if I met them on a lane outside these walls. The third was a soldier I respected, admired in many ways, but not a man I invited into my private rooms."

Bak offered a silent prayer of thanks to the lord Amon for the scroll he held in his hand, and another to Commandant Thuty for preparing it. From what little he had seen so far of Governor Djehuty, he would need it. The man thought of no one but himself.

"Sir, as a result of your summons, I've spent nine long days journeying north from Buhen. I've been told three men of this household have died, yet I've been given no details. I know only that two of the victims could as easily have lost their lives as the result of an accident as at the hands of another. Have I come for nothing or for a purpose?"

Djehuty, a tall, white-haired man, angular of face and body, thrust himself forward in his armchair. His eyes glinted; his words came out in a dangerous purr. "Your voyage north was comfortable, Lieutenant?"

"I fished most of every day, sir, and slept." Bak knew if he allowed himself to be intimidated now, this man would never let him go about his task without interference. Djehuty would try at every turn to manipulate him and would then demean him as one too weak to stand up for himself. That he could not permit. "The time would've been better spent if you'd not silenced Lieutenant Amonhotep, if he'd been free to tell me of the dead men and describe the way they died."

Djehuty's mouth tightened. "Impertinent young…" "Sir!" Amonhotep stepped forward, drawing the governor's angry scowl. "Commandant Thuty was very reluctant to lose Lieutenant Bak, even for a few weeks. We must make the most of his time here. Who knows how long he'll be able to stay?"

Picking up on the hint, Bak stepped to the base of the dais on which Djehuty sat and offered the scroll. "I've a document for you, sir, from Commandant Thuty."

The governor glowered at the papyrus roll and the man who held it. Bak could guess his thoughts. In theory, a governor held more power than a commandant, but this particular commandant of Buhen was known to be a personal friend of the viceroy of Wawat and Kush, a man whose responsibility for the movement of trade and tribute gave him the ear of the vizier and, more importantly, of their sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut herself.

Djehuty formed a cool smile and leaned back in his chair, hands resting on the arms, thus forcing his aide to take the document, break the seal, untie the string, and pass it on. As the governor unrolled the scroll and began to read, Amonhotep sneaked a cynical glance at Bak.

To hide his contempt for such trifling displays of authority, Bak half turned away from the dais and glanced around the audience hall. Swathes of light from high windows struck four tall palm-shaped columns supporting the high ceiling and fell across the stone-paved floor. Close to empty now, the hall had teemed with life when first he and Amonhotep had entered. Twenty or more people, mostly farmers and craftsmen with a sprinkling of traders, had been milling around the columns, murmuring among themselves, awaiting their turn to make a supplication or air a complaint or ask for a judgment, one man against another. A flock of scribes had whispered together at the rear of the room, while guards stood at rest- near all the doors.

Then as now, Djehuty had occupied the spacious armchair, well padded with thick pillows, on the low dais that dominated one end of the room. Beside the chair, a large, widemouthed bowl of fragrant blue lily blossoms perfumed the air, shielding the governor from the reek of his subjects' sweat. A scantily clad farmer; on his knees before the dais, had been pleading for lower taxes, while a scribe, seated cross-legged on the floor nearby, recorded the proceedings.

Spotting Amonhotep and Bak, the governor had risen partway out of his chair. The man on his knees had squealed in dismay. Djehuty had dropped back onto the pillows, ordered the scribe to look into the matter further, and announced the end. of the day's audience. The petitioners had melted away, angry and resentful at the abrupt dismissal, but resigned to come again another day. The scribes had hesitated to leave, curious about the newcomer at the door. A flick of Djehuty's wrist had sent them scurrying from the hall. All the guards had been dismissed except the man at the double doors, as if Djehuty feared more than anything else that a petitioner might enter unbidden.

An irritated grunt from Djehuty drew Bak's attention back to the dais. The governor, he saw, was staring at the open scroll with distaste, but with a reluctant acceptance of its contents.

In spite of a curiosity honed to the sharpness of a dagger by Amonhotep's silence, Bak hesitated once again to press forward. Partly because he feared Djehuty would never cease to be difficult. Mostly because he had stepped into an unknown world, where the chance of failure was great. Yet he dared not fail, for the vizier would be sure to hear if his mission went awry. Pushing aside so loathsome a thought, he asked, "Now will you tell me, sir, of the three deaths you summoned me to resolve?"

Djehuty shifted in his seat, glanced at his aide, cleared his throat. "The first to die was the servant Nakht, a mere boy, so they tell me."

"He was eleven years of age," Amonhotep explained, "small for his years, quiet, a child who toiled from dawn to dusk with no complaint."

"I didn't know him." Djehuty scowled, impatient with such petty details. "His place was by the river, where the fishermen bring in their catch day after day, and in the kitchen. He cleaned the many fish required to feed so large a household as this one." He rose slightly in his seat, adjusted a pillow. "Early one morning he went down to the river, and he never returned. My housekeeper, mistress Hatnofer, grew impatient and sent a servant out to look for him. Three fishermen remembered seeing him at daybreak, walking along the shore north of the landingplace. The servant found a child's footprints in the mud, but nothing more. Later in the day, a farmer pulled the boy's body out of the river some distance downstream from Abu, where the current had carried him. We all believed he fell into the water, cracked his head on a rock, and drowned."

"Could he swim?" Bak asked "Like an eel," Amonhotep said. "And according to the fishermen, he knew the river far too well to drown-better than they, in fact." He gave Bak a wry smile. "They're a superstitious lot. They're convinced a spirit from deep within the river pulled him into the depths. They say only a creature not of this world could've robbed him — of the ability to swim."