Lauren Haney: A Vile Justice

Djehuty dismissed the fishermen with a wave of his hand. "The second to die was the guard Montu. He was an older man, I was told. A spearman brought from the garrison, long past the age of facing an enemy on the field of battle. He was assigned to patrol the gardens, to fend off the town children who ofttimes climb over the compound wall to take for themselves a succulent melon or an armload of fruit. Hatnofer had told me he wasn't much good at the task, and she was thinking of replacing him."

"The children liked him." Ignoring Djehuty's thin-lipped frown, Amonhotep explained, "They came into the gardens, not to pilfer, but to listen to his tales of warfare and courage, stories of the past when our sovereigns marched off to war, leading our armies to victory."

"For some reason," Djehuty said, raising his voice to override his aide, "probably to eat his evening meal undisturbed, he climbed onto the roof of the cattle shed."

"He often spent time there," Amonhotep said. "He could look down upon the garden, and when his joints ached, he had no need to walk the paths."

With a loud clearing of his throat, Djehuty stared pointedly at his aide. Amonhotep lowered eyes Bak could have sworn were twinkling at a jest the governor failed to see. How often, he wondered, did the aide tease his master, and how far dared he go?

"He was seen alive on the roof at dusk," the governor said, "and the following morning he was found dead at the base of the stairway he would've descended, the shaft of his spear broken, the point in his breast. The stairs are steep, and the sergeant of the guard found a smear of oil near the top, spilled from Montu's evening meal, he assumed."

"So you believed he slipped, breaking the shaft as he fell." Bak raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Did he reach the ground first and the spearpoint fall on him, driving itself deep into his breast? Or did the stub of the shaft bury itself in the ground, allowing him to fall on the point?"

Djehuty shifted on the pillows; his eyes sought Amonhotep, looking for. an answer that would blunt the point of Bak's sarcasm.

The aide shrugged. "As I said when first we met, Lieutenant, who wants to believe in the abhorrent?"

Bak had known many men who had mastered the art of self-deception. He disliked admitting it, but at times he stood among them, as eager to believe what he wanted to believe as the most adept. But in time the truth had to be faced no matter how hard to swallow. "Tell me of the man who was stabbed, the one whose death convinced you a murderer walked among you."

"His name was Senmut," Djehuty said. "He was sergeant of the guard, the man who found Monta dead. A man in the prime of life, close to me in age. One who worked and played with the vigor of a youth, the strength of a bull."

Of the three who had died, Bak noticed, this was the first the governor had praised. "You knew him well, sir?" "He grew to manhood in Abu, and so did 1. We played together as children, soldiered together as men. We wagered over anything and everything, we shared the same beer jars, we lay with the same women in houses of pleasure both here and in faroff lands." Djehuty's voice strengthened, took on a note of pride. "He was a man among men."

Could Senmut have been chosen for death, Bak wondered, because of his friendship with Djehuty? Or was the slayer unaware they were close? "How did he die?"

Djehuty's voice grew taut. "One morning, inside the rear gate, he was found with a dagger in his breast."

"The dagger was his own," Amonhotep said, noting his superior's distress. "We longed to believe he was slain by someone from outside the wall, from the city of Abu, which abuts these grounds — but the gate was latched on the inside. The thrust to his breast was true, giving him no time to secure the latch. He was last seen after darkness fell the previous evening, checking the guards assigned to night duty. The guard at the front gate reported no one leaving after Senmut made his rounds, and with the rear gate latched…" The officer spread his hands wide, accenting the obvious. "Whoever slew him spent the night inside this compound."

Bak whistled. No wonder Djehuty had taken fright! No wander he had asked the vizier's advice-and acted on it! Bak paced the gravel path beside the shallow pool, his thoughts flitting in every direction, probing possibilities, seeking a reason that would account for the three deaths, anything that might give him a path to follow.

Djehuty, who had tired of the audience hall, had suggested they adjourn to the garden, where a gentle breeze rustled the leaves of a small, tidy grove of pomegranate, date, and sycamore trees. He and Amonhotep faced each other on two wooden benches shaded by a bower of lush grapevines. The musty scent of fresh-turned earth wafted across the pool from several newly planted garden plots. Other small plots outlined by irrigation ditches and low mud walls contained maturing lettuce, onions, and radishes, beans and chickpeas, and a long, narrow stand of melons. Cornflowers, poppies, and daisies grew among the trees, while the blossoms of the blue lily floated on the surface of the pool, perfuming the air.

"How long ago was the youth Nakht slain?" Bak asked, pausing before the arbor.

Djehuty glanced at Amonhotep, passing on the question. "I remember thinking when I arose this morning that Montu was slain a month ago today, exactly thirty days. As for the boy…" The aide stared at the pool, trying to recall. "Yes, he died ten days before the guard did, a week to the day." A sudden thought brought his head around and he gave Bak an odd look. "They both were slain on the final day of the week, and so was Senmut, ten days after Montu's demise."

Bak stood quite still. "Today is the final day of this week."

"You don't think… T' Amonhotep stared, appalled. He had been absent from Abu for eighteen days, almost two weeks.

Bak swung toward the governor. "Did anyone die on the grounds of this villa ten days ago?"

Djehuty autontatically shook his head, then his face drained of color and he moaned. "It was an accident. It had to be. No man or woman was near the animal."

"What are you saying?" Amonhotep looked ready to shake his superior. "Did someone meet a violent end while I was gone?"

"Lieutenant Dedi." Djehuty's shoulders slumped, and he spoke barely above a whisper. "It happened in the stable here in the compound. He was found in a stall, trampled to death by a horse gone mad."

"What exactly happened?" Bak demanded, his voice so harsh he frightened an approaching duck and her brood, sending them fluttering toward the nearest ditch. "Horses don't go mad without cause. And men don't walk into a stall containing an animal whose spirit is troubled." As a former charioteer, Bak could speak with authority.

"This horse went mad, I tell you." Djehuty rubbed his face as if to wipe away the problem. "Maybe the creature ate tainted food. Maybe a mouse or rat frightened him. Maybe he took a dislike to Lieutenant Dedi's smell." He shook his head, unable to come up with a satisfactory reason. "Maybe the signs of madness were there all along and Dedi failed to see them. He was young and green, new to horses."

"I doubt his death was an accident," Bak said. "It fits too neatly into the pattern."

"Pattern!" Djehuty sneered. "Coincidence, more likely." Bak felt like strangling him. Each time Djehuty had to face a new horror, he retreated farther from the truth. "You must see, sir, that if Lieutenant Dedi was slain exactly ten days ago, and the sergeant ten days before him, and the spearman ten days earlier, and the servant.. " A new realization struck and his voice faltered. "By the beard of Amon!"

"What is it?" Amonhotep asked. "What's wrong?"

"A second pattern." Bak saw the perplexity on both men's faces and hastened to explain. "Think of the rank of each man who was slain. First a lowly servant, next a common guard, third a sergeant, and.. "