The double doors of the western, desert-facing gate were spread wide, admitting the soft early morning light into the tunnel-like passage through the twin-towered portal. A long train of heavily burdened donkeys plodded through, drawn by the fresh, clean air outside the walls. Walking in single file, the sturdy beasts set off along the desert trail, following the drover Seshu had assigned to lead the foremost string.
A pack of feral dogs appeared out of nowhere to range alongside, a dozen or so slick-haired, medium sized animals of varying colors.
Drovers cracked their short, stout whips to keep the younger, friskier donkeys in line. Foals gamboled around their mothers. Each time a hoof struck the sand, a tiny puff of dust rose in the animal’s wake. Soon a thin cloud formed above the caravan, tinting the sky a dull gold.
Bak, who had climbed up to the battlements to watch the first animals set out, eyed that golden cloud as he would a pennant held aloft above a unit of his own troops hiding in ambush. It was pleasant to look at but a dead giveaway to an enemy force-and within the hour would be visible from a long way off. A beacon inviting attack.
A shout rent the air, drawing every eye within and with out the fortress. A sentry raced along the parapet atop the southern wall, heading toward the corner tower. Bak burst into a run and sped along the walkway atop the western, desert-facing wall, thinking to intercept him. He could see nothing amiss, but the sentry was responding to what was clearly an urgent problem.
Then he saw a man heave himself into a crenel near the tower and scramble through the opening. At the same time a large gray bird rose into the air. It flew a distance several times the height of a man and stopped abruptly, as if held in place by a god. Wings beating the air, crying a frantic kek-kek-kek, it struggled to free itself from what looked like a long cord binding it to the parapet.
The sentry, with the shorter distance to travel, reached the empty crenel ahead of Bak. He peered through, yelled.
The bird’s actions grew more frenzied. Bak dashed through the corner tower and came out beside the soldier. Looking out the next crenel, he saw a man climbing rapidly down the wall, finding easy handholds among the eroded mud bricks.
Snarling an angry curse, the sentry thrust his spear through the crenel and flung it at the fleeing man. The spear struck the fugitive’s shoulder, drawing blood, but the wound failed to slow him. He dropped the last few cubits to the sand below and swung around to face the desert, poised to flee in that direction. Spotting several men racing toward him from the caravan, he pivoted and headed full tilt toward the river. He vanished among a stand of trees at the edge of the water.
Bak turned away to look at the bird, frantically flapping its wings and crying out for freedom. A falcon, the sacred bird of the lord Horus. A long cord had been tied to its leg and tethered to a spear planted deep within the mudbrick parapet wall. Bak knew nothing of the handling of such birds of prey, but one thing he did know: no man would get close to that frantic creature without protection and knowledge. He leaned over the parapet and called for help to the men below.
A drover from Buhen, wearing heavy leather gloves and using the patience and gentleness of a man long accustomed to handling such birds, brought the falcon down and cov ered its head to quiet it. Bak stood with Nebwa, looking it over before he set it free. It was a magnificent creature, more than a cubit long from head to tail, with pale feathers below and darker gray above, a hooked beak and long curved talons. Sharp-eyed and deadly when hunting, gentle and loving when satiated. Or so the drover said.
“Why, in the name of the lord Amon, would anyone tie a bird up here?” Nebwa demanded.
“The deed was done deliberately,” Bak said. “The man came, left it in the most conspicuous place he could find, and ran away. We were meant to see it now, as the caravan moves out.”
“Why?” Nebwa repeated, glaring at the falcon.
Bak had had plenty of time to think while he waited for someone to rescue the bird. “The falcon is a creature of the desert, Nebwa, a creature of Horus.”
His friend, quick to understand, glared. “You can’t be thinking what I suspect you’re thinking.”
“Hor-pen-Deshret. Falcon of the desert. I think this bird was meant to announce his return.”
“No. I don’t believe it.” Hebwa hesitated, then said more thoughtfully, “He is a man who likes to show off, to prove himself braver and more clever than others. But…” He shook his head. “No, it can’t be true.”
He spoke, Bak noticed, with less assurance than he had when first he had heard the rumors of Hor-pen-Deshret’s return.
Bak thought of the many desirable objects he had seen in Amonked’s pavilion, with far more hidden behind the wall hangings, he suspected. If Hor-pen-Deshret did not already know of them he soon would. And the way rumors spread along the river, their content growing faster than aphids on a flower… The very thought was abhorrent.
“I advise you to sail to the new fortress, sir.” Nebwa was on his best behavior, congenial to a fault. He had refused to dwell on whatever significance the falcon might have had, preferring instead to deal with the more practical con cerns. “It’s not far from Kor, but it’ll be a lot faster than walking up the trail with the caravan. You’d have to use a boat anyway to cross from the west bank to the island on which it’s being built, so you may as well go all the way in comfort.”
Thus far, Amonked had given no sign that he had heard about the previous night’s confrontation with Horhotep, but neither Nebwa nor Bak had any doubt that the adviser had told him of the incident and, in the telling, had made him self look good at their expense.
“Captain Minkheper’s task would certainly benefit,” Bak said. “To get a true picture of the Belly of Stones, he must not only speak with men who sail these waters, but he must spend time on the river.”
“I’d planned to remain with the caravan all the way to
Semna, letting men and animals rest each time I go off to inspect a fortress.” Amonked glanced toward Horhotep, frowned. If he wanted help in making his decision, he was out of luck. His adviser was too far away, walking along the fortress wall, spear in hand, poking and prodding the mudbricks, apparently checking their integrity.
“Oh, all right. Perhaps I should travel by skiff.” Amon ked gave Nebwa a cautionary look. “This time, at any rate.”
They stood close to the spot where the pavilion had stood. The structure had been dismantled, its various pieces and furnishings parceled out among a small herd of don keys. Nefret and her maid Mesutu, Pawah, Theneny, and
Sennefer stood near the gate among the carrying chairs, awaiting Amonked. The scribe had Amonked’s dog on a leash so it could not run loose with the strays. One chair was shaded by a canopy the porters had erected to protect
Nefrets’s delicate complexion.
The falcon was still fresh in Bak’s thoughts, as was the tall column of yellowish dust. “I suggest you keep the car avan moving, sir, stopping only at night.”
“I’ve come to Wawat to inspect the fortresses, young man, not break speed records traveling between Buhen and
Semna.”
“Speed?” Nebwa laughed, forgetting restraint. “With a caravan as large as this?”
Amonked flung an annoyed look his way.
Bak saw Horhotep hurrying toward them. They had to settle the matter before that swine could interfere. “Troop
Captain Nebwa is right, sir. Speed isn’t the issue. For any caravan, large or small, forward movement is preferable to no movement. Each time you must inspect a fortress, let the caravan go on without you. Its size will hold it to a modest pace, preventing it from getting so far ahead that you can’t readily catch up.”
Nebwa, though he must have seen the adviser approach ing, kept his voice level, his manner composed and unhur ried. “The river in this area is relatively free of rapids, so you can sail on upstream after you’ve finished. The caravan might have to catch up with you, not the other way around.”
“Will you obtain a skiff, Troop Captain, while I gather together those men who’ll go with me?” Amonked seemed not to notice Horhotep, coming to a halt beside him, look ing suspicious of what might have occurred while his back was turned.
Nebwa exchanged a quick, satisfied look with Bak, let his eyes skip over Horhotep, and gave the inspector his most hearty smile. “I’d be glad to, sir.”
“Go on about your business,” Nebwa told Bak. “I’ll sum mon you when we’re ready to sail.”
“Amonked has no intention of taking us with him,
Nebwa.”
“He’ll take us.”
Nebwa glanced toward the inspector, who stood among the carrying chairs, facing Nefret. Mesutu and the three men who had been with her earlier had drifted away, al lowing privacy. The concubine was clutching the inspec tor’s arm, the look on her face intense, pleading. Amonked shook off her hand, signaled Thaneny and Pawah to go to her, and walked away.
“Just don’t dawdle when I send for you,” Nebwa added.
Bak was amazed at the confidence his friend could some times muster against all odds. “We vowed we’d not inter fere in his inspection, and so did Commandant Thuty. Are we to break our pledge?”
“We’ll break no oaths if he chooses to invite us along.”
Laughing, Nebwa swung around and strode toward the twin-towered gate that opened onto the quay.
Bak was unsure what he planned, but if the mischievous look he had glimpsed told a true tale, Amonked’s insistence on privacy during his inspections was about to be reversed.
Bak found Lieutenant Merymose standing with his ser geant, Seshu, and the drover of a dozen donkeys awaiting their burdens. All were watching the guards Amonked had brought from the capital, who were scurrying around, pack ing their belongings. Seshu’s mouth was clamped tight, his irritation plain. Merymose, face flushed, looked mortified.
Their sergeant, Roy, stood, hands on hips, glaring at the men for whom he was responsible. The drover watched the guards closely, checking their effort. Bak realized as he came close that the men were not packing for the first time.
They were repacking. No wonder Seshu and the drover were annoyed.
“If these are an example of the men who guard our sov ereign, I fear for her well-being.” Seshu did not bother to lower his voice. “Look at them. Dolts, each and every one.”
“You should’ve seen what they intended my donkeys to carry.” The drover snorted his disgust. “Loads unbalanced.
So loosely tied they’d fall apart. If I hadn’t taken a close look, they’d be dropping equipment and supplies all along the trail. Half the animals would drop, too, from loads too weighty for their slight backs.”
“They’ll learn.” Seshu eyed the guards with contempt.
“Even if I have to take them out into the desert one by one and lay a whip to their backsides.”
The guards sneaked furtive glances his way, checking to see if the threat was sincere. They evidently decided it was, for the pace of their packing grew frantic. Sergeant Roy threw Seshu and the drover a vicious look. Merymose’s color deepened.
Bak could understand men trained for duty as royal guards being innocent of the ways of living outdoors, but these men should have been taught within a night or two of leaving Waset. Merymose and Roy should be called to account for negligence.
“I’ve come to borrow Lieutenant Merymose,” he said, trying not to smile at the guards’ alarm. “Are you finished with him?”
“Take him!” Seshu glared at the young officer. “He’s no good to me.”
Merymose threw Bak a look of immense relief and hur ried along beside him to the western gate. By the time they stopped well out of hearing distance of the sentry and the men and donkeys filing through, the younger officer looked about to burst.
“I’m sorry, sir,” he blurted.
Bak stared at him, caught off-guard.
“I can’t seem to do anything right, sir.” The words tum bled out in a rush. “I thought myself a good officer. But now…” He looked crushed by failure. “Sergeant Roy treats me like a child, and he stands between me and the men. Even if he’d let me do my duty, I wouldn’t know what to do.”
Bak appreciated the honesty. Not many young officers would be so frank, even when desperate to speak out. “Is this the first posting you’ve shared with Roy?”
“Yes, sir. He was in charge of training the men for guard duty. The unit was to be disbanded and they were to be sent to several of our sovereign’s estates. Instead, when I was given this assignment, they were all turned over to me.” Merymose’s voice cracked. “As was he.”
“You’ve never been posted outside of the royal house?”
“No, sir.” Merymose gulped air, calming himself. “I know nothing of the desert, and I’ve come to realize that I know nothing of leading men, training them, guiding them.
What am I to do, sir?”
Bak studied the young officer, remembering his own trial by fire at the hands of a surly sergeant. The man had come close to breaking him, stealing his confidence and self respect before anger and resentment had taken hold. They had fought and Bak had won, ending the cruel game. “I’ll speak with Troop Captain Nebwa. I’m sure he’ll allow Ser geant Dedu to help you learn what you must so you can lead your men as you should. He’s a man of lesser rank, true, but he has the experience and knowledge you need.”
Merymose’s eyes lit up. “That would be wonderful, sir!
I despise looking the fool.”
“He can’t help you stand up to Sergeant Roy. You alone must do that. Only then will you be able to take your right ful place at the head of your company.”
“Roy’s not a good sergeant, I know. He’s indolent at best, incompetent I’m convinced. When I learn what I’m to do, I’ll know how to deal with him.”
The words were a promise and Bak took them as such.
“I can ask no more.”
Another trial Merymose must face was Horhotep, but
Bak said nothing of him. The young man had disarmed the more senior officer the previous evening, which had re quired both courage and conviction. With the help of the gods, he would build upon both assets, gaining the strength of character he would need to deal not only with the ser geant but with the lieutenant.
The braying of a donkey drew Bak’s eyes to the gateway.
A dark gray beast stood facing the passage, ears drawn back, legs stiff, teeth bared. Cursing vehemently, the drover slapped the creature’s flank with the flat of a hand. It re fused to budge. The sentry pointed to a spot above the passageway, where several wasps were buzzing around a nest. Muttering an oath, the drover grabbed the donkey’s bridle and pulled it past the insects.
Bak glanced toward the gate on the opposite side of the fortress. No sign of Nebwa, but if he somehow managed to keep his vow that they would accompany Amonked to the island, time was pressing. “In Buhen, did you spend your nights in the barracks, or in the house where Amon ked’s party was quartered?”
“The house.” Merymose gave a self-deprecating smile.
“Do you think Sergeant Roy wanted me near my own men?”
Bak was pleased the young man could laugh at himself, an invaluable trait given the obstacles he must face. “You know Prince Baket-Amon was slain in the dwelling, I as sume, and of the circumstances surrounding his death.”
Merymose’s face clouded over. “Amonked told us last night while we shared our evening meal.”
“Did you see him the morning he died?”
“No, sir.”
Bak realized he had gotten ahead of himself. “Would you have known him if you saw him?”
“Oh, yes, sir.” Merymose ducked, avoiding a wasp speeding toward the nest. “I often passed him in the cor ridors of the royal house while I checked to be sure the guards remained at their assigned stations. I also saw him in the audience hall and in other, lesser chambers, awaiting some lofty official.”
Bak well remembered his one visit to the royal house. A multitude of buildings, a maze of corridors, dozens of rooms, and too many men to count walking hither and yon, not a face among them one he recognized. “How could you be sure the man you saw was Baket-Amon?”
“Did I not tell you of my good fortune?” Merymose blinked, surprised by the lapse. “I was assigned to accom pany him on a hunting trip. To serve as his aide. Close on two years ago, it was. We went far to the north of Men nufer, seeking wild cattle in the marshes. It was a time I shall never forget.” The young officer glowed with enthu siasm.
“You liked him, I see.”
“Oh, yes, sir! He always made his wishes clear and he made no demands I couldn’t comply with. He was easy to please and generous in showing appreciation. I was sorry when our journey ended.”
A hunting expedition, Bak thought. He had never partic ipated in a hunt arranged by and for the nobility, but he had heard tales. Accidents oft times happened during the chase, when wild animals were fleeing in panic and the men who chased them grew so excited they lost control of their wits. “Did anything out of the ordinary happen during the hunt?”
“No, sir.” Merymose smiled. “We never did come upon any wild cattle, but one man speared a boar and another laid low a farmer’s cow, wounding it so gravely it had to be slain. We also slew small game, mostly hares.”
The death of a cow in the northern marshes could in no way have led to the murder of a prince on the southern frontier, almost a month’s journey away. “Did Baket-Amon often go hunting?”
“So I understand.”
“Did the men who accompanied him appear to like him?”
“Oh, yes, sir!” Merymose must have realized how en thused he sounded, for he blushed. “He was exceptionally skilled with the bow and the spear, but he often held back, allowing the other men to take as much game as he did.”
Envy could be a cruel master. “Was anyone slain or in jured during that trip?”
“One man sprained an ankle and we all fell into the mud at one time or another. Not a man among us came away unscratched and unbruised.”
Nothing there, Bak decided. “Were any young women taken along?”
“Yes, sir. A sufficient number for each of the noblemen.”
As if anticipating Bak’s next question, Merymose added,
“No one had cause for jealousy, sir. The women made sure no man ever lay alone.”
Bak studied the young officer, who made the expedition sound idyllic. Had the days and nights been as untroubled by contention as Merymose believed-or claimed to be lieve? “Did Amonked or any of the others who’ve come with him to Wawat participate in that hunting expedition?”
“No, sir.”
Bak had been reaching for the stars and he knew it. A hunting expedition might lead to murder, but not necessar ily. And if so, the first expedition he heard about was not likely to be the important one.
Bak stood with Nebwa on the riverbank, watching
Amonked’s party board the small boat that would carry them upstream to the island fortress. The inspector crossed the narrow plank with surprising agility for one who looked so much the scribe. Captain Minkheper crossed like the seasoned sailor he was, as did Sennefer. Horhotep hesitated on the bank, but Nebwa’s expectant grin sent him racing on board.
The boat was broad-beamed and flat, rather like a cargo ship but a fraction of the size. Used to ferry people and animals from one side of the river to the other or from island to island, it was strictly utilitarian, unpainted, una dorned. A heavy canvas spread across spindly poles pro vided shade. The vessel stunk of animals and their waste, and of fish and human sweat. The hull groaned, the fittings creaked, the patched sail flapped against the mast and yards.
“How did you convince Amonked to bring us along?”
Bak asked, keeping his voice low so only Nebwa would hear.
Nebwa’s eyes raked the half-dozen skiffs pulled up on the riverbank. “I meant to lie, to tell him the local men wouldn’t have him on their vessels unless we came. I had no need.”
Bak gave his friend a sharp look. “Reality was worse than the falsehood?”
“To a man, the fishermen wanted nothing to do with him.
A couple of farmers agreed to take him, but they’re so resentful of the inspection-so fearful the army will be torn from Wawat-and so angry about Baket-Amon’s death that
I feared an unfortunate accident.”
“With you and me on board?” Bak asked, surprised.
“One man asked if we could swim.”
Normally Bak would have laughed, but not now. “What of him?” He nodded toward the ferryman.
Nebwa scowled. “We’re paying four times the usual rate, and I vowed he’d be the first to drown if the boat sinks.”
“I’m totally out of my element in this barren and desolate land.” Captain Minkheper stood with Bak on a crag, look ing across the narrow channel between the island and the west bank, where the river nibbled at the edge of a blanket of golden sand blown off the western desert. “I’ve lived in
Kemet much of my life, sailing a river that’s broad and deep, looking at fields green and fertile, generous with their bounty. The sands are poised above the valley to either side, to be sure, but at a safe distance for much of the voyage.”
“If you’re being considered for the lofty position of ad miral, you must also have sailed the Great Green Sea.” Bak was referring to the huge expanse of water north of the land of Kemet.
“More often than not, especially in the past few years, but I’m a man of Kemet to the core.”
“The color of your hair tells another tale.”
Minkheper reached up to touch his tousled golden mane, his smile self-conscious. “My ancestors hailed from the is land kingdom of Keftiu and lands farther north. Like me, they were men of the sea.” Letting the smile fade, he stud ied the water flowing past, the rippled surface that indicated rocks below. “The river is now at a low level. How much higher will it be at its fullest?”
“Men who fish these waters and whose fathers before them have done so for many generations say it swells four times the height of a man, sometimes more. They speak of the river near Buhen, not through the Belly of Stones, but
I assume the difference is slight.” Bak climbed down from the crag, as did Minkheper, and they walked toward the partly constructed mudbrick wall of the new fortress. “I’ve never felt the need to investigate for myself. The water runs much faster when it’s high and can take a life in an instant.”
“It looks safe enough now.”
“Appearances can be deceptive.” Bak’s voice was hard, incontestable. He knew of what he spoke. The water had once carried him through some of the worst rapids in the river.
The captain queried him with a glance, but the experi ence was no longer fresh in Bak’s thoughts and he preferred not to revive the memory. “Do you spend much time in the capital?”
“I never used to, but now I must.” Minkheper’s voice grew wry. “How can I hope to attain the exalted position of admiral without making myself known to men who can speak on my behalf to our sovereign?”
Bak veered around a stand of wild grain, setting to flight a pair of quail. “You’re very frank, sir.”
“Believe me, Lieutenant, I’ve grown weary of the effort.
That’s the main reason I agreed to come south with Amon ked.”
That, Bak thought, and the hope of gaining Maatkare
Hatshepsut’s favor by looking into the feasibility of digging a canal through the Belly of Stones. “Who offered you the journey?”
“The overseer of royal shipping, a man I’ve come to know through the years. He took me to Amonked, and there I met Sennefer and Horhotep.” As an afterthought, Min kheper added, “The rest of the party were strangers to me until we set sail.”
“Did you know Prince Baket-Amon?”
“I met him only one time. I can’t say I knew him.”
They circled the stub of a wall and stepped up onto a thick layer of stone fill that would one day serve as a foun dation. Farther on, a long and ragged line of boys was de livering mudbricks to twenty or so masons laying level courses across an expanse of wall.
“Did you by chance see him the morning he was slain?”
“I fear I can’t help you, Lieutenant.”
Bak was growing weary of asking questions no one seemed able to answer. “Did you hear anything that morn ing out of the ordinary, anything that might’ve hinted trou ble was in the air?”
Minkheper let out a short, cynical laugh. “I overheard parts of an argument between Nefret and Amonked. The way they spoke to each other, I’d not have been surprised to hear that she’d been slain.” He paused, added, “Other than that, only the attack on our sailors, which was over before it began.”
Discouraged, Bak looked across the building site, where the fortress commander was pointing out some construction or defense feature to Amonked, Horhotep, and Sennefer.
Nebwa had vanished, gone off to talk to the spearmen as signed to prevent pilferage of materials and equipment. As one who had risen through the ranks, he was popular with the troops and trusted by them.
Bak led the way through a gate awaiting a lintel. Passing a field of bricks drying in the sun, they crossed an expanse of rough, rocky ground dotted with dead and dying tama risks. Minkheper was a true outsider, Bak thought. His light hair set him apart from other men of Kemet, his occupation required that he stand alone as a leader of men. Now here he was in an alien land, traveling among strangers. His presence was fortuitous, for Bak was in need of an unin terested observer.
“Will you give me your impressions of your traveling companions?”
Minkheper eyed him thoughtfully. “Amonked would not be pleased if he thought I spoke with too loose a tongue.”
“He need never know.” Bak scrambled down a narrow, rocky path to the water’s edge. He did not press, preferring that the captain decide for himself.
Minkheper climbed onto a boulder that reached out over the water. From there, he studied the several craggy islands and the narrow, turbulent channels between them and the east bank of the river. “I spent much of the voyage from
Waset performing my duties as commander of Amonked’s flotilla. With so many ships to see to, I had little opportu nity to get to know anyone. I can only give you impressions based on limited contact.”
“I accept that, sir.”
Minkheper scanned the river, searching out its secrets, then dropped off the boulder to walk with Bak along the shore. The chatter of sparrows rose above the murmur of shallow water flowing among rocks.
“I believe Amonked to be a kind and gentle man, one who wouldn’t hurt a scorpion.” Minkheper paused to study a stain on a rock crag, a high-water mark. “Nefret has gone out of her way to try his patience. He’s snapped back at her, argued with her, but he hasn’t laid a hand on her, as some men would. I at first thought him to be weak, but now I’m not so sure.”
“To me, he seems always under tight control.” Or is he merely stubborn and plodding? Bak wondered.
The captain gave him an ironic smile. “I doubt you’d say that if you’d heard him argue with Nefret the morning we left Buhen.”
“Could their dispute have been about Baket-Amon?”
“Not at all. She wanted to return to Kemet and he insisted she travel on to Semna.” Minkheper eyed a clump of brush, torn from the ground, roots and all, by the previous year’s flood. “I think she likes him and respects him, but as a beloved uncle, not the lover she should consider him to be.
And she’s frightened of this wild land through which we’re traveling. She hasn’t the wit to see how unattractive she’s making herself. Frankly, if I walked in Amonked’s sandals,
I’d send her back to her father and have nothing more to do with her.”
Bak pictured the lovely young woman he had seen in the pavilion, upset but dry-eyed. It wouldn’t be easy to spurn her.
“The scribe Thaneny, a man conscientious to a fault, is her devoted slave,” Minkheper continued, “and the herald
Pawah, a mere boy, is equally eager to please her. Even
Sennefer is beguiled by her.”
Surprised, Bak said, “I had an idea nothing touched him, unless in a cynical vein.”
“He appears aloof, yes, but I can see he’s uneasy around the woman; he’s drawn to her. I’ve also noticed that he’s not comfortable with this expedition.” Minkheper must have spotted Bak’s heightened interest, for he added, “You mustn’t count on him to aid your cause. He’s here as
Amonked’s friend, so he’ll do or say nothing that will in fluence the outcome.”
“Lieutenant Horhotep is the man who troubles me,” Bak said, casting a line he hoped would catch a weapon he could use against the officer. “I doubt he’s competent, yet he holds the fate of hundreds upon hundreds of people in his hands. I suspect he’d sell his soul for promotion and the chance to catch our sovereign’s eye.”
Minkheper flashed a smile. “I know nothing of his talents as a man of arms, but he wears his ambition as men of valor wear the gold of honor, in plain sight and with pride.
I believe Lieutenant Merymose to be a much better man, but unfortunately he’s at Horhotep’s mercy.”
They reached the southern end of the island and Min kheper returned to the task he had traveled south to per 104
Lauren Haney form. Bak answered his questions about the river as best he could and showed him all he asked to see and more. It was the least he could do. He had learned almost nothing from the captain, but he appreciated the fact that the man had spoken with an open and forthright tongue. Or had he?
The ferry, its sail aloft and swollen, sped south before a stiff breeze. The late afternoon sun was washed out, weak, allowing the air to cool, making Bak and the others shiver.
To the west, the faint yellow cloud that marked the cara van’s location had moved past the tall, conical hill that served as a watch station south of Kor. Seshu was keeping animals and men moving at a good speed, taking advantage of the first day out when they had not yet grown weary and foot-sore.
“Three fortresses so close together you can shout from one to another.” Lieutenant Horhotep stood with Amonked under the canvas roof, taking advantage of what little shel ter it gave from the breeze. “The reason is beyond my com prehension.”
“The journey by boat was swift,” Amonked said. “I imagine the trek on foot would take over an hour.”
“Buhen I can understand. It’s large, reasonably strong, and in a halfway acceptable condition. As for Kor,” Hor hotep scoffed, “the men who toil there are lucky to be alive.
If its walls weren’t so thick, they’d long ago have fallen, crushing those inside. And the fortress we viewed to day…”
“The swine.” Nebwa, standing a half-dozen paces for ward, spat over the rail. “I’d like to throw him overboard and let the crocodiles make a meal of him.” He had the good sense to speak softly.
Bak pointed aft, toward the man at the tiller. “You’re not the only one.” The ferryman who, like everyone else on board had heard every word, was glaring at the adviser, his expression stormy.
Sennefer, he noticed, was also watching the ferryman.
His demeanor was serious, lacking the usual touch of irony.
Captain Minkheper eyed the adviser with poorly concealed disgust.
“Why? Pray tell me why they feel the need to build a new fortress?” Horhotep ranted. “Why go to so much effort and expense? Tearing down the old ruins, rebuilding on an island that can’t be reached without a boat? It’ll be hard to man, more difficult to equip, and close to impossible to supply.”
“The man hasn’t the wits of a lump of dirt,” Nebwa growled. “Doesn’t he know that nearly half the fortresses along the Belly of Stones are located on islands?”
Bak, like his friend, had heard enough. Stepping under the shelter, certain he was wasting his breath, he asked,
“Has it not occurred to you, Lieutenant, that the new for tress occupies a strategic position on the river? Surrounded by water and at the downstream end of the rapids, it’ll be virtually indestructible.”
“Buhen is bigger and stronger. Would it not serve the same purpose?”
“Buhen offers a second line of defense. Have you never heard of a fall-back position?”
“In areas of serious trouble, yes. But here?” The adviser laughed sarcastically and turned his back, a rude dismissal.
Anger swept through Bak. He hated being treated as of no significance by a man he considered unworthy. Swal lowing words he knew he would regret, clenching his hands so tight they ached, he strode forward, passed Nebwa and the others without a word, and stood at the prow, thinking the breeze would cool him down. If he knew for a fact that the falcon delivered to Kor had been a message from
Hor-pen-Deshret, he would have a weapon of sorts to counter Horhotep’s scorn. He had no proof, however, only a feeling even Nebwa ridiculed.
The ferryman turned the vessel toward a small oasis at the end of a dry wadi. Vegetable plots and clusters of date palms spoke of fertile ground and a habitation nearby, prob 106
Lauren Haney ably farther up the wadi on land less precious than the tiny floodplain. A stand of acacias clung to a high mudbank at the southern end of the oasis, and two small skiffs lay on the shore in their shade. A good place to off-load passen gers, an easy walk to the desert trail and the caravan.
A movement among the palms caught Bak’s eye, a clus ter of men standing in their shade, watching the approach ing vessel. He counted fourteen. Men, he guessed, who had left farms or hamlets up and down the river to register their aversion to the inspector and his mission.
As the ferry neared the shore, the men walked out from among the palms and strode along the sunny southern edge of the tiny oasis, skirting the fields, heading toward the water. Each carried a hoe or sickle or staff or mallet or some other farm tool. All of which could serve as weapons.