“Why should I run? I didn’t do anything!” Yuny crossed his arms, refused to budge.
“Neither did any of these women and children. But Ma–ee wants to kill you all anyway,” I said.
Yuny suddenly spun around. Amenia was standing a little behind him. He lunged, grabbed her arm. She cringed, cried out in pain. Her arm was horribly bruised and tender from her beating. “This is your fault!” he screamed. “You brought this trouble on us!”
I pushed him hard with both hands. He staggered, lost his grip on Amenia, almost fell. I stepped between him and Amenia, pressed the point of my copper chisel firmly against his chest. “You idiot! What happened in the oval court had nothing to do with Amenia! Ma–ee’s real target was Hemaka. Sanakht’s supposed murder gave Ma–ee a way to eliminate Hemaka as his rival and at the same time send a message to the other elite men not to oppose him.”
“She’s a murderer! She confessed!” Yuny insisted. He pointed to the deck of my boat. “Hemaka’s guilty too! Tie them up and leave them behind! Then Ma–ee won’t chase us!”
“I killed Sanakht,” I said evenly. “Not Amenia.” I pointed to the scar on my chest. “After he did this to me.”
“You murdered my father when he caught Amenia stealing?” Nekauba cried from the boat.
I was fed up with that self–righteous potter. “Sanakht was robbing graves – not Amenia and not Hemaka.”
“Not completely true,” Amenia interjected harshly. “Uncle Hemaka knew all about Sanakht’s thievery. He was involved. And Nekauba was Sanakht’s accomplice. He’s the one you missed with your lance that night, Nykara. They both admitted it in front of me.”
I addressed the fugitives. “Ma–ee wants to execute all of you because Nekauba warned him yesterday about the conspiracy Hemaka was leading to replace him as Nekhen’s ruler. Abar told me. For turning on you, Hemaka, Ma–ee promised to give Nekauba your pottery works – and Amenia.”
“You betrayed me!” Hemaka shouted at his nephew.
“You betrayed me first!”
Hemaka and Nekauba were suddenly throwing punches and grappling with each other on the deck of my boat, stumbling over containers, smashing some entirely and scattering their contents. I half–hoped they’d kill each other. The women already on board huddled close together near the stern, trying to protect their children from inadvertent harm. I was just about to dash up the gangplank to restore order when Bakist seized a wooden oar and swung it with all her might across Nekauba’s back, so hard it splintered in two. He crumpled to the deck with a scream. Bakist lunged forward and viciously jabbed an end of what remained of the oar into Hemaka’s stomach. He doubled over with an agonized yelp, dropped to his knees, hands clutching his gut. Everyone else froze.
“That’s enough!” Bakist cried, standing over the two men, a piece of oar still in hand. “You two can settle your differences when we get where we’re going. Until then, as long as you’re on this boat you’ll behave yourselves. You’ll do what Nykara tells you, when he tells you, without argument.” She swept her gaze across everyone. “That goes for all of you. Nykara just risked his life to break you out of Ma–ee’s prison. He’s giving up everything he has to get you away from Nekhen and save your lives. If you want to stay here so Ma–ee can execute you in the morning you’re welcome to, and good riddance! If not, get on board. Now!” She slammed the oar to the deck with both hands, shook her head in disgust. “Children!”
She’d stunned everyone into compliance. Those still on land rapidly clambered aboard, even the reluctant Yuny.
I was about to untie my boat when something occurred to me. “I’ll be back!” I called to Bakist. I dashed through the boatyard to the nearby huts of my boatmen. A few fires were burning there in hearths, mostly died to coals. I hurriedly filled a large earthenware jar with as many glowing embers as I could, wrapped it with a thick strip of leather to insulate my hands from the worst of the heat, sprinted back to the river. Quickly, I moved from wood boat to wood boat, dumping a few coals on the deck of each. The flames would surely draw Ma–ee’s and Senebi’s attention, let them know we were fleeing, but with luck the boats might burn past saving before Senebi’s thugs could put out the fires.
I swiftly untied my boat from the mooring post, dashed up the gangplank, helped Heth pull it aboard, moved to the steering oar. The boat was small – less than thirty–five feet long and ten feet wide – with seats for just four oarsmen on each side. We couldn’t have maneuvered a larger craft with so few men. The deck was crowded with jars and baskets and containers full of food and supplies and slippery now with the contents of those Hemaka and Nekauba had smashed. With so many of us in such a cramped space the journey was not going to be comfortable. Bakist was already marshalling the women and children to refill the containers that were still usable.
Heth ordered Hemaka and Nekauba to take up oars and stationed them on opposite sides of the boat. Yuny and Ibi also grabbed oars and poled us away from the riverbank. When we were clear I told the men to sit and row as I steered us towards the middle of the river. They did their best, but none had ever handled an oar and their efforts would have been almost comical if our lives hadn’t been at stake. Eventually we cleared the end of the island and reached the center of the channel. I ordered the men to ship their oars. The powerful rising current caught us and we began to speed north, slicing through the silver moon path dancing on the surface of the river.
Just then one of my boats tied along the shore behind us burst into flame, quickly followed by two others. With luck, the last two would catch before Ma–ee could douse them with water. If so, his entire fleet would be destroyed. He wouldn’t be able to pursue us. But before I could tell we drifted around a slight bend and the lights of Nekhen and the sky glow from the dying fire in the ruler’s cemetery disappeared.
I concentrated then on steering. Heth stationed himself in the bow with a long pole to watch for obstructions and probe for sandbars. If we hit one we’d either capsize or be stranded, but we had no choice but to risk traveling through the night. It was the only advantage we had. Within an hour we passed the last of Nekhen’s farms. The riverside plains thereafter were dark tangles of brush and trees and marsh, each mile indistinguishable from the last. I was never going to see the settlement of my birth again. I whispered a goodbye to Dedi and an apology. I’d promised him I’d never let what he’d built come to harm; tonight I’d destroyed his fleet and left the remnants of his operation to Ma–ee, a man without a clue of how to run it. Although, since Ma–ee had taken it away from me a few hours earlier, I really hadn’t betrayed Dedi’s trust.
Tension and tears stalked the boat. Hemaka and Nekauba sat on opposite sides, as far from each other as they could get. Yuny avoided them both. Most of the women and children huddled together amidships beneath the open–sided pavilion, surrounded by containers, crying, overwhelmed by their brush with death, in shock, terrified by our race through the darkness. Bakist moved among them, calming, comforting, encouraging. An hour or so into our journey she began tending Amenia’s wounds, washing them, wrapping elbows and knees with strips of linen, applying some kind of concoction to her back and side. From the way Amenia moved I could tell she was hurting badly, though she didn’t make a sound. Afterwards, she stretched out gingerly on her stomach between her daughters atop a reed mat in a space cleared among reed baskets and the three of them fell asleep, entwined.
No one attended to the purpling bruise across Nekauba’s back or the contusion in Hemaka’s gut.
Eventually, Bakist wound her way to the stern and sat down on the deck and leaned against my legs wearily. She grasped my calf with both hands.
“You were magnificent tonight, Beloved,” I told her admiringly. “Hemaka and Nekauba have never taken orders from a woman before. Or been struck by one. It’ll do them both some good.”
“If I wasn’t pregnant I would have thrown them both overboard,” she averred, looking up at me. “They’re going to be more trouble than they’re w
orth.”
“I’m afraid you’re right.” I stroked her hair.
“I’m proud of you, Nykara, and proud to be your woman. What you’re doing for these people is amazing. Even if they’re so petty they’re not even grateful.”
“They’re still in shock. Maybe that’ll change once they’re sure we’ve escaped.”
“Amenia and her girls, yes. The other women, maybe. Hemaka and Nekauba and Yuny, never.”
I laughed. “You’re right. I suppose it was crazy for you and me and Heth to give up everything for them.”
“Not exactly everything,” Bakist giggled. “While you were off setting fires and breaking out the prisoners, Heth was loading every single ingot of copper stored in the smithy onto this boat. I helped him carry aboard all the containers full of copper tools and trinkets, too. We’ll be able to start over wherever we end up. We left Ma–ee with a worthless smithy.”
“Serves him right.” It was the first good news I’d had all day. “But I didn’t set the cemetery fire. It was Abar. She insisted.”
“She refused to come with us?”
“For the obvious reasons.”
“I wish I could have told her goodbye. She was a good friend.” Bakist took my hand. “Do you realize, Nykara, that this afternoon, for the first and only time, the three women you’ve loved were all in the same place, along with you?”
Abar on the dais. Bakist in the crowd. Amenia sentenced to die. “I hadn’t, in the confusion,” I replied. “But I’m glad I’ve escaped Nekhen with the woman I love most.” I reached down and caressed Bakist’s cheek. “You’re absolutely incredible. But now you have to get some sleep. We’re going to have many rough days ahead. Promise me you’ll take it easy between here and Maadi. The other women can do whatever needs to be done, and Amenia once she’s recovered.”
“But…”
“You’ve done your part, Bakist. You have to think about your health and our baby from now on. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
She promptly curled up and within a minute was fast asleep. I thanked the gods for the thousandth time Bakist was mine. She’d transformed my life since that night we’d spent on the beach beside the Wadjet Wer. But as for everyone else on the boat… It would have been so much simpler if I’d only had to rescue Amenia and her girls. I couldn’t even stand to look at Hemaka – he’d betrayed me, and that after dangling Amenia before me like a prize for years. He’d never had any intention of letting her join with me. Her pottery had been making him too wealthy to give her up. Served him right Nekauba had betrayed him. I’d never had any use for Nekauba either. At least I didn’t have to worry about Hemaka and Nekauba and Yuny aligning themselves against me during the journey. Each was a faction unto himself now. Nor, unfortunately, could I count on them to work in unison. The only people on board I could rely on, besides Bakist, were Heth and Amenia and probably Nebet. Yes, Amenia might find working with me distasteful, but I didn’t doubt she’d set those feelings aside to ensure the safety of her daughters and cousins. My eyes were drawn to where she lay sleeping. I still loved her. I didn’t think I’d ever stop. If I just hadn’t killed Sanakht, everything would have been different. But Amenia and I were the past now. Bakist and I were the present. I gazed at her, sleeping at my feet. She was a remarkable woman, knowing how I felt about Amenia yet insisting I rescue her and take her away from Nekhen. That was a sign Bakist was absolutely sure of our love. I was too.
That night was the longest of my life. Even I, experienced as I was, had never dared travel the river by moonlight, never under such circumstances, never bearing such precious cargo. I held so many lives in my hands, particularly that of the woman I loved and our unborn child. I knew every mile of the river between Nekhen and Maadi, but the familiar landmarks were lost in the darkness and rising water. My eyes strained to see by moonlight what lay even a short distance ahead. Sometimes I closed them, pictured the stretch of river in my mind, steered blindly based on memory. I was completely drenched in sweat, but I tried my best to appear calm and under control so the others wouldn’t panic. At least I didn’t have to worry about pursuit yet. Even if a boat had survived the fire the hole in its hull would have to be repaired to make it usable. I expected Ma–ee wouldn’t be able to set out after us until midday.
***
“I’m taking charge of our fruit and vegetables and grain,” Bakist announced as the sun appeared over the eastern plateau to bathe the valley with golden light. “Stop your grumbling!” she snapped at Hemaka after he complained about the scant amount she handed him to break his fast. “Blame yourself. You and Nekauba ruined half our stores fighting with each other last night. Half! Because of you two we don’t have enough food left to last our whole journey.”
I trusted her analysis; Bakist had traveled the river with me enough times to know how much a crew consumed between Nekhen and her old home. There was no one aboard as qualified to manage our supplies. But that meant we were going to have to stop at a settlement along the way to replace what Hemaka and Nekauba had destroyed. That increased the chance we’d be discovered.
We traveled all day. Except for crocodiles and birds and wild animals, the riverbanks and fields we passed were empty, the occasional farms and hamlets abandoned, their occupants already relocated to higher ground to wait out the rapidly–advancing flood. The tension aboard was awful. Hemaka was livid his plan to depose Ma–ee had been thwarted by Nekauba and that he’d lost his home and belongings and pottery works. More than once Bakist intervened when he tried to take his fury out on his innocent woman and children. Yuny was apoplectic he’d lost his farm and would have to start over from nothing and continued to blame Amenia. She ignored his ranting. Nekauba stared at me darkly when he wasn’t watching Hemaka out of fear his uncle would attack him; it was simply a question of where and when he’d seek revenge on me for his father’s death. His woman, Kapes, sniped at him constantly; finding out he’d betrayed her father so Ma–ee would give Amenia to him had been the last straw for her. She snarled at Amenia too, as if Amenia was responsible for Nekauba’s lusts. The look in Nebet’s eyes when she glanced at her father was pure hatred; Abar had told Bakist and me about the night Hemaka confronted Ma–ee in the audience hall and Hemaka had practically dared Ma–ee to execute Nebet. Ibi, Yuny’s son, surprisingly stepped up; he spelled Heth at the bow whenever my metalsmith needed rest, and when he wasn’t there he was consoling his mother Peseshet and his woman Nebtint. Luckily, his infant son was too young to have a clue about what was happening. I couldn’t bring myself to blame any of the fugitives for how they acted that day; they’d been uprooted from their lives in an instant, abused by their so–called friends, spent hours locked in a hut awaiting execution, were being pursued, and had no idea where they were going or what would happen to them once they got there. The only exceptions were Amenia and her girls. For them, this flight was an adventure. Amenia appeared calm and even somewhat cheerful, despite her injuries. She never once that entire day looked back in the direction from which we’d come, but sat at the bow with Heth and her daughters hour after hour, resolutely scanning the river and what lay ahead. Her mood seemed to match mine; I’d already put my old life behind me and was looking ahead to a new one in the North.
Bakist fought my attempts to make her rest. Getting the boat ready and the tension of the flight last night had obviously worn her out, but she resisted being treated as an invalid. I wished she wasn’t so stubborn; we had a very long way to go before we reached safety and she’d need as much strength as possible before it was over.
She went to the bow regularly during the day to tend Amenia’s injuries. Each time they engaged in a long discussion. They’d never met before our flight and apparently had much to say to each other. Amenia avoided me. I kept my distance out of respect for her wishes. She’d likely taken her position in the bow specifically to be as far from me as possible. She undoubtedly hated me even more now than she had befo
re I’d appeared at Yuny’s farm, and with good reason. I’d failed to stand up for her in the oval court when Ma–ee sentenced her to death. I’d let her take public blame for killing Sanakht. How could she ever forget that, or forgive me? Rescuing her didn’t make up for my latest betrayal. Rescue was simply an inadequate partial payment of a huge debt I owed her. Every ache and pain she felt as she hobbled about the boat had to be a reminder she’d been beaten because of me, forced to confess to crimes she hadn’t committed because of me. And now she was on the run, and her daughters were on the run, and it was all my fault.
At sunset I announced we were going to tie up along the west bank of the river for the night. The inundation had already spread across the plain almost fifty yards beyond that bank towards the desert plateau. Because the riverbank was higher than the plain, which actually tilted towards the base of the plateau, a strip of land on its crest about twenty yards wide was still dry. The riverbank was, for all intents and purposes, a small island.
“We can’t afford to stop,” Hemaka told me forcefully. He’d been anxiously watching the river behind us since sunup.
“It’s miraculous we didn’t have an accident last night. I’m not willing to push our luck. There are too many obstructions in the river because of the inundation – uprooted trees and such. And I haven’t slept in two days. Are you volunteering to steer in the dark?”
“How close behind do you think Ma–ee is?” Yuny asked.
“Assuming one of my boats survived the fire, and his men took at least half a day to repair it, we’re dozens of miles ahead,” I said. “An experienced crew could row fast enough to catch us before morning. But my boatmen will refuse to travel after dark tonight, like we did yesterday – it’s too dangerous. And Ma–ee will be afraid of passing us by. So we don’t need to worry about pursuers until late tomorrow. It’s fortunate for us the current’s so strong, despite its danger. There are too few of us, and we’d never be able to outdistance determined oarsmen otherwise.”
The Women and the Boatman Page 77
