by Andre Norton
The excitement of his liberation had carried Rahotep along as the swell of the flood waters carried debris downriver. But now his head whirled giddily and he steadied himself with one hand against the wall of the narrow passage, concentrating upon the important business of placing one foot before the other without losing his balance. They halted by another peephole, and through it came the sound of full-voiced chanting.
Foggily Rahotep recognized a word here and a phrase there. The priests were forming a procession for a ceremonial visit from Pharaoh. What Pharaoh?
"Sekenenre—?" He looked to Kheti for an answer.
Only dimly to be seen in the limited light, the Nubian grinned.
"Pharaoh is himself save for a bump on the head and a scratch on the chest, brother. Otherwise we all would have been dead long since!"
That the captain could believe. But who—or what—had been the assassin he had driven off—and where had that other vanished to? Kheti, who had been watching through the spy hole, turned away with a sigh of mingled relief and satisfaction.
"There they go, guards and all! Let us hope that they shall be some time braying to their Jackal. What is it, Mahu?"
The foremost archer had slipped along the passage, around a corner where he had to scrape to get his bulk through. Now he looked back at them and beckoned violently.
What Mahu had found was the room they sought. Narrow slits high in the wall brought daylight to the storeroom, and they saw shelves piled with coffers and jars. Mahu pointed excitedly to a rack on the wall wherein hung bows.
"Aye, those are ours!" Kheti confirmed. "Now—how do we reach them?"
He hunkered down on the floor of the passage and ran his hands along the wall, seeking an entrance here such as they had found to the cells. A pleased chuckle told them he had discovered it. And the others crowded back to give him room.
The block, which was a narrow one, came away with difficulty, and the Nubian underofficer surveyed the opening dubiously.
"More a path for a snake," he commented. He made a try, but it was obviously too narrow for him or any of the archers. Rahotep edged forward.
"This task is mine. Let me through!" His words came in a rush, for he did not honestly know if he still had strength enough to do what must be done. When Kheti got out of the way, Rahotep squirmed in. The rough stone of the opening raked his tender shoulders, bringing a sharp exclamation from him. But he persevered and, with a last kick, was through.
Because he did not dare try to get to his feet, Rahotep crawled across the room to the rack. He crouched below it panting, while he nerved himself for the effort of getting up and freeing the weapons. Then he levered himself up with the aid of a coffer. One by one he loosened the bows, pulled the quivers of leopard hide off the hooks. The priests had been thorough in their claims for spoil. He found his belt with its fine dagger and the silver bracer that had been his only heritage from the Hawk slung over a peg at the end of the line and added them to his collection.
It was when he took the bracer that he dislodged a box on the shelf below. The lid fell with a faint noise, and Rahotep stiffened, his breath coming in painful gasps, his eyes on the outer door, bracing himself for the entrance of the temple guards.
But the door remained closed; there was not the slightest sound from without. In the coffer, whose lid he had knocked off, lay a more than life-size, but a very lifelike, mask of a jackal. The animal's own hide was stretched with skill over a light frame of wood and wickerwork, as he saw upon lifting it out.
Plainly it had been intended to be worn over the head of a priest. There was a furred flap to lie about throat and shoulders. Fingering its ears, its furry hide, Rahotep knew now what kind of monster he had found in Pharaoh's bedchamber. A priest of Anubis, wearing such a guise, could well be taken for a messenger of the God, not to be questioned by any man who saw him. The captain longed to take the mask with him as proof of his wild story of the assassin, but it was too bulky, and he set it aside with regret.
Slowly, fighting his spinning head and trembling body every inch of the way, Rahotep crept back to the opening, pushing his loot before him. He was afraid he could not negotiate that small door again. But he thrust his hands through in half appeal and felt a warm, tight grasp close about his wrists, drawing him on.
Of what happened after that he had no memory at all. When he awoke again, he was lying face down on a pile of mats. Flashes of burning agony broke through the steady pain he had known for so long, and he tried to twist away from the grip that held him fast under that torturing touch.
"Quiet, brother!" The words again came out of the air above him, as they had in the crypt where Kheti had first found him. "Give me more oil here, stupid one."
Liquid dripped upon the captain's back and was rubbed in in spite of his struggles. Then a hollow reed was put in his mouth, and he was ordered to suck. He did so meekly. The acid-sweet taste of wine that had been mixed with milk was on his tongue, and he swallowed.
"You will live—" Kheti's tone was meant to be light, but there was relief in it. "Those weals are already half healed and the oil will aid them."
Rahotep opened his eyes and turned his head. Before him was a wall, which had once been painted. Somewhere he could hear the splash of water and the mutters of men keeping their voices low.
"Where are we?"
Kheti came into his line of vision. He held a goodly slice of melon in one hand and was taking half-moon bites from it, licking juicy fingers in between times. Now he squatted so that he was closer to the captain.
"Where are we, brother? Where but in the courts of the Jackal."
Rahotep tried to sit up and fell forward again.
"We've been taken!"
Kheti shook his head. "Not so, brother. We have us a snug lair. It seems that Mahu was right. In the old days this was a mightier shrine than it now is. And we have chanced upon a court where no one but the lizards and the birds have come for years. The guards are out beating the desert for their Nubian slaves, while we lie up here and are served with their best—for Hori and Kakaw are expert looters of their kitchens. It is a fine joke."
Rahotep began to laugh wealdy. The whole situation was beyond any fantasy. It was lifted straight from some tale such as that of "Sinhue the Exile." Either that or he had indeed "passed beyond" and this was life on the other side of the horizon.
But fantastic though the situation was, it was true. The Scouts, because of their training, were able to conceal themselves in that deserted section of the temple that must once have housed many priests back in the days when Thebes was the capital of a wealthy Egypt. They pilfered supplies from the stores and they had a day and night of rest to consider and make plans for their future.
Rahotep well knew that outside this very temporary hiding place their lives were forfeit on sight, unless they could reach the waste places beyond the reach of Pharaoh's law. There was one alternative no one voiced—that of fleeing north and taking service in the ranks of the Hyksos. Rahotep himself fastened grimly upon one target, centering his whole mind upon it as he would aim an arrow at an enemy. He must somehow expose the plot of the priests—if by the favor of Re that was at all possible.
They kept hidden during the day, sleeping by turns with the ease of men who had learned to take rest when and where they could between periods of grueling action. And it was after sunset when Kheti came out of the hidden ways with news.
"Tothotep has visitors. Men gather in his inner apartment."
Rahotep sat up alertly. He was now far different from the miserable fugitive who had been carried there on the night of his escape. Though he moved cautiously and favored his back, his body was clean, and he wore a kilt of linen once more, as did all his men—the pure white of temple livery rather than the striped cloth of royal service. When they made their final bid for freedom, it was their hope to be taken for a detachment of the guard, darkness of night aiding in that deception.
"Whom does Tothotep entertain?"
; "The Vizier for one—"
Kheti had said only that much when the captain was on his feet.
"Can they be watched and their words overheard?" he demanded sharply.
"Aye. But this night we must move. The guards sent out to sniff our trail will be returning—"
"Well enough. But also it might do better for us to hear what is said by these men."
Kheti caught at his arm. "You no longer serve the Pharaoh, this king who rewards a true man with the whip! Mix no more in the affairs of these shaven skulls and those who yap with them, brother."
Rahotep jerked free of that restraining grip. "Do you forget our oath before the altar of Amon-Re?" he countered. "Perhaps the Pharaoh believes that I have betrayed him, but before the gods I stand clean, and so I will hunt down those who have befouled our honor in Thebes."
Kheti was scowling. The warrior code of the ancients still had power over soldiers' minds. Even in Nubia a measure of its power held. Reluctantly, manifestly against his inclination, he nodded at last. And he padded with Rahotep along the dusty inner passage until a gleam of light from a spy hole marked their goal.
Tothotep indeed sat on the other side of that wall, while on a chair of honor the Vizier was enthroned, a concealing desert cloak and hood thrown aside. Two other men were there— the General Sheshang, and one who lurked in Tothotep's shadow, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a scribe's favorite attitude, his kilt stretched tight from knee to knee as a writing desk, though he did not hold a brush and his pen case was still slung on his shoulder.
"I do not like it." Zau spoke very low. The two at the spy hole had to strain to hear him. "Those Nubian archers may still cause trouble—"
Tothotep smiled coldly, a smile that was worse than another's frown. "They are a body without a head. Lacking their officer, they will flee into the wilderness, seeldng to return to their own land. And from our present news from Nubia, they will find such a cold welcome there that they will trouble us no more, for our messenger has returned but this evening with the news that the Prince Teti has seized the rule. If our guards fail to track them down, it is of little matter to us."
"And their officer?" pressed the general.
Tothotep's expression was now slightly pained. "He is safe in our hands, Lord. At the proper time he shall be served as he merits. All is working as we have wished. And by nightfall tomorrow"—he paused and to Rahotep's sudden discomfort his eyes fastened upon the wall behind which they stood as if he could see through that solid stone and mark them both—"by nightfall tomorrow the Great Seat shall be vacant once again and there will be wailing for a Son of Re passed to his horizon!"
It was as if a serpent had hissed that. The plume in the general's circlet jerked, the tip of his tongue showed, passed across his lips.
"It is a dangerous game that we play," he observed.
"If you have made your preparations, Lord," Zau snapped, "then there is nothing to fear. Our lord will be ambushed by the Hyksos in the valley as he returns to camp. His loyal bodyguard will be slain to a man defending his sacred person. And Egypt shall welcome a new and untried young lord who can be more easily brought to listen to the words of the gods! Would you have us ruined, utterly overrun by the northern barbarians? With Nubia gone to the rebel Teti, we have only to cry war to be crushed between two grinder stones. Let Pharaoh lead us into battle against either host and the other will strike so that we end in their slave gangs. Better to pay tribute and give Apophis lip service then to be ground to dust!"
"And that is the Truth of Maat!" Tothotep added.
But the general was still unconvinced. "What if the Royal Heir does not heed your excellent advice in this matter? His thoughts have ever agreed with his father."
"The Prince Kamose is frail of body. There are many plagues that may attack a man."
"And Ahmose?" Sheshang asked doggedly.
Zau laughed. "Ahmose is but a boy. He is under the hand of Sebni whose mind we know well. To him war is adventure. Perhaps he can be persuaded into turning his eyes southward to make a campaign against this Teti. Send him with a force—such a force as you could select for him, General, and the Prince Ahmose would not again trouble the Two Lands."
Tothotep arose suddenly. "We cannot fail! It is written in the bowl, the Jackal has signed an end to this reign and we but fulfill the duties of our order!"
Zau drew the edges of his cloak about him. "See that you do your part, General. Let Pharaoh enter the Valley of the Lizard in his chariot, but when he comes forth, it must only be upon a warrior's bier!"
Chapter 11
PHARAOH DEPARTS TO THE HORIZON
Rahotep fought down the excitement that was making his heart pump too rapidly. His breath came like a runner's. The desert cloak muffled him well from any prying eye, or so he trusted. He had crossed the river from the temple to Thebes without any unmasking. But the hardest part of his exploit was still before him. He must leave the protection of the wall against which he had flattened himself, walk boldly between those sentries at the gate, giving the countersign, and find his way to Commander Methen's quarters without being revealed for what he was—an outlawed fugitive.
With his hand tight about the hilt of his dagger, he approached the gate. It was still early evening, so early that the men who had leave within the city were only now straggling back to the barracks. The captain attached himself to the tail of one such group, a good pace or two behind so that none of the men might be too inquisitive.
Those returning exchanged rude chaff with the sentries, which was abruptly silenced when the officer of the guard appeared. Rahotep cursed his ill luck under his breath. But the officer did not glance at the cloaked figure standing a little to one side—rather he employed his powers of caustic comment on the now sheepish leave men whom he lined up and marched smartly away.
With a vast sigh of relief Rahotep threw back his hood, allowing his warrior's headdress with its improvised insignia to show. It all depended now on whether the sentries could recognize him. But his service with the royal forces had been of such limited duration that he hoped he had more than an even chance of bringing it off.
A spear swung down as a barrier before him.
"Re rises in glory." Rahotep pinned his future to the password that Mahu, scouting the barracks wall, had whispered to him only moments earlier.
The spear snapped up and the sentry saluted. Rahotep was free to enter the barracks court, which to his mind was far too well lighted, with its torches set in regularly spaced brackets along the walls. Luckily he had been several times to visit Methen in the veteran's quarters and needed no guide. The last obstacle, that the commander might not be in his room, remained.
By great effort the captain kept his pace to a leisurely one, though every nerve in his body hammered. He crossed the court and mounted the narrow stairs leading to the smaller apartments where the senior officers had their private rooms. Then he was at the right doorway, a little weak with relief to see that its mat curtain was down. Methen was there.
He stood listening for any murmur of voice that would betray a visitor. And so intent was he on that that he was doubly startled when the curtain bulged near floor level and a flat black shape squirmed frantically under it to fall upon his sandals and claw a welcome at shin height.
"Bis!" The captain went down on his knees, and the leopard cub butted him with his round head on which the ears were now standing pricked. Bis rose on his hind legs to paw at Rahotep's cloak until the captain gathered the cub up and hugged him close. Somehow that wild welcome easied an inner hurt as the oil and tending hands of Kheti has eased his outer ones.
Then the mat slapped up on its roller, and Rahotep, still on his knees, looked up to Methen's wondering face. He saw the older officer's eyes widen as a hand came forward to grasp the folds of his cloak and pull the captain in. It was not until, the curtain was safely down again that Methen turned and spoke.
"Where have you come from, boy? What happened that night in the palace?"
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The captain sat down on the nearest stool, Bis draped across his lap purring. He told his story, as far as he knew it, starkly as he would report it to a commanding officer.
When he was done, Methen nodded. "You and your men were used to further another's plan," he observed crisply. "We guessed as much but we had no proof. Truly you have been favored by Re. But what are you doing here? The sooner you are away from Thebes, the stronger your hopes of life will be—"
"I have a message," the younger man cut in. Quickly he described the meeting he had spied upon in the temple. "Warn Pharaoh—or else they will succeed this time where they have failed before—"
Methen crossed the small chamber in a couple of strides. As he looked out through the latticed window, he brought his fist down against the wall.
