by Lauren Haney
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.
Chapter Eight
Nebwa came up beside Bak, looking grim. “So it’s begun.”
The men on shore strode down a narrow cut in the mud bank a few paces downstream from the skiffs and formed a ragged line near the river’s edge. Every eye was locked on the approaching ferry. Bak recognized about half, men who farmed small plots of land along the river or on the islands above Kor. They sometimes came to Buhen to the market or to air complaints.
Sennefer hurried to the prow. “Men who till the fields in the province of Sheresy, where my country estate lies, seem never to have the leisure to gather together for no good reason. Am I to assume the same is true here?”
“Should we expect trouble?” Minkheper asked, joining them.
Nebwa looked to Bak for an answer. Though reared in
Wawat and wed to a local woman, he spent most of his time in the garrison and considered himself out of touch.
Untrue, but so he believed.
Bak shrugged. “I can make no promises, but I doubt they’ll harm us. I suspect they’ve come to create unease in our hearts.”
“To threaten,” Amonked said, coming up behind them.
The ferryman dropped the sail, slowing the vessel, and set a course for the beached skiffs. The waiting men stood grim-faced and unmoving, silent, watchful. Unnerving.
Amonked rested his hands on the rail and scowled to ward the men across the water. “Will these people continue this… this silent confrontation throughout our journey to
Semna?”
“I’d not count on them remaining silent,” Nebwa said.
“This is abominable! Demeaning to our sovereign!” Hor hotep, standing behind Amonked, slapped his leg with his baton of office. “A good beating here and now would put a stop to this outrage once and for all.”
Nebwa swung around, eyes smoldering. “You’ll lay your baton on no man or woman in Wawat, Lieutenant. You hear me?”
“You’ve no right…!”
The ferry swung suddenly toward the waiting men and swept into the shallows, throwing muddy water to either side and splattering the men on deck. Without warning, the prow dug into the soft bottom. The vessel stopped as if it had struck a solid wall. Bak stumbled against the rail and at the same time grabbed Nebwa’s arm to keep him from falling. Amonked held on tight. Horhotep, who dared not grab the inspector, was thrown off his feet and skidded across the deck. Minkheper, flung backward, grabbed an upright supporting the canvas roof, threatening to topple the shelter. Sennefer fell to his knees. The men on shore, though they must have been surprised-and delighted maintained their stony silence.
Bak glimpsed a look of exultation on the ferryman’s face. The impact had been deliberate, prompted by Hor hotep’s cruel threat.
“I fear you’ll have to wade ashore, Troop Captain,” the ferryman said. “We’re too far out to use the gangplank.”
Nebwa gave the man a fierce look, then noticed Horhotep lifting himself off the deck and searching for splinters.
Shaken by silent laughter, he handed over the token the ferryman would present to the garrison quartermaster for payment for services. “I trust next time you’ll be more care ful,” he said with mock severity.
The ferryman tried not to smile, failed. “Yes, sir!”
Bak was the first to drop off the vessel. He sank into the muck up to his ankles, and thick, black water swirled around his lower legs. He waded to dry ground and stopped midway along the line of men. Feeling a bit ridiculous with grime to the knees and his sandals oozing mud, he bade them a good afternoon, his expression uncritical but stern.
He called those he knew by name so they would have no doubt he could identify them later if trouble arose.
The line held firm; the men clung to their silence and their grim demeanor. He stood where he was, his stance as firm as theirs, letting his eyes travel from one man to the next, settling briefly on each in turn. He heard Nebwa be hind him and Amonked drop into the water with a loud splash. Three further splashes told him the remainder of the party had left the ferry.
He walked forward, displaying a confidence he did not entirely feel. The line of men parted, slowly, reluctantly, and allowed him through. Resisting the urge to look back, to make sure Nebwa and the others remained unmolested, he walked to the cut in the mudbank and climbed partway to the top. Only then did he turn around.
Nebwa stood knee-deep in the water with Amonked’s small party around him. He was speaking low but with vehemence-giving orders, Bak assumed. With a hasty smile, Amonked broke away from the group and strode after Bak. Walking relaxed and easy, his expression benign, he passed through the break in the line of men. Minkheper followed close behind, talking of the coolness of the eve ning. Sennefer passed through with the aplomb of a wealthy landowner accustomed to dealing with the poor. Horhotep, looking furious, marched out of the water with Nebwa so close he might have been guarding him. Maybe he was.
Never missing a step, Nebwa clapped the nearest farmer on the shoulder, asked another how his eldest son was, waved to a third and called him by name. Within moments he was walking up the cut in the wake of his charges.
Bak wove a path through piles of equipment and sup plies, listening to men’s voices and the sounds of animals settling down for the night. A faint odor of burning fuel hung in the air and the scent of onions and fish clung to empty bowls and the breaths of the men he passed. The feral dogs were nosing around in their endless quest for sustenance. Peace and contentment reigned, a peace he prayed would continue.
He thought of the falcon left atop the wall at Kor. Of how easily the man had entered the fortress, breaching its defenses, and climbed undetected to the battlements. Dur ing the light of day, no man could infiltrate the caravan, but the moon was waning, each night darker than the one before.
He walked past Amonked’s guards’ encampment. The men, divided into two units, were seated around makeshift hearths, basking in the warmth after consuming their eve ning meal. Their camp had long ago been set up-thanks to Sergeant Dedu. They spoke quietly to one another, con tent with a task well learned, no longer argumentative as before.
Earlier, Nebwa had taken aside Sergeant Roy, telling him in no uncertain terms what he expected of him: full and unquestioning cooperation. Dedu would provide the train ing Roy had been unwilling or unable to give, and Mery mose would take his rightful place at the head of the guards.
Roy had grumbled, but the threat of having him reassigned to Horhotep had shut him up fast enough.
Bak circled Amonked’s pavilion, which smelled faintly of oil lamps and Nefret’s perfume. The light inside made the fabric walls glow, and vague shadows darted back and forth. Beyond, he found the row of tents occupied by the remainder of the inspection party. The one he sought was the sole shelter not yet erected, that of Than
eny, who had had to aid Amonked in preparing his report on the island fortress. Pawah, who shared the flimsy structure, had been pressed into service to run errands and serve as the inspec tor’s personal servant. Now here they were, later than everyone else, preparing to raise their shelter.
“Do we have to sleep in a tent?” Pawah asked. “I’d much rather lie in the open-like the drovers do.”
“Not another word.” Thaneny bent at the waist to straighten the heavy linen. “Have you forgotten already how cold you were last night?”
“I’ll sleep with my head outside,” the youth said defi antly.
“Grab a pole,” Thaneny commanded.
Pawah made a face for Bak’s benefit, but obeyed. Tha neny proved to be surprisingly agile for one so crippled, and soon the center of the canvas was raised on waist-high poles, the sides pinned down with rocks. A simple but ideal shelter for two men-except in a high wind.
Thanks to the gods, the breeze had died and the night was clear, with pinpoints of light glittering strong and bright overhead. Such clarity meant the night would be cool. Bak shivered at the thought. He, like everyone outside of Amonked’s immediate party, had to sleep beneath the stars.
Thaneny slipped into a tunic to ward off the chill and sat on the ground in front of the tent. Bak dropped down beside him. Pawah picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle down the sloping side of the shelter.
“How did you manage the trek today?” Bak asked the scribe.
“He traveled in utmost comfort,” Pawah said, “like a great nobleman.”
The scribe cuffed the youth on the rear. “Go away, waif.”
Grinning, Pawah ducked out of his reach.
Thaneny smiled at Bak. “I must admit, the child is right.
Amonked gave me leave to use his carrying chair, saying he wished me to watch over mistress Nefret while he was away inspecting the island fortress. Throughout the morn 112
