Mara, Daughter of the Nile

by Eloise Jarvis McGraw

  “Mate, I did what you told me. That’s all you can ask, is it not?”

  “Did she seem—did you watch her face when you dropped the bait?”

  “No,” said Nekonkh woodenly.

  After a moment he started down the shadowy street, and Sheftu fell in beside him. They walked in silence through the alleys and byways into the warehouse district edging the wharf. When they came to the customs dock, where their ways separated, Nekonkh faced around doggedly.

  “Look you, Sashai. I know as well as you what’s at stake in this, and if the maid trips herself up—well, it’s her own doing, and I’ve naught to say for her. But if that vessel’s raided tomorrow night, mate, I could whisk her on board the Beetle and sail straight for the Delta. She’d be no danger to anyone, you’d never need see her again. But you could still spare her life. . . .”

  His voice trailed into silence. Sheftu was slowly shaking his head.

  CHAPTER 21

  The Quarry

  Darkness lay thick next night about a certain warehouse on the riverfront of eastern Thebes. Some distance away from it, at the water’s edge, a yellow glow of torchlight spilled across the wharfs from the decks of the Friend of the Wind, which lay close in against the dock to receive her cargo. They were still loading her; figures moved against the light, humpbacked with burdens as they filed up the gangplank and across the deck. There were the usual thumpings and slammings and bellowed orders; above the lighted decks the tall, black mast swayed gently against the stars. Beyond, the dark length of the river wound away southward, splashed with gold here and there, wherever a torch burned.

  In the gloom beside the warehouse wall, screened by a pile of fish nets and old lumber, Nekonkh heaved a sigh of impatience and tried for the fiftieth time to get comfortable on the coil of damp rope he was sitting on. Sheftu, a dim blur in the shadows beside him, seemed not to have moved for an hour; the captain wondered bitterly if he had fallen asleep. For all the anxiety Lord Sheftu exhibited, one would think he had come here merely for a breath of air.

  As for Nekonkh, it had been the longest day he had ever known, and he’d made rough weather of it, alternating between bellowing ill temper and silent worry until by mid-afternoon every man in his crew was keeping a wary eye on him and his own nerves were taut as a straining hawser. He felt even more tense now, lurking here like a kheft at the edge of darkness. . . .

  The captain eased his shoulders back against the rough wall and tried to make his mind a blank. The reek of fish and hemp and rotting wood rose strong about him; inside the warehouse, he could hear the loud scratching and scrabbling of a rat. Beyond the edge of the pile of nets the burdened figures moved monotonously back and forth in the torchlight from the dock to the Friend of the Wind. Nekonkh found himself automatically checking her trim.

  “Overloaded on the port side,” he muttered with gloomy satisfaction. “Cargo master’s a fool.”

  Sheftu’s voice came out of the shadows, cool and ironic. “It scarcely matters, does it?”

  “Of course it matters! They’ll have to shift half of those bales before they’re well into the current. What do you mean, it scarcely—”

  “I mean they’ll likely not be sailing.”

  Nekonkh abandoned the subject, shifting his position once again and cursing irritably at the prickling roughness of the rope.

  “Patience, Captain,” soothed the other. “It cannot be long now.”

  By all the gods, is he even human? thought Nekonkh. “Do you care naught for what happens to the maid?”

  He got no answer. But Sheftu’s voice was a little less smooth when he spoke again. “You tied the boat where I told you to?”

  “Aye. In the papyruses at the far end of the wharf. It’s ready.”

  They were silent again. After a time Nekonkh twisted around to scan the black mouths of the alleys—still quiet and deserted—then squinted up at the stars. “By the beard of Ptah, if it isn’t the mark of eight by this time, I’m no riverman!” He stood up, checked the alleys one by one, then sized up the stack of bales on the dock. “Mate, they’ve all but finished loading. Look yonder. I’ll wager a sail to a shenti the hour’s eight—or past—”

  He stood clenching his fists to keep them from trembling. It should happen now, it should have happened already—if it was to happen. He realized Sheftu had risen too, and was standing stiff and erect at his side, scarcely breathing. Still the minutes crept past, the commonplace sounds of loading went on.

  By Amon, she’s won! thought Nekonkh at last. She didn’t take our cursed bait! All’s well. He opened his mouth to blurt it out—and felt Sheftu seize his arm.

  “Captain! Look!”

  A light shone in the mouth of one of the alleys. Nekonkh tried to blink it out of sight, pretend that it was moving the other way, but it came on, brighter and nearer, accompanied by pounding footsteps. A knot of soldiers burst out onto the wharfs, with more at their heels—they were regulars, in green helmets. There was a shout of surprise from the loaders, a roar that answered it: “In the name of the queen!” Next moment the night was alive with running men, with torches and glinting blades and a confusion of yells as the raiders poured across the wharf and up the gangplank of the Friend of the Wind.

  Nekonkh dug both fists into his forehead to shut out the sight. Name of Amon, she’s only a child! he thought. A waif, after all, who’s seen naught but ill luck all her life and needs friends and a chance. . . .

  “So be it. I’ve seen enough,” said Sheftu quietly.

  Nekonkh had seldom in his life been afraid of anyone. But he was afraid, now, of the tall young man who stood beside him. “Mate,” he whispered hoarsely. “Let me do it. I’ll find her. I’ll have her out of Thebes tonight, I swear by—”

  “You’ll follow orders, Captain!” Sheftu flung him a look that left nothing but obedience in Nekonkh’s mind. “Come, to the boat.”

  He slipped out of their hiding place and Nekonkh followed. They plunged down the lane beside the warehouse, into the next dim street and then along it, parallel to the river, at a pace that left the captain no time to think or even feel. His mind had gone numb, in any case. He knew they were making for the hidden boat, that they would cross the Nile and lie in wait for Mara somewhere on the other side, intercepting her as she was starting for the inn. He knew what was to happen in some dark alley and that he could not prevent its happening. But it all seemed unreal, a nightmare from which he could not wake.

  They swerved back toward the river. A few minutes later Nekonkh was dragging the boat from the concealing papyrus stalks, still moving like an automaton.

  “Cast off the painter. I’ve a paddle here somewhere.”

  They pushed off across the black water, and with the familiar rocking motion, the feel of the paddle in his hand, Nekonkh’s numbness began to wear off. He pulled harder and more fiercely, so that the boat shot like a live thing through the current, but the exertion failed to stop his thoughts.

  “Bear to your left, Captain,” said Sheftu at last. “We’ll make for that statue on the bank.”

  The fishing punt was there, moored to the great granite toe as always, and old A’ank dozed nearby. Sheftu nudged him awake, none too gently, flipped him a deben, and ordered him home, then hurried up the bank.

  She’s a cold-blooded little traitor, Nekonkh told himself desperately as he tied their own boat and hurried to follow. Did she give a thought to you when she decided to turn informer? Or even to Sheftu? She’s earned what’s coming. She’d have run the whole plot aground if she could. Just don’t think. Don’t look at her. Remember, don’t look at her.

  “This will serve,” said Sheftu coolly. “I believe she’s coming.”

  Nekonkh emerged abruptly from his preoccupation. They stood in an alley; ahead, up its murky, narrow length, he could just make out a slender, cloak-swathed figure hurrying through the shadows. Nekonkh wet his li
ps and glanced around him, wishing he could stop going hot and cold like a man with the fever. Sheftu had chosen his spot well. The lane was deserted, closed in by buildings that would remain dark and empty until morning. There would be no one to disturb them.

  “Walk casually to meet her,” murmured Sheftu.

  He strolled forward, and Nekonkh trailed after him, wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs. Presently Mara drew close enough to catch sight of them, and he could hear her sharp little intake of breath as she halted. An instant later she recognized them.

  “Sheftu!” Her voice was low, but it held only surprise and pleasure—no fear. She moved swiftly to join them, looking from one to the other in amusement. “What is this, pray? An ambush?”

  “One might call it so,” answered Sheftu silkily. “Come. I want a word with you.” He took her arm and guided her to a recessed doorway, while Nekonkh drifted a little apart, where he could watch both ends of the alley. He could hear Mara’s uneasy little laugh.

  “Have all the words you wish, but why choose this place? At the inn we could—”

  “You’ll not be going to the inn tonight.”

  “Why will I not?” She hesitated, and her tone changed. “Sheftu, you’re acting—strange. Is aught amiss?”

  “Aye. Much is amiss. The vessel Friend of the Wind was raided tonight by the queen’s soldiers.”

  She gave a gasp Nekonkh could have sworn was genuine. “Osiris! With all the gold aboard her? Aiii—when you traveled the Shores of the Night to bring it back. . . . Nay, they can’t, they mustn’t! Those—” Her voice broke with fury, and for a moment her language reeked of Menfe’s waterfront. “But shall we do naught but wail of it, for the love of Amon? We must do something! You must do something, Sheftu, you’re the leader—”

  “Aye, a brilliant leader!” Sheftu’s voice remained quiet, but the whiplash Nekonkh had been dreading came into it now. “I’ve saved Egypt with one hand and destroyed her with the other—by trusting a maid as faithless as the wind!”

  “Mother of the gods!” whispered Mara. “You think—I did it.”

  “My lovely Mara, no doubt exists.”

  “But I didn’t do it! I didn’t, I didn’t! There must have been another who listened, I didn’t do it! Sheftu—the juggler! Ai, that’s who it was! He was there—ask Nekonkh!—he heard everything. It was that babbling Sahure, may the Devourer take him, I knew he’d betray us before we’d done with him, did I not tell you, warn you?”

  “I was certain you would place the blame elsewhere.”

  “Ast! Sheftu, you’re blind! You’ve ever been blind about that rogue, and look you now—all the gold gone, the plans ruined—”

  “Mara,” said Sheftu softly. “There was no gold on the ship.”

  There was a sudden silence. Nekonkh edged toward them without knowing what he did. He was beginning to feel as if he could not breathe. Suppose it were Sahure? It could have been, it was possible, even probable! Then by all the gods!

  “Stay away from her, Captain!” ordered Sheftu.

  Mara drew a soft, irregular breath. “Why,” she whispered, “should the captain stay away from me?”

  “Because he has revealed an unfortunate weakness where you’re concerned,” said Sheftu. He moved closer to her. For the first time he was failing to hide the strain he was under; Nekonkh could see the tension in his shoulders, and his voice had grown harsh and thick. “This affair is between you and me, little one, do you understand? Let me make it quite clear to you. There was no gold on the ship, nor was it our ship. The news was false. It was a trap, Mara. And you walked into it.”

  “Sheftu, I did not betray you. I swear by my ka.”

  “Ast! Be silent! I know all about you. All! I know you’re a slave in the queen’s pay, and have been since you took ship with us in Menfe. I know you lied to me then, and have lied to me every day I’ve known you, and would go on lying until the end of time if it would get you what you want! Your master believed you, didn’t he? I know of that, too—how cleverly you’ve played both sides, waiting, holding back, until last night you thought you’d chosen certain victory. . . .”

  Mara was slowly, almost imperceptibly, backing away from him, though she seemed scarcely to move or even breathe. Suddenly she whirled to run. Just as suddenly, Sheftu’s hand shot out and seized her wrist. In a flash he had doubled her arm behind her and jerked her close to him. He held a gleaming knife in his other hand.

  “Not this time, little one,” he said softly.

  His rough handling had caused the cloak to fall away from her hair, and the fragrance of lotuses now drifted through the alley. Nekonkh, flattened stiffly against the building opposite, tried to look away and couldn’t. His eyes were fastened on the knife blade, and he became gradually aware that it was trembling.

  “How have you kept him satisfied, I wonder?” whispered Sheftu. “That master of yours, whoever he is. What have you told him? How much have you told him?”

  Mara, too, was staring at the knife, shrinking away from it as far as his grip would let her. “Sheftu,” she breathed. “You can’t do it—you can’t—”

  “Ah, can I not? Who will ever know—or care?”

  She looked up at him suddenly. And then Nekonkh witnessed a very strange thing. Instead of shrinking from the knife, she flung herself close against Sheftu, twined her free arm about his neck, and kissed him on the mouth.

  What happened next was never clear in Nekonkh’s mind. He was aware of a strangled oath from Sheftu, the clatter of a knife hitting the gravel, and felt Mara hurtle against him as if she had been thrown. Instinctively Nekonkh wrapped his arms about her and whirled so that his own body shielded her.

  “Take her, Captain!” gasped a voice that might have been Lord Sheftu’s. “Take her out of Thebes, out of Egypt, anywhere; but let me never see her again!”

  Hasty footsteps plunged away up the alley, pounded around a corner, and were gone.

  When Nekonkh’s head cleared a little, he found that he was cursing steadily and idiotically, under his breath, still clutching Mara tight in his arms. He stopped, wet his shaking lips, and loosened his hold to peer down at her. She was weeping stormily, he did not know whether in anger or in fright.

  “Is all well with you, little one?” he muttered. “He didn’t harm you?”

  She shook her head, burrowed harder against his chest, and continued to sob. He held her uneasily, patting her shoulder now and then and growling vague comfort under his breath. He was not used to weeping maidens and had no idea what one did for them. But he felt dimly that it would be best to let her weep her fill.

  Presently the storm subsided a little, and after a moment she stirred and lifted her head. “Nekonkh—where is he?”

  “Gone, little one. Likely halfway to the Falcon by this time.”

  “He’ll go there?”

  “Aye, I think so. He’ll want to make sure all’s well, and besides . . .”

  “Besides what?”

  “Well, little one,” said Nekonkh gruffly, “I think he’ll be warning them about you.”

  “Ordering them to murder me on sight, I’ll wager,” she burst out. “Just on the chance you’ll not take me far enough to the ends of the earth—”

  “Aye, just on the chance, just on the chance,” he soothed. “But we’ll not founder on that sand bar until we hit it. I must take you away, little one, you know that, don’t you?” She stirred fretfully against him, and he dropped his arms, studying her profile in the gloom. “Look you, maid. How much of that was true—what he accused you of?”

  “Oh . . .” Her hand had wandered to the crushed lotus in her hair. She pulled it out, looked at it a moment, and dropped it to the ground. “All of it, Nekonkh. Save about the ship. Sahure told that, he must have, because I never did, I never even meant to! I swear I’ve told naught—” She broke off, seemed to hold her breath a mo
ment. “At least not much—” She suddenly went on. “As for the rest, can I be blamed for that? I didn’t ask to be sold! But mother of truth, it was a chance to be free, perhaps rich! What did I know about the king then? I’d not even met Sheftu! Once I did, then I wished I’d never seen that cursed master of mine, but—Nekonkh, I’ve told him naught that matters, I’ve but played hounds and jackals with him. I had to do that, didn’t I? If I’d not done it, he’d have thrown me back in the gutter. . . .”

  Ai, she’s just a child, Nekonkh was thinking. A little waif in a cursed ugly world, and none to befriend her. “No matter, it’s past now,” he muttered, patting her awkwardly. “We’ll have a fine voyage, clean to Crete if you like. Crete’s a good land, little one—an island. A mite odd and foreign, but pleasant, and lively enough even for you. They’ve acrobats there—men and maids both—who dance about under the horns of bulls and leap over their backs so that you’ve never seen the like. You’ll be no slave, either, and I’ll wager you could sell that ring of yours for a hundred gold deben. . . . Ai, come, little Blue Eye, Crete’s the place. Let’s be out of this dark alley—”

  “You’re good to me, Nekonkh,” whispered Mara. “And I’ll come, but—” She hesitated, resisting when he tried to draw her forward.

  “What’s amiss now, maid?”

  “Nekonkh—how do we know he’s gone? He might be waiting, just yonder around the corner! Or he might have changed his mind and come back. . . .”

  “Nay, don’t worry. He’s gone.”

  “Ai, how can you be sure?”

  “Now, then, if it’ll ease your mind, I’ll make certain of it. Come, stand in the doorway here. It’ll take but a moment.”

  Guiding her gently into the niche, the captain walked up the alley in the direction Sheftu had taken. He knew he would find no one. Her fears were needless, but he well understood them and meant to humor every one if it would help her. The winds had tossed her craft enough, he thought belligerently, in her seventeen short years. It was time somebody steered a straight course for her.