"I'll be frank with you, Lieutenant. I don't like to talk about it or even think about it. The storm. Those many days in the desert…" User raised a shoulder and wiped his sweaty face on his tunic. His voice dropped to a low croak. "I'll never know what kept me alive."
Bak felt compassion, sympathy, but he had to know what drove the slayer on. "I'd like nothing more than to walk away and leave you in peace, but I can't."
"The man you seek will be within our grasp in less than an hour. Let him speak for himself."
Bak eyed him long and hard. "How many men survived that storm, User?" Getting nothing in return but a stubborn scowl, he snapped, "Surely you can answer so simple a question!"
User veered closer to shore, avoiding the stronger current farther out. "Eleven," he muttered.
"Eleven men who've remained mute for five long years." Bak kept his voice hard, cold. "Why? Why hold a time of mutual suffering so close within the heart? Would it not be natural to talk, to share so horrible an experience with all who wish to listen? To lessen the load through repetition?" "You don't understand!"
"I suspect Djehuty ordered all who survived to remain quiet, but I, too, have lived in a garrison. I know a commander's orders won't silence whispers."
User stared at him, his face wracked with pain. Without warning, he leaned hard on an oar, turning the skiff, and rammed its prow into a stand of thick, spiky grass. Bak, taken unawares, slid off the wooden brace he occupied and landed hard on the centerboard amid a clutter of fishing poles and farm tools.
"We're ashamed!" User cried. "Some of us for one reason, I suspect, and some for another. But we all have reason for shame."
Bak rocked forward, brushed off the back of his kilt, and sat again on tha, brace. He eyed the former spearman with a mix of sympathy, tolerance, and blame. User read the look and a flush spread across his face. He clutched the oars and, pushing hard against the grass, freed the skiff.
Back on course, he said, "With so many of us so recently slain.. " He paused, rubbed his forehead as if to ease the pain. "The tale must be told, I know."
"The wind came up and the skies blackened," Bak said, thinking to lead him into his story.
User's expression lightened; he grabbed at the words like a drowning man grabbing at a lifeline. "You know the tale already?"
"I've seen an approaching storm, that's all."
Deflated, User eased the skiff between two boulders. The task seemed to calm him, to resign him. "With the storm upon us, blinding us, the men did what any sensible men would do. They started to bunch up and huddle down with the donkeys. Commander Djehuty ordered us to stay in line and march on." He gave a harsh, cynical snort. "As if any man could keep going in such a tempest!"
Bak recalled Lieutenant Amonhotep saying he had heard contradictory orders. Had the young aide told the truth as he remembered it? Or had he thought it best to show Djehuty in a better light?
"Even I, as green as I was, knew the order was foolish," User said. "With no one able to see his hand in front of his face, the line broke apart and most men lost their way, I among them. By chance, I stumbled upon my sergeant, Senmut, a lieutenant named Ptahmose, and a few other men and donkeys, all crowded together, trying to save themselves."
"Was Montu among them? Or the child Nakht's father?" "I don't know. I was new to the garrison. Most of the men were strangers to me."
Staying close to the island, User let the current carry the skiff over a stepped series of falls that jarred the spine each time it dropped.
"The storm was fierce," the farmer went on. "The lieutenant ordered us to hold hands, saying all who let go would die, and he told us to hang onto our donkeys' lead ropes. It wasn't easy, let me tell you. The wind blew with such force, we stumbled along before it, all of us together. My donkey soon jerked free, and I guess others did, too."
User shipped his oars, letting the skiff drift around the bend. Bak saw in the distance the small bay on the east bank and the village beside it. He prayed the archer was a patient man, still awaiting them in his skiff. He had no fear for Psuro; the Medjay had the patience of a log.
"How long we staggered on, I don't know." User, well into his tale, needed no further prompting. "Made senseless by the battering we were getting, we fell into a long-dry watercourse. There we lost several men and all that remained of our donkeys except one. Lieutenant Ptahmose, wiser than the rest, had tied its lead rope to his arm. The wind pinned us against the wadi wall, and I was sure we would die there. We didn't. The donkey turned his back on the gale and let it blow him along the wall, taking us with him. And then, thanks to all the gods in the ennead, the creature found shelter-a small cave."
Raising his arm, he wiped his troubled face on his sleeve. "We crowded inside and-may the gods forgive us all-we pushed the poor dumb beast back out into the storm. To keep him out, we shoved a boulder, long ago fallen from the ceiling, in front of the opening. It broke the wind and we had more room. The donkey stood there for a long time, head down, tail between its legs. At last, it drifted off, taking a half full jar of water with it. We were too afraid for ourselves to notice-until too late."
User rowed the skiff close under the trees lining the water's edge, where he and Bak had to duck the lower limbs. "The rest is a dream I try nightly to forget. The wind, the heat, the air filled with sand and dust. The thirst, the stench of fear."
Bak gave him a thoughtful look. "Other than the donkey, I see no reason for shame thus far."
"You don't understand." User's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. "We not only pushed the donkey out to diethe creature, lhat saved our lives-but men came to our cave, men who begged us to let them inside. Men who shared our quarters in the garrison, our good times and bad. We turned them all away."
"But didn't you say…?" Bak stared, jolted by what he was thinking. "You said you pushed the donkey out to make more room."
User bowed his head, letting the skiff drift. "We had space for four or five more men, yet we turned away all who begged for refuge."
Appalled, Bak caught an overhead branch to stop the vessel's downstream flight. The tale was incredible. No wonder someone harbored a grudge against the survivors! But how had the slayer learned the truth? One of those who came back alive must have been unable to keep quiet. "You made no mention of Djehuty. Was he among you?"
User shook his head. "He was somewhere else, his life saved, I was told, by a sergeant named Min." He frowned, thinking back. "After the storm ended, I wandered up the wadi, looking for the donkey and anyone who might've survived. A witless thing to do, I know. The other men, anxious to save themselves, left without me." He paused, drew in a ragged breath. "I was the last to reach the river, crazed from so many days of wandering alone, burned by the sun, thirsty, starving. When finally I was able to listen and talk, Min had already sailed north, reassigned to another garrison, I heard. As far as I know, he never came back to Abu."
"And Djehuty left the army for good, as did you."
"I'd had enough, yes, and what remained of the garrison had had enough of me. As long as I stayed, not a man or woman in Abu could forget the many good men lost in the storm." Noticing Bak's puzzled look, he gave him another of his twisted grins. "The lord Re made me pay dearly for my survival."
With both hands, he tore off the headdress, caught his tunic by the hem, and pulled it over his head, stripping it from his body. His near-bald head, forehead, and cheeks, his shoulders, back, and arms were mottled red, white, and brown, scars left by a terrible burn. Sunburn.
"Row us into the current so we can cut him off if he starts to flee. I'll tend to the sail should we need it." Bak selected a fishing pole from among several lying in the hull, unwound the line a few cubits, and dropped the weight into the water. He prepared a second pole for User. "If I hunch over, he shouldn't recognize me. With luck, he'll think we're two local farmers, come out in search of our evening meal." "And if he's as wary as he should be?" User asked. "He'd be wise to set sail, and we'd be wise to keep our heads down. He's sure to use the bow."