“So be it.” Amonked, seemingly unaware of their relief, leaned into the crenel and his eyes settled on a dozen or so men seated in the shade slightly apart from the rest. The fallen head of the enemy coalition and the surviving mem bers of his tribal unit. “What of Hor-pen-Deshret?”
“Now there’s a man whose hand I’d gladly take,” Nebwa growled, scowling at his longtime foe.
“He can’t be set free,” Ahmose stated. “He fled once into the desert, and here he is again. As certain as I am of the lord Re’s return tomorrow, I know he’d come another day.”
“I suggest you take him to Kemet,” Bak said. “His pres ence in the royal house should pacify our sovereign for our failure to enslave or slay the rest.” He had heard that Maat kare Hatshepsut enjoyed seeing powerful men kneeling low before her, their foreheads on the floor. A tale he deemed unwise to repeat to her cousin.
Amonked’s eyes twinkled, as if he had read the thought.
“Give him an hour alone, time enough to weigh his guilt with no friends or allies to offer support, then bring him before me in Lieutenant Ahmose’s office.”
“Hor-pen-Deshret. Horus of the Desert.” Amonked sat stiff and straight on Ahmose’s low-backed chair, which had been made as comfortable as possible, thanks to several thick pillows the lieutenant’s wife had brought. As it had no arms, he rested one hand on a plump thigh and held his baton of office in the other. “Don’t you think the name a bit presumptuous?”
“To you, perhaps.” The captive chief tossed his head in a superior manner. “To you, a man who has no understand ing of the desert and those of us who thrive in its barren wastes.”
Rather than dropping to his knees as he should have, the tribesman stood tall and proud, unbowed by captivity, fac ing Maatkare Hatshepsut’s cousin as if standing before an equal. He had been allowed to bathe and don clean cloth ing. One of his two guards, who stood a few paces behind him, had given him-in an instant of good humor or sar casm-a brownish feather to replace the red one he had lost. His broken arm had been bound within the bark of a slender tree and bandaged to hold it close to his chest. It was a clean break, the garrison physician had said, and should heal straight and strong.
Nebwa snorted, drawing the prisoner’s eyes to him, Ah 270
Lauren Haney mose, and Bak, standing at Amonked’s right hand. With a cynical smile, the tribesman bowed his head to Bak, ac knowledging the man who had laid him low and at the same time making light of the feat.
“I mean to release all those men you drew to your side with vain promises of wealth and glory.” Amonked main tained a regal bearing, as if born a prince destined to sit upon the throne. “With you no longer among them, I doubt they’ll form another coalition of tribes.”
“Set me free and I’ll see that they don’t.”
Amonked raised an eyebrow. “Are you pleading for mercy, Hor-pen-Deshret?”
“Never!” The tribesman raised his chin high. “I’m offer ing myself as an intermediary between my people and yours.”
“You wish to serve as an envoy?” Amonked chuckled.
“Have you not faced the fact that you’re our prisoner?”
“I’m a true falcon of the desert. Captivity would not suit me.”
Amonked wiped every trace of emotion from his face and stared at the proud tribesman standing before him. Not until Hor-pen-Deshret’s haughty smile began to look forced did he speak. “I mean to take you to Waset to stand before our sovereign, Maatkare Hatshepsut. If she chooses to spare your life… Well, she can be whimsical at times, so I’ve no way of predicting her decision.” Amonked stared again at the man standing before him, feigning contemplation.
“This much I can tell you: if she’s sufficiently impressed with your manly appearance and demeanor, she’ll not merely allow you to live, but you’ll be a pampered guest within the royal house.”
Hope flared in Hor-pen-Deshret’s face.
“Seeing your vast abundance of pride, she may even take you with her each day to the hall of appearances, showing you off as she would a favored pet.”
The two guards snickered.
Hor-pen-Deshret exploded, fury suffusing his face. With a growl of rage, he leaped toward Amonked. Bak lunged, shoving him aside. Nebwa grabbed his sound arm, jerked it high up behind him, and forced him to his knees. The guards came to life, hurrying forward to do their duty.
“I won’t be made to look the fool!” the tribesman shouted. “Take my life. Hang me from the prow of your greatest warship. Treat me as the warrior I am.”
“Our sovereign must be given something to show for the battle we fought,” Nebwa said.
Amonked leaned forward, the better to make his point.
“Do you wish her, in the depths of anger because I pre sumed to let you and all your men walk free, to send her armies into the desert to slay every man they come upon, take into captivity their women and children, and take their flocks to Kemet to be sacrificed to our gods?”
“You have that wretched sailor, Captain Minkheper, the man who slew Prince Baket-Amon. Will she not be content with him?” Through the defiance, an edge of sullenness crept into Hor-pen-Deshret’s voice.
“Minkheper must be taken to Ma’am, where he’ll stand before the viceroy. Baket-Amon’s widow must see him charged with her husband’s death and she must see him die for it. Only then will she willingly bend a knee to our sov ereign.”
“So I stand alone.”
“You’ve done enough harm, Hor-pen-Deshret. You must pay.”
“I’d rather die than play pet to your sovereign. To any woman.”
“Either you submit to her or you’ll be impaled, a long and agonizing death, I’ve been told.”
The tribal chief stared at Amonked, made speechless by the force of his words. Seeing no hint of forgiveness on the inspector’s face, no sign that he would relent, the tribes man’s eyes slid away and his shoulders slumped. Bak sor rowed at the once-brave warrior’s downfall, but he could not be allowed to rise again, to steal peace and tranquillity from the land of Wawat for many years to come.
“We’ll stay another day before we move on to Semna.”
Amonked stopped midway along the sloping rock-strewn path that linked the main gate and the river. “The very thought of treading the desert trail so soon is abhorrent.”
Bak and Nebwa, following in his wake, stopped with him. The trio looked across the narrow channel toward the west bank. Men and women toiled in the fields that had been trampled in the battle, salvaging what they could. An imals grazed on the wild grasses and brush along the irri gation ditches and on the higher reaches. A peaceful bucolic scene that made one forget that violence had reigned less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“If you’re to complete your task, you must travel on sooner or later,” Nebwa said.
“Sooner rather than later, I fear.” Amonked sighed. “I’ve told Nefret that she must remain here. She, her maid, and my dog. I see no reason to drag any of them upriver. I plan to leave behind most of the furniture and other objects we brought along. With no pavilion for shelter and no ameni ties to speak of, Nefret would suffer intensely, feeling in ordinately vulnerable and fearing every small sound in the night.”
“A wise decision, sir.” Bak glanced back at the high towered wall rising above them and the massive gate at the upper end of the path. “She seems to get on well with
Ahmose’s wife.”
They walked on, descending the path to the river and the skiff Ahmose had loaned them for the duration of their stay.
Amonked strode past the boat to stand at the water’s edge.
The smell of fresh-cut clover wafted across the gentle swells like a perfume of the gods. The inspector seemed not to know what to say, and his failure to speak stifled
Bak’s power of speech and Nebwa’s.
Finally he turned to face the two officers. “I’ve sent a complete report to Commandant Thuty, as you know, and another to the vizier. You saw the courier off yourself.”
Giving the pair before him a searching look, the inspector added carefully, “I see no immediate reason for you to re turn to Buhen-unless you choose to.”