The man spoke a few words in his own tongue. A tiny, grizzled old man who was sitting close to the fire, tending the meat, handed Bak a beaten metal bowl filled with water.
He took a careful sip. The taste was good, undefiled by the bitterness of the sleeping potion. He took another sip and another, taking care not to drink too much at any one time.
Relaxing enough to look around, he counted twenty-two men and a youth. They were, he felt sure, the same men who had left the many footprints Kaha and Minmose had found.
“Did you take the other men as your prisoners after you abducted me?” He refused to believe the worst: that not a man or animal in the caravan had survived except for these few donkeys.
The tall, thin nomad, who looked to be about thirty years of age, sat on the sand near the fire and folded his legs in front of him. He signaled his captive to sit beside him. “Who are you?”
Bak could see that he would get no answer until he sup plied a few of his own. “I’m Lieutenant Bak. And you are?”
“My name would mean nothing to you. The explorer Min nakht called me Nefertem.”
Nefertem, a primeval god associated with the sun, a name most appropriate for a man who dwelt in this sun-baked land.
“You knew Minnakht?”
The nomad’s eyes narrowed. “You speak of him as if he’s no longer among the living.”
Bak could see he had stumbled into a sensitive area. “You spoke of him as if in the past. I followed your example.”
Evidently not sure of his use of a tongue he seldom spoke, Nefertem thought over what had been said. A curt nod acknowledged his acceptance of the charge. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve heard much of him, but I’ve never met him.”
The nomad’s voice hardened. “You’ve heard of the gold he’s been seeking, I’ll wager.”
Wary of the sudden flash of anger, of the bitter cynicism,
Bak said, “I’ve been told he’s looking for gold, yes. Precious stones and minerals have also been mentioned. No man has said for a fact that he’s found them.”
The old man dipped a shallow cup into a bowl of oil and poured it slowly over the meat. Drops fell onto the fire, mak ing it crackle and smoke. Bak breathed in the aroma and his stomach cramped from hunger.
Nefertem leaned toward him, his eyes glittering, his expres sion hard. “Why have you come into this desert, Lieutenant?”
Bak did not know what to say. If this man had been a friend of Minnakht, the truth would serve better than a false hood. If these men were ruffians who had attacked the cara van out of malice and greed, if they were responsible for the disappearance or death of Minnakht and the other two men-and the lord Amon alone knew how many others-a lie might serve him better.
“How well do you know Minnakht?” he countered, prob ing for a clue as to what best to say.
“You claim to be an officer. You and your men act and fight like soldiers. I repeat: Why have you come into this desert?”
Praying he was making the right decision, Bak admitted,
“We are soldiers, yes. Commandant Thuty, my superior offi cer, has known Commander Inebny, Minnakht’s father, for many years. The commander persuaded my commandant that Minnakht must be found. Commandant Thuty sent me into this desert to look for him.”
“You lie!” Nefertem stood up and slapped Bak hard across the face. “You walk at the head of a caravan filled with men seeking wealth, men whose honesty is less than it should be.”
Infuriated by the insult, Bak shot to his feet and reached for his dagger. His hand fell on an empty sheath. A half dozen nomads leaped up, caught his arms, and manhandled him to the ground.
“Release him!” Nefertem ordered scornfully. “He can hurt no one. He’s as helpless as a newborn puppy.”
Bak shook off the restraining hands, scrambled up, and, forming a contemptuous look, laughed. “Without a shield of men, Nefertem, you’d be as helpless as you’ve made me.”
For an instant, he thought he had gone too far. Nefertem took a quick step toward him, his hands balled into fists, his expression murderous. Controlling himself with obvious ef fort, he clamped a hand on Bak’s shoulder so tight the bones grated and pushed him to the ground. “Sit, Lieutenant Bak.”
The nomad loomed over him, his stance, his face, his voice calculated to intimidate. “I want the truth. Why have you come into this desert?”
“I came to find Minnakht.”
“You’ve come for the gold you think he found,” Nefertem insisted.
“If that’s what you wish to believe, so be it. Listen to your own thoughts and pay no heed to anyone else. Dismiss the truth and shrug off any words of advice I or anyone else might offer.”
Bak braced himself for another blow. To suggest to a proud and intelligent man that he preferred to live in ignorance was as much of a slap in the face as the one he had suffered.
The nomad glared, furious, and at the same time he shifted his feet, as if the accusation had struck home. “Rumors abound in Kaine, I’ve been told. Why would you search for a missing man when the lure of gold is stronger?”
“I’m guided by my commandant’s wishes, not by tales of wealth that sound more like dreams than reality.”
Nefertem crossed his arms in front of his chest. After a long, thoughtful silence, he said, “Let’s say you speak the truth. Why, then, are you traveling with that wretched guide
Senna? And with User, who’s come into this desert for many years in an endless quest for gold.”
“Senna didn’t want to come any more than I did, but Com mander Inebny gave him no choice. He believed I should travel the same route Minnakht followed on his last journey, and Senna knew the way. I had to accept, had to trust him to lead me along a safe and true path.”
“You bargain with the lord Set.” Shaking his head in exag gerated sympathy, Nefertem dropped to the ground beside his prisoner.
The darkness was complete, allowing Bak to glimpse in the scant light bits and pieces of Nefertem’s men: a knee here, a face there, arms and legs and hands. A scene from the netherworld, he felt sure.
He thanked the lord Amon that he was no longer befud dled by the sleeping potion. “I’ve answered you as best I can.
Will you not tell me what’s happened to my men? To the car avan?”
“Why are those men so important to you, Lieutenant? If you’ve not come to find gold, why should you care about them?”
“I stand at the head of my Medjays. Not only are they my responsibility, but I care for them as brothers. As for the other men, I took it upon myself to travel with them. I’d be negli gent in my duty not to care for their safety.”
“Bah!”
That one tiny word infuriated Bak. “Have you taken all their lives, the innocent along with the guilty? Are you also the man responsible for Minnakht’s disappearance? For all the other dead and missing men in this area?”
“No,” the nomad growled through gritted teeth.
“Have I nothing to look forward to but death?”
Nefertem literally spat out his answer. “My father was
Minnakht’s guide for many years. We are as brothers.”
“Your…” Bak clamped his mouth shut and gave the no mad a sharp look. Should he have guessed the connection?
“Your father died about a year ago, I’ve been told, and Senna took his place.”
“He did not die. He was slain at the hands of another.”
Bak should have been surprised. He was not. Too many men had died or disappeared in this wretched desert to take the nomad lightly. “Tell me.”
“A year ago, he came home to our camp in the mountains, suffering from a mysterious malady.” Nefertem’s voice pulsed with anger. “He was convinced he’d been poisoned, but knew not when or how or by whom. Within a few days, he breathed his last. Minnakht knew I wasn’t free to serve as his guide, nor was my brother, so he asked Senna to travel with him.”
“Did your father say why he thought someone wished him dead?”
“He could think of no good reason.”
“Senna is not a man of this desert. Where did Minnakht find him?”
“A friend recommended him, he said.”
Bak studied the nomad thoughtfully. “Why did you make me your prisoner, Nefertem? You guessed my men and I are soldiers. Did you not realize we were traveling with User’s caravan but apart?”
“You walked in front, leading the way.” Nefertem spoke with a stubborn certainty.
“I preferred not to breathe the dust of the other men and their donkeys throughout our journey,” Bak said with a wry smile.
Nefertem was not amused. “Your men served as guards and scouts.”
“We knew we were being watched. I was concerned for our safety, as well as the well-being of the caravan.” Bak glanced around, found the water bowl, and sipped from it.
“As I was right to be. The watching man must’ve kept you well informed as to our whereabouts.”
“My people, those who travel with their flocks to water and forage, told us where you were and what you were doing.
I had no need to send a man to watch you.”
“Oh?” Bak raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Who is he then?”
“I know not.” Nefertem frowned. “My people have told me of his presence in this desert, but they don’t know him.
He’s wary of them. He lets no one draw near enough to see his face.”
The two men eyed one another, the nomad seemingly as puzzled as his prisoner. With no answer in sight, Bak asked,
“Did you think, if you took me away from the caravan, the other men would return to Kaine?”
“User is a hard man to turn around. I doubted your disap pearance would persuade him to do so.” Nefertem glowered at Bak. “I knew or thought I understood why he and the oth ers came into this desert. You were unknown to me. I wanted to know who you were and what you expected to gain from your journey.”
“Has the caravan turned back?”
Nefertem hesitated as if he thought to make further use of his silence, but at length he answered. “No. User’s guide
Dedu is leading it instead of Senna, and your Medjays are wearing themselves out, scouring the land through which they travel, searching for you.”
“Was anyone hurt after you took me?”
“To injure men and animals was not our intent.”
Bak offered a silent prayer of thanks to the lord Amon. “I suppose the many footprints your men left the day before the attack were designed to confuse my Medjays when they tried to follow those who took me.”
“The new tracks got lost among the old,” the nomad said, nodding. “They wrapped the mule’s hooves, making them indistinct, and walked over the vague prints he left.”
The scheme was so simple Bak vowed to use it himself should the occasion arise. “Now that you have me, what are you going to do with me?”
“You swear you’ve come in search of Minnakht?”
“I do.”
Nefertem stared at Bak, letting the silence grow. “You’ll never find him if you remain with the caravan, traveling through the wadis from one well or spring to another, follow ing the path Minnakht took. We searched that route when first he vanished and came up empty-handed. We’ve since looked farther afield.”
“This land is so vast and rugged that he could be any where. If I was more familiar with this desert, I might know better where to look. But if you haven’t been able to find him…” Bak let the thought hang and took another sip of water. “Senna claims he last saw him on the far side of the
Eastern Sea at the port that services the turquoise and copper mines. I’d like to know if anyone other than the guide saw the men with whom he sailed away.”
“I’ve never believed Senna’s tale, but could it be true?”
“I’ve asked myself that same question. I’ve found no an swer.” Bak watched the old man cut into the meat. He hated the thought of begging, but he was so hungry he vowed to kiss Nefertem’s feet if need be. “I suspect Minnakht went missing somewhere near the Eastern Sea, whether on this side or the other, I don’t know.”
“If he’s on the near side, he’s no longer among the living, and that I’m not prepared to accept.”
The old man drew close a basket filled with thin, round loaves of bread and called to the others. They pressed for ward out of the darkness. Nefertem took a loaf from the bas ket, offered one to Bak, and handed the container to one of his men, who sent it on around the circle. The old man cut off a chunk of meat and placed it on the bread Nefertem held.
The nomad signaled him to give Bak the second piece. The other men held out their loaves and, laughing and joking, ap peared to be urging the old man to hurry. Bak wolfed down a few bites, then ate in a more seemly manner. He had never tasted food so good.
While they ate, Nefertem questioned him about his time in the army. When he learned he had been posted in Wawat, he showed a keen interest in life on the southern frontier and in the people who dwelt there. Not until they finished eating and cleansed their hands in the sand, did he return to their previous discussion. “You may go back to your Medjays and the caravan, Lieutenant. I wish you to continue your search for Minnakht across the sea. We’re a different people than those who dwell in that barren land. We know few men there and have no friends among them.”
Bak smothered a smile. The nomad was appealing for help without bending so far as to come straight out and ask.
“You must search with all due diligence,” Nefertem added.
“If you merely go through the motions and come up with nothing, you’ll never leave this desert alive.”
Relieved at being set free, yet resentful of the threat, Bak pointed out, “If Minnakht has been slain, his body buried in some secret place or dropped into the Eastern Sea, I doubt
I’ll ever find him. How can you in all good conscience say I haven’t tried when in fact I’ve done my best?”
“What you learn, you must tell me. I’ll be the judge of how well you’ve tried.” Nefertem untied a soft leather pouch from his belt, pulled open the bound neck, and shook out a rough chunk of quartz hanging from a leather thong. Flecks of gold gleamed within the stone. “When you’ve learned Minnakht’s fate, send this to me.”