“The trek will be well worth your while, I assure you.”
From the soldiers, Bak obtained three donkeys to carry water and supplies westward. Twenty-four hours after User’s party moved on, he, Nebre, Psuro, and two armed sailors
Nufer had loaned them escorted Minnakht along the trail.
The explorer made no real attempt to slip away, but he con stantly tested the men who were guarding him. Bak guessed he did not know this part of the desert well, and was waiting to make his move when he came to a place he knew better.
Before sunrise on the fourth morning after striking out from the sea, they strode into a large valley whose flat ex panse was blanketed in golden sand. It was enclosed by brownish hills that appeared low at a distance but proved, as they walked forward, to be high and rugged, singularly un inviting. The sun, a sliver of gold, peeked above the horizon to the west, bathing the sky in red and orange, revealing near the center of the sandy plain a stand of trees. What appeared in the dim light of dawn to be squarish mounds of stone grad ually revealed themselves as three drystone buildings and a walled structure that Bak assumed was the well.
Minnakht walked slower, reluctant to approach the tiny, isolated oasis. When the growing light and a fresh perspec tive revealed twenty or more donkeys in a walled paddock, he stopped. “You vowed to keep me safe.”
“I’ve heard that the man who dwells here exchanges healthy donkeys for caravan animals that show a weakness or an ill ness.” Psuro, walking beside the explorer, had never ceased to remind him in some oblique way of the manner in which he had neglected his animals. “He cures them and sees that they get good food and water until another exchange is needed.”
Bak doubted such was the case, but the barbed comment seemed to ease Minnakht’s doubts-at least for a while.
They strode on across the valley floor, walking on the hard sand alongside multiple paths softened by the hooves of many donkeys. The sun burst above the horizon to glare into their faces. The oasis slowly came to life. A donkey brayed and a goose cackled. Dogs barked, setting to flight a flock of birds, black silhouettes against the brilliant sky. Bak expected the dogs to come running and soon they did, a dozen scruffy mutts barking bravely from afar but too shy to come near.
The closer the men came to the cluster of buildings, the more tightly strung Minnakht became. He was not the only man to feel the strain. Bak adjusted his hand on his spear, balancing it better for use. He had to force himself to keep his pace regular and unhurried. Psuro, Nebre, and the sailors continually scanned the land to either side. Nebre retrieved his bow and quiver from the back of a donkey.
Two boys left the largest building and took a donkey from the paddock. The dogs streaked back to the oasis and fol lowed them north up a broad subsidiary wadi. They had to have noticed the party of approaching men, but gave no sign of greeting. A short time later, a woman left the building to draw water. A small child followed and pestered her until she finished her task. As she turned away from the well, she looked their way, waved, and in a leisurely fashion, carried the heavy jar inside. A donkey brayed as if forgotten. Two others took up the plea.
Minnakht stopped twenty paces from the closest building.
“You go ahead, Lieutenant. Make sure this place is safe.”
Bak barked out a humorless laugh. “You’d sacrifice your mother if you thought it to your advantage. Would you not,
Ahmose?”
The man who called himself Minnakht stiffened. “What?”
“Ahmose. Is that not your name?”
“You’ve lost your wits.”
Bak stepped away from the explorer, as did Psuro. Out of arm’s reach. The grim expression on their faces told truer than words how serious they were-and how unlikely they were to believe any denial.
Minnakht-or Ahmose-swung toward the sailors, the least wary and poorest trained of his guards. He flailed out at one man, shouldered the other aside, and began to run.
Bak, who had expected no less, raced after him, with
Psuro, Nebre, and the sailors fanning out behind. Suddenly twenty or more men burst from behind the nearest building.
Ahmose veered sharply away. Bak closed in on him, leaped at him, and with a flying tackle, pulled him to the ground. His prisoner tried to kick himself free and scramble away, but
Psuro grabbed an arm, jerked him to his knees, and placed his spear point to his breast.
The men who had appeared from behind the building swept forward, led by Nefertem and User. The group in cluded Imset, the members of User’s party, and more than a dozen nomads. They encircled Bak, his men, and his prisoner.
“You vowed to bring Minnakht,” Nefertem said, glower ing. “This is not my friend.”
“He’s not the man I knew,” User seconded the opinion.
“Who is he?”
“I couldn’t bring Minnakht, Nefertem. I fear he’s dead. I brought instead the man who took his life.” Bak grabbed a handful of hair and forced the captive to raise his chin so all could see his face. “His name is Ahmose. Like Minnakht, he explored the Eastern Desert-but farther north in the area where Senna grew to manhood. Senna was his guide and a longtime friend, but he slew him anyway, fearing I’d force the truth from him. I believe he also claimed to be Min nakht’s friend. When the pretense failed, he took his life while trying to force him to reveal the location of the gold he believed he’d found.”
The nomad chieftain, his mouth tight with anger, glared at the prisoner, then drew his hand back and slapped him so hard the crack of the blow echoed across the valley.
Chapter 19
“You’re a dead man, Ahmose. You know that, don’t you?”
Bak, seated on a large rock in front of the well, had long ago lost patience with his prisoner, who refused to say a word.
Nefertem’s slap had not only raised four elongated red welts on Ahmose’s cheek, but had sealed his lips. “Whether you re main here with the nomads or whether we take you back to the land of Kemet, your fate rests in the hands of the lady
Maat. She’s not a forgiving goddess.”
“Nor am I a merciful man.” Nefertem, who had been sit ting on a low stool, looking on in silence, rose to his feet to tower over the man seated on the sand, his hands tied behind his back. “You risked death for what, you swine? For a faint hope of wealth? For gold you couldn’t find but thought to steal?” The nomad hissed between his teeth, the sound of a snake preparing to strike.
Ahmose shrank back but remained mute.
User, perched on three mudbricks stacked to form a seat, pulled a stick from the smoldering hearth over which a gazelle cooked, and prodded the fire to make it burn hotter.
The Medjays, the men of User’s party, and the nomads sat on the ground, forming a half circle around them. The dogs, which had returned in ones and twos, lay in a loose group behind the men, looking on like additional witnesses. The family who dwelt in the oasis sat in front of their house, watching. The men of Kemet were offering various ways of breaking the prisoner’s silence, each more disagreeable than the one before. A young nomad who could speak the tongue of Kemet continually translated for his brethren, who built on the suggestions with ideas of their own.
User rotated the stick, examining its fiery tip. “Dedu was my friend. A good friend. You didn’t just take his life. You left him for carrion.” A calculated look settled on the ex plorer’s face and he shifted his gaze to the prisoner. “I say we blind this snake and turn him loose in this barren land with no water or food.”
A murmur of agreement swept through the onlookers. A donkey brayed, as if offering its consent.
“No!” Ahmose scrambled back, his horrified eyes locked on the stick. “You must take me to Kemet, Lieutenant. My offenses must be weighed on the scales of justice, not left in the hands of these desert swine.”