A second channel separated that island from another, divided now by the rising waters into two chunks of land connected by a narrow isthmus. The ridge to the north, tall enough to remain above water through the highest flood, supported trees, brush, and the island fortress. He had to swing the boat around the long, narrow island and sail down the second channel.
Following Huy's advice, he dug the oars into the — water, his powerful strokes driving them across the current. As they passed the southern tip of the long island, Bak could see water lapping over the low spots, sneaking onto land that a day or two ago had been dry. He swung the skiff into the second channel and drove it across the current toward the island on which the fortress stood. A third current caught the skiff, pulling it to the right toward a pair of craggy islets rising from the mouth of a side channel. Beyond, he heard the growl of angry water and spotted jagged rocks rising above a swath of foam.
"Careful!" Huy warned.
Bak was already working the rudder and oars, turning the skiff midstream. He was glad Huy had come along. To a man reared in Kemet, where the river flowed smooth and broad and the greatest hazards were shallows, these wild waters were a new and unsettling experience.
Ahead, the channel flowed clear all the way to the landing stage. The fortress, he saw, was an uncomplicated structure of plain mudbrick walls built on a stone-revetted base that followed the contours of the island. The fortification was protected at intervals by stubby spur walls. The vessel on which Nebwa's men had sailed was moored against the rocky shore, and the last few men were disembarking. The others, each laden with baskets or tools, formed an irregular line, hauling the supplies up a steep slope and through a partially collapsed gate.
As they drifted downstream, the growling waters behind subsided to a whisper and another, throatier roar sounded ahead. Awed by the power he heard, Bak stood up to look. A hundred or so paces beyond the fortress gate, the channel turned white and vicious. The width of the river from one island to the other was a wild tangle of rocks and water and froth. A rainbow twice the height of a man leaned over the water, trembling in the spray rising from the maelstrom.
"Now you see why we drag the ships overland," Huy said.
"They'd be beaten to pieces in that water." Chilled at the spectacle, Bak dropped onto his seat and turned the skiff toward the shallower water alongside the island. "I saw those rapids from the girdle wall, but at so great a distance they lose their impact on the senses."
"The rocks get worse downriver before they get better." The tall, lean officer caught up the rope and looped the end, preparing to moor the vessel. As the skiff bumped the shore, he threw the loop over a post grayed by the sun and made shiny from use. They followed the last soldier in line up the steep, rocky path and into the fortress.
Bak paused at the gate to look around. His first reaction was. one of dismay. To call the place a fortress, he thought, was a gross exaggeration. It was nothing more than a fortified wall enclosing a roughly rectangular space over two hundred paces wide and four times as long, a place to shelter farmers and their livestock during an attack. From the poor condition of the walls and the amount of debris covering the floor, it had been neglected for years, probably since the war against the Kushites-if not before.
Nebwa's spearmen were equally disheartened. They stood in the middle of the fortress, looking around, their faces long, their usual banter silenced.
Pashenuro issued an order, spurring them to action, and strode across the rubble-strewn floor, glancing around the filthy, dilapidated structure, frowning. "Not a place where I'd house a king, sir."
"A palace it'll never be," Bak agreed, scowling at the disarray. "Tlie question is: Can we make it not merely habitable, but attractive by midafternoon tomorrow?"
The Medjay managed a weak smile.
Huy eyed the crumbling walls. "I've not set foot in this fortress for many months. It's in worse condition than I remembered."
"Alright, let's see what's here." Bak hoped he sounded more hopeful than he felt. "Then we can decide what must be done."
The trio walked along the base of the walls, veering around trees, overgrown bushes, and mounds of fallen bricks, stumbling over hidden roots, stepping across suspicious holes in the earth, avoiding piles of waste, most of it dry and hard, left by humans and animals. They examined fallen sections of the fortification, calculating the effort needed to make temporary but effective repairs. At the end, they climbed a stairway eroded by wind and water until it was little better than a steep, irregular ramp. Standing on the wall not far from the gate, they looked out across the fortress. Nebwa's spearmen, clearing a space for their camp, were now laughing and chattering as if they had not a care in the world. It must be pleasant, Bak thought with envy, to be free of responsibility.
Vaguely aware of the crash of water in the channel behind him, he thought over the task ahead. To finish in time would be difficult, he decided, but not impossible. "The floor will have to be cleared and cleaned," he told Pashenuro. "Leave all the trees and bushes where they are, at least for now. They'll give life to'this place, make it seem less harsh and abandoned. Save all fallen bricks that still remain whole and whatever else you find of value. Dump the rest into the river."
"Yes, sir," Pashenuro said.
"The walls will be your greatest problem," Huy said, staring at a large irregular gap at the northwest corner. "You've no time to make new bricks."
"We'll fill the holes with rubble," Pashenuro said. "And have Amon-Psaro laugh at so crude a fortress?" Bak shook his head. "No. If no one objects"-he queried Huy with a glance-"we can mine the old, abandoned houses in Iken, prying out bricks that are whole, and sail them across the river for reuse here."
"An excellent idea!" Huy smiled his approval. "With enough men, you might well turn this fortress into a place befitting a king."
"I must accept your offer of Puemre's company," Bak said reluctantly. "Pashenuro will need half the men here on the island and four or five masons to show them how to lay the bricks. The rest should remain in Iken, gathering bricks for shipment across the river."
"Done!" Huy nodded. "Puemre's sergeant, Minnakht, is a good and trustworthy man. You can look to him with confidence to head those who'll work in the city."
With the worst of his difficulties resolved, Bak allowed himself to breathe more freely. He did not deceive himself that the task would be easy, but he was certain it could be done. If the lord Amon smiled on him-and on his workmen-it should be finished before Amon-Psaro marched into Iken.
Bak stood at the gate, looking back at Nebwa's spearmen, the core of his work force. Their lean-to tents had been set up, a hearth built, tools distributed, food and supplies stowed away. One man knelt at the hearth, dropping vegetables into a pot, and another was kneading bread. A half dozen men were spread out across the northern end of the fortress, cleaning the stone and hard-packed earthen floor, while the rest carried baskets of debris through a far gate to the river. They had accomplished a lot in their short stint on the island, yet the task ahead looked endless.
"We'll go to the barracks the moment we get back to Iken," he promised Pashenuro. "You should have help by midday and Micks long before nightfall."
The Medjay nodded and hurried back to his crew. As Bak turned away to follow Huy down the path to the skiff, his eyes drifted unbidden toward the roaring maelstrom downstream. From where he stood, he could see no waterfall, but he guessed from the gathering speed of the river, the distant roar, and the amount of foam hurling into the air that the riverbed fell substantially, not all at one time, but in a series of cascades.