Isfinis tasted no rest in those few days charged with magnificent deeds and silent sacrifices. He met — with men, visited families, and organized the voyagers, keeping himself going by dreaming of his hopes, thinking of the present and the future, and doctoring his upsurges of anger and desire for revenge with doses of patience. Along with all this, he had also to suppress longings that burned in his heart and overcome blazing passions that ate away at him from the inside, weakening the forces of hatred that within him battled those of love. How hard he struggled and how much he bore in those few days! How much he patiently endured and suffered!
14
The governor of the South finally granted Isfinis permission to set off after giving him a permit allowing him to cross the border whenever he wished. The convoy raised anchor and set sail in the cool of dawn, Isfinis, Latu, and Ahmose son of Ebana taking their seats in the deck cabin of the first ship, their hearts filled with longing and yearning, while the tears with which he had made his last farewell to his mother still stood in Ahmose's eyes. Isfinis was lost in his dreams: he thought of Thebes and its people — Thebes, the greatest of the cities of the earth, the city of a hundred gates, of obelisks that reached up to the Heavenly Twins, of stupendous temples and towering palaces, of long avenues and huge squares, of markets that knew no peace or rest either by day or by night; Thebes the glorious, the Thebes of Amun, who had decreed that His gates should be closed before His worshippers for ten years of captivity, Thebes which, in the end, had been taken by barbarians who now sat in power as ministers, judges, commanders, and nobles and whose people they had enslaved, so that Fate rubbed their faces in the dirt of those who yesterday had been slaves to them. The youth sighed from the depths of his wounded heart, then thought of the men crouched in the bellies of his ships, all driven by a single hope, all propelled by an unshakeable love of Egypt passed down from generation to generation. How they suffered from the pain of Separation from the wives, daughters, and sons that they had left behind them at the mercy of their enemies! All of them might have been that brave youth Ahmose who had suppressed his longings and curbed his yearning and on whose face resolution and strength were engraved. Among these crowding thoughts an entrancing image rose to the surface of his mind and he looked downward, hiding his eyes from Latu of the piercing glance, who, if he were to discern what he was thinking of, would grow angry once more. He wondered at how his thoughts hovered around her image, unable to drag themselves away from her. In confusion he asked himself, “Is it possible for love and hate to have the same object?” A sad look appeared in his eyes and he said to himself, “However it be with me, I shall not set eyes on her again, so there is no call for disquiet. Can anything in the world defeat forgetfulness?” Latu interrupted his dreams, saying in tones that betrayed concern, “Look to the north! I see a convoy coming on fast.”
The two youths looked behind them and saw a convoy of five ships cutting through the crests of the waves at speed. The eye could not make out who was on board but the convoy was approaching fast and its component parts soon became distinct. Isfmis caught sight of a man standing at the front of the convoy and recognized him. Anxiously he said, “It's Commander Rukh.”
Latu's face paled and he said with increasing agitation, “Do you think he is trying to overtake us?”
The other had no idea how to answer and they watched the convoy anxiously and warily. A number of fears swept over Latu and he asked in exasperation, “Is that imbecile going to try and delay our departure?”
It dawned on Isfmis that he had not yet escaped the consequences of his mistake and that peril was about to descend on the convoy, just as it neared safety's shores. Training his eyes on Rukh's convoy, he saw that it was approaching so fast that it had already overtaken some of the ships of his own. There were five warships, with detachments of guards standing on their decks, whose presence, without a doubt, did not bode well. The lead ship turned toward his own and came alongside and he saw the Commander looking at him — with a cruel expression and heard him yell at him in his thick voice, “Stand to and drop anchor!”
The other ships changed their course to pen the convoy in, and Isfinis ordered his sailors to stop rowing and drop anchor. They obeyed, fearfully noting that the Herdsmen's ships were loaded with soldiers bristling with weapons as though ready for a battle. Isfinis grew more anxious still, fearing that the hate-consumed commander would take his rancor out on the convoy, thus dashing the hopes of his whole people. He said to his companion, “If the man wants my head, it is no bad thing that I should be the first to fall in the new struggle. Should I die, you, Latu, must carry on on the same path and not let anger take control of you and so put an end to all our hopes.”
The older man gripped his hand, overcome by a sudden despair, but Isfinis resumed, saying firmly, “Latu, I give you the very advice you gave me yesterday: avoid unwise anger. Let me pay the price for my mistake. If, tomorrow, you return to my father and pay him your condolences for my death while congratulating him on the Egyptian troops you have brought him, it will be better than your returning to him with me while our hopes have been lost forever.”
He heard Commander Rukh shouting at him, “Come out to the middle of the ship, peasant!”
The youth gripped Latu's hand and left with firm steps. The commander, who was standing on the deck of his own ship, said to him, “You made me drop my sword, crazed peasant, when I was drunk and staggering. Now here I am waiting for you, with strong heart and steady arm.”
Realizing that the commander had a vengeful nature and wanted to challenge him so that he could wipe away the stain on his honor, Isfinis said to him quietly, somewhat reassured as to the fate of his convoy, “Would you like to return to the attack, Commander?”
The other replied insolently, “Indeed, slave. And this time I shall kill you with my own hands in the most horrible fashion.”
Isfinis asked him quietly, “I do not fear your challenge. But do you promise to do no harm to my convoy whatever the outcome of the duel?”
The commander said contemptuously, “I shall leave the convoy out of respect for my master's wishes. It will proceed without your carcass.”
“And where do you want to fight?”
“On the deck of my ship.”
Without uttering a word, the youth jumped into a boat and rowed with his strong arms till he reached the commander's ship. There he climbed the ladder onto its deck and stood face to face with his enemy. The commander threw a cruel look at him, angered by the calmness, self-possession, and disdain that appeared on the other's beautiful face. He gestured to one of the soldiers, who gave the youth a sword and shield. As he prepared himself for the fight, the commander said to him, “Today there will be no mercy, so defend yourself.” Then he attacked him like a ravening beast and the two joined in violent combat surrounded by a circle of heavily armed soldiers, while, at the prow of the other ship, Latu and Ahmose stood watching the battle with often-averted eyes. The commander delivered a succession of blows, which Isfmis warded off with his amazing skill. Then the latter directed a hard blow at his opponent that fell on his shield, striking it with a force that left its mark. The youth seized the opportunity and began his assault with strength and skill, forcing the commander to retreat, pushing away from himself the blows leveled at him by his powerful opponent, who gave him no opportunity to rest or counter-attack. Exasperation appeared on the man's face and, grinding his teeth in insane fury, he threw himself upon his opponent in desperation. The youth, however, stepped aside and directed at him an elegant stroke that gashed his neck, causing the man's hands to go limp, and he ceased fighting and staggered as though drunk, only to fall finally on his face, flailing in his own blood. The troops, letting out an angry cry, drew their long swords in readiness for an assault on the youth at the first signal from the officer commanding them. Certain that he would perish, Isfmis realized the futility of resistance, especially as so many had their arrows trained on him, and he awaited the taste of death submissively, his eyes never leaving the commander sprawled at his feet. At that delicate juncture, he heard a voice nearby calling out angrily, “Officer, tell your men to sheathe their swords!”