clutched the oars and, pushing hard against the grass, freed the skiff.
Back on course, he said, 'With so many of us so recently slain.. ' He paused, rubbed his forehead as if to ease the pain. 'The tale must be told, I know.'
'The wind came up and the skies blackened,' Bak said, thinking to lead him into his story.
User's expression lightened; he grabbed at the words like a drowning man grabbing at a lifeline. 'You know the tale already?'
'I've seen an approaching storm, that's all.'
Deflated, User eased the skiff between two boulders. The task seemed to calm him, to resign him. 'With the storm upon us, blinding us, the men did what any sensible men would do. They started to bunch up and huddle down with the donkeys. Commander Djehuty ordered us to stay in line and march on.' He gave a harsh, cynical snort. 'As if any man could keep going in such a tempest!'
Bak recalled Lieutenant Amonhotep saying he had heard contradictory orders. Had the young aide told the truth as he remembered it? Or had he thought it best to show Djehuty in a better light?
'Even I, as green as I was, knew the order was foolish,' User said. 'With no one able to see his hand in front of his face, the line broke apart and most men lost their way, I among them. By chance, I stumbled upon my sergeant, Senmut, a lieutenant named Ptahmose, and a few other men and donkeys, all crowded together, trying to save themselves.'
'Was Montu among them? Or the child Nakht's father?' 'I don't know. I was new to the garrison. Most of the men were strangers to me.'
Staying close to the island, User let the current carry the skiff over a stepped series of falls that jarred the spine each time it dropped.
'The storm was fierce,' the farmer went on. 'The lieutenant ordered us to hold hands, saying all who let go would die, and he told us to hang onto our donkeys' lead ropes. It wasn't easy, let me tell you. The wind blew with such force, we stumbled along before it, all of us together. My donkey soon jerked free, and I guess others did, too.'
User shipped his oars, letting the skiff drift around the bend. Bak saw in the distance the small bay on the east bank and the village beside it. He prayed the archer was a patient man, still awaiting them in his skiff. He had no fear for Psuro; the Medjay had the patience of a log.
'How long we staggered on, I don't know.' User, well into his tale, needed no further prompting. 'Made senseless by the battering we were getting, we fell into a long-dry watercourse. There we lost several men and all that remained of our donkeys except one. Lieutenant Ptahmose, wiser than the rest, had tied its lead rope to his arm. The wind pinned us against the wadi wall, and I was sure we would die there. We didn't. The donkey turned his back on the gale and let it blow him along the wall, taking us with him. And then, thanks to all the gods in the ennead, the creature found shelter-a small cave.'
Raising his arm, he wiped his troubled face on his sleeve. 'We crowded inside and-may the gods forgive us all-we pushed the poor dumb beast back out into the storm. To keep him out, we shoved a boulder, long ago fallen from the ceiling, in front of the opening. It broke the wind and we had more room. The donkey stood there for a long time, head down, tail between its legs. At last, it drifted off, taking a half full jar of water with it. We were too afraid for ourselves to notice-until too late.'
User rowed the skiff close under the trees lining the water's edge, where he and Bak had to duck the lower limbs. 'The rest is a dream I try nightly to forget. The wind, the heat, the air filled with sand and dust. The thirst, the stench of fear.'
Bak gave him a thoughtful look. 'Other than the donkey, I see no reason for shame thus far.'
'You don't understand.' User's mouth twisted into a parody of a smile. 'We not only pushed the donkey out to diethe creature, lhat saved our lives-but men came to our cave, men who begged us to let them inside. Men who shared our quarters in the garrison, our good times and bad. We turned them all away.'
'But didn't you say…?' Bak stared, jolted by what he was thinking. 'You said you pushed the donkey out to make more room.'
User bowed his head, letting the skiff drift. 'We had space for four or five more men, yet we turned away all who begged for refuge.'
Appalled, Bak caught an overhead branch to stop the vessel's downstream flight. The tale was incredible. No wonder someone harbored a grudge against the survivors! But how had the slayer learned the truth? One of those who came back alive must have been unable to keep quiet. 'You made no mention of Djehuty. Was he among you?'
User shook his head. 'He was somewhere else, his life saved, I was told, by a sergeant named Min.' He frowned, thinking back. 'After the storm ended, I wandered up the wadi, looking for the donkey and anyone who might've survived. A witless thing to do, I know. The other men, anxious to save themselves, left without me.' He paused, drew in a ragged breath. 'I was the last to reach the river, crazed from so many days of wandering alone, burned by the sun, thirsty, starving. When finally I was able to listen and talk, Min had already sailed north, reassigned to another garrison, I heard. As far as I know, he never came back to Abu.'
'And Djehuty left the army for good, as did you.'
'I'd had enough, yes, and what remained of the garrison had had enough of me. As long as I stayed, not a man or woman in Abu could forget the many good men lost in the storm.' Noticing Bak's puzzled look, he gave him another of his twisted grins. 'The lord Re made me pay dearly for my survival.'
With both hands, he tore off the headdress, caught his tunic by the hem, and pulled it over his head, stripping it from his body. His near-bald head, forehead, and cheeks, his shoulders, back, and arms were mottled red, white, and brown, scars left by a terrible burn. Sunburn.
'Row us into the current so we can cut him off if he starts to flee. I'll tend to the sail should we need it.' Bak selected a fishing pole from among several lying in the hull, unwound the line a few cubits, and dropped the weight into the water. He prepared a second pole for User. 'If I hunch over, he shouldn't recognize me. With luck, he'll think we're two local farmers, come out in search of our evening meal.' 'And if he's as wary as he should be?' User asked. 'He'd be wise to set sail, and we'd be wise to keep our heads down. He's sure to use the bow.'
'And us with only a spear.'
Bak smiled. He liked this man, who went straight to the heart of a problem. 'Ready?'
User, fully clad once again to protect his sensitive skin, paddled the skiff out from beneath the trees, setting a diagonal course into the current. Bak shoved aside the clutter in the hull and sat down, back bent and fishing pole in hand. When User deemed them, far enough from shore, he let the current carry them northward.
Bak eyed the clump of trees concealing the archer. The situation looked as bleak from here as it had from the mound. Tidy beaches lay to the north and south and an open stretch of sand separated the grove from the mound where Psuro waited. An ideal position for an archer to defend; a terrible place to attack-armed or unarmed.
He gave a series of quick, sharp whistles, imitating a bird, a signal to Psuro. A long, bloodcurdling yell followed, and the Medjay's dark figure popped up from behind a rock at the lower edge of the mound. He raised his arm, snapped it forward. A sharp crack sounded, a rock striking something solid. The skiff? The sturdy trunk of a tree? A boulder hidden by leaves? Bak had no way of knowing. The Medjay vanished from sight. If the archer fired off an arrow, it was too far away to see.
User swung the prow toward the archer's lair, dipped the oars deep, and shoved the vessel forward with skill and speed. AnotHtr yell and Psuro sprang up in a new position to hurl a second stone. Light glinted for a moment on the bronze tip of an arrow speeding his way, but he had already ducked behind his granite shield. No sound betrayed the rock's landingplace.
User paddled like a madman. The closer they came to the trees, the lower he and Bak crouched. A third and fourth yell, each louder and longer and more fearsome than the one before, carried across the river, frightening off a flock of ducks in flight. User thought he heard a rock splash into the water; Bak imagined he saw another arrow flying toward Psuro. How much longer, he wondered, before the man hidden among the trees realized he should watch his back?
As if the archer had read his thoughts, a spot of white showed through the trees and an arrow sped across the water. The missile struck the prow of their skiff with a thud; the shaft shattered and dropped into the river. Muttering a curse, User ducked so low Bak doubted he could see over the rail, but he continued to paddle, his course as straight as before. Another arrow followed and a second in quick succession, both flying over the vessel to fall in its wake.
