“With you and me on board?” Bak asked, surprised.
“One man asked if we could swim.”
Normally Bak would have laughed, but not now. “What of him?” He nodded toward the ferryman.
Nebwa scowled. “We’re paying four times the usual rate, and I vowed he’d be the first to drown if the boat sinks.”
“I’m totally out of my element in this barren and desolate land.” Captain Minkheper stood with Bak on a crag, look ing across the narrow channel between the island and the west bank, where the river nibbled at the edge of a blanket of golden sand blown off the western desert. “I’ve lived in
Kemet much of my life, sailing a river that’s broad and deep, looking at fields green and fertile, generous with their bounty. The sands are poised above the valley to either side, to be sure, but at a safe distance for much of the voyage.”
“If you’re being considered for the lofty position of ad miral, you must also have sailed the Great Green Sea.” Bak was referring to the huge expanse of water north of the land of Kemet.
“More often than not, especially in the past few years, but I’m a man of Kemet to the core.”
“The color of your hair tells another tale.”
Minkheper reached up to touch his tousled golden mane, his smile self-conscious. “My ancestors hailed from the is land kingdom of Keftiu and lands farther north. Like me, they were men of the sea.” Letting the smile fade, he stud ied the water flowing past, the rippled surface that indicated rocks below. “The river is now at a low level. How much higher will it be at its fullest?”
“Men who fish these waters and whose fathers before them have done so for many generations say it swells four times the height of a man, sometimes more. They speak of the river near Buhen, not through the Belly of Stones, but
I assume the difference is slight.” Bak climbed down from the crag, as did Minkheper, and they walked toward the partly constructed mudbrick wall of the new fortress. “I’ve never felt the need to investigate for myself. The water runs much faster when it’s high and can take a life in an instant.”
“It looks safe enough now.”
“Appearances can be deceptive.” Bak’s voice was hard, incontestable. He knew of what he spoke. The water had once carried him through some of the worst rapids in the river.
The captain queried him with a glance, but the experi ence was no longer fresh in Bak’s thoughts and he preferred not to revive the memory. “Do you spend much time in the capital?”
“I never used to, but now I must.” Minkheper’s voice grew wry. “How can I hope to attain the exalted position of admiral without making myself known to men who can speak on my behalf to our sovereign?”
Bak veered around a stand of wild grain, setting to flight a pair of quail. “You’re very frank, sir.”
“Believe me, Lieutenant, I’ve grown weary of the effort.
That’s the main reason I agreed to come south with Amon ked.”
That, Bak thought, and the hope of gaining Maatkare
Hatshepsut’s favor by looking into the feasibility of digging a canal through the Belly of Stones. “Who offered you the journey?”
“The overseer of royal shipping, a man I’ve come to know through the years. He took me to Amonked, and there I met Sennefer and Horhotep.” As an afterthought, Min kheper added, “The rest of the party were strangers to me until we set sail.”
“Did you know Prince Baket-Amon?”
“I met him only one time. I can’t say I knew him.”
They circled the stub of a wall and stepped up onto a thick layer of stone fill that would one day serve as a foun dation. Farther on, a long and ragged line of boys was de livering mudbricks to twenty or so masons laying level courses across an expanse of wall.
“Did you by chance see him the morning he was slain?”
“I fear I can’t help you, Lieutenant.”
Bak was growing weary of asking questions no one seemed able to answer. “Did you hear anything that morn ing out of the ordinary, anything that might’ve hinted trou ble was in the air?”
Minkheper let out a short, cynical laugh. “I overheard parts of an argument between Nefret and Amonked. The way they spoke to each other, I’d not have been surprised to hear that she’d been slain.” He paused, added, “Other than that, only the attack on our sailors, which was over before it began.”
Discouraged, Bak looked across the building site, where the fortress commander was pointing out some construction or defense feature to Amonked, Horhotep, and Sennefer.
Nebwa had vanished, gone off to talk to the spearmen as signed to prevent pilferage of materials and equipment. As one who had risen through the ranks, he was popular with the troops and trusted by them.
Bak led the way through a gate awaiting a lintel. Passing a field of bricks drying in the sun, they crossed an expanse of rough, rocky ground dotted with dead and dying tama risks. Minkheper was a true outsider, Bak thought. His light hair set him apart from other men of Kemet, his occupation required that he stand alone as a leader of men. Now here he was in an alien land, traveling among strangers. His presence was fortuitous, for Bak was in need of an unin terested observer.
“Will you give me your impressions of your traveling companions?”
Minkheper eyed him thoughtfully. “Amonked would not be pleased if he thought I spoke with too loose a tongue.”
“He need never know.” Bak scrambled down a narrow, rocky path to the water’s edge. He did not press, preferring that the captain decide for himself.
Minkheper climbed onto a boulder that reached out over the water. From there, he studied the several craggy islands and the narrow, turbulent channels between them and the east bank of the river. “I spent much of the voyage from
Waset performing my duties as commander of Amonked’s flotilla. With so many ships to see to, I had little opportu nity to get to know anyone. I can only give you impressions based on limited contact.”
“I accept that, sir.”
Minkheper scanned the river, searching out its secrets, then dropped off the boulder to walk with Bak along the shore. The chatter of sparrows rose above the murmur of shallow water flowing among rocks.
“I believe Amonked to be a kind and gentle man, one who wouldn’t hurt a scorpion.” Minkheper paused to study a stain on a rock crag, a high-water mark. “Nefret has gone out of her way to try his patience. He’s snapped back at her, argued with her, but he hasn’t laid a hand on her, as some men would. I at first thought him to be weak, but now I’m not so sure.”
“To me, he seems always under tight control.” Or is he merely stubborn and plodding? Bak wondered.
The captain gave him an ironic smile. “I doubt you’d say that if you’d heard him argue with Nefret the morning we left Buhen.”
“Could their dispute have been about Baket-Amon?”
“Not at all. She wanted to return to Kemet and he insisted she travel on to Semna.” Minkheper eyed a clump of brush, torn from the ground, roots and all, by the previous year’s flood. “I think she likes him and respects him, but as a beloved uncle, not the lover she should consider him to be.
And she’s frightened of this wild land through which we’re traveling. She hasn’t the wit to see how unattractive she’s making herself. Frankly, if I walked in Amonked’s sandals,
I’d send her back to her father and have nothing more to do with her.”
Bak pictured the lovely young woman he had seen in the pavilion, upset but dry-eyed. It wouldn’t be easy to spurn her.
“The scribe Thaneny, a man conscientious to a fault, is her devoted slave,” Minkheper continued, “and the herald
Pawah, a mere boy, is equally eager to please her. Even
Sennefer is beguiled by her.”
Surprised, Bak said, “I had an idea nothing touched him, unless in a cynical vein.”
“He appears aloof, yes, but I can see he’s uneasy around the woman; he’s drawn to her. I’ve also noticed that he’s not comfortable with this expedition.” Minkheper must have spotted Bak’s heightened interest, for he added, “You mustn’t count on him to aid your cause. He’s here as
