was dismayed by the suggestion, he betrayed no hint of the feel ing.
“Captain Minkheper,” Nebwa went on, “has offered to show the men how to make these weapons and to see the work done in the best manner possible and at a rapid pace.”
Amonked again nodded approval.
Nebwa said no more, signaling the end of his report.
The inspector broke the ensuing silence, asking the ques tion uppermost in each and every heart. “Should Hor-pen Deshret waylay us with a large force of men, could we hold them off?”
“If they were to attack tomorrow while we’re on the move, I doubt we could. In a day or two, after we’re better prepared, I believe so. We’ll be close enough to Askut by then to summon help. The garrison there is small, but a few well-armed and trained men could make all the difference.”
“What of the local people?” Nefret asked, drawing all eyes her way. “First they were visible day after day and now they’ve gone. Where are they? Lurking somewhere nearby so they, too, can set upon us?”
“I doubt we’ll have to fight on two fronts,” Nebwa said.
“While the people who dwell here don’t like what this in spection party stands for, they hate Hor-pen-Deshret and his ilk.”
“They’ve been victimized by men like him each time the leaders of this land grew careless or weak,” Bak said, mak ing a point he wanted to be sure the inspector understood.
“They may even decide to help us,” Nebwa said, “when
Bak snares Baket-Amon’s slayer.”
“And I will snare him.” The words, spoken firm and positive, were prompted, Bak felt sure, by some mischie vous god recently given a fine offering by Commandant
Thuty, who took his success for granted.
“Lieutenant Bak.” A man, speaking softly but firmly in his ear, caught him by the shoulder and shook him. “Wake up, sir. Wake up.”
Bak rolled over, struggled into a sitting position, and shook his head to clear away the sleep. The night was black, the sliver of moon low, the stars miserly with their light. He could barely make out the individual hovering over him, a drover, he remembered. “What’s wrong?”
“The donkeys are uneasy, sir. Seshu thinks we’ve an in truder. He asked me to summon you.”
Muttering a curse, Bak hauled himself to his feet, found a spear and shield, and looked down at Nebwa and the archers, bundled up in heavy linen to stave off the chill, sleeping soundly. He thought of the man who had slipped in among them to steal their sandals. This might well be a similar prank. If he needed help, he decided, he could sum mon them later. With the drover in the lead, they headed across the encampment. Stepping over sleeping men and around braziers containing fuel long burned to ash, they wove a hurried path through the darkness. The cool night air seeped beneath Bak’s tunic, chilling him to the marrow.
He soon heard the donkeys’ restless movement, their troubled snorts and blowing. The drover led him around the herd to where Seshu stood with Pashenuro and two drovers who had been assigned to keep watch overnight, scaring off predators, preventing the hobbled animals from stray ing, and keeping a wary eye open for desert marauders.
With eyes growing more attuned to the feeble light, he saw that only the men on watch were armed.
“There’s somebody in there, all right,” Seshu growled.
“Have you spotted him?” Bak asked.
A drover shook his head. “Too dark. Can’t see a thing.”
“Are you sure it’s a man and not a jackal? Or maybe dogs?”
“The pack that’s been following us wouldn’t bother the donkeys and they’d chase off any unfamiliar animals, mak ing a racket you could hear all the way to Buhen.”
Pashenuro nodded agreement. “I’d guess a man, sir, probably one of the nomads who’ve been keeping pace with us.”
Bak was not as sure as the sergeant was. The dogs had barked when the tribesmen had first appeared and had since stayed well clear of them, indicating a distinct lack of trust.
Probably because, when catching the big yellow cur for their vile prank, they had frightened the rest of the pack.
“If he’s not to run away in the dark, we’ll need torches.”
As Pashenuro and a drover turned to go, he hastily added,
“And, for the lord Amon’s sake, bring back some weapons.
And shields.”
The pair hurried off to do his bidding. While Seshu and the others remained where they stood, Bak walked in among the nearest animals, speaking quietly, trying to calm them, wishing fervently that he could see better. He could not understand why the dogs were silent. True, they were not trained to protect the caravan, but they were feral, and feral dogs barked at the least provocation.
He turned to sidle between two donkeys, at the same time raising his shield so it would not get in his way. He heard a soft thunk and felt a faint vibration through the heavy cowhide. The donkey to his right snorted fear. Bak’s heart shot into his mouth. The white tunic, he thought, a target in the dark. He ducked low and lunged forward, hiding among the animals. Turning the shield, he looked at its face, at the arrow impaling the leather.
“Get down!” he yelled. “The intruder’s using a bow!”
“Lieutenant!” Pashenuro’s voice and the flicker of light played across the backs of the donkeys.
A whisper of sound caught Bak’s ear. The animal nearest to him screamed and fell to its knees, an arrow planted deep in its thick neck. Bak tried to catch the rope halter to quiet it, but it flung its head and thrashed its legs, trying to escape the pain and the stench of its own blood, and it brayed non stop. The nearer animals panicked and tried to run in spite of their hobbles. Their wild lunges instilled fear into the rest of the herd. The dogs, so quiet before, began to bark, their excitement triggered by the donkeys’ terror.
“Get some men to quiet these animals,” Seshu yelled.
“Lieutenant, are you all right?” Pashenuro called.
Hating what he had to do, Bak jerked his dagger from its sheath and slit the throat of the wounded animal, si lencing it forever. Keeping low, he grabbed the halter of a jenny who, in her panic, was bucking madly, threatening to crush her foal. He led her and her baby away from the dead donkey, caught another animal and quieted it, and another and another. By the time he and the drovers had subdued the most panicked of the creatures, by the time
Pashenuro joined him, torch in hand, he was certain the intruder had gotten away.
Nebwa and the archers came running, awakened by the clamor. They went through the herd, searching for the in terloper, while the drovers quieted the animals and checked their well-being. As soon as they finished, Bak led a thor ough search of the encampment, soothing people who had awakened in alarm, but finding no one who did not belong.
The dogs settled down among the stacks of equipment and supplies as if nothing of note had occurred.
Nebwa assigned more guards to patrol the perimeter of the camp, and he, Bak, and the others returned to their sleeping places. Bak’s last thought before he slept was of the dogs, of their failure to respond, their silence, when what everyone believed was a desert nomad had crept up to the encampment and in among the donkeys.
A nomad, a stranger from outside the camp. He was not so sure.
Chapter Thirteen
“You’re right about the dogs. They’d’ve reacted to a stranger.” Nebwa rubbed his chin, bristly from a failure to shave the previous evening. The training session had taken precedence over personal care. “Maybe someone in Amon ked’s party feels cornered.”
“Why must the lord Amon be so whimsical?” Bak scowled at the long train of donkeys plodding south, the older animals sedate and well-behaved, the younger made frisky by the early morning chill, the fear in the night for gotten by one and all. “Thanks to him, I raised that shield when I did, but why, after saving me, did he allow the
