Bak remained mute, waiting, praying to the lord Amon.
“Let’s see. It was about three years ago. While still I dwelt in Waset.” Ahmose’s eyes popped open and he snapped his fingers. “Yes, I remember! It was only a rumor, mind you. I don’t know how much truth there was to it.”
“Believe me, the vaguest of rumors is better than what I have now.”
Ahmose gave him an fleeting smile. “The way I recall the tale, Baket-Amon slew a man during a night of carous ing. I’m not sure where this occurred. Probably in Waset, since that’s where I heard, but it could’ve happened any where. Maybe here in Wawat.” He paused, frowned. “The incident might’ve been untrue. Or it could’ve been hushed up. As far as I know, nothing ever came of it.”
If the prince killed a man… Yes, revenge would be more than enough reason to take his life. But why wait three years? Amonked and every individual in his party had known Baket-Amon in Waset. They would have had mul tiple opportunities to slay him there, where the odds against being caught were far greater than in the much smaller fron tier post of Buhen.
Another thought struck. Could this rumored murder be the same as the crime witnessed by Pawah? The odds were long, he knew, but it was just possible.
“I thank the lord Amon you’ve returned!” Bak laid one arm over Pashenuro’s shoulders, another over Pawah’s, and ushered them to the archers’ hearth. The fire was out, the twenty men from Buhen nowhere to be seen. “I feared you’d been captured.”
“We almost were!” Pawah practically danced with ex citement. “Only Pashenuro’s quick wits saved us.”
“You exaggerate,” the Medjay said, cuffing the boy on the back of his head.
“I don’t!” Pawah looked at Bak and his words bubbled over. “Hor-pen-Deshret sent out a hunting party, and we were the game they sought. If we hadn’t found a stand of reeds in the river, and if Pashenuro hadn’t thought to cut two off to use as breathing tubes so we could stay under water, they’d’ve caught us for sure.”
Pashenuro shrugged. “The child enlarges my actions and my good sense; otherwise he tells the truth. They were awaiting us, and we came close to getting caught. If a cou ple of dogs hadn’t gone with us, if they hadn’t barked a warning, we’d’ve walked into their arms.”
“How’d they know to expect you?”
“The sentry we talked to last night must’ve spoken of our presence.” Pashenuro looked around the encampment, emptied of about half the men. Those who remained went about their usual business, but with speech and laughter too loud and raucous, betraying a heightened tension. “Where is everyone, sir?”
“Assuming the tribesmen would strike today, as you guessed they would, we thought it best to position the men in the wadi long before they come.” Bak gave the Medjay a sharp look. “Are they on their way?”
“What of those wretched men who’ve been watching the caravan?” Pawah asked. “Won’t they warn their friends of an ambush?”
Bak handed each of his spies a jar of beer. “They’ve not moved, nor will they.”
“They met an early death?” the Medjay guessed.
“Very early. Soon after you came back this morning.”
He spotted Amonked and Nebwa circling around a bar rier built of water jars. The inspector’s relief at seeing Pawah alive and unhurt was evident. Dropping to the ground to sit beside the boy, he gave him a look blending fondness and pride. Nebwa sat on the low circle of bricks that formed the hearth.
“While we hid underwater, we couldn’t hear a thing.”
Pashenuro evidently saw no need to go back to the begin ning and repeat himself. “When the tribesmen moved on along the river’s edge, we sheltered behind a drifting log so we could raise our heads and listen.” He glanced at Pa wah, who continued:
“They were arguing over where and when the caravan should be attacked. About half thought they should await us on the open desert, but the rest swore Hor-pen-Deshret was close to a god and whatever he deemed right should never be questioned. It sounded as if the decision had been made, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“So they’re quarreling among themselves,” Nebwa said.
“Good.”
Thinking of all the men poised to do battle later in the day, Bak asked, “Where’s their main force? Are they still camped near Shelfak? Or are they on their way north?”
“The instant we could safely do so, we left the river and sped out onto the desert. The decision had indeed been made.” Pashenuro flashed a smile. “We could hardly miss that wretched army, a rag-tag bunch if I ever saw one, coming north across the barren sands. We were too far away to hear them speak and the landscape too flat and open to let us draw closer. But we had no doubt they were marching off to combat.”
“They’re coming to us, as we’d hoped,” Bak said.
“So it seems.”
“Rag-tag army,” Nebwa said. “Do you mean their cloth ing is worn and ragged or that there’s no order to their march?”
“Both.” Pashenuro, who had been trained as a soldier before becoming a policeman, knew exactly what Nebwa was getting at. “I saw few signs of a cohesive force, sir.
Any man who falls behind is left to his own resources. In the hour we watched, more than two dozen men simply walked away, abandoning their fellows.”
Nebwa eyed the Medjay speculatively. “Would it be fair to say the alliance is fragile?”
“I suspect only Hor-pen-Deshret is holding it together.”
Nebwa and Amonked left, each going his own way de pending on what he had to do before the call to arms. Bak held Pashenuro and Pawah back so he could give them fresh orders. The Medjay would serve as the forward look out, located in a spot where he could warn of the enemy’s approach; the youth would carry any messages too lengthy to signal with a mirror. Eager to get on with their new tasks, the pair stood up to leave.
Bak held Pawah back. “Did Prince Baket-Amon patron ize the house of pleasure where you dwelt in Waset?” With out realizing he was doing so, he held his breath in anticipation.
Pawah glanced toward Pashenuro, standing off to the side, waiting. The look was a silent but obvious apology for the delay. “I doubt he was, sir. Would so lofty a man ever visit a place so low?”
Disappointed in spite of himself, Bak let the boy go.
Could Pawah have erred? he wondered. Not likely. The prince had been a man not easily forgotten.
Chapter Sixteen
“Won’t those foul nomads notice as soon as they come out of the wadi that the animals are no longer with the cara van?” Sennefer asked.
Bak, standing at the nobleman’s side, watched the long line of donkeys trotting three and four abreast down the path toward the river. A half-dozen drovers were with them, keeping them out of the adjoining fields and hurrying them along. Each man carried a shield and a spear and smaller weapons of choice tied to his belt.
“They’ll spot them on the island right away.” Seeing the foremost donkeys plunge into the water, he turned away and strode toward the boulder on which they had left their weapons. “With luck and the will of the gods, a respectable number will imagine instant wealth in the oases animal markets, and they’ll break away from the main body to go after them. Lieutenant Ahmose has already stationed arch ers among the rocks.”
“Divide and conquer.”
Bak threw a smile his way. “It’s also important to keep the donkeys alive and unhurt.”
“Pawah will be grateful. He’s worried about them, es pecially the foals.” The nobleman glanced toward the sun, not quite halfway between midday and dusk, tinting shreds of cloud a pale yellow. “Shouldn’t we be on our way?”
“You don’t have to come with me, you know. You could stand at Amonked’s side.”
Sennefer’s voice turned wry. “Horhotep calls an ambush dirty fighting, not the stuff of real soldiers. I wish to judge for myself.”
Laughing, each man took up a bow and a quiver filled to bursting, a long spear and shield, and lesser arms for close conflict. Bak also carried a staff the length and weight of his baton of office. Fully arrayed and sobered by the
