They walked on, legs wobbly, dust coating sweaty bodies, neither man speaking. Each thanking the gods that his life had been spared. By the time they reached Hori, Kaemwaset, and the dog, the worst of the slide was over. A few rocks and boulders dropped from above, bouncing down the vertical face and raising spurts of dust, but the deafening roar had diminished to a sporadic crack of smashing rocks, and the cloud was thinning over the temple, shredded by the light breeze.
From where they stood, they could not see the columned hall and colonnade court, but they could well imagine how the rear chambers had suffered. The northwest corner of the main court, where they had been standing when the slide began, was covered by dirt and rocks. The wall where Bak had found the shrines was buried. The robbers’ excavation had without a doubt been filled in.
An explosive crack sounded from somewhere deep within the temple. Stone grated against stone, a deep and heavy thud set loose rocks to rolling down the slope behind the building, a burst of dust rose above the columned hall.
Tracker whimpered. The four men looked at each other, their faces bleak. Another portion of the hall, or possibly the sanctuary, had fallen: a column or two, a few roof slabs.
Bak’s eyes darted toward the small figure standing on the hillside trail north of Djeser Djeseru. “Menna hasn’t moved from where he stood before the cliff fell. Would not an innocent man have hastened to our aid?” He gave him companions a grim smile. “I’m going after him. I see no further need for you to remain here. No man will rifle the tombs within this temple for a long time.”
Bak hurried ahead with Kasaya and Tracker, loping down the ramp the workmen used to haul stones scavenged from the old temple to the new, climbing the opposing ramp onto the terrace of Djeser Djeseru.
Amonked, walking faster than Bak had ever seen him, in-tercepted them near the white limestone statue of Maatkare Hatshepsut. “May the lord Amon be deluged with offerings!
You’re safe and well.” He clasped Bak’s shoulders. “When I saw the cliff face fall. .” He bit his lip, trying to contain his depth of feeling, and turned to the Medjay. “As for you, young man, standing as you did on the terrace, signaling with that mirror while stones fell around you. .” He patted Kasaya on the back, shook his head in amazement, patted again. “Words fail me.”
Bak was more pleased than he cared to admit with Amonked’s unusual show of affection. “Do you know what’s happening on the rim of the cliff, sir? Have the men up there caught anyone?”
“I know no more than you do.” Amonked cleared his throat, collecting himself. “We were climbing the ramp to Maatkare Hatshepsut’s temple when the cliff began to fall.
Someone-the lieutenant at the head of the special team of guards Maiherperi sent-shouted a warning.” Amonked’s smile held only a hint of humor. “You’ve never seen men run so fast, as if the rocks were falling on us instead of you.”
Bak imagined the scene and returned the smile. “When will Senenmut be leaving Djeser Djeseru?”
“I told him you’d placed men on the cliff above, so he wishes to stay, to see the men snared who set off the rock slide. If the truth be told, I suspect he fears returning to the royal house with a threat still hanging over our sovereign’s most important project.”
“No doubt,” Bak said in a wry voice.
Noting the cynicism, another smile touched Amonked’s lips. “Did you find the tomb you sought? Or did the slide cut short your search?”
Bak beckoned a water boy, washed the grit from his mouth and spat it out. “We found a tomb, sir, but I’ve no time to speak of it. We’ve spotted Lieutenant Menna on the trail north of here. He’s come no closer since first we saw him, which makes him look to me like a guilty man. I’m going after him before he has a chance to flee.” Refilling the bowl, he drank long and deep, readying himself for the chase.
Amonked eyed the figure on the distant trail and his face clouded over with concern. “Yes, you must go.”
“Kaemwaset can tell you of the tomb.” Bak flashed a smile at the approaching priest and turned to the Medjay.
“You must remain here, Kasaya. Go to the lieutenant in charge of the men wearing the red armbands and. .” He raised a hand, silencing the objection he saw on the young man’s face. “See that they follow me as quickly as they can, and you come with them. The trail must be blocked so Menna can’t turn back this way, and I might need help to snare him.”
Bak hastened across the terrace, stopping once when he came upon a foreman carrying a wooden staff about twice the length of his arm. He borrowed the object as a makeshift weapon, a substitute for his baton of office, which was more to his liking than the dagger hanging from his belt. The staff was somewhat thicker than his baton, a little heavier, not as well balanced, and probably not as strong. He offered no complaint. It would suffice.
Leaving the terrace behind, he looked upward to where he had last seen Menna. The officer had not moved. He stood at the far end of a long stretch of trail that traversed the slope below the cliff. From there the path ran almost straight up the incline before turning to the left to climb the cliff, which was much lower and not nearly as steep as at the back of the valley where the temples stood. It was in fact a rough and broken escarpment which gradually tailed off to the east. At the top, the trail followed the rim in a westerly direction to the cliff’s highest point behind the two temples and continued on from there.
Why had Menna not moved? Was he waiting for the cliff to collapse above Djeser Djeseru? Was he trying to figure out whether he could safely come into the valley or whether he should retreat? What would Menna do when he saw him climbing the path to meet him?
Bak knew what
Bak had no option but to follow. The trail split above Djeser Djeseru into two paths. Both ultimately joined another, more frequently used track at two widespread locations, one some distance to the southwest, the other crossing a high ridge to travel in a northwesterly direction. At the north end of the oft-traveled track lay the Great Place, the valley where Maatkare Hatshepsut’s father was laid to rest and she was even now having her own tomb dug. At the southern end lay the village where the tomb diggers dwelt.
He had no time to go all the way around to either location.
Nor could he send royal guards to both. By the time he or they reached their destination, Menna would have arrived and gone.
Trying to look casual, unhurried, he crossed a strip of sand to the foot of the trail and immediately began to climb.
Menna made no move to meet him halfway. A clear sign of guilt. As the last of his doubts fled, Bak smiled grimly at himself, at his failure to trust his instincts. After the initial short and fairly steep ascent, the path turned in an easterly direction away from Djeser Djeseru and traversed the hillside in a long, gradual rise to the place where Menna stood.
He strode up the trail, walking easily, as if he had no purpose or goal. Menna was wary, too cautious to descend the path to meet him, but was not yet frightened enough to run.
Bak wanted to get as close as possible before the guard officer guessed his purpose and the chase heated up. If he could stand before him face-to-face, so much the better. An unlikely event, he knew.
Halfway along the traverse, he raised his hand and waved, a friendly signal that would ordinarily have brought the recipient toward him. Menna held his ground and did not return the greeting. Bak walked on, using all the patience he could muster to keep himself from breaking into a faster pace.
Again the distance between them shrunk by half. Bak opened his mouth to call out. Abruptly, Menna turned and, taking long, quick strides, began to climb the steeper slope to the escarpment. The words died on Bak’s lips and he looked rearward, searching for a reason for the officer’s retreat. Kasaya, Amonked, Kaemwaset, and Pashed were standing on the terrace with the lieutenant in charge of the special unit of royal guards. Men wearing red armbands were hurrying toward them from all directions and forming a column, preparing to march. Bak muttered an oath. He had never known an officer to gather his men so quickly. Menna, trained a military man, had guessed their purpose.
Wasting no time on useless anger, pleased the officer had responded so fast, Bak charged up the trail. He
