take twice the number of donkeys to supply us with food and water, and twice the number of drovers to care for the animals.”
“Not to mention your wretched Medjays,” Paser said. “Twenty-four men whose very presence among the rest bodes trouble.”
Bak barely heard him. If all his suspects went to the mine, his search for the murderer would not be disrupted. “What of Harmose?” he asked, as casually as he could. “Will he also go?”
“You don’t think that dolt Tetynefer would fail to include the regular caravan guards, do you?” Nebwa snarled.
Bak’s relief at the news was tempered by sadness. He might catch his prey, but too late to help Azzia.
“He’s halving the forces in this garrison!” Mery was so distraught he ran his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end. He had never looked so untidy.
“Only a civilian would make so stupid a decision,” Nebwa snarled.
“I’ve led more caravans to the mines than any other man in Buhen.” Paser was stiff with indignation. “I’ve lost no more than fifteen donkeys at the hands of raiding tribesmen, and just six men have died. Six! Yet he treats me as a new and untried officer, one who needs help to do a task I’ve done well for many months.”
“You’ve no need to worry, Paser.” Nebwa reached over his shoulder with his baton to scratch his back. “I’ll not usurp your authority. I’ll be off in the desert much of the time, looking for that ass Tetynefer’s great army of tribesmen.”
“If you hope to see an army,” Paser scoffed, “you’ll have to stand atop a hill and look down upon your own infantry.”
Even Mery smiled at that.
“Will my Medjays and I go with you, Nebwa, or remain with the caravan?” Bak asked.
“I’ll not have those savages with me! I want no trouble between my men and yours.” Nebwa’s harsh growl faded to a grumble. “Besides, you’ll be of more use with the caravan. I’ve always thought Harmose sends word to his desert cousins before the raids. With you keeping watch, he’ll not have the chance this time.”
“Bak has trained with the regiment of Amon,” Paser said, “and he’s practiced warfare with men numbered in the thousands. If by chance the tribesmen have formed into an army, you’ll need him with you as a leader of men, not with me as a spy.”
“I sorrow for you, Paser,” Nebwa said, “but with Mery by my side, I’ll have all the officers I need. No, Bak and his Medjays will stay with the caravan.”
For the first time in his life, Bak knew how a pariah must feel.
“Can I not go with you?” Hori asked for perhaps the tenth time in half that number of hours.
Imsiba rolled his eyes skyward. “You’re like a gnat, Hori, buzzing and buzzing around our heads. Will you never give up and fly away?”
Bak ran his finger along the bright, freshly honed edges of the spear point. Satisfied with the way they bit his flesh, he laid the weapon on the rooftop beside his thigh and reached for his battle ax, which lay outside the shadow of the pavilion. The bronze blade was almost too hot to touch. He placed the handle between his knees and began to rasp the whetstone across the cutting edge.
Hori fussed with the ears of his puppy, lying half-asleep in his lap. “What if you don’t return?” he blurted.
Imsiba made a rude sound with his mouth. “If you wanted to be a soldier, you should’ve learned the arts of war.”
Bak shook his head in exasperation. “How many times must I tell you? Your task here is more important than ours by far.”
“To watch over this house and our barracks?” Hori scoffed. “To look out for Mistress Azzia for the short time she’ll remain?”
“Caring for our storage magazine and arsenal is no light burden.” Imsiba plucked a fish from the bowl sitting on the cold brazier. “Seeing that our stores are re-filled when next month’s rations are issued is more important yet.” He broke the fish apart and peeled the spine away. “We’ll eat poorly while we’re gone and suffer from a lack of water. We’ll return with our clothing in shreds and our weapons broken or lost.”
Hori’s mouth continued to droop.
Bak understood the boy’s yearning for adventure, and he sympathized. So he glanced around, examining the rooftops spreading out in all directions. Two women, a mother and daughter, he thought, were laying linen out to dry across the lane. Though they were too far away to hear, he leaned close to Hori and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you think I’d dare leave the gold and scrolls behind if you weren’t here to keep them safe?”
Hori stared wide-eyed. “You’re leaving them here? With me?”
“Who else can I trust?”
Hori sucked in his breath. He glanced from Bak to Imsiba and back again, the desire to go with them vying on his face with the need to feel important. The latter won and he grinned. “I’ve heard mistress Azzia’s servants prepare food fit for the gods. I’ll go there now and offer my services.” He moved the puppy from his lap to Imsiba’s, stood up, and nudged the brazier with his toe. “With luck and if the gods choose to smile on me, I’ll not cook another fish until you return.”
As their laughter died away, Hori disappeared down the stairway. Bak went back to work, tightening the leather thongs binding the ax blade to the handle.
Imsiba swallowed a final bite of fish and let the puppy lick the juice from his fingers. “You’ll think it unwise, I know, but I spoke with Harmose this morning.”
Bak glanced up from his task. “Did he ask for my thoughts about mistress Azzia?”
“He talked of our journey and the trouble our presence may cause. He’s very uneasy, as you can well imagine.”
“Does he fear for us? Or does he fear our presence will remind those men who don’t trust us that he shares the blood of a Medjay?”
“Must you always think the worst of him?” Imsiba grabbed another fish, tore it apart. “You said something yesterday-I know not what-that gained his respect. He believes you’ll do all you can to keep us safe. He said that if we must fight to protect ourselves, he and his archers will stand beside us.”
Guilt flooded Bak’s thoughts, swept away an instant later by suspicion. Harmose’s offer might indeed be sincere, but could as easily be a ploy to lower Bak’s defenses. The barren desert would be an ideal place to slay a man, especially one too quick to trust.
Chapter Thirteen
“The lord Re must think man a toy.” Imsiba scowled at the dry, eroded watercourse below. “To spread bits of his golden flesh through these vile desert wadis, then tempt man with the metal’s perfection, was an act of cruelty beyond measure.”
Bak headed across a steep slope covered with loose, broken rocks, taking care where he placed his feet. “You’ve lived in the land of Kemet too long,” he teased. “You’ve been spoiled by a life of ease and comfort.”
“Humph!” Not long after midday, the caravan had entered the wadi where the mine called the Mountain of Re was located. Bak and his Medjays had left the long line of men and donkeys before it reached its destination. While they had set up camp on a rocky shelf some distance above the wadi floor, the sturdy beasts had been led farther up the dry watercourse to the miners’ camp, where food, water, tools, and other supplies had been unloaded. After an hour’s rest, the animals had been laden with empty water jars, and the drovers, under the watchful eyes of Harmose and his archers, had led them off to a spring a few hours’ walk away. Dust hung in the air along the path they had taken. Nebwa’s troops had camped lower down the wadi, Mery’s men with them.
Imsiba laid his bow and quiver beside a cracked, rough-surfaced boulder and removed a sandal to brush a rock fragment from the sole of his foot. “My own sweat has washed the dust of travel from my body, and I feel like a man cooking in his own juice.”
Bak’s smile broadened. “I heard no complaints from the nomad shepherds we passed along the trail.” He had
