“We caught one man. How many others slipped past my sentries unseen?”
“Three,” Bak said, careful to give no hint of the gratification he felt. “They’ll describe all they saw to those who remained behind.”
Nebwa’s dour face promised trouble for the negligent sentries.
Bak pressed his advantage. “You’ve had men watching us from the time we left Buhen. Is their task to ensure our safety? Or to protect your army of almost two hundred men from my small company of twenty-four?”
“I want no blame attached to my name if trouble arises, nor do I want to lose men I might someday need.”
“Need? My Medjays?” Bak asked, incredulous.
“Tetynefer is a great fool but, should his prediction come true, I’ll need every man I can get-including your wretched Medjays.”
“Men you don’t trust.”
“If they’re as loyal to Kemet as you claim, let them prove it. If not, no man among them will return to Buhen.”
Bak somehow managed to control his anger. “I want the man you hold. Where is he?”
“My sentries took him to our camp.” Nebwa’s expression soured. “They spoke long and loud of seeing him skulking about the wadi. Those who think the worst have visions of being slain in their sleep by Medjays who steal upon them in the night.”
“You’ve no one to blame but yourself. You’ve said time and time again you think my men traitors and murderers. What can you expect of those who follow you?”
Nebwa’s voice hardened. “I’ll deal with my men, of that you can be sure. To ease my path, you must leave this wadi. I want you gone before the lord Khepre rises above the eastern horizon.”
Bak stepped back a pace, stunned. “What are we to do? Camp alone in the desert, far from food and water?”
“You’ll hunt for game,” Nebwa snarled. “The miners need fresh meat. They’ve had none in more than a month. By the time you return, I’ll have set my men’s thoughts on a proper course.”
He’s done nothing before to quell his men’s fear and hatred, Bak thought. Why is he sending us away now? Is he giving himself time to silence the scribe Roy? An accusation formed on his lips and died unspoken. He could say nothing without proof. He tried to make excuses, but Nebwa was adamant: the meat was needed and men spawned in the desert were the logical choice to hunt it down. It mattered not that none of them had lived in Wawat since they were children. As Nebwa was in command until their return to Buhen, Bak had no choice but to agree.
“We’ll go,” he said, “but Imsiba and three other men must stay. I’ll not leave my campsite untended.” Nor will I leave Roy unprotected, he thought.
Nebwa’s mouth tightened. “You must all go together.”
“You take many men into the desert each day, Nebwa, to sweep the land for raiders. The mine could be attacked while you’re gone. If that should happen, only my Medjays can slip through the enemy lines undetected.”
Nebwa thought it over, said grudgingly, “Leave them here if you must.”
He plunged diagonally down the slope in the direction of his camp, heedless of the rocks and sand his feet set in motion. Bak picked up a palm-sized stone, glared at Nebwa’s back, and turned away to throw it as hard as he could across the hillside. He could not remember a time he had been so outraged. At least with Imsiba staying behind he had no need to worry about Roy’s safety. Or did he?
“…So all is well, my friend,” Imsiba said, summing up the events of the past three days. “The miners toiled from dawn to dusk and Roy weighed the gold as before. No attempt was made on his life. His good spirits have returned as if he has no worry or guilt.”
Bak felt like a man reprieved. “I knew not what I’d find on my return, but I feared the worst.” He gave his friend a weary smile. “I prayed with each step I took that no harm would come to him. Or to you, Imsiba, and the men who stayed with you.”
They stood at a bend in the wadi, looking back at the miners’ camp, a dozen squalid stone hovels joined together with common walls. The shelters clung to the hillside well above the level of the deadly flash floods which sometimes thundered through the narrow valley with no warning. In the dry watercourse below the structures, a gang of men was butchering the four gazelles Bak and his Medjays had delivered at midday. Vultures soared overhead and a jackal barked, birds and beast alike alerted by the metallic stench of blood carried aloft by the gentle breeze.
“I, too, prayed,” Imsiba said grimly. “Each time Nebwa took men from his camp to search the wadis for tribesmen, I feared they’d stumble on you and only the carrion creatures would know what fate befell you.”
“Not a man among us failed to think a similar thought,” Bak admitted. “We marched many long hours before we began the hunt.” He turned away from the camp and headed down the wadi toward the mine. “Tell me, Imsiba. What brought happiness back to Roy’s heart?”
The Medjay’s expression grew perplexed. “Initially I thought him relieved because you’d gone. But later, when he heard you’d returned, he seemed not to care.”
“Who spoke with him? Which of our suspects could’ve set his heart at ease?”
Imsiba snorted his disgust. “All of them. He hasn’t enough to do through much of the day and he’s not a man to gladly spend time alone. He searched out all those who had the leisure to listen to his jokes.” He plodded on a dozen paces, added, “Nebwa spoke with him more often than most. He enjoys that kind of humor and can listen to Roy’s tales well beyond a time when any other man would fall asleep from boredom.”
“All four?” Bak queried Imsiba with a glance. “Harmose returned from the well with the donkeys?”
“Two days ago,” Imsiba admitted. “As he and his fellow archers have had no rest since leaving Buhen, they remained behind while other guards went with the drovers to fill the jars another time.”
Bak sighed. Once more the gods had conspired against him. He knew no more now than he had before. True, he suspected Nebwa more than the others, but to discount any of them would be folly.
A short time later they reached the wadi floor below the mine, too close to the sharp eyes and ears of other men to speak further.
Wadjet-Renput, standing near the clustered lean-tos, shouted a welcome and beckoned them to his side. “You’ve done well, my young friend,” he boomed, clapping Bak on the shoulder. “We’ll make an offering to the lord Re in your favor tonight, of that you can be sure.”
“To hunt in the desert is always a joy.” As indeed it would have been, Bak thought, if he had had no other cares.
The overseer’s expression turned rueful and his good hand moved as if of its own volition to his wasted arm. “I can no longer use the bow, but I well remember the pleasure of the hunt.” Shrugging off regrets, he smiled. “Now that you’ve come back safe and well, the caravan will return to Buhen. If you’re to go inside the mine, I suggest it be today.”
“I’d like to see it, yes,” Bak said, smiling. Imsiba looked less certain, but nodded.
Wadjet-Renput swung around, bellowed, “Roy!”
The scribe popped out of his lean-to and hurried to them. He greeted them effusively, his smile so broad and sly a blind man would have grown suspicious.
“My scribe will guide you.” The overseer grinned at the scrawny clerk, teasing him. “He grows bored with so little to do, and his small size allows him to pass through the tunnels with no trouble. He’s volunteered to go in my place.”
The smile froze on Bak’s face. He thought of Roy’s renewed good spirits and wondered if this was the reason. Had the scribe and his confederate planned a fatal accident in the mine, with Bak as the victim? He had to take the risk. He doubted gold could be stolen before leaving the tunnel, but he must see for himself. Surely the miners, hapless prisoners though they were, would let no man be slain inside when they themselves would be blamed.
He sucked in his breath, heard himself say, “Your offer is most generous, Roy. I thank you.” He glanced at Imsiba, who looked appalled. “I alone will go, Imsiba. You’ll remain here to await our return.”
“You’ll not go without me!”
“What if a tunnel should collapse?” Bak asked, making it a joke, sneaking a look at the scribe. Roy gave no
