peoples or an army that must live off the land through which it passes.”
All Paser’s usual petty pretensions had vanished, erased by his concern for the welfare of the caravan. Bak liked him better for it. The thought was fleeting, swept away by a futile impatience. They could do nothing but watch and wait.
He stood up and climbed the rocky outcrop beside which the three of them had sought shelter from the midday heat. It provided a minimum of shade, but was better than the broad sand-swept plain where the men and donkeys were resting. From the top, he could see the entire camp rather than the small portion visible from their resting place. Drovers and soldiers alike lay in the shade of any object they could find: a shield, a swath of heavy cloth, a mat, anything to shelter them from the sun’s heat. A dozen sentries walked the periphery, their feet and their spears dragging.
His glance shifted to an irregular, haze-shrouded escarpment far to the west. It rose from the valley floor like an impregnable wall, spreading to right and left as far as the eye could see. An ancient watercourse, invisible from so far away, cut through the plateau beyond. If they continued at their current pace, they would sleep at its mouth and pass through the next day. Deep and gorgelike in places, shallow with gently sloping walls at other locations, he thought it a perfect place for an ambush.
“If only Nebwa would trust my men!” His voice rang with frustration. “They should be scouting the land ahead, not plodding along behind the caravan, smothered by dust.”
Paser’s laugh was hard, cynical. “I’ve told him as much, and so has Mery. Like the rest of us, he senses mischief in the air, but he’ll listen to no man but himself.”
“He clings to his beliefs like plaster to a wall,” Harmose added bitterly.
Bak eyed a thin smudge of dust dissolving in the air beyond the caravan. The cloud raised during the morning march had long since dissipated, so something more recent had disturbed the sand while he and the others had shared their skimpy meal. He was about to clamber down the outcrop to investigate when Imsiba broke out of a group of perhaps twenty men standing at the far edge of the encampment and beckoned frantically.
Certain something was amiss, Bak hastened through the mass of resting men and animals to the sergeant’s side.
Imsiba flung him a quick but very troubled look and shouldered his way into the cluster of men, mostly soldiers, and two or three drovers. Bak followed close behind. The focus of attention was Nebwa, who stood with a grim-faced Mery and two nomad shepherds, tall rangy men sparsely clad in rags, powdered with the dust of travel. Nebwa was speaking with them in their own tongue. Bak knew no more than a dozen words that his men had taught him, but he could tell Nebwa was interrogating the pair. His tone was brisk, theirs reticent, the answers not easily drawn from them.
Bak saw none of the sly humor on their faces that he had found in Dedu and had learned to expect from the men of Wawat who dwelt near the river and Buhen. Maybe men of the desert were different than those who lived in villages, but he thought not. He glanced around, searching for the scraggly dogs that always trotted at the heels of shepherds. He saw none, nor did he see any sheep or goats they would have brought if they had come to trade. The scene did not ring true. Imsiba’s dubious expression did nothing to allay his suspicions.
Nebwa gave a final nod of satisfaction and spoke to a sergeant standing nearby. “Bring them water. Four skins’ full. They’ve earned that and more.” His eyes darted toward Paser, who had hurried after Bak, and a broad smile settled on his face. “That old fool Tetynefer was right after all! Can you believe it?”
“What are you saying?” Paser demanded. “What did they tell you?”
Nebwa, his eyes glittering with excitement, raised his baton in a gesture of jubilation. “The tribes have come together! They’ve formed an army! They’re camped at a well a day’s march south of here. If we leave right away, we’ll have them within our grasp before sunset tomorrow.”
Bak knew Nebwa longed for action, but to leave with that treacherous watercourse a mere half day’s march ahead was absurd. “How can you be sure these men have told the truth? This could be a ruse to draw your infantry away.”
“We’ve two times the number of donkeys we usually bring and many times the number of weapons.” Paser’s eyes flashed anger. “Not to mention the gold. I can think of no more desirable a prize to men like these.”
Mery nodded vehemently. “You call Tetynefer a fool, but you propose to leave this caravan unprotected after hearing a tale no more credible than the one he heard.”
“That was different,” Nebwa said. “I had to pry the news from these men’s lips. If they’d not been desperate for water, they’d have said nothing.”
“Where are their flocks?” Bak asked. “Why did they not bring at least one ram to trade for what they need?”
“Did I not say they were desperate for water? They had to leave behind all they own so they could travel fast enough to intercept us.”
“A nomad’s life depends on his flock,” Paser said. “He cares for it above all things. If this tale were true, one man would’ve come, not two. The other would’ve remained behind to see to the animals.”
Nebwa waved off the objection. “You know as well as I that the women and children tend the animals.”
He beckoned two approaching soldiers. Each had a wooden yoke balanced on his shoulders, with full waterbags suspended from either end. A drover helped transfer the yokes to the waiting shepherds, who strode off across the sandy plain, heading in a westerly direction.
“Rouse the men and arm them,” Nebwa ordered his sergeant. “We leave within the hour.”
Bak glared. “You can’t leave this caravan unprotected!”
“It’s folly!” Paser exclaimed.
Nebwa swung on Mery. “You and your men will stay here.” His eyes slid toward Bak. “You’ll stay, too, you and your wretched Medjays. Does that satisfy you?”
“How can you divide our forces like this?” Mery demanded.
“The tribesmen want a battle and I mean to give them one.” Nebwa wheeled around, cutting off further argument, and strode away.
No, Bak thought, you want a battle and you fully intend to have one.
As the foremost rank of infantrymen marched out of the camp and Nebwa disappeared in a cloud of dust at their head, Bak drew his sergeant aside. “Those nomad shepherds lied, Imsiba.”
“They are no more shepherds than I am. They live off the toil of others-stealing, burning, killing.” Imsiba’s voice grew harsh with anger. “Men like them came to my village when I was a child. Well I remember the death and ruin they left behind. They burned our fields and gardens, carried off our flocks and all our young women, my sister among them.”
“How would you like to balance the scales of justice?”
Imsiba eyed him with uncommon interest. “The thought pleases me exceedingly, my friend.”
“I believe those so-called shepherds are part of a band of raiders.” Bak glanced at Imsiba for confirmation, received a nod of agreement. “I’d guess their numbers are too small to risk an attack when Nebwa’s infantry was with us, but are large enough to feel they can succeed with our forces weakened. I think we should give them the chance to try.”
A hint of a smile touched the corners of Imsiba’s mouth. “You mean to catch them in a snare while they try to snare us?”
“You must leave now, taking two other men with you, and follow them. Stay close on their heels, learn all you can, then come back to us with what you know. We must not go headlong into battle with no knowledge of what we face.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Where are they?” Mery fretted. “Should not they have returned by now?”
“They’ll come.” Bak’s voice betrayed no hint of his own worry.
“You don’t think they’ve been captured, do you?”
Bak scowled at the young officer, whose anxiety had begun to wear on everyone around him. “Imsiba is too
