hand on the man’s shoulder and smiled to reassure him. The look he got in return was wary and a bit puzzled. Bak wished with all his heart he could speak the man’s tongue, could thank him properly.

As he led his prisoner to the boulder field, he examined the dry watercourse below, looking for Mery and Paser. He spotted them both in the thinning dust near the mouth of the outgoing trail. Neither held a bow, but such a weapon could have been easily enough disposed of. One of them, he was convinced, was the murderer he sought.

Chapter Sixteen

The caravan emerged from the wadi at daybreak the following morning. The plateau receded behind. An endless surface of golden sand spread out before them, broken at intervals by isolated, flat-topped rocky formations and crosscut by broad, shallow watercourses as dry as the desert through which they ran. This was the dreariest portion of the journey, yet men and donkeys alike walked with a lighter spirit than they had for many days. The animals sensed water ahead; the warriors, flushed with victory, knew the tall gates of Buhen lay less than two days’ march away. Only the prisoners trod with little enthusiasm.

Not long after they stopped for their midday rest, they spotted a faint smudge in the sun-bleached sky far behind them. By the time they finished eating, the stain had grown larger, turned yellow like the sand from which it rose. They were being pursued by a fast-moving column of men. Maybe Nebwa and his infantry. Maybe another contingent of raiders. Tension spread through the camp. The men prepared for battle.

The cloud drew closer, expanded. Officers and men alike stood ready, their attention divided between the approaching force and a lookout posted atop an eroded rock monolith several hundred paces to their rear. When at last his mirror flashed an all-clear signal, apprehension melted away and good humor took its place. The men broke ranks and hurried back to their makeshift shelters, not to rest but to busy themselves with unnecessary tasks, to exchange delighted quips and grins. Not a man among them wanted to miss the look on Nebwa’s face when he laid eyes on their many prisoners.

Bak slipped away to climb the low escarpment beside which they were camped. Imsiba, Harmose, and twenty archers were strung out along the rocky rim. In case of attack, they would have been in a perfect position to pick off enemy troops. Though no longer needed for its strategic position, it offered a panoramic view of the expanse of sand where Paser, Mery, and a dozen others awaited Nebwa’s arrival.

“I’d not like to be in Nebwa’s sandals today,” Bak said, sitting on the rough, weathered stone beside Imsiba. He flexed his wounded shoulder, grimaced. The injury stung; the bandage wrapped around his upper torso, glued by grit and sweat to his flesh, itched.

“You should be among the men who greet him. If not for you, the caravan would’ve suffered a horrific loss. He should be made to know that.”

“He’ll know soon enough.” Bak smiled a bit sheepishly. “The truth is that I wished to distance myself from Mery and Paser. Each time I’m with them, my thoughts go round in circles until I’m dizzy. One has done nothing; the other has slain five men.” He expelled a derisive laugh. “Before yesterday’s battle, I’d have sworn Paser the one and Mery too weak. When facing the enemy, however, Mery stood up well, with no lack of courage.” He stared out over the camp, his expression glum. “I don’t know what to think, Imsiba.”

They sat in silence, watching the dust-shrouded column. It passed the towering chunk of rock where the lookout was posted, floundered across a broad, shallow wadi, and advanced along the final stretch of sand, the men marching at a killing pace. Bak identified Nebwa in the lead, followed by a sergeant and the foremost unit of spearmen. Those behind were enveloped in the yellowish haze, their spear points glinting dully through the dust.

“Do you think an army of tribesmen is hot on their heels?” he asked in a wry voice.

Imsiba snorted. “I think, as they passed through the place where we fought, they saw many signs of battle and they mean to rescue us from the fierce tribesmen they believe hold us captive.”

As if to verify his guess, the column slowed to a stumbling walk about two hundred paces away and spread out across the sand, the men positioning themselves for battle. Paser waited. Not until Nebwa raised his arm, preparing to signal his troops to attack, did he lead the welcoming party out to meet the column. The infantry officer hesitated for a long time, evidently suspecting a ruse, but finally signaled his men to halt and strode forward with a small party of his own. Imsiba watched him with the expression of a man who had bitten into something sour.

Bracing himself for an argument, Bak said, “I mean to tell Nebwa about the gold, Imsiba, and all we’ve learned since Nakht’s death.”

The Medjay’s head swung around, his expression incredulous. “You would take that one into your confidence? Him, of all people?”

“He’s a good officer. A bit foolhardy, but…”

“Bah!” Imsiba’s eyes burned with contempt. “His idea of soldiering is to charge at the enemy like a wild bullock gone mad with the pain of an arrow in its haunch.”

Bak agreed-to a point. “I can well understand how you feel. I, too, hold him responsible for the mistrust and hatred our men have had to face. But this is not the time to harbor a grudge. We need the kind of help he alone can give.”

“What of Harmose? Could he not help as much?”

Bak made no effort to hide his irritation. “We’ve looked for many days and have found no stolen gold among the supplies the donkeys carry. Either the scribe Roy passed on none this time-which I doubt-or it’s hidden too deeply within a basket or bundle for us to lay our hands on easily. Can Harmose order a more thorough search?”

Imsiba gave a noncommittal grunt. Whether it denoted acquiescence or was intended to draw attention to the scene playing out below, Bak had no idea.

Nebwa, a dozen paces short of Paser’s small band, was staring toward the camp. The men assigned to guard duty, a dozen of Bak’s Medjays among them, were urging the captive tribesmen onto their feet. They stood up a few at a time, unwilling objects of a joke they well understood.

Bak thought the jest cruel, but would not have interfered even if he had been forewarned. Every man in the caravan had to share his precious food and water with the prisoners, tend their wounds, and help carry the badly injured on litters. True, they would be rewarded later, when the captives were sent north to Waset to serve Maatkare Hatshepsut and the lord Amon. But now they had the right to celebrate their victory in any way they chose short of slaying or maiming the prisoners.

Nebwa stood dead still, apparently too stunned to speak. Suddenly he began to laugh. The welcoming party and the men in the camp added their voices to a rising chorus. The good humor was infectious, prompting even Imsiba to join in. The men in Nebwa’s company, drawn by curiosity, broke ranks to swarm toward the source of the merriment. Their laughter was slower to come, somewhat chagrined, but ultimately just as hearty.

“Nebwa takes the joke well,” Imsiba said.

Recognizing the words as a tacit admission that the infantry officer might have a few worthy traits, Bak smothered a smile.

After a long silence, Imsiba asked, “What task am I to do that I must overlook his faults?”

“Once I convince him of the truth of my tale, I’m certain he’ll agree that we must search the caravan far more thoroughly than we’ve been able to so far. I want our men to conduct that search and I want you to lead them.”

Imsiba uttered a short, sharp laugh. “You expect the gods to hand you a miracle, my friend. Nebwa would never lay so much temptation before men he believes dishonest at birth.”

“I hope to make it his idea.”

Imsiba’s smile died before it was fully formed. “What of Paser? Will he not interfere?”

“He must be drawn away. And Mery as well.” Bak eyed the pair walking with Nebwa toward the prisoners. “An archery contest might be a good way. I’d like to learn how skilled they are with the bow and how they react when hard pressed.”

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