himself, he was a child in this harsh land, one whose every footstep would be torturous to him. Bak was willing to wager a jar of the finest northern wine that this man was as innocent in thought and deed as he appeared.
“I’ll say to you what I said to Wensu. If you wish to abandon this adventure of yours and return to Kemet, it’s not too late to do so. Kaine is two days’ trek away. You can go on with us to the well, stay through the night, and turn back tomorrow.”
“No, no, no.” Ani’s face held the same stubborn look
Wensu’s had. “I’m here, Lieutenant, and here I stay.”
The caravan had come to a halt by the time Bak and Ani caught up. Leaving the craftsman with User’s party, Bak hur ried forward, seeking a reason. Not a speck of shade was to be seen anywhere. The heat of the sun, confined within the tall, steep hillsides, was merciless. This was not a place to rest.
He found, near the head of his string of donkeys, Minmose holding the halter of a stocky black animal while Rona probed a front hoof with a pair of bronze tweezers. Psuro looked on.
“She’s gone lame, sir,” the sergeant explained.
“Ah, here it is.” Rona screwed up his mouth in concentra 70
Lauren Haney tion while he manipulated the tweezers. The donkey twitched, tried to pull away. The Medjay clamped the tweez ers tight and pulled out a small stone. As he released the hoof, Minmose let go of the halter. The animal shook its head and blew, expressing its contempt for such treatment.
They’d no sooner started forward than Nebre and Kaha made their careful way down a steep cut in the rocky slope to the right and walked toward them. Perspiration poured from the men; their tunics were stained with sweat and dust. Each man carried on his shoulder a bow and quiver filled with ar rows. Kaha carried a goatskin waterbag.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” Bak said, greeting them with a smile.
“This land is endless.” Nebre pulled bow and quiver from his shoulder and handed it to Minmose. “There’s much to see. All different but alike.”
“This is truly a barren land,” Kaha said. “How the nomads find sustenance for themselves and their flocks, I’ll never know.”
“Did you see any sign of the people who were camped near the well last night?” Bak asked.
“No, sir.” Nebre slipped his tunic over his head and shook the dust from it. “They’ve disappeared without a trace. I’ve a feeling they left the wadi long ago, probably not far from the well where we spent the night.”
Sneezing, Kaha backed away from the cloud Nebre had created. “Twice we saw a man on a distant hillside. Like us, he carried a bow and quiver. He was watching this caravan.”
“At first we thought him to be a nomad shepherd, moving his flocks and family through this area. Or a man hunting ibex or gazelle.” Nebre slipped his arms through the sleeves of his tunic and pulled it down over his head. “The second time we saw him, we went to the place where last he’d been.”
“We found the print of a sandal, sir,” Kaha said. “It matched the one I saw on the hillside north of Kaine.”
Chapter 5
The sun beat down with the ferocity of a wounded lion. Short gusts of wind failed to lift the coarse granules of sand on the wadi floor, but carried a fine dust unseen at close hand. The land around them shimmered in the heat, while the distant ridges faded into a dirty yellowish haze. Bak and the others drank frequently, consuming the tepid water from their wa terbags, quenching a never-ending thirst. Sweat poured from their bodies, staining tunics and kilts.
The donkeys plodded forward, hooves now and again striking a stone, tails swishing away the flies. Bak walked for a while with Psuro, telling the sergeant what he had learned from the men with whom he had talked. He spoke softly, pre ferring that Senna not hear what he had to say.
“I’m certain Senna didn’t slay the man at the well. We’d not yet arrived when he lost his life.” Bak wiped the sweat from his face with the tail of his tunic. “But until we’re certain we can trust him, I’d rather we keep our suspicions to our selves.”
“You’ve not told him we’re policemen, I’ve noticed. Nor have you told anyone else.”
“Initially, I didn’t want him to know until he’d proven himself reliable. Now, with our circumstances altered and a dead man left behind, I’m convinced the decision was a wise one. Ofttimes people grow defensive with the police. They’re more apt to speak openly to soldiers. We’ll enlighten no one, at least for the present.”
As the wadi walls grew higher where the ancient water way had sliced a path through the hills, Bak walked back along the caravan. The donkeys looked half asleep, as if each followed the one in front by instinct rather than thought.
From time to time one would shake its head to throw off a fly or pull back its lips for a soft whicker. He scratched each an imal between the ears as he passed it by, grateful for the help it gave to man, the patience it exercised in the most trying of conditions.
Midway in User’s widespread string of men and animals, he stopped to speak with Amonmose, who was trudging along beside a donkey laden with water jars. He carried a long staff as Senna did, and probed the sand in front of him self and his equine companion. Other than ruddy cheeks and a shift dripping with sweat, he seemed no more troubled by the heat than the other men, further convincing Bak that much of his weight was muscle rather than fat.
“You appear to be holding up well in this heat, Lieu tenant,” he said, as if reading Bak’s thought and returning it.
“I must admit I prefer green fields and the northerly breezes along the river,” Bak said with a smile.
Amonmose chuckled. “I’ve already begun to suspect I’ll find the southern route to the Eastern Sea preferable to this path.”
“According to Senna, we’ll reach the next well by midday.
After we leave it behind, we’ve two days ahead of us without water, then another well and two or three more dry days.”
“User told us.” Amonmose licked his lips, whether to moisten them or because he was concerned about the jour ney, Bak could not tell. “He also said the landscape will grow rougher each day.”
“If your decision is nearly made, why not turn back? It’s not too late.” Bak spoke with scant conviction; he doubted
Amonmose would ever give up a task once begun. Certainly not this one. If Ani and Wensu, as green as they were, would not return to Kaine, neither would the more experienced man.
“Minnakht said this way was more direct, and he should know. I’ll stay to the end.”
“Our sovereign’s caravans have traveled the southern route for many generations,” Bak pointed out.
“So my wife reminded me.” Amonmose spoke in a sour voice, as if his spouse had belabored the point.
If she had, Bak thought, nothing less than a catastrophe would make him retreat. “How long ago did you meet Min nakht?”
“I’m not sure exactly. Probably within a few days of the day he set off into the desert, never to return.” Amonmose pulled a square of cloth from beneath his belt and patted the sweat from his face. “In Waset, it was, at a house of pleasure near the waterfront. My youngest son spends too much time there. Drinking, gambling, playing with the women. You know how a youth of fourteen years can be. Irresponsible.
Totally absorbed with fun and games and relieving his sexual urges.” A sudden smile spread across his face. “I find nothing wrong with women, mind you, but all things in moderation,
I say.”
Returning a quick smile, Bak asked, “Did you approach
Minnakht or did he come to you?”
“I’d gone in search of the boy and found instead the ex plorer. I heard him talking to the women there. They were enthralled and, I must admit, so was I. He spoke with a knowledge of the desert that I could never hope to attain. I joined him, offered him a brew, and we talked. He’d heard of my fishing camp and said he’d thought a time or two of sail ing up or down the coast on one of my boats, thinking to has ten his journey. Each time the desert
