beckoned and in the end he never took advantage of my men’s generosity.”
“Did he say anything about seeking gold?”
Amonmose laughed. “Isn’t that every explorer’s dream?”
Bak laughed with him. Other than an errand such as his own, what besides wealth or royal attention would entice a man into a land as grim and empty of life as this?
“He admitted he hoped to find gold or some precious stone,” Amonmose said, “but he spoke more of the quest for adventure. And knowledge.”
A vague movement caught Bak’s eye, drawing his atten tion to a silla bush a dozen paces away. It looked dead, but small pale purple flowers studded its dry, naked branches.
The sand was slightly disturbed under it, betraying the pres ence of a viper beneath the loose surface granules, waiting to ambush a passing rodent or bird. The serpent was far enough off the track to pose no threat to men or donkeys, so he let it be.
“Before your fishing enterprise, how did you support your family?” he asked.
“I was-and still am-a merchant. I began as a young man with the fish my father netted in the Great Green Sea. Fresh and dried, I traded them to nearby farmers. In exchange, I re ceived the bounty of the land, fruits and vegetables, which I traded in turn to villagers for the products of craftsmen.
Those I bartered at the estates of noblemen, getting in return goats, sheep, and cattle. And so it went. I ultimately traveled all through the land of Kemet, from the Great Green Sea to the land of Wawat. In the end, we grew quite prosperous.”
“We?”
“My three brothers and I. Our families.” With the tip of his staff, Amonmose turned over a flattish rock, revealing noth ing beneath but sand. “My wife would have me stay at home now and play the country gentleman.” A snort of derision burst from his lips. “What a life that would be! The nobility would look down upon me; the men who toil as I’ve done would think me acting above myself. No, thanks! Let her play the fine lady if she wishes, but that’s not the life for me.”
Bak liked Amonmose. He felt as the merchant did and could not imagine a life with no purpose. Could Amonmose slay a man? Most certainly. He had the determination and the strength to take a life should the need arise, and he was so light on his feet that he could probably slip unseen through a brigade of sleeping spearmen. Bak preferred not to think that he might have slain the man at the well.
Amonmose caught the bottom of his tunic, pulled it away from his sweaty belly, and flapped it up and down in a vain attempt to dry himself. “I hope you didn’t mind my insis tence that you join our caravan, Lieutenant.”
“To travel together made sense.”
“Thus I believed, especially with a slayer lurking some where close by.”
Bak gave him an interested look. “You don’t seem a man easily alarmed.”
“Alarmed, no. Cautious, yes.” Amonmose glanced up the line of donkeys toward User and smiled, obviously pleased that he had had his own way. “Why travel in two separate groups when we’re all taking the same path? Not only are we safer, but we now have the benefit of your experience and the pleasure of your company.”
“User believes we’ve no experience.”
“He underestimates you. You and your men are soldiers, proficient fighting men. You may be unschooled in the ways of this particular desert, but you’ve a knowledge of the weak nesses of others that few men attain.”
The words were spoken in so positive a manner they left no doubt of Amonmose’s conviction-and more. “Exactly how far into Wawat did you travel?”
“The fortress of Kubban. No farther, and just the once. A man can grow wealthy in Wawat, but it takes time and pa 76
Lauren Haney tience. Time I preferred to spend in Kemet, trading with men
I’ve known for years.” All the good humor vanished from the merchant’s face; his expression turned grave. “I heard at
Kubban of a Lieutenant Bak posted at Buhen, standing at the head of a company of Medjay police. He was a man of hon esty and decency, so they said, one highly respected by all who obeyed the lady Maat and greatly feared by those who didn’t. One who never failed to snare the man he sought.”
Bak muttered an oath. The gods were surely conspiring against him. What were the odds that he would encounter a man who knew him-not by sight but by reputation-in this sparsely inhabited wilderness? He smiled in spite of himself at the unlikely coincidence. “I’ve come into the Eastern
Desert in search of Minnakht. I think it best we leave it at that.”
“You can depend upon me to remain mute.”
Bak nodded, accepting the pledge, praying the merchant would keep his word. “You mentioned yesterday that some one told you another young man had disappeared in this desert.”
“So said a merchant in Kaine, yes.”
“Did he offer any details?” With the point of his spear, Bak probed the sand around a bush near the path of the donkey.
“Like Minnakht, he was an explorer,” Amonmose said. “I don’t recall hearing his name, but the merchant had an idea that he knew the desert well.”
“He didn’t come out here alone, did he?”
“Evidently not. He told the merchant and other men in
Kaine that he had a guide, a man he planned to meet at the edge of the desert. A nomad, they all assumed, but no one ever saw him. He set out by himself one morning, heading north. Who the guide was and whether or not they met re mains a mystery to this day. A puzzle yet to be solved.”
They reached the well soon after midday. There they stopped to rest in the narrow slice of shade cast by steep and high wadi walls. The well, a hundred or so paces away in the floor of the ancient watercourse, was surrounded by a dry stone wall. How that wall would hold up to one of the rare flash floods, Bak had no idea.
While seeing to the setting up of his camp, he noticed
Nebenkemet helping the drovers unload the donkeys of
User’s caravan farther down the wadi. The shade was too skimpy to share with the animals, so they stood in the sun, meekly allowing the men to relieve them of their burdens.
Though the nomads spoke a different tongue, the burly car penter seemed to communicate well enough with them, us ing hand signals and other gestures easy to understand. Did he choose their company because he felt uncomfortable with men of a more lofty status? Or did he simply prefer to keep busy, and to help with the loading and unloading was one of the few ways to do so?
After ensuring that his own animals were cared for, Bak walked down the wadi. As he approached Nebenkemet, the carpenter greeted him with a grunt and went on about his task. Struck dumb by the officer’s presence, the drovers toiled on, watching with wary eyes.
“It’s good of you to help with this task,” Bak said.
Nebenkemet devoted his full attention to the water jar he lifted off the donkey. Holding it with ease, betraying the fact that it was empty, he set it beside the jar which had hung on the opposite side of the animal. “I’ve nothing better to do.”
“Neither Ani nor Wensu is helping.”
“Those two!” The carpenter laughed harshly. “Wensu wouldn’t lift a hand to feed himself if he didn’t have to, and
Ani wouldn’t know how.”
“Have you noticed the scars on Ani’s hands? He didn’t get them by spending his days in idleness.”
The carpenter lifted from the donkey’s back the wooden frame from which the jars had been suspended and the soft pad beneath. “I’ve seen them.”
Bak noted the edge of contempt in his voice. “You don’t believe a man who creates beautiful jewelry can toil as hard and long as a carpenter?”
Nebenkemet did not deign to respond.
Watching him knead the donkey’s shoulders where the pad had rested, Bak wondered how a man so reluctant to speak would fare with a small group of fishermen dwelling in an isolated camp on the shore of the Eastern Sea. Were they gar rulous men who would resent his silence, or taciturn men who would welcome his
