unduly wor ried,” he admitted, “but we did find a man slain this morning.”
Looking grim, User nodded. “I’m no lover of nomads, as Minnakht was, but I have to say I’ve never known one who slew another man without reason. That reason may not always be valid in our eyes, but it is to them. A blood feud, maybe, or a war between tribes. Neither of which would apply to men new to this desert, such as yourself and the Medjays.”
“Perhaps you’ve earned an enemy among them.”
The explorer scowled. “I doubt a nomad would’ve mis taken the slain man for me, Lieutenant.”
Bak, who had spoken in haste, hurried to make amends.
A rift between him and User or among any of the others would multiply ten times ten any danger they might have to face. Clapping the explorer on the shoulder, he smiled.
“That was a thought, no more. I’m a soldier, trained to be always on the defensive. An animal may’ve set those rocks to falling, not a man. Nebre and Kaha will soon learn the truth.”
“A man was up there, all right.” Nebre knelt beside the small fire Minmose had made, using a dead bush for fuel. He had built the fire on the wadi floor, well away from the hill side. Its fiery coals made a tiny patch of cheer beneath the cooler light of the stars and moon. “The man with the worn sandal, the one whose footprint Kaha found north of Kaine.”
“We followed him for more than an hour,” Kaha said, lay ing his bow and quiver with those of Nebre and squatting be side his friend. “He must’ve feared we’d catch him, for he put something on his feet to smudge his prints, a woolly sheep skin, I’d wager. Because the prints were so unclear and he traveled across rock as much as he could, we lost his trail.”
Nebre scowled as Minmose broke up a crusty chunk of bread and dropped it in the onion and lentil stew warming on the coals. He was not irritated by the food being stretched to go around, but by the difficulties they had faced. “The lord
Amon alone knows how much time we wasted walking in circles, trying to find him again. Not wishing to spend the night in an unfamiliar landscape, we thought to return before the lord Re entered the netherworld.”
The smell of heated onions reminded Bak of how hungry he was. “Who can he be, I wonder? Why is he watching us?”
Nebre shrugged, as did Kaha. Psuro offered no comment, nor did Minmose or Rona.
“Could he have slain the man we found this morning with out leaving behind any sign of his presence?”
Nebre shrugged. “Anything is possible, but I don’t see how.”
Bak looked down the wadi toward the small fire around which the men of User’s party could be dimly seen. They, too, had thought it best to camp well out on the wadi floor.
Night had fallen swiftly. The wind had died and the heat of the day had vanished with the sun. Most of the donkeys, sated with water and forage, were lying down, better able to rest in the cool of night.
He scanned the faces of the Medjays sitting around the fire, making sure he had their undivided attention. “From now on, one of you must stand watch every night, taking turns, and two of you must serve as scouts during each day’s march. I know Nebre and Kaha are the best trackers among you, but you must all share the task. The days are too hot, the landscape too rough for the same two men to bear the burden day after day.” He wrapped his arms around his bent legs and added in a deliberate voice, “If you see the man who’s been watching us-or if you see anyone else, for that mat ter-you must bring him to me if you can. If he’s too far away to talk to, you must give chase, but not for any great distance.”
Kaha threw him a pained look. “But, sir!”
Bak raised a hand to silence the Medjay. “I doubt any of you would get lost, even in this wild and barren land. You’ve too much experience in the desert. But I don’t want you walking into a trap. Nor do I want you injured by chance somewhere far from help.”
“Sir!” Nebre said. “That’s like leading a goat to water and not letting it drink.”
“With luck and the help of the gods, before this journey is over, we’ll find a way to draw the watching man into a trap of our own.”
Chapter 6
They left the well before dawn to cross a low divide and en ter another wadi, this many paces wide. Striking off in a more northerly direction, it carried them into a world totally different than that of the previous two days. The grayish limestone cliffs that had lined the lower wadi slid away be hind them, replaced by yellow and brown sandstone. Golden dunes climbed the sides of the slopes, a few so tall they spilled over the top. Scattered boulders and stones of all sizes spread across the coarse sand on the wadi floor, casting long blackish shadows before the rising sun.
Nebenkemet’s appraisal of Minnakht refused to fade from
Bak’s thoughts. Ani, Wensu, and Amonmose alike had de scribed a man whose enthusiasm and way with words en thralled those with whom he spoke, filling the hearts of the most unlikely with dreams of adventure, wealth, and fame.
Even User, admittedly envious of his competitor, thought the young explorer a man who loved the life he lived, the land he trod, and the nomads who dwelt in that land.
Bak had known men from all walks of life whose astute observations placed them above their fellows. Could
Nebenkemet be one of them? Or did he, like User, harbor jealousy in his heart? Resentment of a man endowed with the wealth and opportunity he had never had.
“Look at this, Lieutenant.” Ani scooped up a handful of sand and sorted through it with a finger, revealing granules of pink, white, and beige. “Feldspar and quartz washed down from those mountains.” He pointed toward the northeast, where tall, rugged peaks reached up to the turquoise sky, catching wisps of cloud on their craggy tops. Towering above them all was a reddish mountain whose innumerable pinna cles caught the morning sun. Those peaks, several days’ walk ahead, marked the place where the wadis drained eastward rather than toward the west as they did here. “Mere bits of rock, but beautiful, aren’t they? Especially when one consid ers how small they are and how far they’ve traveled.”
Bak hated to dampen the jeweler’s enthusiasm, but he feared for his safety. “They’re very much the colors of a viper, Ani. You must take care when you reach down like that. The snakes bury themselves close to the surface of the sand, and are quick to attack when they feel themselves threatened.” He had long ago exchanged his baton of office for a spear to probe the sand ahead of his feet.
“So User has told me, but I forget.”
Belaboring the subject would be a waste of breath, Bak felt sure. “Could the man we found slain at the first well have been mistaken for Minnakht? Did they resemble each other in any way?”
“I wouldn’t think so.” Ani let the granules fall to the ground and wiped his hand on his kilt. “The dead man was about the same age, but was of medium height and build.
His face was unremarkable, with no distinguishing features that I recall.” The jeweler screwed up his face, trying to re member. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. I’d never before seen a man slain in his sleep. I guess I was more upset than I thought.”
“Can you describe Minnakht?”
A smile lit up Ani’s face. “That’s easy enough. He was tall, taller than the dead man by more than a hand’s breadth. He had thick, dark hair, slightly curly, lively dark eyes, and a most expressive face, bright with vitality and good humor.”
Bak wondered how many hundreds of men would answer to that description. “Did he wear any jewelry of note or any special amulet?” This, he felt certain, Ani would be able to answer in detail.
“I saw him only the one time, and that in Waset,” the jew eler reminded him. “He wore a broad collar much too fine to wear into the desert, and bracelets and armlets of an equal quality. He wore a bronze chain around his neck. I remember wondering why he chose bronze instead of gold. I couldn’t see what hung from the chain. Whatever it was was hidden beneath the collar.”
