unable to fly or care for itself.”
“No more,” Bak said, laughing. “You’ll remain with us un til we see you home.”
Minnakht jerked back, startled. “I told you before. I can’t go home. If anyone were to learn that I still live, word would spread like fire in a stiff wind. Those who tried to slay me would search me out, beat me to learn a secret I don’t hold in my heart, and take my life without a qualm.”
“Your father longs to see you again. You must go to him.”
Minnakht glanced at Nebre, who had taken up the ropes, ready to lead the donkeys back to the oasis, and at Psuro, standing off to the side, bow in hand, waiting. “I’d never complete the journey across the Eastern Desert.”
Bak held out his hand, signaling that they must return to the oasis. “Why imprison yourself in the desert wastes? Do you not wish to bathe in a true river, to walk through lush fields, to lead the life of a man of ease, one free to go where he wishes in a land of plenty such as Kemet?”
Reluctantly, Minnakht fell in beside him and they strode together down the wadi, followed by the Medjays and don keys. “I’d like nothing better, but…”
“Do you not hold your father close within your heart?
Would you not like to see him?”
“You know I would! But I fear you’d deliver nothing to him but the few small items I carry with me and news of my death.”
“I guarantee your safety.”
Minnakht’s mouth curled in a cynical smile. “Senna told me how many men were slain while you crossed the Eastern
Desert. As he also died in the end. And all the while, you and your men slept nearby.”
Bak bit back a sharp retort. The accusation had merit, but stung nonetheless. A hiss behind him told him what Psuro thought, or maybe Nebre. “My men and I will never let you out of our sight, that I vow. We’ll guard you day and night.”
“You tempt me with freedom,” Minnakht said with a bitter smile. “but you’d make me your prisoner.”
“I don’t deny that we’ll hold you close, but only for the time it takes to cross the sea and the Eastern Desert. When you reach Kemet, you can tell all the world that you found no gold and your life will no longer be at risk.”
Minnakht flashed a smile that failed to hide his irritation.
“All right, Lieutenant. I’ll come with you. But should I be in jured or slain, I pray your conscience doesn’t trouble you so much that never again will you rest easy.”
Chapter 18
Bak knelt beside Sergeant Psuro, who was skinning a hare he had trapped, and spoke softly so his voice would not carry.
“Will Minnakht’s donkeys survive the journey to the sea?”
“If the sickness was caused by the tainted water in the stream, as Nebre and I believe, and if we share our good wa ter with them, their illness should clear up and their strength return. We must also lighten their loads and not push them too hard. We’ve already tended the galls on their shoulders.”
Psuro spat on the ground, a sign of contempt he had copied from Troop Captain Nebwa. “That Minnakht. What kind of man is he to treat his animals so?”
“Fear can make a man push beyond endurance the crea tures he needs most. Not wise in a desert such as this, where one’s life is so dependent upon their well-being.”
Psuro eyed with tight-lipped disapproval the man of whom they spoke, who was kneeling at the edge of the stream, washing his face and arms. “And he professes to be a man of the desert.”
Because Minnakht’s donkeys were weak and Bak’s ani mals had to carry a considerable amount of extra weight, the journey down the wadi to the sea took two days more than it should have. Neither Psuro nor Nebre nor the nomad guide bothered to hide their contempt for a man who would sacri fice his animals for himself. Bak, who wanted to set Min nakht at ease, took care not to register his own disapproval.
The wadi opened out onto the shore. After spending so many days in the barren desert, the clear blue waters lapping the sand drew them like ants to honey. Laughing like chil dren, in too much of a rush to remove their clothing, they raced into the water and indulged themselves in a long, re freshing swim. Later in the day, their guide led them south to the next oasis, which was located at the base of rounded grayish hills rising behind a narrow coastal plain. An open pool containing drinkable water supported a lush palm grove, grass, reeds, and tamarisk, and a tiny garden whose ancient caretaker dwelt in a palm-frond shack. From their camp, they could see the glittering expanse of water that merged with the sky on the horizon.
Early the following morning, Psuro and the guide led the donkeys south to the port. His mission was to take them to the paddocks where Lieutenant Nebamon kept his pack ani mals, to find the fisherman Nufer and tell him where Bak waited, and to purchase necessary supplies for the voyage across the sea and south to the trail that would take them home to Kemet.
Bak expected the Medjay to be away for no less than three days. Rather than remain at the oasis, where Minnakht grew irritable and furtive each time a nomad family came to water its flocks, they walked each day to the shore. They swam fully dressed to protect themselves from the hot sun. As had been the case throughout the journey down the wadi, they never let the explorer out of their sight. While Bak swam with him, Nebre remained on shore with their weapons.
While Nebre swam, Bak stood watch.
Minnakht made no comment until the second day after
Psuro’s departure. He flopped down on the sand and grinned.
“I know you vowed to keep me alive and well, Bak, but your scrupulous devotion to duty has begun to wear on my pa tience. Can I not at least walk alone along the water’s edge?
With no donkeys or supplies, I can go no great distance.”
“A man might well be hidden among the rocks on that hill side, waiting for you to go off alone.” Bak pointed toward a high rocky mound rising from the plain.
“No man, no matter how talented with the bow, could strike his prey from so far away.”
“If he carries an ordinary bow, I agree, but have you not seen how far an arrow can fly when delivered by a compos ite bow?”
“How many men in this wasted land would have such a weapon?” Even as Minnakht scoffed at the idea, his eyes darted toward the bows laying on the sand beside Bak, both of the composite variety.
“Where you go, we go,” Bak stated in a voice he hoped would conclude the argument. “You’ve told us time and again that you fear for your life. If you truly do, you’ll talk no more of how weary you’ve grown of our company.”
Minnakht drew a spiral in the warm sand in front of his crossed legs, then erased it with a brusque swipe of his hand.
“I should not have let Psuro take away my donkeys and water jars. You’ve admitted you don’t know the fishermen who’re to take us across the sea. How do you know you can trust them?”
“I trust the man who told me of them.”
Minnakht opened his mouth as if to pursue the argument, but Bak’s closed expression forbade further debate. So he drew another spiral and eradicated it as abruptly as he had the first. He no longer bothered to hide his irritation. “Four of us cooped up on a small boat with the lord Set only knows how many fishermen. I’ve had nightmares no worse than that.”
Bak stood up and brushed the sand from his buttocks and legs. “Do you or do you not wish to be safe?”
“You know I do.” The explorer rose to his feet and formed a bitter smile. “I’ve no choice but to trust your judgment, but
I don’t have to like it, do I?”
Bak grinned. “You’ll one day look upon this journey as a memory to treasure.”
Minnakht’s incredulous look melted into a rueful laugh.
