himself, and had made some effort to smarten up. His heavy linen headdress was now set correctly on his head.
I invited him to join us, and he sat down gratefully, cross-legged, next to me. He looked hugely hungover, but when he saw the wine jug-for Nakht had brought with him what he called ‘a modest sufficiency’ to share among us on the journey-his eyes brightened, and a big smile graced his stubbled face. To Simut’s annoyance, I poured him a generous measure in one of the crude, cracked mugs which were all the station could offer.
‘Life, prosperity, health! To the King!’
The captain saluted, and then drank the wine, closing his eyes with pleasure.
‘Do you know, to taste fine Egyptian wine, in the company of fine Egyptian men like yourselves, is a pleasure I thought I had lost for ever,’ he said, mournfully.
I thought for a moment he was going to cry, and indeed tears had begun to spring once more to his eyes.
‘This wine tastes of home. I salute you, comrades. You have brought me joy. Yes. Joy abounding…’
And he nodded, drank deeply to confirm the deep truth of his statement, and then attended hungrily to his food.
‘How long have you been in charge of this garrison?’ I asked him.
‘Six years,’ he replied, his face falling deeper into depression. ‘Six long, hard, lonely years. It feels like an eternity. But this is the fate of soldiers like myself. A long tour of duty in a miserable dump like this is the only way up the ladder of promotion. When I get back to Memphis, I’ll be set up for life. In return for this hopeless existence, I’ve been promised a quiet post in one of the division headquarters. Weaponry, I hope. Yes, I like weaponry… And then I’ll find a wife. And have a family. Before it’s too late…’
‘Tell us how it has been for you here,’ I asked.
He looked at me, as if surprised I should even care. His eyes were crazed, glassy like the glaze on a cheap dish.
‘I have been dwelling in Damnationville!’ he cried. ‘I’ve had no support, no company, no supplies, no letters; and although I’ve received promises of these things, nothing has arrived. Nothing. Not even messages. The supplies I brought with me are long gone; and there aren’t even any mules, they’ve all been stolen or eaten. So I spend the day observing the birds, and fishing, and watching the way, and all the while suffering such terrible homesickness…’
Simut and I glanced at each other.
Quietly, Simut asked: ‘I find it hard to believe the army of General Horemheb would simply abandon you to this situation. Where are the other men? Where are your fellow soldiers?’
‘Gone!’ cried the captain. ‘Probably dead,’ he added, nodding his head. ‘After they deserted, they most likely didn’t make it. They’ll be nothing but bones by now.’
‘And what of their replacements? Surely this post has strategic value?’ asked Simut.
‘Strategic value? Of course it has strategic value! But I’ve been abandoned! No one comes here, other than the one platoon, once in a while, and they share nothing of their own, even though they are plentifully supplied with excellent food and wine, and then they leave, without saying a word. They never invite me to drink or eat with them. No, they don’t even spare me a kind word.’
‘Which platoon are you talking about?’ I asked.
Suddenly the captain looked as if he regretted his words. He pushed his mug forward for more wine, which I refused to give him until he answered my question.
‘I cannot say,’ he said warily. ‘I cannot remember.’
‘You will remember if you wish to drink more of the taste of home,’ I replied.
He scowled, caught out.
‘They are a platoon from the Seth division.’
Simut and I glanced at each other. The Seth division was from the delta. They were known to be fiercely loyal to General Horemheb. The captain nodded expectantly. I poured him wine.
‘I shouldn’t be talking so much. They made me swear never to speak of them, but I’ve no one else to talk to, except that mad old bitch in the kitchen, and neither of us has a clue what the other’s saying.’
Simut was suddenly angry.
‘You are a soldier of the Egyptian army, and a representative of the powers of the King of Egypt. Why have you allowed this place to fall into such a mess? Where is your sense of duty? You are a disgrace to your uniform!’
The captain rose to his feet, reluctantly, and with the last of his pride he smoothed out his creased, food- stained kilt and tunic.
‘You are right, sir. But I am alone here. I live in fear. I have nothing to depend on. Every night I pray to the Gods to guard me, so that I may live to see Ra rise upon another day.’
‘Why are you afraid?’ I asked quickly. ‘Why were all those herders afraid?’
‘They are everywhere,’ he answered. ‘They attack by night. They destroy everything. They spare no one.’
‘Who do?’ I said.
‘
I confess a shiver ran down my spine at the mention of this notorious name. And yet I might have laughed at the absurdity of his manner.
‘The Apiru were wiped out years ago,’ said Simut contemptuously.
‘Perhaps,’ replied the captain. ‘But I can assure you they are very much alive again.’
He turned to go, but I still had one question.
‘Why did this platoon from the Seth division swear you to secrecy?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘They promised I would be killed if I spoke of them. But you won’t say anything, will you?’
‘No,’ I replied. ‘I won’t say anything.’
Simut and I retired to our pallets for the afternoon’s rest.
‘Do you think he was talking nonsense?’ I said.
‘He’s a drunk, he’s failed in his duty, he’s no idea what’s going on. Why would I take such a man’s absurd claims seriously?’ Simut said. But he looked distinctly anxious.
‘But what if he’s right? That would explain why the herders were afraid to leave. And a merchant’s caravan like ours is a prime target for the Apiru,’ I said.
‘Even if he’s right, they’d be no match for my guards. The Apiru were only ever a bunch of disaffected bandits. And their hunting grounds were known to be far away to the north-east.’
And he went outside to check on his men.
I lay back, my hands behind my head, thinking. The Apiru’s reputation as a wild band of notorious killers had once spread far and wide. It was said they roved across the Levant, plundering, massacring and destroying villages and small towns. Marginal, lawless people, without ethnic or religious affiliation, they were mostly escaped convicts, slaves and horse-thieves who had formed into bands of mercenaries, often for hire by small-scale despots and chieftains in petty local wars. They were known to have caused chaos and bloodshed in Canaan, especially in Byblos and Megiddo, and the other cities of the Levant coast during the time of Akhenaten. But Simut was right: that was years ago, and they were said to have destroyed themselves through internal power struggles. And so no one took them seriously any more.
I pulled the remaining papyrus from my leather bag, and stared at it. The black star; the star of chaos, of nothingness, of disorder and disaster. It was not an Egyptian sign. And it made no sense to connect it to the Apiru, if they still existed, for they were known only to range in the badlands of the north-east. The killers of the new Thebes cartel were, from what I could tell, highly trained. I wondered about the platoon from the Seth division, and their cargo. Were they perhaps Horemheb’s private division? Were they part of his intelligence network? But if so, why would they habitually travel along a route if they knew it to be vulnerable to attack from a band of mercenaries? Something was not making sense. And it would not let me sleep.
