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For seven days the Silver Beetle beat her way southward, her sails fat with the breeze off the Great Green—the Mediterranean. On either side of her gently dipping prow the long land of Egypt slipped by like an unwinding scroll, revealing fields and marshes, mud-walled villages, fishermen straining at their nets. Often the high chanting of priests drifted out from shore as a procession filed into some painted temple; the water’s soft hiss blended with the occasional scream of a kite far overhead. Green bee-eaters flashed over greener meadows, farmers worked beside the creaking water wheels, and little boys ran shouting along the banks. And always there was the sense of gliding motion, the song of wind in the rigging, the bright, clean air.
Mara wished the voyage would never end. Each morning she woke fresh to the miracle of her freedom; each night she lay in the moonlight speculating about the new life awaiting her in Thebes. Between times there was food in plenty—good food—and long, lazy hours of companionship with the young man she knew only as Sheftu.
They were much together, for there was small chance to avoid each other in the narrow confines of the ship, even had they wanted to. They strolled the scrubbed deck, watched the crew at work, or lounged side by side on the stacked hides, each busy with his own thoughts. What Sheftu’s were Mara would have given much to know. He tended to grow preoccupied, almost remote; now and then she caught him studying her with an expression she could not understand at all. But he could side-step her deftest question with an ease that exasperated as much as it amused her.
She soon shrugged aside her curiosity. What did it matter? She liked his company, she loved to lean beside him at the gunwale listening to his stories of the ancient ones, while the sails slapped overhead and the sparkling water threw little gold reflections over his dark face. And when he chose to be alone she could always amuse herself otherwise.
It was interesting to wonder about the captain, for instance. Mara had known plenty of rivermen in her seventeen years, but never one so nervous. When she and Sheftu were together, he was always somewhere in the background, standing about aimlessly or absorbed in unconvincing duties which invariably happened to lead him within watching distance of his passengers. She wondered if he feared they planned to swim ashore with some of his precious cargo. It was curious; he seemed always to be seeking a chance to find Sheftu alone, yet each time such an opportunity arose, he shied off as if he could not make up his mind to seize it.
One afternoon, to Mara’s surprise, he sought her out privately. She was sitting, alone and somewhat sulky, in the shade cast by the cabin amidships. There remained only two days before they reached Abydos, yet Sheftu had elected to spend the morning in solitary preoccupation down by the stern sweeps. When Nekonkh strolled toward her to inquire after her health, she answered him almost irritably.
“I’m well enough, I suppose.”
“But somewhat out of temper? Where is that constant companion of yours?”
“Ast! He’s no company today! He broods, Captain. I wonder what about.”
“Aye, so do I wonder!” grunted Nekonkh, so vehemently that it surprised her. He hesitated, glancing at the crew members working here and there around them, then jerked his head toward the cabin. “Suppose I try your skill at a game of draughts. I’ve a board and counters in there somewhere.”
“As you like.” Puzzled, Mara followed him into the cabin, which was dim and cool after the glare of sun on deck. “You’re well acquainted with Sheftu, Captain? I thought he was a stranger to you, like myself.”
“Aye, he is, he is!” said Nekonkh hastily—too hastily, she thought. “Here, which will you have, girl, the red or the black?”
He set the game on the table—it was a narrow wooden box on graceful legs, checkered with carved squares on its upper surface, and with a drawer beneath in which the “dogs” or counters were stored. Mara was busy arranging the red ones on her side of the board when the captain spoke again, his voice gruff.
“To tell the truth, it’s you I wonder about, little one! I trust you know what you’re doing, taking up with a chance acquaintance on a riverboat. He may be a rogue.”
Mara looked up in surprise. “Rogues are nothing new in my life, Captain. But I see no reason to think Sheftu one.”
“Don’t you, by all the gods! Come, what do you know of him?”
“Nothing,” she admitted, “save what he wants me to know. But then he knows nothing of me, either.”
“Aye, true enough! Nor do I, for that matter. Perhaps it’s he I should be warning!” Irritably Nekonkh shoved a dog into the next square and sat back, scowling out into the sunshine.
Now I’ve offended him, she thought in amusement. But great Amon! He acts as if I were some sheltered maid who’d never ventured from her father’s court!
Automatically she countered his move, wondering what other game he might be playing. It had been a long day indeed since anyone had troubled about her welfare. That this burly riverman should do so struck her as curious indeed—so curious that she never thought of believing it. Was he going to say what he meant?
“Your move, Captain,” she murmured.
But he only shoved forward another counter without speaking. For a time the dogs progressed from square to square in silence, but Nekonkh’s ill humor wore off as they both became absorbed in the game. He played unimaginatively but well, and he knew the gambits thoroughly. Mara, having had little experience with any game in her slave’s life, was forced to use all her wits to counter his moves and at the same time strike out for the other side of the board. In the end it was by sheer audacity that she inveigled his three last dogs into a position where she could capture them all and jump her sole remaining one into the “royal” square.
She sat back, laughing, as Nekonkh’s eyebrows soared. “By all that’s sacred!” he exploded. “Now how did you trick me into that?”
“Trick? I used no trick! Could you think so harsh of me?”
“I could and do! Ai, little one, you should have been a general!” Nekonkh chuckled as he swept the dogs into their drawer. “Or perhaps I’m getting old.”
“Not so, friend captain,” said a dry voice behind them. “That maid’s a hard opponent. She plays to win.”
They swung around. Sheftu was lounging in the doorway, his arms folded comfortably.
“Aye—well, now, who doesn’t?” muttered Nekonkh. He busied himself putting away the game. Mara rose, on the defensive herself, though she could not have told why. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.
“Long enough,” said Sheftu, “to make several interesting observations.”
“Indeed! I suppose I’ve few secrets left now.”
“Oh, none at all.”
He grinned down at her. In spite of herself she felt an overpowering curiosity—which she had no intention of admitting—as to just what those observations had been. Brushing past him, out the cabin door, she strolled across the deck to the port rail. The sun, dropping into Libya, had set river and sky aflame, but she was less aware of it than of the fact that he had followed and was leaning on the gunwale beside her.
“Ra dies by fire tonight,” she commented. “That’s a lovely sky.”
“Aye, so it is.”
His tone finished that subject. She groped hastily for another. “I vow it’s hard to believe another day is ending. Only two more and we’ll dock at Abydos. Is it not amazing how—”
“Aye, aye, it’s amazing. Come, I’m convinced you’re quite indifferent to my opinion. Now go ahead and ask me what I was talking about in there.”
She whirled to find his face alight with laughter. “The devil take you! Why do you plague me? What do you want of me?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he told her imperturbably.
“Oh, haven’t you! Haven’t you indeed? By Set and all his demons, you’re a
cool one! I’ll wager the captain was right—he said you were a rogue!”
There was a tiny silence. “Now that’s interesting,” remarked Sheftu. He was still smiling, but all at once his eyes were dangerous. “And what else did the captain say?”
Ast, watch your tongue, my girl! thought Mara. There’s something here you don’t know about. . . .
“What else?” prodded Sheftu.
“Why—naught else.”
He waited. His smile had hardened into something so implacable that she felt a tremor of fear. Why should he probe so? Perhaps she’d better come out with the whole thing. “The captain did naught but caution me about stray young men on riverboats. Aside from the fact that he fluttered like a hen with one chick, is there anything startling about that?”
He subjected her to that cold scrutiny a moment longer, then slowly relaxed, easing one elbow against the rail. “Nay, I’m not startled, only interested in the captain’s opinion. So he said I was a rogue?”
“He said you might be.”
“Aye, and so I might. Or something even worse.”
He seemed amused now, and Mara’s self-confidence rushed back, along with her usual impudence. “Doubtless! You’ve secrets you don’t tell, that’s certain. Ai, so be it. Guard your tongue if you will. I’ll find you out in time, in spite of it.”
“You’re sure that’s wise?” he answered lazily.
“Does it matter? I’m sure I mean to try.”
She turned away, but he reached out suddenly and spun her back against him. “Are you quite sure, my—” He broke off, his eyes traveling over her upturned face. He gave a short laugh and tightened his arms deliberately. “By all the gods! I’d rather kiss than threaten you. I wonder if it wouldn’t be more effective.”
“Hai! Conceited pig! You’ll do neither! Let me go!”
She squirmed violently, but he only laughed and continued to hold her fast. Then his smile faded. “Look you, my pretty guttersnipe!” he said. “You’re too curious for your own good. Behave yourself, and stay out of my affairs.”
Loosing her so suddenly that she half fell against the railing, he turned and strode off down the deck.
After a moment of speechless outrage, Mara fled in the other direction. Guttersnipe! Why, that son of seven crocodiles! The rogue, the scoundrel! She’d pay him out for this! She flung herself onto the stack of hides that served her as bed and glared into space. Had she lost her wits completely? How had he managed to tease her, frighten her, make love to her, and snub her, all in the same five minutes? Always she had been able to snap her fingers under the nose of any man! Yet this one—
Aye, this one was different.
She scowled, remembering unwillingly the strength of his arms about her. And why hadn’t he kissed her, pray? Was she so repulsive? So ill favored? So shrewish? The devil take him!
An hour later she was still lying there, moodily watching the Silver Beetle’s high black prow trace circles against the moon. Guttersnipe! All right, suppose she was. Tomorrow, by Amon, she would have revenge. She would treat him with a smiling indifference he wouldn’t be able to break through no matter how hard he tried. She would be gay—aye, charming—but oh, how remote! It was the part of wisdom, as well as revenge; if she did not take care, he’d be surprising a real secret out of her!
She patted the queen’s little scarab thoughtfully. How cold his eyes had been as he questioned her about Nekonkh! As if he could toss a girl to the crocodiles without thinking twice about it. For all she knew, he could. And who would there be to know or care if he chose to do just that?
The captain had been right to warn her about Sheftu. He was a dangerous young man.
CHAPTER 5
Dangerous Bargain
Mara found Sheftu’s manner next morning just as gay, just as impersonal, and so much more convincing than her own that she was out of sorts before an hour had passed. There was no outdoing him at irony, that was clear. She would have to find some other means of punishing him.
Resentfully, she allowed herself to be entertained by his tales of the ancient monuments they passed, which she had to admit were more interesting than anything she had found in Zasha’s scrolls. Sheftu talked well, and he was in high spirits this morning, which spurred him to new flights in his storytelling. This was especially true when he related happenings of more recent years—fables of the present, they seemed to Mara, though he said they were true. Such a one was the story of Queen Hatshepsut’s expedition to Godsland, the fabulous country of Punt, which was said to lie far, far south of Egypt across an inland sea. Mara had always thought that land a myth, and told him so.
“Such a voyage is impossible!” she scoffed. “There is no such place. You’re too credulous!”
“Not so! Would you like proof? Our captain sailed on that journey, and so did this very ship. Ho, there! Nekonkh!”
At his hail the burly riverman crossed the deck to regard Sheftu warily.
“I pray you, Captain, give this maid proof that I’m no liar. She won’t believe that the queen’s ships sailed to Godsland.”
“Hai! That’s easy!” grunted Nekonkh. He turned to her, then. “We found that land, right enough, so far to the south that we all but turned back before we reached it. It lies on a strange sea, and dwarfish little black men live there. We set up the queen’s image in their village. And we brought back some of them. Apes, too, and greyhounds, and a live panther for the queen, and myrrh and cinnamon, Khesit wood, ivory, the green gold of Emu— By Amon, we had a cargo that time! Look you, little one, there in the scuppers. Do you see the dark spots? There stood the little incense trees we brought for the queen’s temple, watered and tended like babies, each with its ball of earth.”
“Trees?” echoed Mara incredulously. “You brought back trees?”
“Indeed, yes!” Sheftu broke in. He exchanged an odd glance with the captain, who immediately grew wary again. “The trees were the whole purpose of the voyage, Blue-Eyed One. Don’t you remember the old tales of Godsland, and the gardens filled with incense trees, terraced down to the sea? The queen’s aim was to build such a garden in Thebes for the god Amon. She sent to the end of the world to find what she needed.”
“Indeed!” murmured Mara. She was suddenly less interested in the story than in the strange tension that seemed to have taken hold of Nekonkh.
“And did the queen build her temple?” she probed.
“Most magnificently,” Sheftu told her. “I’ll show you when we reach Thebes.”
“But I’m not going to Thebes—not yet.”
Sheftu’s black brows arched. But he said only, “Then you must see it later. It’s not difficult to find. The queen has caused a highway to be built—at what cost I wouldn’t dare guess—from the river straight across two miles of desert and valley to the temple’s first terrace. A great stone avenue it is, lined on each side with sphinxes. And each sphinx has the head of Her Gracious Majesty.”
By this time Mara was convinced the whole conversation was aimed at Nekonkh. He was staring fixedly, and she thought angrily, into space.
“Is it not unusual,” she ventured, “that a queen’s image appear on a public monument?”
“It is most unusual,” said Sheftu. “But then these are unusual days in the land of Kemt. Do you know the writings of the ancient prophet Neferrohu, Lotus-Eye? He, too, speaks of unusual times. . . .” Sheftu lounged against the gunwale, quoting absently, “‘Behold, that which men dreaded now exists. Foes are in the East, and Asiatics descend into Egypt, and no protector hears. . . . Speech is in men’s hearts as a fire; no utterance of the mouth is tolerated . . .’”
Nekonkh turned suddenly and made a stiff little bow to the young man. “A word with you, friend, when time permits—in my cabin,” he jerked out, and walked away abruptly.
Sheftu straightened, satisfaction on his dark face. “Excuse me,” he murmured.
“I must leave you now.”
And he, too, strode toward the cabin. Both men disappeared under its barrel-shaped roof.
So! The captain had at last been goaded into that private conversation. For a moment Mara leaned against the gunwale, drumming absently on it with her fingertips. Then she strolled idly down the deck, yawning and blinking as if overcome by drowsiness, stopping now and then to watch the oarsmen or stare up at the taut curve of the sail. When she reached the bales of wool stacked behind the cabin she paused, then with the ease of long practice melted into the shadows so casually that not a person on deck could have said where she vanished. Stooping low, she moved swiftly between the bales and crouched behind the cabin’s rear wall. Within, she could hear the vague murmur of voices. She pressed her ear to the boards.
“. . . henchman of the king,” came Nekonkh’s gruff mutter. “One of those fools—or heroes—we spoke of on the voyage down. I suspected it then and I’m sure of it now.”
“I meant you to suspect,” returned Sheftu with a low laugh.
“Then I’m right!”
“Quite right. I’m the leader of the movement, and a close friend of His Most Princely Majesty—though no one knows it but his followers. On the surface I live the life I was born to, that of an arrogant and wealthy lord, devoted to the queen.”
Lord Sheftu! thought Mara, tingling with astonishment. Like an echo came Nekonkh’s whispered exclamation. “Lord Sheftu! Then you must be the son of Lord Menkau, Friend of Pharaoh and the richest man in Egypt—the great Menkau who died only last flood time and was entombed in the Royal Valley itself. . . .”
“Right again. I am in the full confidence of the queen. It’s most convenient. Even more convenient is the stream of gold and silver that pours into my hands from the palace treasury. Aye, Her Majesty distributes bribes as lavishly as she does everything else! But my share of them flows in a strange direction.”