As though to emphasize the severity of the situation the wind picked up. A huge gust of it thumped at the wooden door, shaking it on its hinges.
‘All right, all right,’ came the voice from the other side, grudgingly, as though Khensa were controlling the storm’s ferocity.
I heard a bolt thrown. I caught Aya’s eye. I wondered if she knew what I was thinking and supposed that she did, because, of course, I was thinking that I was mere moments away from seeing my father. And not just seeing him, but rescuing him no less.
Maybe she was thinking none of that. Perhaps her mind was going back to the reasons why Sabu had allowed himself to be captured, and imprisoned, by the clod-hopping oafs of Elephantine. Perhaps she was still puzzling on what she was certain was wrong.
And then the door opened.
45
We rushed in: the four of us and the storm. Khensa led, shoving the door into the face of the man on the other side, and he stumbled back, arms pinwheeling, no weapon drawn, his face falling in shock at the sight of us as the wind slammed the wicket door back on its hinges.
Just behind Khensa, Neka was already turning, snatching an arrow from his quiver, bowstring drawn back, bow angled – all in one dizzyingly fast and fluid movement as he targeted a sentry overhead. In the next moment the lookout came tumbling from above to land with a messy, bloody squelch on the stone in front of us.
The storm rushed into the square in which we now found ourselves, as much a benefit as ten extra warriors in our favour. Aya and I heaved open the double gates to allow the wind greater entry, its presence more effective than we could have imagined. As though in reply, there came a shout and another guard rushed out of the haze, this one with his weapon drawn.
Khensa stood, having dealt with the guard at the door, felling the new arrival with a swift-thrown spear before he could reach us. Neka waved to usher us forward, shouting for caution, knowing the edge of the pit could be anywhere, and we felt our way carefully forward even as an arrow came whistling from within the swirling, eddying sand. Loosed more in hope than with any considered aim, it went wide and we edged further forward on our bellies, finding a pocket of calm beneath the storm as we searched for the pit’s opening.
We could hear shouting. I imagined the gatehouse guards reassembling as they tried to work out what was happening. Another arrow came slicing out of the mist. They were getting themselves together. Assembling. At the same time we were making noise, the four of us pretending to be dozens, letting the storm work for us.
We finally reached the pit, where I pulled myself to the edge, dragging myself by my fingertips in order to peer down into what seemed like an abyss.
‘Father,’ I called, and I was sure that I was rewarded with a movement in the darkness below. I saw eyes shining in the blackness. Down there it was safe from the storm that we had allowed into the gatehouse and which now raged around us.
Neka came scrambling around the lip of the pit cradling a length of rope.
‘Nice of them to leave this lying around for us,’ he said with a grin.
Close by, a stake driven into the ground was grooved in a way that left us in no doubt as to its purpose. Seconds later the rope was wound around the stake and tossed into the pit.
‘I’ll cover you,’ said Neka and pulled away.
‘Grab it, Father,’ I yelled into the black hole as around me came the shouts and screams of further battle.
There wasn’t much time. Neka was fitting arrows into his bow and letting them off. I heard the twang of the bowstring and through the maelstrom I saw his face twisted with determination and effort as each arrow in turn left his bow. Again, he did the work of an army as Khensa, Aya and I, with all our might, dug our heels into the ground, rope burning our palms as we pulled backwards, one step at a time, heaving, yelling, adding to the noise, a mix of triumph and effort, knowing that the end of our mission was within our grasp and hardly able to believe that the four of us had been able to pull off such a daring rescue. Victory so close at hand.
Later, when it was all over, Aya told me that she had glanced into the hole and seen the prisoner helping himself out of his jail, climbing up the wall rope with his feet on the sides of the pit.
I didn’t see him. I didn’t realize.
But Aya did.
Even before the prisoner reached the top of the pit she knew.
It was not my father.
46
The storm seemed to die in response. As though it too were sharing a dumbfounded air that descended upon us as we looked at one another and then back at the prisoner. Temporarily silent, we forgot to ask his name, what he was doing in the pit or whether he really was Medjay. Just knowing that it was not Sabu of Siwa, not my father, I felt numb, my stomach lurching.
Neka came skidding back towards us, aware that the lull in the storm would inspire the gatehouse guards to greater bravery. ‘Come on, let’s go, let’s get out of here,’ he urged before throwing a look at the rescued prisoner. ‘Hello, Sabu,’ he introduced himself.
‘It’s not Sabu,’ said Khensa, finding her voice. ‘It’s a decoy.’ She reached to the man, grabbed a bunch of his dirty tunic in her fist. ‘I ought to throw you back in there face first. Who are you?’
Terrified, the man was shaking his head, mouth working uselessly. He was old, greying, his lips were wet and his eyes rolled crazily.
‘What?’ Neka was saying, diverted from battle by the sudden turn of events. ‘What? I was told it was Sabu. A Medjay from Siwa called Sabu.’
I pulled Aya to one side. ‘You knew,’ I said, piercing her with my gaze. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’
She shook her arm free. ‘Of course I didn’t know. I suspected.’
‘Well, you should have …’
‘I tried,’ she insisted. She had. I took a deep breath, and let go of my burgeoning resentment. It wasn’t her fault.
‘Who’s this, then?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, and then turned her eyes on the terrified prisoner, still held in Khensa’s grasp. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Sabu, Sabu,’ he jabbered. His jaw was slack, lips moist, eyes wide with fear and confusion. ‘Medjay, Medjay.’
We both sighed. Asking this madman anything would get us nowhere, that much was obvious.
‘We’ve got to make tracks,’ Neka was warning from feet away. The storm no longer provided as much cover, and soon it would provide none at all. He let two arrows off into the area across the pit and was rewarded with a scream of either surprise or pain; enough, hopefully, to keep them at bay for some moments more. ‘We’ve got to get out of here, do you hear me? We can have this conversation later.’
And he was right.
An arrow came whistling out of the darkness and embedded itself into the ground beside him. It was followed by another and then another. In the next instant we were pulling ourselves to our feet. The tempest had subsided, visibility was clearing, and we heard the unmistakable sounds of the gatehouse guards regrouping. ‘Who goes there?’ came the cry, a little cautious at first and then repeated with more authority. But we were in no mood to reply, a ragtag squad, disappointed and battleworn, we retreated out of the gate and ran headlong into the storm, which was less fierce but still lashed at us, as though admonishing us, punishing us for our stupidity.
I threw a look at Aya and saw nothing in her eyes but the great pain of wishing she had been wrong. Outside the gate the wasteland stretched before us, sand whirling in our vision, but I hardly registered the tumult. There were warlike cries and a group of guards came rushing from around the side of the gatehouse with their swords drawn, others taking up position with bows.
‘Halt,’ they demanded in unison, and if the idea was to stop us in our tracks then it failed, because our blood was up, our survival instinct keen and sharp, and though we checked ourselves at the sight of them, we pushed on.
Neka snatched an arrow from his quiver, twisted his torso and loosed it, all in one movement. H
is shot found its mark, dropping one of the bowmen. At the same time a swordsman, running, tried to block Khensa’s path, but she swung with the spear, bringing the shaft of it up and under, impaling him.
From the corner of my eye I saw a second bowman take aim at Aya. My warning shout was snatched away in the swirling storm and I changed course, trying to reach her, thinking, No! and shouting at the same time. ‘Aya! Dive!’
And then the bowman was dropping his weapon, clutching at his neck, from which protruded an arrow. Where had it come from? Not from Neka or Khensa. I had no idea. I just kept on running, screaming at the others to speed up as, thankfully, we left the last of the guards behind.
I ran to Aya. ‘Someone’s out there – and whoever it is just saved your life.’ She looked at me and I wondered if she was thinking the same thing I was, and then we kept on running, peering into the murky, swirling darkness as we plunged onwards, with still no sign of our mystery bowman.
Ahead of us were Khensa, Neka and the prisoner; behind us the temple, the shouts of the guards becoming more distant now. With the moon lighting our way, we kept running, joining up, keeping pace, until at last Khensa gestured and we headed off the wasteland and into trees at the perimeter of the island, crashing through dry undergrowth until the going became wet beneath our feet and we found ourselves at the waterside.
There, Khensa stopped us with a raised fist, crouched and indicated for us to gather around. Her chest heaved, her breath was ragged and she surveyed her crew with eyes that shone with danger and excitement.
‘We’re being followed,’ she said, and then gave a start as a voice came from the darkness, weapon instantly at the ready.
‘Not difficult, the noise you were making,’ it said, and a figure stepped forward, making us scramble to our feet, the others reaching for their weapons.
Not me, though. It was a voice I recognized, and a familiar figure who strode into the clearing, angrily brushing undergrowth aside and looking around at us, an exasperated look on his face. ‘You’re dead, all of you,’ said my father.
47
When he strode into the clearing, he looked almost the same as when I’d last seen him, maybe slightly less tidy without my mother’s guiding hand. His long hair was gathered back, his beard a little straggly, his face just a touch more weathered and craggy than it was before.
And unhappy. Father was not quick to temper; he tended to smoulder. Mother always said he kept it hidden, that he was like the slow-moving water, calm on the surface but with dangerous, fast-moving undercurrents. Oh, but now the surface calm was broken and the colour was in his cheeks, his eyes afire as they swept across us accusingly.
‘Sabu,’ Khensa said a touch wryly, dipping her head in a greeting that was also a tacit acknowledgement that he and I had things to discuss – matters that did not involve her. Neka, too, seemed to withdraw, stepping away from a reunion that was between my father and me.
My angry father.
Gods! I thought, as he turned to me, pinning me with a stare. How different this was compared to the scene I’d pictured. The dreams of a small boy, buried deep inside me. I’d been naïve. There was no embrace. No greeting. No gratitude. Just …
‘What the hell are you doing here?’ he snapped.
‘We came to rescue you …’ I said uselessly.
He threw up his arms, bow in one hand. ‘Do I look like I need rescuing?’
‘You don’t,’ said Aya flatly, and then indicated the poor creature who crouched at our feet and stared up at us, cloaked in fear and confusion, as though cowering in the face of an oncoming rockslide. ‘But he did.’
Father knelt to address the erstwhile prisoner, his voice softening along with his manner. ‘You performed your duty well, Bes, and I’m sorry if you’ve been caused any distress. My thanks go to you and to your family, and I hope you can all enjoy your reward.’
‘Thank you, Sabu, thank you,’ managed Bes, nodding furiously. His wide eyes skittered and, if he wasn’t exactly calm, at least he seemed to have collected himself.
‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why did you need him?’
Father sighed, straightening with a resigned air. ‘The short answer is that I needed to set a trap, and I needed bait for that trap.’
‘A trap for what?’ said Aya.
‘For a killer – a killer hunting Medjay.’ He stopped himself. ‘You know of the Medjay, I take it, if you’ve got this far?’ I nodded and a look passed between us.
‘And that’s why you left Siwa?’ pressed Aya. ‘Nothing to do with Menna?’
‘Menna …’ Father seemed to remember and threw a look to Khensa, who nodded confirmation from where she still stood a distance away.
‘Menna is dead, Sabu.’
‘Thank you, Khensa, thank you. That means a great deal.’ He turned to Aya. ‘No, the reason I left Siwa had nothing to do with Menna and everything to do with a message saying the Medjay are under threat.’
‘The killer?’ I said.
Father nodded. ‘A man who knows his trade, Bayek. He got the better of Emsaf, an expert and talented Medjay, a great fighter, scout and tracker. This killer is methodical and he is ruthless. That’s why I hoped to draw him out.’
‘I’m sorry, Father,’ I said. My face fell and my head dropped, but he put his hands to my arms.
‘There’ll be plenty of time for reprimands later – and there will be reprimands.’ He paused. ‘But for now, I’m pleased to see you – all of you – and I’m gratified that your skills have improved since I left Siwa. A few bad habits that we need to look at, mind you, but we’ll make a –’
‘Wait,’ whispered Khensa, holding up a hand for silence.
‘What?’ said my father.
‘Somebody close,’ replied Khensa. ‘Your trap may yet work. Someone’s coming.’ She narrowed her eyes, nodding slowly. ‘And they’re good.’
‘It must be him. We finish it, here and now,’ said my father, hoisting his bow, grim-faced and steadfast with the rising sun at his back. He indicated for Khensa and Neka to take the flanks while he took the middle, in order to come at whoever was stalking us from three directions. Aya and I stood, ready to take our places. He nodded. ‘Join up, form a party just behind. Keep watch in case he tries to work his way in from the rear.’
‘He won’t be able to do that …’ started Neka.
‘He’s got this far,’ snapped my father. ‘Emsaf underestimated him. I won’t make the same mistake.’
We fanned out and began to move away from the waterline, leaving Bes behind. Looking to my left, I saw Aya tense, skirts clinging to her legs with the damp. Ahead of me a cluster of flies danced in the early morning cool.
No noise now. The Nubians and my father were out of sight. The temple guards had clearly decided to give up their chase. If this Medjay hunter was as good as my father feared then would he be so easily snared? I was doubtful.
We moved further forward, painfully aware of even the quietest squelch and crackle as we trod through the undergrowth. Within me was the same excitement I’d felt at Menna’s base, a knowledge that I was part of something – something worthwhile. I wished I could somehow communicate that to my father, to prove to him that I had grown, that I was making my own choices and was ready to follow up on them. And then I stopped thinking even of that, focusing on the moment, the task at hand. We advanced, footstep by footstep, breath held. I became aware that the underground was thinning out. The silvery light that had only intermittently penetrated the canopy above now painted the ground ahead of us and the going was less soft.
And then came a burst of noise from up ahead, and where I would have jumped in shock but mere months ago, I swiftly whirled, ready to face the threat. There was sudden movement, a rustling, a shout I couldn’t quite identify followed by the unmistakable sound of loosed arrows whistling and then a shout of pain.
Aya and I had dropped to a crouch, our swords drawn. Ahead of us in the undergrowth came the sound of more arrows and then my father’s vo
ice, calling, ‘Show yourself, killer! Face me!’ But there was no reply.
We stayed crouched. Once more the stillness of early morning asserted itself. I wanted to call ahead but stopped myself, reluctant to give away our position, wondering why there were five of us and yet somehow I felt as though we were not the hunters but the hunted.
A sound nearby caught our attention, and then my father called out softly, ‘Bayek.’
‘Father?’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Unhurt. And you?’
He appeared from within the gloom, Khensa and Neka at his back. ‘I thought I got him, but there’s no sign of a body,’ he said as Khensa squatted with her spear held in one hand and the other at the ground, her fingers splayed and her head cocked as though listening through her fingertips. My father, with a short tilt of his chin, bade us join them.
‘Good work,’ he murmured and I’m sure Aya felt the same surge of pride I did. To Khensa he said, ‘Is he still around?’
‘I don’t know,’ Khensa replied with a frown that spoke of not wanting to admit being unable to track him. ‘I don’t know where he is – if he’s even here.’
‘He was here …’ said my father. ‘Of that I’m certain.’ He pulled a face. ‘I could have sworn one of my arrows found its mark. Whatever this means, we know one thing at least. We know our enemy’s shortcomings.’
What are they? I wanted to ask, but held my tongue.
‘He’s also a man who knows when the odds are stacked against him,’ added Khensa.
Just then a call came to us, carried by the misty early morning. ‘Medjay.’ We froze, Khensa trying to pinpoint the source. ‘Medjay, we will soon meet and have our day of reckoning.’
It was followed by a scream from Bes, repeating the same word over and over again: ‘Sabu,’ he shrieked. ‘Sabu, Sabu, Sabu.’
Desert Oath Page 17