Now Matt understood. No wonder the prince didn’t get along with the priests. “But, how did you deal with that? The people you looked up to, the people you thought you could count on weren’t reliable? Didn’t it feel like the world was falling apart?”
Taharqa smiled bleakly, his eyes glittering in the torchlight. “At first I was crushed, devastated. But eventually I came to terms with my own disappointment. I learned that people are not to be immediately trusted, and I also learned not to pre-judge. Look at it this way. People are complex, not simply one way or another—not bright and dazzling like the sun shining on the sand nor dim and shadowed like the deeper waters of the Nile, but an endless number of shades in between. Do you understand?”
“Not really,” said Matt. “You lost me when you started using metaphors.” One thing he didn’t miss was English class.
Taharqa grinned and shook his head. “My father would have liked you, Matt. He used to say to me, ‘Speak plain. Stop using that convoluted language. Always burying your nose in scrolls when you can learn so much more from the people around you.’ How right he was. Little did he know my studies were to help the people around me, so I could make the best decisions.”
“Your father?” asked Matt, perking up. He wondered if the prince had ever had problems with his dad. When Matt looked at him, though, he just looked sad. “Did you get along with him? Was he . . . a good father?”
“A good father?” The prince’s lips hooked into a half-smile. “Not an easy question. I only knew him a few years, before he died. At first they said he was a great king. He put down the bickering between the Delta princes and united Egypt again when it lay in chaos. He brought ma’at back to the kingdom.”
Matt felt a spark of pride. He still found it cool how they used his name.
“He was always away from home, directing the army,” the prince continued, “conducting battles. He was a great king . . . and a rotten father.”
Matt frowned and the prince nodded.
“Eventually he returned to his home and his family here in Kush, and no longer kept watch over the Delta princes to ensure that Egypt remained loyal. After my father returned to Napata, the princes rebelled again. Shabaqo had to hustle back to Egypt to harness the troublesome creatures. Then, engaged in family affairs, and finally taking an interest in my life, he was a great father . . . and a rotten king. People are pulled in so many directions, Matt, you can’t always judge someone on what you initially see or if you hear only one side of a story. Sometimes you have to step back and take another look, or listen to Senkamon.”
He nudged Matt’s arm again and Matt grinned. “I’m glad you did,” he said and rubbed his throat. He owed so much to Senkamon. Then he lost his grin. Senkamon was just a mummy now—or the desert sand and heat would make him like one, anyway. That was a debt he could never repay.
“So maybe you’ll give others a second chance?” asked Taharqa, raising his eyebrows. “There’s even something of worth in the woman, Nadine, I think you call her. She may be a conniving, nasty sort—that much I’ve determined by your reaction to her and a discussion I had with the guards who captured her—but still there’s wisdom in her eyes.”
Matt grimaced.
“Ah, you see it too. It’s never easy to see people for what they are, rather than what we’d like them to be. Your father may not be everything you’d hoped for, but Matt, he may be more than you can imagine at this moment.”
Matt met the prince’s eyes. How could this young man understand so much about the way the world and people worked? Was it because he’d had to grow up quickly as the commander of an army, and someone expected to be a king? He imagined it was.
“Shall we worry more about the Medjay now, Matt? I’ve been up all night, doing just that.”
Matt examined Taharqa’s shadowed face, suddenly spotting the creased forehead and red-rimmed eyes. Of course the prince had many more important things to think about than Matt’s family problems.
“You want them to join your army. You never mentioned that before. I thought we were going to fight them and get Sarah back.”
“You were angry, and so was I, at their raid. They took Sarah from you. They killed many of my men. I had started to formulate this plan but, at the time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to implement it.”
“But if you can get them to talk, that’s a better plan than fighting. You shouldn’t be losing sleep over it.”
“Getting enemies to talk is often more difficult than fighting. And if they insist on a battle, then I cannot prevent it, and they’re a deadly opponent. They don’t use chariots, so they are more manoeuvrable and might slip through any gaps in our defence. I think I will seat more men on horseback, just in case. You should stay with me on the chariot, since you haven’t experienced battle yet. This one,” he patted Sarah’s leg and she nickered sweetly to him, “has seen enough skirmishes. She should remain behind.”
“But,” said Matt, feeling the loss already. “You want me to leave her here?”
Taharqa smiled. “You’ve grown fond of the mare, haven’t you? I understand. My father also loved horses. He bred them to be larger, so they could draw our chariots into battle with ease, but he also cared deeply for them. So much so that he had his favourites buried with him when he died.”
Matt tried to hide his disgust when he thought of the poor horses that must have been sacrificed so they could be buried with the pharaoh. But when he looked at the prince, he was stroking the mare tenderly.
“I have a soft spot for horses too,” Taharqa continued. “You may ride her as far as the Nile crossover, but, if it comes to blows, not onto the battlefield. She doesn’t have the strength to keep up with the Medjay anymore.”
Matt nodded. “I guess we’d better get ready. It’s almost daylight.”
“The desert ride will be difficult, Matt. Stock up on water.” Taharqa rose and brushed spikes of straw from his kilt. “We need to hurry in order to meet the Medjay at their traditional rendezvous.”
Matt struggled to his feet, the weight of the past few hours but, even more, the weight of the impending meeting or battle hanging over him. He knew he had to rescue Sarah, but the thought of it was like a storm cloud sitting on his shoulders.
“Taharqa?” he asked. “You said that the Medjay had issues with Egypt’s policies that made them break away and begin raiding? What were they?”
The prince paused. He looked over the heads of his horses at the rising sun, a painfully bright orb.
“Foolishness,” he said. “Dreams and impractical philosophy. How can we have artists, doctors, warriors, priests, or kings, if we don’t have slaves to attend them? How can we have monumental temples and tombs if we don’t have slaves to build them?”
“Right,” said Matt quietly, still feeling the ropes squeezing his wrists, choking his neck. He remembered feeling helpless and terrified as he’d lain on his stomach, his face pressed against the earth, knowing there was nothing he could do to escape.
“You shouldn’t interfere,” said his father’s voice in the back of his mind.
“You’re a meddling pest,” Nadine’s words echoed in his head. “You know what’s at stake.”
That’s right. He knew. He’d always known. But somehow he just couldn’t help himself.
“Taharqa,” he said. “We need to talk.”
Chapter 21
The Proposal
Sarah was relieved when the wind died down and the creatures stopped burrowing into their makeshift shelter. At first she was furious with Qeskaant for teasing her, and decided she didn’t like him very much. Then she realized that it was likely in his nature to laugh and make fun as well as play-fight with his fellow Medjay. She shrugged it off when he leaned forward and explained the plan he’d devised to lure Taharqa from Napata. Sarah listened intently.
“There’s no guarantee he’ll bring your friend with him,” said Qeskaant. “But it’s the best I can do. We simply can’t march into Napata and rescue him there.”
Sarah bit her lip. These men were planning to fight, kill, they might even die. It was crazy to ask them do this, even for Matt.
“I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
“We’ll scare the populace. They rarely challenge us, so there’s no need to kill anyone, and we won’t risk our own lives either.”
“But if Taharqa comes after you, won’t he bring his army? What if—”
“Are you worried for me?” asked Qeskaant, a teasing light in his eyes.
“I-I don’t want to see you or your men get killed.”
“It’s an honour to die in battle, tenderhearted Sarah. Especially for a worthy cause. Isn’t your friend Matt a worthy cause?”
“Yes,” said Sarah. Of course he was. These men raided, killed, and some of them were killed, practically every day. Why should she feel guilty if they died for her cause, for Matt? But a niggling discomfort still wormed its way through her head, especially when she thought of the lengths Matt had gone to in order to prevent or stop senseless death in wars and battles before.
“You have deep feelings for him,” said Qeskaant sagely.
“Well, of course I do. He’s my best friend. I—”
Qeskaant smiled and winked. “I was hoping your eyes would shine as brightly when you spoke of me, but I see now that there’s little chance of that. Don’t you think I’m a daring warrior, though? I snatched you from right under Taharqa’s nose.”
What was he saying? Was he interested in her, in more than a rescuer/rescuee way? A stirring unease awoke in her gut, but at the same time an odd flush of warmth washed through her face.
“Uh . . . yes, of course,” she said. “You and all your men are very brave. I’m sorry I don’t have feelings . . . Do my eyes really shine when I talk about Matt?”
“Like the sun.” He took her hand. “We’ll return him to you, Sarah. And don’t worry about us. We’re seeking ma’at, not just your Matt. We’ll confront Taharqa for all the people caught up in the net of slavery.”
Right. She breathed a sigh of relief. This daring plan stemmed from their beliefs and had nothing to do with any feelings or her influence. They would have gone through with it, or something similar, anyway. Besides, these men were strong, stouthearted, and extremely skilled with the sword and bow and arrow. There was nothing to worry about.
Qeskaant called out to the other men, explaining his quickly-hatched plan. No one opposed it. In fact they seemed quite eager to join him. After their discussion, they mounted their horses, Qeskaant assisting her onto the back of his prancing stallion. They set off with the sun to their right, heading north, she presumed, parallel to the Nile River. Once they ventured past the cool shade of the oasis, the sun beat down on them in relentless rays, and Sarah felt as if she were being cooked by volcanic lava. A film of sweat clung to her like sticky glaze on a donut. Soon her strength waned and her mind lost focus, drifting along the monotonous dunes that extended to the horizon.
Whalebacks, great humps that stretched as far as the eye could see, long festoons of sword-like dunes—called seif—crescent-shaped and horseshoe dunes.
Never-ending bulges and folds of the same fawn colour.
The Medjay and their horses were the only creatures that moved in this desolate land. They plodded onward, up and over the bulges, down into the gullies, the horses spitting sand and dust from their hooves. Sarah drooped over the stallion, parched and hot, trying to find something dissimilar to pin her eye on. Finally they stopped for the night in the lee of a sandstone ridge. Qeskaant erected a shelter and Sarah sank gratefully to the leopard skin cushion he placed in it. She thought she’d fall right into a coma, but she couldn’t keep her mind off the possible battle that Qeskaant had proposed, one she might be responsible for. She flipped over and over on the fur bed. At last she fell asleep, but it was a restless, dream-plagued sleep. Spears rocketed through the air, impaling young warriors. Swords flashed and sprayed blood on the sand. Screams and cries lanced her eardrums.
Sarah woke with a start, heart pounding, snatching air in quick gasps. Despite the nighttime chill, her body was drenched in sweat. This is wrong. But what other choice did she have? She had to get back to Matt. She had to help him prevent his father from destroying their timeline. The timeline was more important than either one of them, even more important than the lives of these people. No, a tiny voice inside her cried. But she muffled it quickly and buried it deep.
Shouts interrupted her thoughts—bellowing, raucous shouts, coming from outside the tent. She squinted in the dim light, but couldn’t find Qeskaant inside. Then a caterwauling flooded the air, whoops and cries shrill enough to shatter glass. What was happening? Had the raid already begun? But they hadn’t even reached the Nile River.
Sarah scrambled out of her fur wrap and tentatively lifted the flap that substituted for a door. What she saw made her stumble backward. Torches lit the night outside, twenty, thirty, maybe more. They looked like fireflies, dotting the sand, spilling over dunes, illuminating mounted horsemen and other creatures—smaller but distinguishable from the background sand by the fierce reflections in their eyes. One raced towards her. Could it be a wolf?
Quickly she thrust the flap down. But it butted right in, pushed its dark snout through the opening, and pounced at her with an open maw. Her heart leaped. Now it’s really over. It figured it wouldn’t be an altered timeline, or getting caught in the crossfire of a war that finally did her in, but simply an animal. She screamed as something cold and wet touched her throat.
Chapter 22
A “Lucky” Break
Sarah waited for sharp teeth to sink into her neck. She closed her eyes. It’s time, isn’t it, Matt? It’s time for the craziness to end. Maybe we should have just stepped out of the lab, let ourselves dissolve. It might have been painless, then. Is this going to hurt?
“Maa,” the creature said. “Maa.”
She blinked and pushed the slimy snout away. “But you’re a—”
“Maa,” it said again.
“G-g-goat?” she gasped, choked, sputtered.
She widened her eyes and its face came into sharper focus as the flickering torches outside approached the camp. A white furry face with dark circles surrounding its eyes—like a bandit. The goat nosed back up to her, its rough tongue grating the soft skin of her cheek. It butted her head with its curved horns.
“I hate goats,” she said, grasping its face and pushing it away.
But it’s better than snakes, scorpions, or crocodiles, isn’t it? She heard the echo of Matt’s voice in her head. Besides, you’re an animal magnet.
“Sarah,” said Qeskaant, poking his face into the tent. “I see you’ve met a member of the family already.”
“Family?” She looked up at him in wonder. “You call a goat a member of the family?”
“Until we eat it,” he said. “Come outside. The rest of the family’s here. We’ll have a feast, before we attack.”
Sarah shuddered at the thought of the raid again, but she accepted his hand and let him help her from the shelter, as much to escape the goat’s persistent tongue as to see what the hubbub was outside.
The moon sat high and bright in the sky, flooding the desert with creamy light. All around her the ground writhed and rippled, animated with people and horses. Tall men and women with lofty curls atop their heads, and wrapped in pale linen robes, swarmed over the camp. They mingled with the warriors, slapping their backs and chatting amiably. A blur of pearl-white shifted and swayed over the desert like a silk sheet caught in the wind—a flock of sheep and another of goats, trampling the sand.
“They came from the oasis a day before us,” explained Qeskaant. “They were travelling just to the east, heading to the Nile, as we are, and twenty of our warriors who’d become separated from us during the raid on the prince’s camp had joined them. They had no idea we were camped here until one of the sheep strayed, and Edra,” he patted a young boy’s head, “spotted us when he went to retrieve it.”
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“Nomads,” said Sarah quietly.
“Excuse me?” asked Qeskaant.
“Your family. Do they wander from place to place? They don’t have one place they call home?”
“Home is the Red Sea, the desert, and occasionally the Nile.”
“We need to find food for the flocks,” said an elderly man, who’d gravitated to Qeskaant’s side and now patted his back. He had greying fluff for hair and dry wrinkled skin, but his eyes were wide and thoughtful, his nose well-defined and flared, like Qeskaant’s. Was he Qeskaant’s father?
“So we have to scour the desert,” the man continued. “And sometimes it becomes necessary to raid, or we’d starve. But we support each other and never have to bend our backs to serve the mighty pharaohs. We live according to ma’at, the way life should be lived.”
Sarah wished Matt could hear this. He would love the way they used his name in this time. In fact, it rang strangely true.
Qeskaant smiled and slapped the older man on the back. “Come, Father. Let’s roast some lambs and eat hearty before we head to the reunion.”
“Reunion?” asked Sarah.
The old man grinned and tapped her cheek. “We wander, but once a season, on the banks of the Nile, we all gather together and talk of other times and places.”
Of course. It only made sense. They’d once worked for the pharaohs, even lived along the Nile.
Qeskaant clapped his hands and instructed the younger children to gather firewood or collect dried dung from their stocks, while others went to slaughter a few lambs. Sarah shuddered. It was hard enough to see the majestic elephants crash to the earth after being hunted and slaughtered, but a cute cuddly little lamb?
A nip at her backside made her whip around. The same goat that had charged into her tent now stood right behind her. She recognized the black spots masking his eyes. He nipped again, ripping multiple threads from her jeans and chewing contentedly.
Time Meddlers on the Nile Page 12