‘All right then, I’ll tell you straight . . . I am going in there by myself. I am going to see it through, for better or worse. And the reason I’m going alone is that I fancy my chances of getting in and out more if it’s just me. I need you to get back to the boat and do whatever you can to stop Harrar sailing off without me. And I’m going to have to get out, fast, and you can’t keep up with me.’

  ‘Then go faster and leave me behind,’ Hannu said.

  ‘You know I’d never do that.’

  ‘I’d leave you, if I had to . . . wouldn’t think twice.’

  ‘Like hell you would. Truth is, we’d both stick together and then we’d both die. This way, one of us survives for sure, and the other has a chance of surviving, too.’

  ‘A tiny chance.’

  ‘A fighting chance, and that’s good enough for me.’

  Hannu seethed, torn between walking away from his friend and knowing Piay was right.

  ‘You’d never make a soldier,’ he hissed. ‘You’re too foolhardy. I just pray to the gods it doesn’t cost you your head.’

  With that, Hannu scrabbled around and crawled away until the lip of the hollow hid him from the eyes of anyone in the camp. Then he stood up and began to limp back along the trail of footprints that led towards the Nile.

  H

  annu was getting very drunk, very publicly. He had made his way back to the ship, arrived a couple of hours before sunset, and passed on Piay’s message that he was going to rescue the missing girl by himself, and that they should wait for him to return. The only effect had been to persuade Harrrar that Piay was suicidal, that he was already as good as dead and they might as well leave immediately. Hannu had then lost his temper and started flinging every foul-mouthed insult he had learned in twenty years of military service at the haughty nobleman.

  As negotiating tactics went, that had not proved a success. The captain of the Blue Crocodile Guards had stepped in.

  ‘Leave it to me, your lordship. Hannu’s an ex-guardsman, so he’ll respect my rank. Believe me, sir, I’ll give him a talking-to he won’t forget.’ He’d looked around, then added, ‘We’ll be using barracks language. Probably best to do it on dry land, out of your earshot.’

  The guardsman had ordered one of his men to fetch him a wineskin.

  ‘And make it a full one.’

  Then he frog-marched Hannu down the gangplank, along the jetty and into the shade of some date palms, a short way from the still-burning village. For some time, the two men could be seen arguing and gesticulating, then the captain returned to the ship.

  ‘You’ll get no more trouble from him, my lord,’ the captain had said, and, while Harrar appeared to be as close as he ever got to a good mood, he added, ‘One other thing, your lordship . . . Some of my lads really did themselves proud in that fight last night. They’re not on duty tonight, so, if it pleases you, I was thinking that maybe they could have some shore leave this evening – if we’re still here, obviously. Just a drink or two, a decent meal and a few songs. It’s good for their spirits, my lord. Makes them fight even harder next time.’

  ‘Very well, then – but they must be ready to return at a moment’s notice, when I give the order to set sail.’

  A dozen or so of the guards had gone ashore. They’d found a goat wandering around the burned-out farm buildings, slaughtered it, and were now roasting it on a spit above a roaring fire. Hannu had woken from a wine-induced slumber and joined the guards’ party. He could not shake the shame he felt for leaving Piay to fend for himself, and the fact that he had been obeying Piay’s orders didn’t make him feel any better. So, now he was resorting to the comforts that sustained all fighting men at all times, everywhere: hard drink, filthy jokes and loud songs.

  And maybe – just maybe – that might do the trick.

  M

  yssa was still aboard, standing in the bows, consumed by worry. She could not stop thinking of Piay out there in the dark, facing an overwhelming enemy. All too soon, the ship would resume its journey to Memphis, and Harrar would leave Piay behind to fend for himself.

  All day, Myssa, Gatas and the commander of the guards’ detachment had argued, pleaded and even begged Harrar to wait for Piay’s return. Even the captain of the ship had joined them. Piay had treated the captain and his crew with the same respect as he had the soldiers, and won their loyalty as a result.

  All their arguments had bought a little time, though Hannu’s understandable but entirely counterproductive fury had brought Harrar within a whisker of leaving there and then. As he had pointed out, and it was hard to argue with him, ‘These Sons of Apis have already attacked this vessel at night, when it was moored, and therefore much easier for them to board. And we know that there is a large band of murderous thieves in the area – these Shrikes, or whatever they call themselves. Plainly, the safest place for us is to be in the very centre of our beloved Nile, far from either bank and moving at the highest possible speed.’

  Now the sun had set and only the faintest hints of light remained on the western horizon. In no time at all, darkness would fall, and then what case could be made for delaying departure?

  Myssa stood at the rail and looked up at the stars appearing one by one in a sky turning from blue, to purple, to black. The time had come. Persuasion had failed. Now all she had were her prayers.

  Someone moved behind her and she turned to see Captain Gatas. He was frowning, his mouth turned down. Behind him, in the glow from a lamp, Myssa could see Shamshi watching them both intently.

  ‘What is it?’ Myssa asked.

  Gatas nodded to where Harrar was prowling back and forth along the deck like a leopard in a pen. His fear of the Sons of Apis hung around him like the stench around a rotting corpse.

  ‘Bad news,’ Gatas began. ‘Harrar has told the captain to set sail.’

  ‘But Piay . . .’

  ‘It’s too late. Harrar has decided that Piay is dead. We all know he doesn’t give a damn. Saving his own neck is all he cares about.’

  Myssa narrowed her eyes at the nobleman. ‘I will not let this happen,’ she breathed.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Gatas asked.

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘I can’t.’ He nodded towards Shamshi. ‘I’ve got to watch him.’

  ‘Find someone else to do it. I need you. Piay and Hannu need you.’

  Gatas nodded, a little sheepishly. As he arranged a guard, Shamshi looked up at them, grinning.

  ‘She has more fire in her belly than you, Captain Gatas.’

  ‘Hold your tongue,’ Gatas snapped.

  ‘I like her,’ Shamshi said. ‘She is the only one on board this vessel with any wits.’

  Myssa turned away from Shamshi and marched along the deck towards the stern, where Harrar’s tent stood, just forward of the steering oar. But before she could get there, she was brought up short by the sight of the captain, a seasoned sailor with a face like old, worn leather. He was bent over the large hatch, which provided access to the cargo hold, shouting down at someone inside.

  She quickly gathered that a crewman who was meant to be on duty was too drunk to work.

  ‘I don’t care how scared he is of the demon-men,’ the captain shouted. ‘Throw some water over him and get him up on deck.’

  Myssa laughed to herself and was about to move on when a high, whining voice called out, ‘For the gods’ sake, stop making such a ghastly noise down there.’

  The sound of Harrar’s complaint gave Myssa an idea.

  ‘Excuse me, Captain,’ she said, ‘but could I just have a word with you . . . in private?’

  ‘Can’t you see I’m busy?’

  ‘Of course, I quite understand.’ Myssa dipped her head and looked up at Gatas coyly. ‘I promise I won’t keep you long.’

  The captain sighed. ‘All right, but make it quick. His lordship is—’

  ‘Why have we not set sail yet?’ came a cry from Harrar’s tent.

  ‘He’s getting impatient, I know,’ Myssa said, ‘but tell me . . . are there any members of the crew who are so important that the ship can’t set sail without them – apart from you, of course?’

  ‘One or two . . .’ The captain jerked his thumb towards the hold. ‘Not him, thank Ra.’

  ‘But Harrar doesn’t know that, and—’

  The captain grinned. ‘Oh, I get you. Leave it to me.’

  Myssa watched him walk away towards Harrar’s tent. She could see Harrar, with his shoulders hunched and his hands clasped together. Now he was the one who was pleading, ‘How much longer must I wait?’

  ‘Soon,’ the captain assured him. ‘Very soon.’

  ‘But “soon” is just not good enough. For goodness’ sake, man, can you not see the peril we are in? We were attacked last night. This village has been razed to the ground. There’s danger everywhere – we have to get away!’

  ‘Absolutely, your lordship, and we will cast off and set sail the moment we can. But I’m afraid that bad men and demons aren’t the only things we have to worry about.’

  ‘They aren’t?’ Harrar’s voice sounded even more plaintive. ‘You mean there’s more?’

  ‘Well, you see . . .’ The captain looked around, sucked in his breath through his teeth and said, ‘It’s the currents – in the river. I mean, the Nile’s like a woman. She may look calm on the surface, but there’s all sorts going on underneath – particularly around here. This is a very tricky stretch, especially at night.’

  ‘You must be able to do something. No one would ever get up and down the river otherwise.’

  ‘Ah! My lordship, you are obviously a very wise man, and yes, I can do something. I can tell my sounding-man to go up to the prow and drop a line into the water, and tell me exactly how deep the water is in front of us.’

  ‘Then what are you waiting for? Do that!’

  ‘Ah, well . . . yes . . . that’s the problem. The man’s had a bit too much to drink . . . well, quite a lot too much, to be fair. It’s his nerves. He’s not like you, my lord, a tough leader of men who’s cool and calm in the face of danger. Timid as a mouse, my sounding-man. But don’t worry, we’ll have him up and about in no time. Then he’ll get down to work, and we’ll be able to set sail.’

  ‘Then get on with it,’ Harrar said, very obviously making an effort to pitch his voice in a lower, tougher register. ‘I’m not waiting a moment more than is absolutely necessary.’

  Myssa mouthed a little kiss to Gatas as he passed her and he winked back in reply. By now, the captain had found two guardsmen to watch Shamshi and was standing beside her.

  ‘The door’s just a little bit open,’ she whispered to him. ‘Now we’ve got to get it wide open.’ She thought for a moment and smiled to herself. ‘I think I’ve got something . . . Just wait here, and I’ll be right back.’

  Myssa returned to the prow of the ship and darted a glance back to where Harrar stood. The ship’s sail had been furled, and the moon had risen in the night sky, so her position in the bow would now be just about visible to him.

  I’m the only woman on board this ship, she thought, and even if he’s only a pale shadow of a real man, he’ll surely be looking in my direction.

  Myssa made a great play of peering out into the darkness directly ahead of the ship, and then across the full expanse of the Nile. She gave a little cry of alarm and then turned around. Holding her dress higher to make it easier for her to run – and to give more for Harrar to see – she dashed, apparently in panic, to his tent.

  ‘My lord!’ she cried. ‘My lord!’

  The nobleman saw her coming, and perhaps emboldened by the captain’s description of his leadership ability, said, ‘Calm yourself, my dear. How can I help you?’

  ‘It’s . . . It’s . . . It’s the Sons of Apis, my lord . . . They’re out there, on the water, I know they are.’

  Trying very hard not to reveal the bowel-loosening terror Myssa’s words had instilled in him, Harrar asked, ‘And how, exactly, do you know this?’

  ‘Well, Lord Taita has been tutoring me in the ways of the Sons of Apis, and I’ve done further research of my own. And it is clear that they only attack at night – as we all know from last night’s assault, which you so bravely defeated.’

  ‘Yes, but that was last night. Are you saying that they are about to attack us again?’

  ‘No, eminence, I believe they plan to trap us. I was up at the front of the ship just now—’

  ‘Yes, I saw you.’

  ‘Well, I glimpsed some small rowing boats, patrolling back and forth on the water up ahead. It was only for a moment . . . If it wasn’t for the moonlight, I wouldn’t have seen them at all.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘The light was poor, but I think so. And there was something else . . . The men rowing them . . . they didn’t look like ordinary men. They were just patches of shadow that were even darker than the water and the sky.’

  ‘The Sons of Apis . . .’ Harrar said, failing to keep the tremble out of his voice.

  Myssa’s eyes flickered to Gatas and he stepped forward. Without missing a step, he picked up the thread of her story.

  ‘These members of the Sons of Apis are not fools. They know how many men we have, and how well you lead us. If they make another frontal attack, we will be ready for them. So their best hope is to lure us downriver, into the trap they have set for us.’

  ‘We already know that the blades of their swords are poisoned,’ Myssa cut in. ‘But from all that I have learned, they may not need swords at all. If they can trap us, and surround us, they have spells and curses that can kill us without striking a blow.’

  To someone who had never encountered the Sons of Apis, it would have seemed an absurdly far-fetched story, but Harrar had witnessed them at close quarters. And all day, the ship had been abuzz with soldiers and boatmen discussing these ghosts – these demons – and speculating about the terrible powers they must surely possess.

  ‘At night we will not be able to see their trap until it is too late,’ Gatas said. ‘At least in daylight we can make preparation to avoid any dangers. We’re safer here by the jetty, my lord. We can mount guards all around the ship, to make sure there’s no surprise attack – and if all else fails, we can leave the ship and run to dry land. Can’t do that in the middle of the river.’

  The opportunity to run away was clearly the clinching factor to Harrar.

  ‘I won’t have that kind of defeatist talk around here,’ he said.

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Bad for the men’s morale. But I want the Blue Crocodile Guards to double the number of men in the watches.’

  He stalked back to his shelter.

  Gatas whispered to Myssa, ‘Good work. Piay may owe you his life.’

  ‘Now I just pray that he’s back by morning,’ she replied. ‘There’ll be no persuading Harrar to delay any longer if he isn’t.’

  T

  he arguments had ceased for the night. The ship’s passengers and crew had settled down to sleep, leaving only the watchmen awake. And on shore, where the guardsmen had finished every last scrap of goat and drop of wine and were making ready to return to their vessel, Hannu was getting to his feet.

  For a man whose intoxication had been plain for all to see only a couple of hours earlier, and who was physically impeded at the best of times, Hannu looked remarkably steady and clear-eyed.

  ‘Right, lads,’ he said, gesturing to the men around him. ‘Gather round.’

  T

  he milky river of stars swept across the sable sky and the moon cast stark shadows across the pale desert. In the centre of the camp, the fire roared. A rumble of voices rolled out across the night as the men gathered to drink beer and gnaw on whatever food they had stolen from the farms along the valley.

  Piay rubbed the knots out of his muscles. He’d long ago given up hope of returning to the boat while the sun was still up. There was just no chance of getting in and out of the Shrikes’ camp in daylight. He could only pray that Myssa and the others would find some way of preventing Harrar from giving in to his cowardice and sailing for Memphis at the earliest possible opportunity.

  In the meantime, Piay had made the best of his long hours of waiting by planning his way in and out of the camp in the greatest possible detail. He had passed what remained of the day almost motionless, watching and memorising the layout of the camp and the movements of the men inside it. Soon it would be time for him to make his move.

  In the wake of their successful raid, the Shrikes had thrown themselves a feast. Piay reckoned that they’d drunk more than enough to dull their wits, and their raucous revelry would drown out any sounds he might make as he crept into the camp.

  As the cut-throats sang and laughed, two men heaved a throne of carved dark wood out of a tent and set it in front of the fire. A moment later a man strode out and sat in the chair like a king before his subjects. This must be Akh-Seth, someone who thought so highly of himself that he had styled himself brother to a god.

  Though Piay couldn’t discern the Shrike’s features from that distance, he was tall and moved with an unusual grace for a mere criminal. He was wearing finer clothes than those who followed him: a ruby-coloured robe with wide sleeves and a similar-coloured scarf around his head.

  Two other men walked out to stand on either side of the throne, folded their muscular arms and set their legs apart. It was almost as if they were daring the men in front of them to try their luck at killing Akh-Seth, Piay thought, but what caught his attention was not the men’s attitude but their race.

  They were Hyksos warriors, dressed in the familiar leather armour and caps, with their crescent swords hanging at their sides.

  Are these men deserters? Piay wondered. Or might they be a sign that these Shrikes have the blessing of King Khamudi?

  Slaves splashed whatever stew was bubbling on the fire into a bowl and kneeled before the throne, raising the dish up. As Akh-Seth lifted it to his lips and slurped a mouthful, a cheer rang out across the throng. A celebration of another successful day. More slaves hurried out with pitchers, slopping beer into cups waved in the air by the Shrikes. This Akh-Seth looked after his men well. That was how he earned their loyalty.