Piay rolled onto his back and watched the stars for a while, letting the Shrikes sink deep into their drunkenness. As he studied the constellations, he thought back to what Shamshi had said about Imhotep’s secret being hidden in the stars. What could he have meant by that? If the Great Architect was as clever as legend said, could any of them ever hope to solve such a puzzle?

  Pushing these pessimistic thoughts out of his mind, Piay turned his attention to the noise of revelry in the camp. When the laughter reached fever pitch, he decided the time was right. Easing out from behind the boulder where he had been hiding, he pulled himself along on his belly. The nearest guard had not moved since night had fallen – sleeping, no doubt, after the rigours of the day – but Piay was not about to take any chances. He chose a looping path, following the contours of the hollow, and using whatever rocks littered the slopes for cover.

  Soon he reached the edge of the tents. A din of drunken voices rang back and forth. He could have danced into the camp singing and those cut-throats would not have heard him.

  Easing along the line of tents, Piay found the large one he had identified earlier. He could hear the women’s voices chattering within. Two were trying to calm one who sounded much younger, her cries cracking with sorrow.

  ‘If you carry on this way they’ll punish you,’ one of the women was saying. ‘And believe me, you can’t even imagine what they’ll do to you.’ The voice was edged with the bitterness of experience.

  The younger girl continued to sob. ‘I want my mother.’

  So there was the girl Piay was looking for. He glanced around, checked that he had not been spotted, summoned his courage and then wriggled under the edge of the tent.

  One of the women shrieked in shock as Piay emerged from under the canvas. He hissed for her to be silent.

  ‘I am here to save you,’ he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips for good measure.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked a woman with a bruise on her cheek.

  Piay recognised that voice. She was the one who had spoken so harshly to the girl, and now Piay could understand why. Sour lines were etched around her mouth, and the muscles of her face had hardened along with her heart, so that she looked like one of the desert rocks.

  Piay had seen this before in those who had endured deprivation. The suffering of days past, and the fear of days of hardship ahead, formed a shell around their natural kindness and selflessness, sealing it away. Their own survival became all that mattered to them.

  Piay counted ten women in the tent. All had been stripped of their clothing.

  ‘My name is Piay of Thebes,’ he began. ‘The Pharaoh of the Upper Kingdom has sent an army to drive out the last of the Hyksos force. The two kingdoms will then become one and the misery you have suffered will be no more.’

  The promise of good times to come did not impress the hard-faced woman any more than it had the weeping widow in the village.

  ‘How does this help us?’ she asked, contemptuously.

  ‘Now that I’ve found the Shrike camp, I will send men here to free you – the finest soldiers in all Egypt. You have my word.’

  The other women seemed to believe Piay. One or two pressed their hands together and rocked, tears of desperate joy streaming down their faces. He looked around until he saw a girl cowering.

  ‘You,’ he said. ‘Are you the one the Shrikes took today?’

  The girl nodded. She looked no more than ten, her eyes wide above her dirty cheeks.

  ‘I have promised your mother I will take you back to her tonight.’

  The girl’s face lit up with joy.

  ‘The rest of you need not worry,’ Piay said, looking around at the other women. ‘I swear I’ll come back tomorrow, with the soldiers and—’

  ‘Don’t give us promises,’ the hardened woman spat. ‘Even if we believed them, words are no good to us. You don’t get it. Every night here is an eternity. You cannot begin to imagine . . .’ She choked off the words. ‘We’re not waiting another day.’

  The other women were nodding. Piay felt his heart go out to them. But what could he do?

  ‘I hear your plea,’ he said. ‘You are right, I cannot imagine the miseries you have experienced at the hands of the Shrikes, but I can only beg of you to endure one more night—’

  ‘No,’ the hard-faced woman snapped.

  ‘If I try to take you all this night, we will be caught. I will be killed and your fate will be sealed.’

  The woman’s eyes flashed and Piay thought he could see a hint of madness in them. Whatever she had experienced had shredded her wits. There was no point even trying to reason with her, but he had to try one more time.

  ‘I beg of you, let me take the girl,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘She is young. She has not yet had to bear the burden that has crushed you all down. Let her escape with her innocence intact.’

  The other women stared at the girl as if remembering themselves at that age. One of them blinked away a tear. Another raised trembling fingers to her lips.

  ‘You must take all of us or none of us.’ The hard-faced woman with the bruise on her cheek narrowed her eyes.

  ‘The stranger is right,’ one of the other women said. ‘This girl is untouched. She still has a chance to live the life that the gods have blessed her with.’

  ‘Yes, take her,’ another said. ‘Take her.’

  ‘This will be our sacrifice. One more night of misery to ensure this girl escapes suffering.’

  ‘No!’ The hard-faced woman balled her fist and hammered it into the ground. ‘This is not fair. All of us or none of us.’

  Piay felt despair. He understood the woman’s anger, but he could not agree to her wishes. There was no possible way of getting so many of them past the guards and out of the camp.

  One of the women had a split lip and a patch on her scalp where her hair had been torn out. She must have seen the plight in his face, for she leaned forward and said, ‘Take the girl. We will see to this one.’

  ‘If you take her and leave me,’ the hard-faced woman said, ‘I will scream until the Shrikes come running.’

  ‘If you dare open your mouth, we will gouge out your eyes,’ said the one with the split lip. ‘You aren’t the only one who’s suffered.’

  In defiance, the hard-faced woman threw back her head, preparing to scream, but the other women fell on her, stuffing their fingers into her mouth and beating her with their fists.

  Piay grabbed the girl’s hand and dragged her to the edge of the tent.

  ‘Follow me,’ he whispered. ‘Do not make a sound. Can you do that?’

  The girl nodded, her eyes still wide, and Piay smiled before wriggling out under the side of the tent. He crouched outside while he waited for the girl to join him. From within the tent, the sounds of struggle echoed. They had only a little time before the alarm was raised, he was certain of it.

  ‘Move as fast as you can, but keep close to the ground,’ he breathed to the girl.

  Piay dropped to all fours and crawled back along the trail he had made in the dust on his way down the slope, with the girl following close behind. The raucous festivities in the camp rolled out across the night. That was good. There was still hope that the women’s struggles would not be heard.

  Around a low ridge of boulders they crept. Piay peered at the guard, silhouetted against the night sky. Still he had not moved.

  Behind him, the girl showed no fear.

  ‘Only a little farther,’ he whispered. ‘Beyond the edge of the hollow we will not be seen. Then we can run.’

  As Piay clawed his way up the slope, he heard a commotion behind him and he felt his heart sink. Glancing back, he saw the hard-faced woman wriggle out from the edge of the tent, her naked body spectral in the moonlight. Blood streaked her face from a wound on her forehead.

  ‘A stranger!’ she screamed. ‘Stealing a girl! Stop him!’

  At the cry, the guard jolted to life. He whirled around and saw Piay and the girl framed in the moonlit sweep of the incline. His cry of alarm rang out, mixing with the high-pitched shrieks of the woman, and that frenzied sound cut through the din in the camp. A moment of silence followed and then Piay saw rapid movement around the campfire, like an ants’ nest that had been disturbed.

  He grabbed the girl by the shoulders and peered deep into her eyes.

  ‘Run,’ he said. ‘Run as fast as your feet will carry you. Follow the trail of footprints and it will take you back to the valley and the fields and your mother. Go!’

  The girl let out a cry and raced up the slope and over the rim. Piay prayed she would survive. If he had attempted to go with her, the Shrikes would have hunted them both down without mercy. At least now she would stand a chance. His days were done, though. Hannu had been right, as he usually was.

  Turning, Piay whipped out his sword and braced himself. His hope was that he could at least delay the advancing horde long enough for the girl to put some distance between herself and the camp.

  When the Shrikes streamed out of the camp, he felt pleased to see his calculation had been correct. The girl was already forgotten. All eyes were on the man with the sword who had dared challenge their authority.

  The cut-throats raced up the slope with their stolen swords and axes and spears.

  How many of them can I get before they get me? he wondered.

  Piay gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands.

  ‘Who will be the first to die?’ he yelled, putting on a show.

  The Shrikes must have thought him mad to stand his ground and not flee in terror from such a number. And perhaps he was. But he could go to his death knowing that he had done some good in the world and that he had not let Myssa down.

  The murderous thieves swept up the slope and surged around him, keeping a good distance. His cry had clearly done its work. No one was going to risk his life first.

  Piay whirled around, watching for an attack coming from any direction. The cut-throats bounded forward, then leaped back as he slashed with his blade. Now they had started laughing at this sport. He was like a rat cornered in a mill and they could afford to take their time to wear him down.

  Then their ranks parted and one of the Hyksos guards stepped forward. Piay glimpsed something in the warrior’s hands. As the warrior spun it around his head, Piay realised it was a sling made of hide. That revelation came a moment too late. The warrior snapped the sling and a chunk of rock flew out, crashing off the side of Piay’s head.

  His wits flew away for a moment and he felt himself sag to his knees, his sword slipping from his grasp. The Shrikes roared as one, and an instant later they fell upon him.

  T

  he Shrikes jeered as Piay stumbled around the campfire at the end of a spear tip, with his hands tied behind his back. He felt the heat from the blaze sear his face and he choked on the smoke billowing off it. His skull throbbed where the stone had cracked it, and blood from the wound caked his ear. But he was alive, for now.

  The spear tip prodded into his back and he stumbled forward. On the far side of the fire, Akh-Seth still lounged on his throne. He was smirking, his chin resting on one hand with an index finger reaching up to the edge of his eye.

  Even through the fug of pain, Piay felt surprise. Now that he was close, he could see that the robber baron was Hyksos, too. His eyes were dark and glittering in the firelight, and his nose was like a hawk’s beak above an oiled moustache and beard. Under his ruby robe, he looked strong, and he exuded the pride and self-confidence of a battle-hardened warrior.

  Akh-Seth raised his hand and slowly lowered it. At his signal the jubilant roars of the thieves ebbed away. The baron looked Piay up and down, a quizzical smile on his lips.

  ‘My men say you must be mad,’ he began, his voice rich. ‘To come into this camp, alone? Did you seriously think you would survive?’

  ‘I’m still alive,’ Piay said.

  Akh-Seth laughed at that.

  ‘So, now I’ve got a question for you,’ Piay said. ‘Why haven’t you and your Hyksos friends fled north like whipped dogs, with your tails between your legs, just like the rest of your kind?’

  If Piay had expected the words to sting, Akh-Seth did not show it.

  ‘Good question,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘When there’s so much plunder to be had, why indeed would I stay here robbing from farmers who’ve barely got more than the dirt under their nails?’ He raised a finger in the air and waved it. ‘Perhaps because I’m after a bigger prize. Riches greater than any man could imagine, buried a thousand years ago. Clues hidden in the stars.’

  Piay felt a chill deep in his gut. He thought back to the body of the Son of Apis. How much information had the torture prised out of him?

  Akh-Seth leaned forward, looking more closely at Piay’s face, reading it for clues.

  ‘Well, now, this is interesting . . . You know what I’m talking about, don’t you? So, I’ll be straight with you, and listen carefully because your life depends on it. I’m after Imhotep’s secret, and you could be just the man to help me.’

  Akh-Seth smiled, shrugged, then added, ‘Or you could be just another dead body.’

  M

  ost of the camp was rank with the stink made by such a large number of men and the waste they produced, crowded into a small space. But when Piay was shoved into Akh-Seth’s tent, the warm air was heavy with the scents of sandalwood and lavender. The two Hyksos guards prodded him forward until he stood in the centre of the space, caught in the glow of a single lamp. While Akh-Seth flopped onto a pile of sumptuous cushions, one of the guards pulled the flap of the tent down so they would not be overhead.

  ‘Aren’t you afraid your men will be inflamed by all that talk of riches beyond imagining and try to find the secret without you?’ Piay said.

  Akh-Seth shrugged. ‘They’re thieves. That’s what they do.’

  ‘What use is a band of men you cannot trust?’

  ‘I don’t need to trust them. I only need them to do my bidding, for now.’

  ‘And when they have served their purpose?’

  ‘They will get a reward, of one kind or another.’ Akh-Seth looked at the two bodyguards and said, ‘Untie his hands.’

  As Piay was rubbing his wrists and feeling the tingle of blood pouring back into his hands, Akh-Seth gave another command and one of his men poured wine from a pitcher into four cups: one of them gold and encrusted with jewels, the other three plain fired clay. The guards gave the gold one to their master. They each took a clay one and handed the final cup to Piay.

  Piay stared into the blood-red depths of the wine, caught off guard by this show of generosity.

  ‘Drink,’ Akh-Seth said. ‘It is from the finest Syrian grapes. There’s no reason why we can’t talk like civilised men.’

  Piay raised the cup to his lips and felt the sweetness of the contents flood his mouth.

  ‘Akh-Seth,’ he said. ‘That’s a grand name you’ve chosen for yourself.’

  ‘I was not the one who chose it.’ The barbarian sipped his wine. ‘My true name is Khin.’

  ‘I am Piay.’

  ‘Well, Piay, let me start our conversation by stating something that should be perfectly obvious. But a man can never be too careful.’ Khin smiled as an afterthought occurred to him and added, ‘A point you should have considered before walking into a camp filled with armed men on your own.’

  Then, in an instant, Khin’s face hardened, and his eyes were hard and cruel as he leaned forward and said, ‘You will only live for as long as I think you can give me information that can help me in my quest. If you possess information but you refuse to share it with me, my men will torture you until you either talk, or die. And if you truly know nothing, then you will die at once, for why would I waste food and water on a man who serves me no purpose?’

  It struck Piay that Khin’s terms were little different to the ones Taita and Gatas had placed before Shamshi. He sighed and gave a rueful shake of the head. He hadn’t expected to be in the exact same situation as the Hyksos priest.

  ‘Do I bore you?’ Khin asked, misreading Piay’s reaction.

  ‘Not at all. Please, continue. Who knows, you may mention something that I do know about, and then, perhaps, we can reach an agreement . . . like civilised men.’

  ‘Very well, then . . .’ Khin paused for a second to order his thoughts and said, ‘Those men out there, those thieves and vagabonds, are merely a means to an end. I serve His Majesty King Khamudi, may the blessing of Re be upon him.’

  ‘As well as serving yourself—’

  ‘Of course! Every loyal general lusts for the glory and plunder that victory will bring him. Every fawning courtier dreams of favour and advancement. Why should I be any different? I faithfully reported that I had found a man who was unlike any I had ever before seen, and I passed on the one thing he had said.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘Let’s just say it related to the quest. Now, I admit, I also told my superiors that those were his dying words. But . . .’ Khin shrugged. ‘The man was going to die anyway, it was just a matter of where and when – as with us all. And, happily, it turned out that he was not as unique as I had first thought. Perhaps you saw what’s left of one of his friends on your way here.’

  ‘Perhaps.’ Piay shrugged. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Come now – you saw him, and you knew exactly what he was . . . And I’ll wager you saw the state of him and wondered, “Did they get him to talk?”’

  ‘How could he say anything? His mouth was full.’

  ‘Ha! Very good! Perhaps I should keep you as my jester.’

  ‘Maybe you should tell me the rest of your story. It may be such a joke that I can’t possibly compete.’

  ‘Or maybe you should learn to curb your tongue, before it gets you killed.’

  ‘All right then,’ Piay said, ‘tell me more and I will listen seriously. As I recall, you were just describing how you told your superiors about the man you’d found.’

  ‘That’s right . . . I delivered my information. Then the priests and scribes went away to investigate, and the next thing I knew I was being told that I was now a part of a quest for something of the greatest possible value to my king and my people. So, of course, that seemed like a noble task, and yes, it could also be of value to me, too. But then matters became more complicated . . .’