‘Aye. Ten is a good number. We can do that.’

  Somewhere in the pit of the shipyard, Sakir waited. He could afford to bide his time with the Egyptians and Spartans enjoying their victory celebrations at Thebes. Was he preparing to flee with the other barbarians? Perhaps he planned to take one of the smaller galleys moored nearby? Why else would he have departed the battlefield to set up camp here once news had reached him that Hurotas had brought reinforcements?

  Piay imagined Sakir sitting in the shadows, chewing on the leaves of the blue lotus, hearing the whispers of his dark god. Would Seth have warned him that Piay was coming? Was he waiting to extract his final punishment before leaving?

  ‘You don’t need to come with me,’ Piay said.

  ‘Now you’re talking like you’ve drunk too much beer.’

  ‘It could be a trap.’

  ‘It could be a walk by the river on a pleasant morning. Let’s wait and see, shall we.’

  ‘I was only saying—’

  ‘Well, stop wasting your breath.’ Hannu drew his sword. ‘Just like old times. You, me, and a band of barbarians who don’t yet know they’re already dead.’

  He started to crawl ahead before Piay could say any more.

  As Piay crept to the edge of the field, the air became thick with the rich scent of the loam that had been excavated. A path that offered some cover wound down. That was good. The moon was too bright and he didn’t want to be caught out in the open.

  Dropping flat, he made his way down the winding slope into the shipyard. Hannu slithered behind him. At the foot, Piay prowled behind a pile of timber where he could gain a good view of the shipyard. Hannu had been right. Four more guards had been hidden from view. If they’d blundered down, they would be dead by now.

  Piay nodded to Hannu and they crept in opposite directions. They both knew what had to be done. The fires cracked and spat.

  Silently, Piay eased behind the guard, clamping his left hand across the man’s mouth and raking his sword across the throat. The guard thrashed, but Piay kept his hand tight to stifle any cries, then dragged his victim to the ground where he wouldn’t be seen.

  Like a ghost, Piay drifted into the shadows next to one of the ships being repaired. Every fibre of his being was on alert, every lesson Taita had taught him about being a spy clear in his mind. The second guard fell just as easily, the blade stabbing up under the ribcage, the hand across the mouth dragging the man back so he could not gain purchase in his death throes.

  The third slid down into one of the channels awash with brown river water. This time there was a faint splash and Piay stiffened, waiting to see if any of the other guards had heard. After a moment, he moved on.

  Crawling behind a heap of rotting, discarded sailcloth, Piay glanced around the shipyard. His task had become more difficult. The remaining guards in his line of sight paced around the yard or sat in the glow of the fires. He would have to try to lure them into the dark, one by one.

  Piay listened as the soft tread of one of the guards neared. Picking up a small pebble, he tossed it into the dark by the ships behind him. The pebble rattled into the gloom, but only faintly. It could have been one of the river rats foraging for food.

  The footsteps came to a halt. Piay held his breath. A moment passed and then the guard stepped forwards, deciding to investigate. Piay watched his shadow fall across the glow of the firelight. As he walked past the sailcloth, he loomed against the sky. He was a big man – broad shoulders, a belt of fat overlying muscle around his waist. He crunched towards the edge of the shadows and peered into the dark, weighing up whether to investigate further.

  When the barbarian took another step forwards, Piay eased himself to his feet and stalked behind the guard. He’d taken three steps when a cry of alarm rang out across the shipyard. The body of his first victim had been discovered. Piay silently cursed.

  The big guard spun round and stared at Piay creeping up behind him.

  ‘To arms!’ he roared.

  Piay lunged, but his enemy’s sword was already in his hand. The Hyksos warrior heaved the blade down with a force that could have split a man in two. Piay leaped to one side and stabbed, but the heavily built barbarian was faster. With a twist of his weapon, he knocked the strike aside.

  All around, cries rang out, accompanied by the sound of running feet.

  Ducking, Piay snatched up a chunk of timber and hurled it. The wood clattered off the barbarian’s head. Seizing his moment, Piay dashed past the dazed Hyksos warrior and weaved among the maze of cedarwood logs to where the repaired galleys rested in their channels, ready to be launched down the ramps to the river. Hannu came from the dark to intercept him.

  ‘How many?’ his friend asked.

  ‘Three,’ Piay replied.

  ‘Three,’ Hannu said with a nod. ‘Six dead, but no sign of Sakir.’

  The call and response of the searching barbarians rang out, drawing closer. Piay glanced round and a revelation struck him.

  ‘Sakir must be on one of these galleys. Easy to defend. Ready to launch in the blink of an eye.’

  ‘And a trap for us,’ Hannu growled. ‘If we are caught on deck with the rest of his men at our backs, we won’t stand a chance.’

  As the sound of the barbarians drew nearer, Piay hurried away, sweeping from galley to galley. There were five of them. Most had holes in the hulls and were being repaired. Only one looked riverworthy. Piay pointed to a ladder resting on the side.

  ‘This one.’

  Hannu glanced round. Those running feet were drawing in on them.

  ‘We can’t risk being caught up there,’ he said.

  ‘We . . . I . . . have no choice. If we flee now, Sakir will vanish along the river and I will never see Myssa again.’

  ‘If you venture on board, you will die.’

  Piay clapped a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘If I do not seize this moment, I will never be able to live with myself.’

  Hannu nodded. He understood.

  ‘I have a plan,’ Piay said. ‘But you won’t like it.’

  Once he’d outlined the details, Piay scrambled up the ladder. He swung himself over the side and crouched on the moonlit deck. All was still. The shipwrights hadn’t finished their labours and the boards were strewn with pieces of timber and rolls of sailcloth, and tools discarded when the day’s work had ended. Instantly Piay knew he had made the right choice. The firepot had been lit for warmth, the red embers glowing like the eyes of a feral beast through the ventilation holes in the side of the pot.

  ‘Egyptian.’ The voice rumbled from the shadows beyond the benches where the captain’s shelter stood.

  Piay drew his sword.

  Sakir emerged from under the shelter and stretched the kinks from his muscles. His charred face was lost to the dark.

  ‘I knew you would come.’

  ‘Where is Myssa?’

  ‘Your woman is dead.’ The Red Hawk’s voice was emotionless. ‘I cut off her head and tossed her body into the river for the crocodiles to feast on.’

  Piay felt despair consume him. He had refused to consider this outcome, but it was what he had feared all along.

  ‘Why should I keep her alive?’ Sakir continued, taking pleasure in the pain he knew he was inflicting. ‘She was of no use to me.’

  Piay’s anger roared like a furnace. He gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands and stalked along the deck. The moonlit world seemed to shatter into a thousand pieces until his vision focused on the form that was the object of all his loathing. The charred black head tipped back, and though he couldn’t be sure, Piay thought his enemy was smiling.

  Sakir drew his sword and levelled it.

  You will die, Piay thought, even if I have to die to end your days.

  As he prowled forwards, Piay felt movement that jerked him from his trance. Beneath his feet, the galley jolted. He knew Hannu had hacked through the hide ropes that held it in place, and was now knocking away the wooden blocks and scaffolding that stabilised the vessel during repairs. Shouts rang out from across the shipyard.

  Piay prayed that Hannu would get away. With his injured leg, he couldn’t move fast and he had four barbarians on his trail. A part of him knew Hannu was willing to sacrifice his own life so Piay could wreak his vengeance in the same way that Piay was giving up his own for Myssa’s memory.

  The galley lurched forwards, gathering speed. The ladder crashed away. At least the other men would not be able to clamber on board. This was between him and Sakir alone. It would all end here.

  The ship slammed into the water, a fan of spray washing over the prow. Piay crashed onto his back from the impact. Scrambling to his feet, he saw Sakir with one arm curled round the mast. The Red Hawk seemed unmoved. Did nothing trouble him?

  The galley slipped out into the current, turning slowly as it drifted downstream. The firepot swung gently, the amber light shifting the shadows across the deck.

  Sakir pushed himself back until he was balancing on his toes and then he levelled the sword again.

  ‘Seth is with me,’ he said with the strange sibilance. ‘Seth is always with me and he has promised me victory.’

  ‘Then the god of the desert whispers lies.’ Piay moved his blade from side to side. His rage burned in his heart. ‘Those lies have stripped everything from you. Your status, your men, your face, and now this land you conquered. Egypt will be back in the hands of the Pharaoh. Seth has ensured you have lost everything.’

  Piay and Sakir leaped forwards in the same moment, bounding from bench to bench with immaculate timing. Sakir swung his blade in an arc as they passed. Piay ducked beneath the flashing weapon and lashed out with his own sword. The Red Hawk danced a whisker away from the tip and crashed on to the boards. He threw himself to his feet in an instant, as calm and relentless as death. He was hurtling back before Piay had even turned.

  Piay felt sluggish, his reactions too slow. His head was filled with his fury, the overwhelming compulsion for vengeance for Myssa’s murder. His heart ached for what he had lost. But the strength of his emotions had blunted him, dulling the precision he needed as a skilled swordsman.

  In the light of the swinging firepot, Sakir’s good eye glowed. His teeth were bared in a victorious grin. He knew what torment raged in his opponent. He knew he had the upper hand.

  Piay retreated towards the prow. Stay calm, he urged himself, but his fury was out of control.

  The Red Hawk advanced once more, thrusting his sword towards Piay’s heart. Piay jammed his weapon up in time, deflecting the strike, but the tip of the blade raked across his arm. He choked back a howl as the agony from the wound lanced through him.

  As Piay reeled back, he glimpsed the firepot, knowing instantly what he needed to do. Hacking through the leather thong that suspended it, he grasped the frayed end and swung the pot at Sakir. Red-hot embers flew out, sizzling against the barbarian’s skin. Sakir did not cry out, but he fell back nonetheless.

  The firepot crashed across the deck, shattering. More embers spun out, landing on the rolls of sailcloth and discarded timber. Flames licked up, the river wind whipping them into a roaring spiral. In no time, the fire was raging across the deck.

  Sakir pulled himself up to his full height, limned in red against the wall of flames. He raised his sword, unmoved, as if he had decided that his time was done and they would both die together here. He did not seem to fear death. Piay, too, had given up on life, now that there was nothing to keep him in this world.

  Piay breathed in a blast of hot air. His lungs seared and his skin bloomed. For a moment, he was back in that burning field, fleeing for his life with Hannu and the captive he had saved. It seemed like an age ago, when he had been a different man.

  His skin still smoking from where the embers had burned him, Sakir pounced. Piay clashed his sword against the barbarian’s weapon. With the inferno flaring all around, they pressed together in a furious dance, their faces close as their swords locked and ground.

  Piay thrust with all his strength and Sakir spun back two steps. At each other again, they came, weapons ringing together as they swept back and forth across the benches. Piay fixed his mind on that blur of bronze while trying not to lose his footing. The burning ship continued to turn in the currents so that the wind blasted the flames in different directions. His skin was scorched and he was sure he was on fire. The flames roared so high he could see nothing of the riverbanks; the sky was a black cloak overhead.

  The Red Hawk lowered his shoulders, ready to drive forwards again. Sensing an opportunity, Piay hurled himself, slamming into the barbarian. They careered over the benches, Piay shifting his weight to keep his advantage, until he glimpsed the black square of the open hold.

  Thrusting with all his strength, Piay bowled Sakir over the edge and they both crashed down into the belly of the vessel. The barbarian hit the floor, Piay thudding on top of him. He felt some of the Hyksos warrior’s ribs shatter beneath him.

  Piay lurched to his feet. Here and there, the boards of the deck had burned through and fire rained down from above. Though he desperately tried to suck in air, he found himself choking on smoke.

  Piay staggered a few paces, feeling as if he was drowning in the heat. As Sakir lumbered upright, Piay sensed another movement towards the rear of the hold. Half-turning, he felt a wave of shock that cut through the seething furnace.

  Myssa was sprawled on a heap of sailcloth, her hands bound behind her back, her ankles tied, a gag across her mouth. Her eyes were wide and she was trying to scream to catch his attention, but the muffled cry was lost beneath the roaring of the fire.

  Piay felt his heart leap with joy at the sight of her, but only for an instant. Sakir swept forwards, hacking, his broken ribs barely hampering him. Piay stumbled back, but the barbarian’s weapon smashed against his blade, knocking it from his hands.

  Piay spun in desperation, crouching beside Myssa. Weaponless, there was nothing he could do but watch the Red Hawk come to them.

  He’d failed, at the very last.

  Looking at the woman he loved more than life itself, Piay hoped for a final moment of affirmation before this life was stolen from them. Yet as he did, he saw Myssa’s eyes were moving to the right. He followed her gaze and glimpsed Jabilo’s spear lying on the sailcloth, the one Myssa had armed herself with after the Abantu warrior had sacrificed himself.

  Piay snatched the spear and raised it, just as Sakir swung his crescent sword down. The spear tip plunged into the Hyksos captain’s belly and Piay heaved it upwards, pushing hard until he almost lifted the barbarian off his feet.

  The crescent sword slipped from the barbarian’s fingers. Piay rammed one final time, heaving his mortal enemy back and pitching him into the conflagration raging at the other end of the hold.

  Piay snatched up the fallen sword and cut through Myssa’s bonds. She ripped away the gag and tried to speak, but the air was too hot to breathe, the din of the inferno too loud. Yet he could tell from her eyes all that she wanted to say.

  Please, great Khonsu, do not let us die here, Piay thought.

  As the blistering heat closed in, Piay felt his life ebbing away. But he would not give in, not now he had finally found what he wanted. He threw himself at the hull, kicking as hard as he could. The timbers cracked; the joints of the ship were already weakened by the fire.

  Again he kicked, and again, and then one of the planks shattered. Cold river water gushed in. He wrenched at the opening to rip it wider and Myssa threw herself beside him, pulling at the splintering wood. The black water cascaded around their legs and the galley start to keel.

  When the hole was bigger, he pushed Myssa forwards. She held his gaze, a look that lifted his spirits to the heavens, and then she plunged through and was gone.

  Piay glanced back along the hold, anticipating Sakir rising from the flames. But this time he was certain his tormentor was dead.

  P

  iay clawed his way through the papyrus beds and rolled on to his back in the muddy bank next to Myssa. His skin was raw and his lungs ached, but he was alive.

  And Myssa was alive, too.

  He turned to her, taking in every detail of her features as if she might be snatched away from him in the blink of an eye. Myssa kept staring at the stars. Her hand fumbled across the mud and clasped his, squeezing it.

  ‘I knew you would come,’ she breathed, so low it was almost lost beneath the whisper of the wind in the rushes.

  Her words echoed Sakir’s, though they came from a different place. Piay watched the flames shooting up from the black water in the middle of the river. Myssa slid in next to him. An orange circle spread across the surface of the water around the burning galley. Gradually the circle grew smaller as the ship sank, until it winked out in a hiss and a cloud of steam. Bubbles emerged and disappeared, the ripples ebbed away and Mother Nile returned to serenity.

  In the moonlight, dark shapes swam sinuously across the water from the reed beds, then submerged. The river crocodiles were searching for prey.

  Footsteps pounded along the track by the river and Piay rested a hand on Myssa’s forearm to urge her to stay quiet. Whoever it was stopped running, the only sound the panting of breath.

  The person crashed through the vegetation to the water’s edge and stared across the river.

  ‘No!’ he shouted, his voice cracking. ‘Why have you gone? I have failed you!’

  Piay glanced at the silhouette against the night sky and recognised a familiar outline. He grinned.

  ‘Silence,’ Piay called. ‘You will frighten the crocodiles.’

  The figure jolted as if it had seen a ghost, then moved through the undergrowth towards Piay. Hannu looked down.

  ‘What foul game is this? You would torment me now?’ he snarled.

  Piay rose to his feet, wincing from the burns. ‘No torment, old friend. I am merely pleased to be alive.’

  ‘I thought you were dead. I followed the burning ship along the river as best I could . . . and then it vanished . . .’

  Piay clapped his hands on his friend’s arms. ‘Enough talk. Now it is time to celebrate victory, and a new dawn in a new world.’