Sakir stood beside the cart with another barbarian. Above his beard, the marks of the pox now merged into a raw scarring from the burn Piay had inflicted on him. The tinkling came from the bones tied into his unkempt hair.

  Piay stiffened. Sakir had called himself the Red Hawk, but it was his other name that forced itself into Piay’s mind. He Who Walks With the Gods. Piay couldn’t help but think that some supernatural force had brought the warrior across the vast distance. The Hyksos captain had promised he would gain vengeance on Piay, and Piay had dismissed it as the bragging of a deluded barbarian. Now, as he watched Sakir put his head back and sniff the air, almost as if he could smell Piay’s musk, he felt a chill settle deep in his gut. The Red Hawk turned his head, levelling that sullen gaze on the faces of those who passed by, searching for the answer his instinct told him was close.

  The barbarian rested one large hand on the edge of the cart. It rocked under his fingers. Piay caught his breath; it burned in his chest. Did Sakir know where they were hiding and was toying with them? Piay felt the chill grow as he anticipated the barbarian tearing off the sheet to expose them. He had no weapon to defend himself. He and Hannu would be hacked to pieces in a moment.

  Sakir’s fingers slipped under the sheet. Dirt caked the nails. The cart rocked once again.

  Piay stared at that hand, unable to breathe. His thoughts tumbled over themselves. As he searched for a way out of their predicament, his gaze alighted on a brown shape as big as his palm nestled in the corner of the cart. A camel spider. Though it carried no venom, Piay had seen the wounds caused by one bite from those savage jaws.

  Taking care not to rock the cart, Piay wrapped his scarf around his hand and pushed it towards the creature. The camel spider lunged and then scurried up the side of the cart. Whisking his bound hand this way and that, Piay herded it towards where Sakir’s fingers lay.

  When the camel spider jolted out from under the sheet, the Red Hawk snatched his hand away with a curse. That seemed to be enough to distract him. Piay heard Sakir step back a few paces and then he barked an order for the caravan to move on. Piay felt relief flood him. But they were not safe yet.

  The cart rocked to a halt again and this time the sheet was ripped off. A slave gaped in shock when he saw the two men hiding among the merchandise. Piay pressed a finger to his lips and flashed a grin. It seemed to work, for the slave didn’t cry out.

  Piay eased out of the back of the cart and crawled around the side closest to the edge of the quay, where he was shielded from the view of any of the searching barbarians. Once Hannu had joined him, he scrambled along the line of carts.

  At Atmos’ ship, the sailors were about to draw up the plank. Piay scurried faster, waving to catch the men’s eyes. They hesitated just long enough for him to hurry up the plank and throw himself on to the deck. Hannu landed beside him.

  The barbarians continued to search the quayside. But the plank was already drawn up, the mooring lines thrown off, and the oarsmen were leaning into their strokes. They sang in full voice as they pulled the ship away from the port, drowning the clamour from dry land.

  ‘See, Hannu, the plan worked,’ Piay said.

  Hannu sucked in a breath. ‘I’ll give you that this time. But, by the gods, we sailed close to a messy end.’

  ‘Any escape is a good escape.’

  Piay breathed in the salty sea air as he strode astern. Looking past the man at the steering oar, he watched the roaming barbarians along the edge of the quay.

  One man stood like a statue, staring at the departing ship – Sakir, as he had done when they escaped the fire he had set in the fields. The Red Hawk had not seen them, or else he would have been summoning his men. But something about the vessel had arrested his attention.

  ‘Run home, you barbarian dog,’ Piay muttered. ‘You have lost this fight.’

  As the ship bobbed across the rolling waves, Sakir remained rigid, staring, and Piay felt the briefest hint of chill once again.

  T

  he firepot swung as the ship bucked on the swell. Sparks trailed in the dark and the red glow from the holes cut into the clay pot twisted shadows on the features of the man leaning on the steering oar. It was the only light in that vast expanse of water and night.

  Limned in that faint crimson, the silhouette of Atmos prowled towards the stern. Though the wind gusted harder by the moment, somehow the captain kept his feet on the shifting deck. Piay watched him from his seat on the benches. Was that concern he had seen etched in those features as Atmos passed?

  His own unease had mounted from the moment at sunset when the captain had ordered the sail to be furled. He’d noticed Atmos staring at the mountains of black clouds soaring up on the horizon before he made his decision. And as his command was uttered, the seasoned sailors around him had hunched over their oars with grim expressions.

  Now their faces were lost to the darkness. Their singing had long since ceased and Piay sensed them sitting rigid.

  Somewhere nearby, Hannu was perched on his bench. Piay wondered if his assistant was apprehensive, too.

  Once again the ship soared up high, then crashed down into a trough. Piay’s gorge rose and fell with it. He gripped the bench and muttered another prayer to Khonsu. Was this his punishment for leading his men to their deaths? Denied the afterlife in a watery grave?

  How blessed he had felt not so long ago. When they’d escaped Sena by the skin of their teeth, he’d watched the Hyksos on the quayside receding into the hazy distance. He’d felt a rush of headiness as if he was drunk. The hated enemy had lost. Now he was safe and he could turn his mind to the challenges ahead. With the gulls screeching overhead and the sunlight turning the waves to diamonds, he imagined the glory that would be his when he returned to Taita at the head of a great army which could reclaim sacred Egypt for ever.

  With a fair wind filling the sail, they’d skimmed across smooth waters under a clear sky the colour of sapphires. The sailors had sung raucous songs of drunkenness and fornication, and told tales of bravery and wonder that had been passed down from their ancestors. All had been well. Then, more than four days into their voyage and with the coast of Greece only a few hours away, a storm had blown in and suddenly Piay felt powerless. All his skills as a spy amounted to nothing in the face of the ocean’s fury.

  Lightning crackled at his back. The storm was bearing down on them fast. In the flash of white light, he glimpsed frozen moments: the desperate balers on their knees with their bowl-scoops, the seawater sluicing around them; rows of men gripping their oars for dear life, water streaming down their muscular backs; Hannu glancing back at him, his face graven.

  The light winked out and he plunged into the dark of the deepest well. The ship rose again, then crashed down. Piay felt his stomach in turmoil.

  A hand landed roughly on his shoulder. Atmos’ head pressed close to his ear and he shouted above the howl of the gale, ‘I need your help!’ The captain tugged on Piay’s arm.

  Piay lurched to his feet, straining to keep his balance as the ship rolled. For a moment, he felt afraid that he would be washed over the side and lost, but he braced his leg against the benches until the ship righted.

  Atmos grasped his wrist and dragged him on. Another flash of lightning burned an image of the captain stabbing a finger towards the stern. Piay peered past him, but the dark rushed in before he could see what was amiss.

  Piay stumbled past the benches. Another bolt of lightning fizzed, and this time he glimpsed the helmsman fighting with the steering oar. The hull was straining against the force of the waves. Seawater crashed across the deck and washed around his ankles.

  The ship rolled again. Piay pitched forwards. As he flailed to catch his balance, he sensed Atmos slip aside. The captain was a fleeting shadow half-caught in the thin glow from the firepot.

  An arm snapped around Piay’s neck, so tight he could barely breathe. He clawed at it, but his feet were sliding in the torrent on the deck and he could gain no purchase.

  Atmos dragged him back, keeping him off balance. He felt the captain press his head close once again and this time he said, ‘Sakir sends his greetings.’

  No one would come to his aid. The crew were lost in the swelling darkness, their every attention fixed on the battle to save their lives.

  In a shimmer of lightning, a bronze knife glinted in Piay’s face. One quick release of the arm holding him, a slash across his throat, and he would be done for.

  Piay’s thoughts flew back to the Hyksos warrior talking to Atmos on the quayside at Sena. A reward must have been offered. Perhaps Sakir insisted a head be taken to prove the deed had been done.

  Atmos’ grip begain to loosen. Piay imagined the knife ready to cut into his flesh.

  As the arm pulled away, he drove his heels down and threw all his weight into his shoulders. Atmos flew back on the slick planks, Piay with him. The captain roared as his back slammed into the side of the ship. A deluge crashed over them and Piay choked on a mouthful of brine.

  Struggling for purchase, Piay pinned the captain against the rail with his weight. The boat pitched. More waves broke over them. The violent convulsions were growing stronger.

  A fist crashed into the side of Piay’s head and down he went. Seawater streamed over his face, up his nose, into his mouth. He choked, engulfed by the sensation that he was drowning. He kicked out again and again until by chance he struck his foot against what seemed like the captain’s shin.

  Lightning blasted almost overhead and there was Atmos bearing down on him, knife raised, his face twisted in fury. As the night rushed in, Piay rolled to one side. He sensed the blade slash down and felt it punch into the wood of the deck.

  And then they were rolling in the foaming water, tearing at each other’s flesh. Flickering images burned into Piay’s mind with every burst of lightning: Atmos’ lips pulled back from his teeth; black pebble eyes in a white sheet of a face; the knife stabbing; Piay’s fingers raking the other man’s features.

  Instinct gripped him. Over and over they rolled in the deluge, but every time Piay tried to pin his opponent beneath him, the ship crashed across the waves and threw him away. Now the vessel seemed to be spinning in the force of those twisting currents.

  Somehow Atmos flung himself on top of Piay, one hand rammed into his shoulder. Piay flailed without hope for that knife hand. White light flared again and this time he glimpsed Atmos’ eyes widen with shock. Another face hovered behind the captain.

  Hannu gripped the sides of the captain’s head. In the sudden dark, Piay felt Atmos’ head being rammed into the deck beside him. Once. Twice. Three times, with such force the boards jerked. The final blow ended with a crack and the captain’s body slumped across him.

  ‘Help me!’ Hannu shouted.

  Piay crawled out as his assistant dragged the body off him. Lurching upright, he felt around in the pitch dark until he gripped the corpse and helped Hannu press it against the ship’s rail.

  ‘Over the side!’ Hannu bellowed.

  Piay braced himself, fumbled for a grip, and with Hannu’s aid he pitched Atmos into the roiling tumult.

  A wave slammed against them with the force of a rockfall and Piay spun back. Gasping for breath, he felt Hannu stumble across him.

  The hull was groaning almost as loudly as the roar of the elements. Piay felt a terrible dread.

  A crack echoed and it sounded like the world splitting in two. A weight thundered into the deck with a terrible splintering, and the cries of the seamen rang out. The storm had shattered the mast.

  Piay uttered a prayer. In the next lightning flare, he looked with horror on a scene of carnage. The fallen mast had shattered benches, pinned sailors beneath it and destroyed the side of the ship. The sail dragged in the mountainous waves, pulling the vessel down on one side.

  The deck swung up almost vertical and Piay skidded down towards the black waves. He felt Hannu’s weight against him, but then they were torn apart and he was falling.

  The hull was rent in two. Piay plunged into the surging waters, shattered wood raining on him. The bitter-cold sea closed over his head.

  Bodies swirled past him into the depths. Water flooded his nose and his mouth. In his mind’s eye, he glimpsed Taita, who had been like a father to him and who now would never know what had happened to his son. He saw Hannu, whom he had saved from despair and who had saved his life in turn. And he fleetingly caught sight of the faces of the men he had failed, but those features were blurred and fading. There was no one else – no warm hands, no comfort, no love – and as the last of his breath burned in his lungs, he thought what an awful sadness that was.

  Then there was only the blackness of the abyss.

  T

  he waves crashed to the beat of blood in Piay’s head. He breathed in salt wind and the tang of seaweed. His face prickled from the heat of the sun.

  As his thoughts swam up from the dark depths, his eyelids opened. Above him, gulls soared and dipped, shrieking their greeting. Like the drawing back of a shroud, the dullness in his mind slipped away until one realisation remained: he was alive.

  Pushing himself up from the wet sand, he looked around at a beach rolling out into the distance. Shards of wood were scattered, and offshore the broken bones of the ship’s hull floated on the swell. How close they must have been when that terrible storm tore their vessel apart.

  He could scarcely believe it. The terrifying sensation of being sucked down into the gulf clawed at his mind. How had he made it to dry land? Only Khonsu could have brought him to safety. Those prayers in Sena had been heard.

  Along the strand, a few sailors pulled themselves up and gazed about, as bewildered as he was. A few lay prone – alive or dead, he couldn’t tell. Some bodies floated face down in the surf.

  Staggering to his feet, Piay closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. For one moment he let the joy of being alive course through him. After that close brush with death, he would be a different man, he told himself. He would not be reckless. Perhaps he would heed advice and even listen to Hannu’s concerns.

  The thought of his companion sparked sudden worry and he whirled, scanning the men pulling themselves up on shaking legs like children learning to walk.

  Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled ‘Hannu! Hannu!’

  No reply came. He was surprised by his deep sadness at the thought that that irritable, sullen, disrespectful, acid-tongued assistant might not have survived. Throwing himself into a run, Piay called Hannu’s name again. When a cry came back, he raced on until he saw a short figure standing with folded arms.

  ‘You are alive!’

  ‘No thanks to you.’

  ‘Let us not grumble over our differences. We were lifted from a watery death by the hands of the gods. Our hearts beat in our chests and the fire still burns in our bellies. We are free to complete the great task we have been given, saved to become the saviours of Egypt. And complete it we will.’ Piay was already planning the next step of the journey. ‘And we no longer need to worry about the Hyksos.’

  ‘You believe that to be true?’

  Piay eyed his assistant. ‘We have left them far behind, across the Great Green.’

  ‘I have known men like Sakir. They are few and far between, that’s true, but when I fought in the Blue Crocodile Guards we would encounter them from time to time. Most men are carried along in the current of life and deposited wherever the waters take them. But these men steer their own course. They have their own codes. They see the world in a different way from other men. They have a fire inside them that burns hot, and once they want something they will put their whole will into achieving it. Sakir will come and this will not be over until one of you lies dead.’

  ‘You admire Sakir? Your words suggest you do.’

  ‘I have learned many things in my hard life, but the one that guides me is this – you must take the measure of your enemy. You must understand them fully and treat them with respect. That is the only way to defeat them.’

  Piay held out a hand. ‘I have defeated Sakir twice—’

  ‘You have escaped him twice.’

  ‘You worry too much.’

  Piay began to walk up the beach towards the green line of vegetation. He heard Hannu crunch behind him.

  ‘Sakir will come to Mycenae, mark my words,’ Hannu continued. ‘He will find your trail. He knows where Atmos’ ship was sailing. He will see the prints you make upon the earth. Death will come, and you will not hear it until it is upon you.’

  ‘More gloom, Hannu,’ Piay sighed. ‘I sometimes wonder why I take you along with me.’

  Hannu nodded. ‘A part of you knows well enough. And one day you will admit it to yourself.’

  I

  n the verdant pastures, the air was rich with sweet and unfamiliar scents, and though the sun was hot, the wind that blew from the mountains in the west was cooling.

  In citrus groves, they plucked oranges from branches heavy with fruit, tearing off the skin to eat the sweet, succulent contents. The juice refreshed them as much as any draught of water and the segments ended the rumbling in their bellies.

  Piay knew well the lush valley of the Nile and the burning desert beyond – the black earth and the red earth that shaped their lives – but this land was different. Woods of oak spread out, deep and dark and cool. Streams tinkled over stones and a river ran by a well-used track. Olive groves dotted the countryside beside tracts of shrubland. Wild boar and red deer roamed. The bounty of the land was great, and it seemed to him that a man could live here merely upon what the gods provided.

  He hoped the Mycenaean tongue that he had learned during his lessons with Taita would suffice to communicate with the inhabitants of this bountiful land. As they trekked, he tried to teach Hannu some words and phrases, though it would no doubt be like teaching a dog to read. But the little man managed to grasp some semblance of the teachings, even though he mangled every word that came back through his lips.

  The farmers they met were suspicious at first, but softened when they discovered Piay and Hannu were travellers from a foreign land. Piay learned they were now in Lacedaemon. The farmers seemed to take to Hannu and laughed with him, only the gods knew why. Piay soon found these people had a tradition of giving aid to strangers, and they were offered gifts of flatbread and olives and a white cheese made from the milk of goats.