Blood of Pharaohs
Chapter Ten
Heat drags on my limbs, siphons the moisture straight out of my veins. Esmar leans heavy on my shoulder, sweat beading on her forehead. The ringing buzz of cicadas keeps my focus sharp on my aching calves, back, my feet.
The scent of damp earth and cedar clutches at the edge of the air. The Euphrates a jagged gash in the distance, banks packed with squat gnarled trees.
At long last the wagons pull to a stop near a patch of greenery. Most of the widows slump against trees or collapse in the shade of shrubs, a few gather at the supply wagon to replenish their water.
I ease Esmar between the roots of a tree, offset from the rest and pass her my jug. “Drink as much as you want. We’re nearly to the river.”
I grab her empty one and head for the wagon. A line stretches behind it. Half a dozen men in palace greens are dotted amongst the sweaty and bedraggled widows, most a few shades darker than when we set out.
I hang back, crouch in the cool undergrowth, out of direct sight. By the time the caravan had stopped to make camp the previous night Esmar was too shaky to risk her handling a knife anywhere near my face.
I pick at a loose thread in my sleeve, watch a woman with hair braided to her waist dump the entirety of her freshly filled jug on her head and reenter the line.
“Not into crowds,” asks a voice beside me.
A jolt ricochets inside my chest and I grapple with the urge to wheel around. From the hooded corner of my vision I catch the outline of a figure leaning heavily against a tree, arms folded over a broad chest.
I clear my throat and attempt my least crackly voice. “Not particularly. You?”
“I drive the thing so, unrestricted access,” he says, a shrug evident in his tone.
“Ah.” Must be nice, sitting on one's ass, well fed and watered, setting a pace those like Esmar struggle to keep. I half carried her the final hours last night after she slipped and couldn’t regain her footing. With another five days at least before we can hope to complete the trek to any coastal town on our own. She might not make it. My heart twists in my chest.
Unless...
I inflect my next words with as much sympathy as I can muster. “I’ll bet all that sitting on a hard bench puts an ache in your rear end.”
“That it does,” he says.
“They don’t let you switch out with anyone?” I hold my breath, wait for him to clamp his jaws on the hook.
“It’s not that I’m forbidden.” His tone is unsure. Perfect. “There’s just no one to take over.”
“Oh. That’s too bad.” I let a pause sit in the air, long and exposed, like I’m thinking. “You know my sister has some experience, and with you nearby giving instructions, I’m sure she could manage.” She doesn’t but it’s not that hard to hold reins.
There’s a rustle, the tearing of snagged threads against bark. “I don’t know.”
“Of course. You control the most essential part of this journey, without which we all die. Can’t be too careful.” I nod vigorously. Chance a glance over. “You got family waiting for you when you return?”
“Yeah,” he says, hesitant, guarded.
“That’s great. Ah, to have a nice warm meal waiting. I’d do just about anything for some roast duck right now.” I pull out the last of the cakes Esmar made. When I tried to give it to her she insisted it was mine, I disagreed. It will decay awaiting a verdict. Perhaps this will serve us both better. “But you know, I’m not even sure if they have spits in Egypt?” I shake my head, rip a chunk free and pop it in my mouth. It’s bitter at the edges and a bit crumbly but still flecked with sweet dates and has a spring to it, unattainable no matter the duration you soak dried rations.
After a beat of hesitation the man kneels beside me. “I will never not miss fresh biscuits, some quail eggs, side of boiled roots.”
I break off another piece, hold it a moment with pursed lips then pass it to the driver. He grunts appreciatively. We chew in silence. I continue handing him chunks until only crumbs remain.
He dust his hands. “So this sister of yours, you’d trust her with the lives of all these people?” He gestures at the dwindling line for water, the woman slumped in exhaustion, myself.
It’s a risk, but I look him in the eyes. “I would.”
He picks at the short curls of his beard. “Have her meet me at the wagon at sun up. I’ll get her acquainted with the horses and the riggings.”
My gut squirms, there goes any chance for her to sleep in. It doesn’t matter, this will be of far more benefit. I dip my chin and offer a gracious farewell as I start for the line. Now down to two widows and an official.
Worst case, the driver is dissatisfied and forces Esmar to return to walking. Though unlikely. She knows the basics about horses, and I can teach her the handful of terms I‘ve acquired. It should be enough to keep him complacent till we break off near Lachish.
Then we just have to hope that pompous worm won’t think to look that far.
At last it’s my turn. I step forward but a guard thrusts an arm in front of me.
“Wait over there.” He points to the side.
I choke down a number of nasty retorts and questions as the curtains on the royal carriage are pulled free. Of course, the Princess, who hasn’t walked a step of this journey, is in greater need of water. I grind my teeth.
Four guards flank the opening and out strides Princess Kiluhepa, in a pale pink gown completely void of dust and sweat.
In her wake walks the sorceress. My heartbeat stills and I blink hard. It can’t be.
I did only really see her the one time… In the palace. Accused of bleeding guards with her mind. Hands? Ones now lashed together. Wearing the same ragged dress, and I haven’t the imagination to fabricate that curious gaze, absorbing all in its path.
All my searching and here she is.
