Read Online Andre Norton - Shadow Hawk by Shadow Hawk - Free Book Online

had splintered. One of the archers picked up the largest fragment, passing it to Rahotep's waiting hand.
    He saw a sentence scratched in a temple scribe's hematic script: "Rahotep, born to the Lady Tuya and the Royal Son Ptahhotep, shall die."
    A cursing—such as he had used against the Kush. He did not realize that he had read that aloud until he heard Methen's sardonic comment:
    "So Rahotep shall die? So shall every man who walks Egypt when his time comes and it is Re's will to summon him before the Judges."
    His hand struck the fragment of bowl from Rahotep's loose clasp, and then deliberately he kicked it and the other shards from their path. "Anubis curses, but Amon-Re smiles. And do the gods ever take as great an interest in the affairs of men as their mouth pieces would have us believe? Let them keep their warnings for the barbarians and the Kush!"
    Kheti laughed and planted his sandal on one small piece, grinding the clay to dust against the stone.
    "Arrows fly, spears have points, fever comes up from the river marshes, and a man can die of belly ache safe in his bed. Dedun shall have a fat ram and we shall see what will come of it. Ah, Lords, this is a fine ship we go to—"
    It was a ship such as they seldom saw on these upper reaches of the Nile. The carved head, turned inwards on the prow, was the Ram of Amon, and the cabin was hung with walls of painted linen, which could be rolled up for the cool of river breezes. At this season the Nile moved sluggishly, starved for the flood of waters that later would swell the current. The britde, searing winds from the south teased the sail, but it was the current, not those unpredictable gusts, that would take them downstream.
    Someone waited for them on the quay, standing a little to one side as if his natural humility made him wait for their recognition. Rahotep dropped Kheti's arm and went up to Hentre.
    "You go with us also, old friend—"
    The elderly scribe smiled wistfully. "Not so, my son. A handful of wornout brushes and a palette that has served a man for almost a lifetime cannot stand for spear and shield. And it is the weapons of war not the arts of peace that are needed now. I am too old to be torn from my rooting to seek a new growing place—"
    "But—" Rahotep began a protest, realizing what it might mean for Hentre to remain in Semna. The scribe's sympathies were widely known. He had made no effort to conceal his allegiance to the Lady Tuya and then to her son. And Unis was petty-minded. Hentre must go with them now!
    "There is no need to fear for me, young lord," the scribe hastened to add, as if he read Rahotep's thoughts as fast as they crossed the captain's mind. "I have taken service with the Voice of Amon, and Re shall protect His own. I but come now to wish you well and to bring you that which is rightfully yours. When the Hawk was slain by the Hyksos, making his last defense against those who swept over his land, I was one of those who stole away his body to lay it in safety. And thinking that one of his line might indeed again raise his standard, I brought away from his entombing this which such an heir could use as valiantly as did my lord—" From beneath his cloak Hentre brought out a packet done up in a twist of time-yellowed linen. "Wear it on the day when you go up against the Hyksos, Lord, so that he whom I served before will, by the grace of Re, see it flash in battle once again!"
    Rahotep put aside the wrappings to find that he held a fine archer's bracer, shaped to cover the hand, with a chain to go about the thumb and a thong to lace it in place at the wrist. This was fashioned of rare silver, and it was engraved with the Eye of Horus, the Winged Hawk of his mother's nome, and the Feather of Maat—the Truth of the Gods. Since this had been shaped to fit the hand of another, Rahotep slipped it on experimentally, believing it would not fit. But the cold metal was smooth against his skin as if it had been forged to his measure. Hentre