Khu: A Tale of Ancient Egypt by Jocelyn Murray

in front of the temple was deserted under a sullen moon, as two guards dragged away the injured man toward the pavilion where he would be tied to a pillar to await the serving of justice.
     
     
    “There are more of them,” Khu told Mentuhotep in a soft voice, his golden eyes fixed on the trail of blood left by the injured thief.
    Mentuhotep looked at Khu, the lines between his brows deepening, as he narrowed his gaze dubiously, wondering how the boy could know this. He ran a hand slowly over his smooth scalp before finally giving the boy a hesitating nod. Khu’s large eyes were completely without guile, and betrayed nothing but sincerity. The king then turned to his other guards. “Hurry,” he ordered them, “do not let the others escape!”
     
     
    The boat waiting on the riverbank slipped quietly away in the darkness, whose tranquility had been disturbed by the commotion inland. Its four occupants dug their oars into the muddy shore and pushed with all their might. They bent low over the sides of the boat as they turned the vessel around and steered it north, away from Thebes. Only three of the five men who had disembarked earlier had returned.
    The man who had stayed behind and waited with the boat was frustrated with the night’s outcome. He vented his anger with every heave and push of the oar grasped tightly in his hands. He tried to tamp down his disappointment by forcing his thoughts back to the successes he had met recently. But that did not help.
    It had not been his idea to come to Thebes. One of the men in his band had convinced the others that it was a good plan. He had told them how Thebes had enjoyed a greater prosperity than its northern neighbors. It had not fallen into the state of disorder which had left chaos and famine in its wake. And although its good fortune had made it a worthy target, it had also made it more challenging to infiltrate than the scattered territories spread throughout Egypt.
    “They have not been touched by famine ,” one of the men had said. “Their fields have yielded immeasurable heqats of grain.”
    “How do you know this?” the boatman asked doubtfully, his eyes narrowed and distrustful. “You are not among them, but here with us.” It was his boat they wished to use. It was always his boat. The others did not have two pieces of silver to call their own.
    “Because I know someone there,” the man replied sourly, setting his jaw.
    “Really, ” was the flat response.
    “Yes, and he happens to work for the king himself.”
    The boatman’s eyes had widened at that, but he tried to hide his interest. He was the only one with something to lose in this bargain, after all. None of the others had any property of their own. Whatever loot they acquired had always been spent far quicker than the time it took to obtain it in the first place. It had disappeared like water evaporating from the hot desert sand. And after arranging further details, the man convinced all of them—including the boatman—of the plan. His promise of abundant grain spilling over the huge stone vats barely containing it within the storage houses, had been too much to resist.
    And so they came.
    They had planned to steal the grain , which was highly valued in the northern settlements that were afflicted by drought, and trade it for a profit. It had all sounded so easy. Too easy, in fact. And then everything that could have gone wrong, did go wrong.
    “Cursed,” the boatman spat under his breath , his mood sulky and resentful.
    But no one dared reply. They kept their eyes fixed on the river as they rowed.
    “The night was cursed,” he gr umbled louder as they moved farther away from Thebes. “We were cursed!”
    The men continued to row, putting more and more distance between them and the scene of the foiled crime. What had gone wrong? What had caused them to fail? Their plans had been meticulously calculated. They had gone over the details countless times before this night. They had even