Now and then a red glimmer across the grain marked the location of a
farmer's hut, but there was no other sign of life. Even at the
Memphian shore there was little activity.
When the line of cultivation ended Kenkenes knew he was in the
precincts of the Marsh of the Discontented Soul. He rowed across what
he believed to be one-half of its width and drew into the reeds. The
sound and movement awoke many creatures, which hurried away in the
dark, and something slid off into the river with a splash. The lapping
of the ripples sounded like a drinking beast. Kenkenes put a bold foot
on the soggy sand and stepped out. Rachel followed him with bated
breath. Anubis unceremoniously mounted his shoulder. He dragged the
bari far up on the shore, once more lifted Deborah and started up the
warm sand.
At the base of the limestone cliff he deposited his burden and brought
together a little heap of dried reeds and flag blades. This he fired
after many failures by striking together his chisel and a stone.
Rachel hid the blaze from the Nile while he made and lighted a torch of
twisted reeds and stamped out the fire. In the feeble moonlight he
discerned a stairway of rough-hewn steps leading into a cavity in the
wall.
Pages:
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327