Muslak nodded.

"When you return her, you will owe no more, since you must pay the full fee in advance. It is customary, however, to make some gift to her if you have been pleased."

"I will," Muslak said. "Something nice. I should have quite a bit of money when I've done what your satrap wants."

"He is not our satrap, Crimson Man." The priest frowned.

Muslak shrugged. "He's not ours either, the way you mean. But we've got to do what he says. So do you."

"You wish to hear the singing girls?"

Muslak nodded.

"First I must see the color of your gold."

Muslak shook a few coins from his burse into his hand and displayed them.

"One of those," the priest said, and pointed.

"A daric? That's too much!"

"You are accustomed to bargaining," the priest told him, "and will bargain much better than I. I will not bargain at all. One of those, and I must hold it first and pass on it."

"You yourself told us there are six other Hathors on the river." Muslak sounded indignant.

The priest smiled. "Go to any. You have my leave."

Muslak turned on his heel and walked away. I followed him very reluctantly, recalling what the goddess had said. When we had nearly reached the entrance to the forecourt, he stopped and turned back. "One daric? That's the price?"

The priest had not moved. "Unless you wish to give her something when you bring her back. That is voluntary."

"All right," Muslak said, "let's see them."

The priest held out his hand.

"After I've had a look at them."

The priest shook his head and continued to extend his hand.

"Suppose I don't like any of them?"

"Your money will be returned," the priest told Muslak. In this and in everything, the priest seemed neither angry nor eager; his eyes showed neither disgust nor fear. I admired him for it.

"All right," Muslak said at last.

The coin changed hands. Smiling, the priest left us and strode to a small gong near one wall. He struck it twice, and returned to us.

"What about you, Lewqys?" Muslak grinned at me. "Want a singing girl?"

I shook my head.

Soon we heard the murmur of voices and the shuffle of bare feet on the stone pavement. Five young women joined us. All were comely, with shapely legs and high breasts. All wore black wigs, as all but the poorest women do in this land. Two bore instruments.

The priest asked Muslak if he wished to hear them sing.

Muslak nodded and pointed.

"They will all sing," the priest said, "then you can quickly choose her whose voice you think sweetest." He signaled to the women, and they sang at once. I could catch only a few words of their song, but their girlish voices were lively and merry. Those who held instruments played them with a will.

"Her," Muslak said.

"With the lute?"

He hesitated. "No, the one next to her."

The priest gestured. "Come, Neht-nefret."

She came forward smiling and took Muslak's hand.

"This trader is going to Mennufer on his own ship," the priest explained. "When his business there has been completed, he will return here. You will be his wife until you return."

Neht-nefret said softly, "I understand, Holy One." She is indeed tall for a woman, but no taller than some others.

The woman with the lute, shorter it might be by twice the width of my thumb, came forward too, taking my arm and rubbing her soft flank against mine.

"That trader does not wish a wife," the priest said severely.

"He's a soldier, not a trader like me," Muslak explained. "He's from Sidon." He turned to me. "Lewqys, you said you didn't want one."

"I want a handsome husband," the young woman with the lute declared, "and I would like to visit Mennufer, and all the grand places along the river." She feigned to be speaking to Muslak, but watched me slyly from the corners of her kohl-rimmed eyes. All the perfumes of a garden filled my nostrils.

The priest shook his head, a little sadly as it seemed to me. "You must go back, Myt-ser'eu."

I was trying to grasp the meaning of her name when I caught sight of the clasp on her headband. It was the face of a cat.

"She wants to go because I'm going," Neht-nefret told Muslak. "We're friends. You can have two of us, if you like. I won't mind."

The priest nodded. "You may, for another such coin as the first."

"But not this one," I said. "I want this one for myself. Give this holy man another daric, Muslak."

Myt-ser'eu giggled.

Muslak did, saying he owed me far more than that.

WE ARE WARM, although not unpleasantly so. Myt-ser'eu fans me with a palm-frond fan. It cools her as well, or so she says, and waves away insects. Here I write, as Muslak has explained I must. He says a healer gave me this scroll and my cake of ink. My pen is a frayed reed. I dip it in the river and find it difficult to write as small as I wish.

Myt-ser'eu laughs at my letters and offers to show how her people write. Neht-nefret says she writes better. She will show me, not Myt-ser'eu. I will not let either have my pen, although this scroll is so long. I will write on both sides. Who can say where I can find another?

Muslak has sold all the hides in our hold. It took most of the morning. As soon as the money had been paid, we put out. This river is the Pre. Myt-ser'eu says there are three big rivers through this land, and many smaller ones. The Pre is the largest. She shows three fingers. This River Pre is the first. They come together farther south to make the Great River. After that, there is but one. She and Neht-nefret do not name it. It is the river. Muslak calls it the Great River, and says that Hellenes say Neilos or Aegyptos.

The fields to left and right are marvelously fertile. I do not believe I can ever have seen such fertile land. If I had, it would not surprise me as it does. Everything is green, dark and full of life. The crop this year will be bountiful. All these fields are as flat as my hand. Here and there, there are small hills. These have a house or two on them, or a village when they are larger, I suppose because they are less fertile than the fields. People who till the land cannot be rich, but these look well fed and seem busy and content. When we wave, they smile and wave in return.

The river is sea-blue or blue-green. It looks like good water, but Muslak says those who drink of it fall ill. Everyone drinks well water, wine, or something else in this land. I am going to ask the women about this. THEY SAY WE must not drink from the river at any season, and that it changes color to mark the changes of the year, now blue, now red, now green. We can wash ourselves in river water, but not mingle it with wine to drink. It will be bluer at Mennufer, Neht-nefret says. She has been there, though Myt-ser'eu has not.

Myt-ser'eu wished to know what I had been writing; I read it to her. The houses and villages are built on the hills so they will not be drowned when the river rises. Sometimes it rises very high, and then they are swept away and must be rebuilt. Neht-nefret says it is better to build on red land, but there is no red land here. I said I would make a raft of logs and live on that. She said wood was costly. NOW I HAVE seen a raft such as the people here build. It was of reeds. These would rot soon, or so I think. Being on this ship made me think of rowing. I believe I have done that-my hands know the loom of a sweep. I asked Muslak whether we would row when the wind died.

"It won't. The Great River is the best for shipping in the whole world, Lewqys. A north wind blows you up it for most of the year. When you want to go back down, you can furl your sail and let the current do the work."