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strung in long processions along the banks. When I realized the speed with which our swift craft left them behind, I was glad I had heeded Kaneka’s advice.
    For a time, I was apprehensive and craned my neck to look behind us, fearing the Pharaoh would break his word and some pursuit would be forthcoming. It seemed, however, that none was, and after a while, I ceased to worry about it. If it came, it came; there was naught I could do about it.
    To my sorrow, we would be unable to see some of the mightiest structures of Menekhet from the river, the Great Tombs of the ancients. Our captain generously offered to halt and guide us overland-for an additional fee, of course-but I deemed it wisest to remain on course, and Kaneka assured me that the temples further upriver would more than compensate.
    We made camp that first night near a pleasant village, trading with the villagers for our dinner, roasting chickens which we ate with our fingers, accompanied by melons and sweet dates. The night was velvety-soft, spangled with stars.
    “I have to admit,” Joscelin said drowsily, lounging before the fire. “This doesn’t seem so bad.”
    “No.” I sat cross-legged, combing knots out of Imriel’s hair while he gritted his teeth at the pain. “Truly, it doesn’t.”
    The days of that journey blend together in memory, distinguished only by the sights that marked our route. Our first hippopotamus, rising like a colossus from the river, water running in streams down its dark hide; the vast gape of its pink mouth, teeth like yellow pegs. Imriel leapt to his feet, shouting and pointing. Kaneka and the other Jebeans merely laughed. Afterward, we saw many of the creatures, placid and harmless so long as they were undisturbed. More dangerous were the crocodiles, of which there were an abundance. Dark-green and pebbled, they lurked like submerged logs, only the slitted reptilian eyes giving the lie to the illusion. Kaneka assured us that they move with great rapidity on dry land, and we were ever wary about venturing to the water’s edge when we made camp.
    There is a temple along the way dedicated to Sebek, the Menekhetan crocodile-god, and this we visited at Kaneka’s insistence. It is on a bend that juts into the river, and I vow, there must have been a dozen or more of the beasts sunning themselves on the sandy bank. Our two felucca captains picked their beachhead cautiously, leaping ashore with long, hooked harpoons in hand to secure a path to the temple.
    Here in the south, the Menekhetan faith has not been Hellenized, and it is augmented by Jebean traffic. I will own, though the temple itself was pleasant, the depictions of Sebek made me shiver. The crocodile-headed man-god is said to have devoured the dismembered pieces of Osiris, the dying-god whom the Hellenes have made one with Serapis, the lord of the dead.
    Why they worship the crocodile, I was unsure.
    “Lord Sebek has his place, little one,” Kaneka told me, seeing my doubtful expression. “Even so, if the Nahar did not overflow its banks to devour the land, the fields could not be reborn. Besides, we have need of his forbearance.” And so saying, she laid her offering-a clay figurine painted in bright colors-on the altar of Sebek and backed away bowing.
    We had to wait an hour for the crocodiles to clear the sandy beach sufficient for our felucca captains to beat a path to the ships, cursing and sweating with anxiety.
    “Some place for a temple!” Joscelin remarked after we had hoisted sail.
    “Where else should it be?” Kaneka asked, logically enough. Looking at my face, she grinned. “We will stop at Houba, little one, and visit the temple of Isis. You will like that better, I think.”
    So the days passed, one like unto the other, and the Greatest River glided between green banks and deep valleys. True to Kaneka’s promise, I saw mighty temples and vast tombs along the route, a testament to the tremendous antiquity of this land. The river flowed stronger and our progress slowed, the feluccas needing to tack ever more often across the current, stitching our course upstream. With naught else to do, Kaneka set about teaching Joscelin and Imriel the rudiments of Jeb’ez, singing children’s counting songs and the like. It made me smile, thinking how hard I’d fought to get her to allow me to learn. Betimes our felucca captain, whose name was Wali, would join in and their mingled voices would ring across the waters.
    Wali, I must say, had developed a