We try to speak as she does while Myt-ser'eu giggles. Azibaal and the other sailors say only Muslak is brown enough-I am too red. Both women say brown is better and feign to spurn me. THREE WARSHIPS ARE passing. They have sails but are rowed as well, and so go very fast. There are bearded men of Parsa on them, and men of Kemet too, long-legged soldiers with spears and enormous shields. We would have died very quickly, I think, if they had attacked us. The women say they would be raped, not killed, and Muslak and I would be chained to benches and made to row. I would not be chained. I would rather fight and die than row until death under the whip.

Those ships are nearly out of sight now, but we still hear their drums beating the rowing-rhythm. There is no singing. Free rowers would sing at the oars, or so it seems to me. The whip steals the song.

Muslak says the ships belonged to the satrap, the brother of the Great King. This satrap wants our ship too, though he has many others. Muslak does not know why.

Before I cease to write, I must write that we sail on the Great River of Kemet; it is because of this river that Kemet is also called Riverland, I think. Is it a great nation, as Neht-nefret and Myt-ser'eu insist? I do not see how that can be when it is no more than this green valley. I have climbed the mast to look at it, and it is so narrow here that I could see the desert to my right. The valley land is black wherever it is not green-the contrast with the ocher desert beyond could escape no eye. We passed a distant city-its name is On, says Neht-nefret. Myt-ser'eu wished to stop there so she might look into the shops before its market closes, but Muslak refused, saying we must make Mennufer before dark.

Many canals water the land, but the river does not dwindle because of them. This seems strange.

One bank is near, to our right. The other is so distant now that it can scarcely be seen.