A disheveled, bearded man in a worn travel cloak was rummaging through a travel bag lying on a heavy woolen mantle beside a crooked shepherd’s staff and a short bronze sword set in a ring instead of a sheath. Every few moments he interrupted his search to slap his thighs, ruffle his long, unwashed hair, strike his own cheeks, and tug at his beard. From time to time he raised his eyes to the starry sky hanging low above the camp, and, lifting his hands, addressed it either in supplication or in angry curses. Had the men sleeping uneasily in the camp or the warriors standing guard seen their leader at that moment, they would likely have been frightened, perhaps deciding that they had entrusted their fate to a madman. But the clearing on the edge of the encampment, chosen by the man for his frantic search, was surrounded by dense shrubbery.
At last the man ran out of strength and collapsed face-first onto the cloak, stretching his arms out in front of him. After lying there for a while, he slowly rose, sat up, took a flask from the bag, and began sipping wine, speaking to himself in a quiet, plaintive, and bewildered voice.
“Where could it have gone, where had it vanished?” he said between gulps. “It was there, it was definitely there. I was reading it just the day before yesterday...”
The man closed his eyes and pictured it—created by the priests of Kemet specifically for long journeys—on finely treated leather, carefully wrapped around a smooth golden rod and placed in a case of expensive, moisture-proof dark wood. Deep inside, the man understood that he could have lost it anywhere. The bag was not tied all that tightly—the cord at its opening had to be constantly retightened.
Without opening his eyes, he slowly finished the wine, stood up, and looked at the sky again. Tears were flowing from his eyes. Slowly raising a clenched fist, he shook it at the impassive stars.
“Very well, then,” he whispered with the fierce intensity of a shout, “so be it. But I will not turn back, and I will not retreat. I have nowhere to turn.”
With these words he lay down, placed the bag under his head, wrapped himself in his cloak, and fell asleep, without troubling himself with the usual prayers.
In the morning, he would gather the people and, in a deathly silence, announce that none of them, by the will of the One, would set foot in the Promised Land. And he would lead his people onward. Now, without a map.
