The Quest

by Wilbur Smith

  ‘Meren!’ Taita shouted a warning, but the spear was in his blind spot.

  It struck his mount just behind the saddle, hitting the spine. The bay’s back legs collapsed. Meren and Aoka were thrown into a tangle on the scorched earth. The Basmara, who had been about to abandon the chase, took heart and rushed forward, led by their chief. Meren rolled to his feet and saw the faces of the other horsemen looking back at him as they were carried away by their own mounts.

  ‘Go on!’ he shouted. ‘Save yourselves, for you cannot save us.’ The Basmara were closing round him swiftly.

  Fenn touched Whirlwind’s neck and called to him: ‘Whoa! Whirlwind, whoa!’

  The grey colt turned like a swallow in mid-flight, and before any of them realized what had happened Fenn was racing back to where Meren stood with Aoka. For a moment he was too astonished to speak as he saw Fenn tearing back towards him, with Imbali hanging on to her stirrup and brandishing her axe. He tried to wave her back: ‘Go away!’

  But as soon as Fenn had turned, so had Taita in the same suicidal gesture. The rest of the band was thrown into confusion. The horses reared and plunged, bumping into each other and milling about until the riders had them under control. Then they all raced back.

  Now the nearest Basmara, led by their chief, were almost upon them.

  They hurled spears as they closed in. First Hilto’s horse, then Shabako’s were hit and fell heavily, throwing the men from their backs as they went down.

  With a quick glance Taita assessed their changed circumstances: there were no longer enough horses to carry them all away. ‘Form the defensive circle!’ he shouted. ‘We must stand and fight them here.’

  The men who had been thrown struggled to their feet and limped towards him. Those on unwounded mounts jumped down and pulled them into the centre of the circle. The archers unslung their bows; Imbali and Aoka hefted their axes. They faced outwards. When they looked upon the massed formations of spearmen rushing to attack them they were in no doubt as to the final outcome.

  ‘This is the last fight. Give them something to remember us by!’

  Meren shouted joyfully, and they met the first rush of Basmara head on.

  They fought with the ferocity and abandon of despair. They pushed back the attackers. But Chief Basma rallied them, leaping and screeching, and they came again with him at the head of the charge. He went for Nakonto and ducked under his guard to hit him in the thigh.

  Imbali was beside him and when she saw his blood springing from the wound she flew at Basma like a lioness protecting her mate. He turned to defend himself and lifted his spear to deflect the sweep of the axe. Imbali’s blow sheared the shaft as though it were a papyrus reed and went on to thump into Basma’s right shoulder. He staggered back, his half-severed arm hanging at his side. Imbali jerked the blade free and struck again, this time for the head. The blade cut cleanly through the crown of flamingo feathers, and went on to split Basma’s skull to his teeth. For a moment the divided eyes squinted at each other round the blade, then Imbali levered it free. The metal grated harshly against the bone as it came away, yellow brain matter oozing after it.

  The Basmara saw their chief struck down and, with a despairing shout, drew back. The fighting had been hard. They had suffered heavy losses — corpses lay thickly around the little circle. The Egyptians were few, but they hesitated to rush in and end it. Taita took advantage of the pause to bolster their position. He forced the horses to lie flat, a trick that all cavalry mounts were taught. Their bodies offered some protection from the javelins of the Basmara. He placed his archers behind them and held Imbali, Aoka and Fenn with him in the centre, then took his own position at Fenn’s side. He would be with her at the end, just as he had been in the other life. This time, though, he was determined to make it quicker and easier for her.

  He looked at the others in the circle. Habari, Shofar and the last two troopers were all dead. Shabako and Hilto were still on their feet, but had been wounded. They had not bothered to treat their injuries, had merely staunched the bleeding by slapping a handful of dirt over it.

  Beyond them, Imbali was kneeling to bind up Nakonto’s thigh. When she finished, she looked up at him with an expression in her eyes that was much more woman than warrior.

  Meren had fallen on his face when his horse threw him. His cheek was grazed and his ruined eye was bleeding again. A tiny trickle of blood ran out from under the leather patch down the side of his nose and on to his upper lip. He licked it away as he stropped the whetting stone down the blade of his sword. Surrounded by the dense ranks of the enemy, wounded and broken as they were, there was nothing heroic about any of them.

  If by some miracle I should survive this day I will write of them a battle poem that will flood the eyes of all who hear it, Taita promised himself grimly.

  A single voice broke the silence with a high-pitched challenge: ‘Are we old women or are we fighting impis of the Basmara?’ The multitudes began again to hum, sway and stamp.

  Another voice called an answer to the first question: ‘We are men and we have come for the killing!’

  ‘Kill! Bring the spear! Use the spear! Kill!’ The chant went up and the ranks came forward, dancing and stamping. Imbali stood beside Nakonto, a thin, cruel smile on her lips. Hilto and Shabako smoothed back their hair and replaced their helmets. Meren wiped the blood off his lip and blinked his good eye to clear and sharpen his vision. Then he slipped his sword into its scabbard, picked up his bow and leant upon it as he watched the enemy close in. Fenn came stiffly to her feet, favouring her wounded leg. She took Taita’s hand.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, little one,’ he told her.

  ‘I am not afraid,’ she said, ‘but I wish you had taught me to draw a bow. I could have been more use to you now.’

  The ivory whistles squealed and the hordes poured down upon them.

  The little knot of defenders loosed a flight of arrows into them and another, then nocked and shot as fast as they could draw, but they were so few that they caused barely a ripple in the waves of prancing black bodies.

  The Basmara broke into the circle, and it was hand-to-hand again.

  Shabako was hit in the throat and spouted blood like a harpooned whale as he died. The frail circle broke up under the rush of bodies. Imbali and Nakonto stood back to back as they hacked and thrust. Aoka fell, dead.

  Meren gave ground until he and Taita had Fenn between them. They might fight on a little longer, but Taita knew that soon he must give mercy to Fenn. He would follow her swiftly, and they would remain united.

  Meren killed a man with a straight thrust through the heart, while at the same moment Taita struck down the man beside him.

  Meren glanced at him. ‘It is time, Magus, but I will do it for you if you wish,’ he croaked, through a throat rough with thirst and dust.

  Taita knew how Meren had come to love Fenn and how much it would cost him to kill her. ‘Nay, good Meren, though I thank you for it. The duty is mine.’ Taita looked down at Fenn fondly. ‘Kiss Meren farewell, my sweet, for he is your true friend.’ She did so, then turned trustingly to Taita. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Taita was glad of that: he could never have done it while those green eyes were upon him. He raised his sword, but checked the stroke before it was launched. The war chant of the Basmara had changed to a great moan of despair and terror. Their ranks broke and scattered, like a shoal of sardines before a wolf-fanged barracuda.

  The little group were left standing bewildered in the circle. They were bathed in their own sweat and blood and that of their enemies. They looked at each other with incomprehension, unable to understand why they were still alive. The field was almost obscured by the clouds of dust kicked up by feet and hoofs, while thick eddies of smoke drifted down from the burning stockade. It was barely possible to see the tree line.

  ‘Horses!’ gritted Meren. ‘I hear hoofs.’

  ‘You imagine it,’ said Taita, as hoarsely. ‘It is not possible.’

  ‘No, Me
ren is right,’ piped up Fenn, and pointed towards the trees.

  ‘Horses!’

  Taita blinked in the dust and smoke, but he could not see clearly. His vision was blurred and dull. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then stared again. ‘Cavalry?’ he muttered, in disbelief.

  ‘Egyptian cavalry,’ Meren whooped. ‘Crack troops! A blue pennant flying over them.’ The cavalry charged through the Basmara lines, taking them on the lance, then wheeling back to finish the work with the sword. The Basmara threw down their weapons and fled in disarray.

  ‘It cannot be,’ Taita muttered. ‘We are two thousand leagues from our very Egypt. How come these men to this place? It is not possible.’

  ‘Well, I believe my eyes - or should I say my one good eye?’ cried Meren gaily. ‘These are our countrymen!’ Within minutes the only Basmara remaining on the field were either dead or soon to be so. The guardsmen were trotting back, leaning from the saddle to lance the wounded where they lay. A trio of high-ranking officers detached themselves from the main body of cavalry and cantered towards the small party of survivors.

  ‘The senior officer is a colonel of the Blue,’ Taita said.

  ‘He wears the Gold of Merit and the Cross of the Red Road Brotherhood,’ Meren said. ‘He is a warrior indeed!’

  The colonel pulled up in front of Taita and raised his right hand in salute. “I feared that we might be too late, exalted Magus, but I see that you are in good health still and I thank all the gods for that mercy.’

  ‘You know me?’ Taita was further astonished.

  ‘AH the world knows Taita of Gallala. However, I met you at the court of Queen Mintaka, after the defeat of the false pharaoh, but that was many years ago when I was a mere ensign. No wonder it has slipped from your memory.’

  ‘That? Colonel That Ankut?’ Taita resurrected a memory of the man’s face.

  The colonel smiled with gratification. ‘You honour me with your recognition.’

  That Ankut was a handsome man, with strong, intelligent features and a level gaze. Taita viewed him through the Inner Eye and saw no taint or defect in his aura, although a sombre blue flicker in its depths betokened some deep emotional disturbance. He knew at once that That was not a contented man. ‘We had news of you when we passed through Fort Adari,’ Taita told him, ‘but the men you left there thought you had perished in the wilderness.’

  ‘As you can see, Magus, they were mistaken.’ That did not smile. ‘But we must leave this place. My scouts have descried many thousands more of these savages converging upon us here. I have done what I was sent to do, which was to take you under protection. We must waste no time, but leave at once.’

  ‘Where will you take us, Colonel That? How did you know that we were here and in need of aid? Who sent you to rescue us?’ Taita demanded.

  ‘Your questions will be answered in due course, Magus, but I regret not by me. I leave Captain Onka here to care for your other needs.’ He saluted again and turned his horse away.

  They got the horses up. Most had been wounded, two so gravely that they had to be destroyed, but Windsmoke and Whirlwind had come through unscathed. Although they had little baggage remaining, Taita’s medical equipment was heavy and bulky. They did not have enough baggage animals to carry it all so Captain Onka called for more pack horses, and Taita tended the injuries and wounds of his band and their mounts. Onka was impatient, but the work could not be hurried, and it was some time before they were ready to ride out.

  When Colonel That returned a squadron of his cavalry led them. Taita’s band marched in the centre and was well protected. Another large column laboured behind, which included many hundreds of lamenting captives, most of them Basmara women.

  ‘Slaves,’ Meren guessed. ‘That combines slave-catching with saving innocent travellers.’

  Taita made no comment, but considered their own position and status.

  Are we prisoners also, or honoured guests? he wondered. Our welcome was ambiguous. He considered putting the question to Captain Onka, but he knew it would be a wasted effort: Onka was as reticent as his commander had been.

  Once they had left Tamafupa they went south, following the dry course of the Nile towards the lake. Soon they were in sight of the Red Stones and the abandoned temple on the bluff above, but at that point they left the river and headed eastwards on a track beside the lake. Taita tried to talk to Onka about the temple and the stones, but Onka had a stock reply: ‘I know nothing about it, Magus. I am a common soldier and no great sage.’

  After several more leagues the party climbed another bluff above the lake and looked down into a sheltered bay. Taita and Meren were astonished to see a fleet of six war galleys and several large transport barges riding at anchor on the tranquil waters only a few cubits off the white beach. The craft were of an unusual design the like of which they had never seen in Egyptian waters: they were open-decked and double ended. It was obvious that the single long mast could be unstepped and laid flat down the length of the hull. The sharp bows and sterns were designed to drive through rough white water in the cataracts and rapids of a fast-flowing river. It was a clever design, Taita conceded. He learned later that the hulls could be broken into four separate sections to be carried round waterfalls and other obstructions.

  The fleet looked handsome and businesslike, riding at anchor in the bay. The water was so pure and clear that the hulls seemed to hang suspended in air rather than water, and their shadows were clearly outlined on the bottom of the lake. Taita could even make out the shoals of large fish that cruised round them, attracted by the rubbish that the crews threw overboard.

  ‘The design of those hulls is foreign,’ Meren remarked. ‘They are not Egyptian.’

  ‘On our travels in the Orient we saw their like in the countries beyond the Indus river,’ Taita agreed.

  ‘How did such vessels come to be on this remote uncharted inland sea?’

  ‘One thing I know for certain,’ Taita remarked, ‘is that there will be no profit in asking Captain Onka.’

  ‘For he is just a common soldier and no great sage.’ Meren laughed for the first time since they had left Tamafupa. They followed their guide down to the beach, where embarkation began almost immediately. The captured Basmara were put on two of the barges, the horses and Tinat’s troops on to the others.

  Colonel That Ankut became quite animated as he studied Wind smoke and Whirlwind. ‘What a magnificent pair. Clearly they are dam and foal,’ he remarked to Taita. ‘I have probably seen fewer than three or four to match them in my life. They have the fine legs and strong chests you see only in animals of Hittite bloodlines. I would hazard these hail from the plains of Ecbatana.’

  ‘You have hit upon it exactly.’ Taita applauded. ‘I congratulate you. You are a skilled judge of horseflesh.’

  That mellowed still further, and he set aside quarters for Taita, Meren and Fenn aboard his galley. Once everyone was embarked, the fleet cast off from the beach and headed out into the lake. As soon as they had made their offing they turned westward along the shoreline. That invited the three to share a meal with him on the open deck. In comparison to the lean fare of the years since they had left Qebui, the food that his cook provided was memorable. Freshly caught and grilled lake fish were followed by a casserole of exotic vegetables, and the amphora of red wine was of a quality that would have graced Pharaoh’s own table.

  As the sun sank into the waters ahead the fleet drew level with the Red Stones at the mouth of the Nile, and they pulled beneath the tall bluff on whose summit stood the temple of Eos. That had drunk two bowls of wine and had become a gracious, affable host. Taita attempted to take advantage of his mood. ‘What building is that?’ He pointed across the water. ‘It seems to be a temple or palace, but of a design such as I never saw in our very Egypt. I wonder what manner of men erected it.’

  That frowned. ‘I have given it little thought, as I have no particular interest in architecture, but you may be right, Magus. It is probably a shrine or a temp
le, or possibly for storage of grain.’ He shrugged. ‘May I offer you more wine?’ Clearly the question had annoyed him, and he was once more aloof and coolly polite. Furthermore, it was apparent that the galley crew had been instructed not to hold any conversation with them, or to answer their questions.

  Day after day the fleet sailed westward along the lakeshore. At Taita’s request the captain rigged a sail to give them shade and privacy. Screened from the eyes of That and the crew, Taita made progress training Fenn.

  During the long march southwards there had been little opportunity for them to be alone. Now their secluded corner of the deck became sanctuary and schoolroom, in which he could hone her perception, concentration and intuition to a fine edge.

  He introduced her to no new aspects of the esoteric arts. Instead he spent hours each day practising those she had already acquired. In particular he worked on communication through the telepathic exchange of mental images and thoughts. He was haunted by a premonition that at some time in the near future they would be separated. If this should happen, then such contact would be their lifeline. Once the connection between them was swift and sure, his next concern was to suppress the display of her aura. Only when he was satisfied that she had perfected these disciplines could they proceed to review the conjugation of the words of power.

  Hours and days of practice was so demanding and exhausting that Fenn should have been mentally and spiritually drained: she was a novice in the arcane arts, a girl in body and strength. However, even when he had taken into account that she was an old soul, who had lived another life, her resilience astounded him. Her energy seemed to feed on her exertions in the same way that the water-lily, her life symbol, fed on the mud of the river bed.

  Disconcertingly, she could change in a beat from serious student to spirited girl as she switched from the obscure conundrum of the conjugations to delight in the beauty of ruby-winged flamingos passing overhead.