by Wilbur Smith
‘I missed you, Taita. There is so little time left for us to be together.’
* * *
The Nile began to shrink back into her bed. The fields emerged from under the inundation, glistening black under a thick new coat of rich mud. The roads began to dry out, opening the way northwards. Soon it would be time for the plough, and the time for war.
Aton and I waited anxiously, perusing every report from our spies in the north. It came at last, the intelligence for which we had waited and prayed. The news was carried by a fast felucca, flying to us on the wings of the north wind. It docked in the third watch of the night, but the messenger found Aton and me still working by lamplight in his cell.
I hurried with the dirty scrap of papyrus to the royal apartments. The guards had orders to let me pass at any hour, but Queen Masara met me at the curtained doorway to the king’s bedchamber.
‘I will not let you wake him now, Taita. The king is exhausted. This is his first night’s uninterrupted sleep in a month.’
‘Your Majesty, I must see him. I am under his direct orders—’
While we still argued, a deep young voice called to me from beyond the curtain, ‘Is that you, Tata?’ The curtain was thrown aside and the king stood before us in all his naked splendour. He was a man as few others I have ever known, lean and hard as the blade of the blue sword, majestic in all his manly parts, so that I was all the more conscious of my own disability when I looked upon him.
‘What is it, Tata?’
‘Despatches from the north. From the camp of the Hyksos. A terrible pestilence is sweeping through the lines of the Hyksos. Half their horses are stricken, and thousands of others fall prey to the disease with each new day.’
‘You are a magician, Tata. How could we have ever mocked you and your gnu!’ He gripped my shoulders and stared into my eyes. ‘Are you ready to ride to glory with me?’
‘I am ready, Pharaoh.’
‘Then put Rock and Chain into the traces, and fly the blue pennant over my chariot. We are going home to Thebes.’
* * *
So we stood at last before the city of a hundred gates with four divisions of chariots and thirty thousand foot. King Salitis’ host lay before us, but beyond his multitudes the Fingers of Horus beckoned to us, and the walls of Thebes shone with a pearly radiance in the dawn light.
The Hyksos army deployed ponderously in front of us, like the uncoiling of some gigantic python, column after column, rank upon rank. Their spear-heads glittered and the golden helmets of the officers blazed in the early sunlight.
‘Where is Apachan and his chariots?’ the king demanded, and I stared at the Finger of Horus that stood nearest the river. I had to strain my eyesight to make out the tiny coloured scraps that waved from the top of the tower.
‘Apachan has five divisions in the centre, and he holds six more in reserve. They are hidden beyond the city wall.’
I read the flag signals of the spy I had posted in the tallest of the three towers. I knew that from there he had a falcon’s view across the battlefield.
‘That is only eleven divisions, Tata,’ the king fumed. ‘We know he has twenty. Where are the others?’
‘The Yellow Strangler,’ I answered him. ‘He has fielded every horse that can still stand.’
‘By Horus, I hope you are right. I hope that Apachan is not planning a pretty little surprise for us.’ He touched my shoulder. ‘The dice are in the cup, Tata. It is too late to change them now. We must play this coup with what the gods have given us. Drive out in review.’
I took up the reins and wheeled the chariot out in front of our army. The king was showing himself to his troops. His presence would give them heart, and stiffen their spines. I took the horses down the long ranks at a tight hand-trot. Rock and Chain were brushed until their coats shone like polished copper in the sunlight. The carriage of the royal chariot was dressed in a thin skin of gold-leaf. This was the only concession I had made, in my quest for lightness.
The gold was beaten thinner than a papyrus sheet, and it added less than a hundred deben to the overall weight of our vehicle, yet it made a dazzling display. Friend or enemy who looked upon it could not doubt that this was Pharaoh’s chariot, and take heart or be struck by awe in the thick of battle. On its long, whippy bamboo rod the blue pennant nodded and streamed in the breeze high above our heads, and the men cheered us as we drove down their ranks.
On the day we had left Qebui to begin the Return, I had made a vow not to cut my hair until I had made sacrifice in the temple of Horus in the centre of Thebes. Now my hair reached to my waist, and to hide the streaks of grey in it, I had dyed it with henna imported from those lands beyond the Indus river. It was a ruddy gold mane that set off my beauty to perfection. I wore a simple starched kilt of the whitest linen, and the Gold of Praise upon my naked chest. I did not wish in any way to detract from the glory of my young pharaoh, so I wore no make-up and no other ornament.
We passed in front of the massed regiments of the Shilluk spearmen in the centre. Those magnificent bloodthirsty pagans were the rock that anchored our line. They cheered us as we rode by, ‘Kajan! Tanus! Kajan! Tamose!’ Their ostrich feathers seethed white as the foam of the river in the cataracts as they raised their spears in salute. I saw Lord Kratas there in the midst of them, and he shouted at me. His words were lost in the roar of ten thousand voices, but I read his lips: ‘You and I will get puking drunk tonight in Thebes, you old hooligan.’
The Shilluk were stacked in depth, file upon file and regiment upon regiment. Kratas had exercised them ceaselessly in the tactics that I had helped him evolve to deal with chariots. Apart from their long spears, each of them carried a bundle of javelins, and a sling of wood and leather to launch these with added power. They had set the sharpened wooden staves into the earth to form a palisade in front of their line. The Hyksos chariots had to break through that spiny barrier to reach them.
The Egyptian archers were drawn up behind them, ready to move forward through their ranks or retreat again, as the vagaries of the battle called for each differing tactic. They raised their recurved bows on high and cheered Pharaoh. ‘Tamose! Egypt and Tamose!’
Pharaoh wore the blue war crown, with the golden circlet of the uraeus around his brow, the heads of the vulture and the cobra of the two kingdoms entwined, their jewelled eyes glittering. He returned their salute with the bare blade of the blue sword held high.
We wheeled around our own left flank, and before we started back, Memnon stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. For a short while we looked back over the field. The Hyksos were moving forward already. Their front line was twice the length of our own.
‘From your own treatise, Tata,’ he quoted, ‘“A circumspect defence until the enemy is committed, and then the rapid and audacious attack.”’
‘You have remembered the lesson well, sire.’
‘It is certain we will be outflanked, and Apachan will probably throw in his first five chariot divisions at the start.’
‘I agree with you, Mem.’
‘But we know what we have to do, don’t we, Tata?’ He tapped my shoulder and we started back to where our own chariots were holding in the rear.
Remrem headed the first division, Astes had the second, and Lord Aqer the third. Newly promoted to the rank of Best of Ten Thousand, Captain Hui commanded the fourth division. Two regiments of Shilluk guarded our baggage and the spare horses.
‘Look at that old hunting dog,’ Memnon nodded at Remrem. ‘He is chafing to be away. By Horus, I’ll teach him a little patience before this day is done.’
We heard the horns sounding in the centre.
‘It begins now.’ Memnon pointed to the front, and we saw the Hyksos chariots looming through the dust-clouds. ‘Yes, Apachan has turned loose his chariots.’
He looked back at our divisions, and Remrem raised his sword high. ‘The first is ready, Majesty,’ he called eagerly, but Memnon ignored him and signalled to Lord Aqer. The third division cam
e forward in column of fours behind us, and Pharaoh led them out.
The Hyksos chariots lumbered forward, heavy and majestic, aimed at the centre of our line. Memnon cut across in front of them, interposing our thin column between their hordes and the infantry. Then, at his signal, we wheeled into line abreast and we flew straight at them. It seemed suicidal, as futile as charging one of our frail wooden galleys at the rocks of the cataract.
As we came together, our archers fired head-on into the Hyksos, aiming for the horses. Gaps opened in their line as the animals were brought down by our arrows, then at the last possible moment our own line dissolved like wind-driven smoke. Our drivers used their superior speed and manoeuvrability. Instead of coming into collision with the Hyksos line and being crushed beneath the juggernaut, we swerved into the gaps and raced through them. Not all our chariots escaped, and some were broken and overturned, but Lord Aqer led four out of every five of them through.
We emerged in the rear of the Hyksos charge and spun around in a full-locked turn, re-forming the line at the gallop and again using our speed to overhaul the Hyksos, coming into them from the rear, firing our arrows into them at shortening range.
The Hyksos chariots were designed to give protection to the crew from the front, and their archers were stationed on the footplate to fire their arrows forward. Confusion spread down their line as they tried to meet our attack from the rear. Hard-pressed, some of the drivers attempted to turn back to confront us, and they collided with the chariots alongside. Those fearsome wheel-scythes cut into the legs of the neighbouring horses, and brought them down in a screaming, whinnying tangle.
The confusion spread among them just as the first volley of arrows from the Egyptian archers rose up over the massed ranks of Shilluk and dropped among the Hyksos. Immediately this happened, Memnon gave the order, and we wheeled away and let them run down on that palisade of sharpened staves. Half their horses were maimed or killed by those fierce points. Those who broke through were met by the Shilluk and a cloud of javelins. Struck by stake and arrow and javelin, their horses panicked, kicking and rearing in the traces.
Those chariots that were still under control hurled themselves into the Shilluk phalanx. They met no resistance. The black ranks opened before them, allowing the horses to run through, but then they closed up behind them.
Every one of those tall, willowy black devils was an athlete and an acrobat. They leaped up on to the footplate of the racing chariots from behind, and they stabbed and hacked at the crew with dagger and spear. They swallowed that first charge of chariots the same way a jellyfish engulfs a swift silver sardine in its myriad arms and amorphous body.
The Hyksos spearmen were moving forward to follow up and exploit the chariot charge, but now they were exposed. Loose horses and the surviving chariots tore back into their massed ranks, and forced them to open up and let them through. For the moment they were stranded in disorder in the middle of the field, and Memnon skilfully seized the opportunity.
Lord Aqer’s horses were blown, and Memnon led them back into reserve. He and I changed teams. It was but a moment’s work for the grooms to loosen the tack that coupled Rock and Chain, and to lead in a fresh team from the horses being held in reserve. We had six thousand fresh horses ready in the rear. I wondered how many Hyksos horses had escaped the Strangler, how many fresh teams they were holding.
As we wheeled back into line, Remrem called to us desperately, ‘Your Majesty! The first! Let my first division go!’
Pharaoh ignored him and signalled to Astes. The second moved forward behind us and formed up at the trot.
The Hyksos infantry was still tangled in the middle of the field. They had extended to overlap our shorter line, but had lost their dressing. The line was crumpled and twisted. With a general’s eye, Memnon picked out the weakest point, a salient in their left flank.
‘The second division will advance. Trot-march! Forward! Pods of eight, charge!’
We tore into the salient in the line, eight chariots abreast. Pod after pod, we crashed into them and ripped them open. Their left flank buckled, while their right still pressed forward. We had them canted across the field, their centre was shearing, and Memnon re-formed the third division at the gallop, and set them up to tear open the enemy centre.
At the moment before we were committed to the charge, I glanced across at the city. Dust had almost obscured the range, but I glimpsed the two white flags on the summit of the Finger of Horus. It was the warning signal from my lookout posted there, and I swivelled round and looked back at the eastern fort of the city.
‘Sire!’ I cried, and pointed back. The king followed my arm, and saw the first squadron of Hyksos chariots trot out from concealment behind the curve of the wall. The others followed, like a column of black warrior ants on the march.
‘Apachan is throwing in his reserves to save his infantry,’ Memnon shouted, above the din of battle. ‘A moment more, and he would have had us in enfilade. Well done, Tata.’
We had to let the infantry escape, as we wheeled into line to face Apachan’s chariots. We charged at each other across a field littered with smashed and overturned chariots, loose arrows and javelins, dead and wounded horses and dying men. As we came together, I stood taller on the footplate and peered ahead. There was something unusual about the run of the enemy chariots, and then it dawned upon me.
‘Sire,’ I cried, ‘look at the horses! They are running sick animals.’ The chests of the leading teams were painted with a glistening coat of yellow mucus that streamed from their gaping mouths. Even as I watched, one of the horses coming towards us staggered and fell headlong, bringing its teammate down with it.
‘Sweet Isis, you are right. Their horses are finished before they have begun,’ Memnon answered. He saw instantly what he had to do. It was the measure of his superb control that he was able to deflect a charge of his chariots once it was fully launched. At this very last moment he declined the head-on engagement.
We opened like a flower before their charge, peeling away on either side of them, turning and running back for our own lines, drawing them on, straining their sick and gasping horses to their utmost.
We ran before them in a tight, compact formation. Their own line began to waver and fall apart as the weaker horses broke down. Some of them fell as though struck in the head by an arrow. Others merely slowed and stopped, standing with their heads hanging, mucus pouring from their mouths in shiny golden ropes.
Lord Aqer’s own horses were almost blown by now. They had driven two furious charges without a rest. Still pursued by the remnants of Apachan’s division, Memnon led them back to where Hui’s fourth division was drawn up alongside Remrem and his first.
‘Pharaoh! The first is ready. Let me go! In the name of all the gods, let me go!’ Remrem howled with frustration.
Memnon hardly glanced in his direction. I turned my chariot in alongside that of Hui. A team of grooms slipped our sweat-soaked horses from the traces and led in a fresh pair. While Lord Aqer’s exhausted division streamed back past us, we faced the oncoming Hyksos.
‘Are you ready, Captain Hui?’ Memnon called to him, and Hui raised his bow in salute.
‘For Egypt and Tamose!’ he shouted.
‘Then forward march. Charge!’ Memnon laughed, and our horses jumped against the traces and we shot forward.
There were six full divisions of Apachan’s chariots scattered across the field in front of us. Half of them were broken down, with the horses fallen or drooping in the traces, suffocated and dying from the Yellow Strangler. Most of the others were reduced to a walk, the horses staggering and wheezing. However, the remaining chariots came on in good order.
We went out to meet them face to face. In the centre of their charge rode a tall chariot, its coachwork clad in shining bronze. On the footplate stood a man so tall that he towered above his driver. He wore the high golden helmet of Hyksos royalty, and his dark beard was plaited with coloured ribbons that fluttered in the wind like pr
etty butterflies hovering over a flowering shrub.
‘Apachan!’ Memnon challenged him. ‘You are a dead man.’
Apachan heard him, and he picked out our golden chariot. He swerved to meet us, and Memnon tapped my shoulder.
‘Lay me alongside the bearded hog. It’s time for the sword, at last.’
Apachan loosed two arrows at us as we closed. Memnon caught one on his shield. I ducked under the other, but I never lost my concentration. I was watching those terrible spinning scythes on the hubs of Apachan’s wheels. They could hack my horses’ legs out from under them.
Behind me I heard the gravelly rasp as Memnon drew the blue sword from its scabbard on the side panel, and from the corner of my eye I caught the steely flash of the blade as he went on guard.
I swung my horses’ heads over, feinting to the right to confuse the Hyksos driver, but the instant we started to turn away, I changed direction again. I avoided his scythes and passed him close, then I turned in sharply behind him. With my free hand I snatched up the grappling-hook and tossed it over the side-panel of the other chariot. Now we were locked together, but I had achieved the advantage, for we lay across his stern.
Apachan swivelled around, and aimed a sword-cut at me, but I fell to my knees under it, and Memnon gathered up the blow on his shield, then swung the blue sword. A shard of bronze curled from the edge of Apachan’s weapon, sliced away by the steel, and he shouted in angry disbelief, and flung up his copper shield at the next blow.
Apachan was a superb swordsman, but no match for my king and the blue sword. Memnon mangled his shield to strips, and then swung hard at his bronze blade, as Apachan tried to defend his head. The blue blade sheared the bronze cleanly, and Apachan was left with only the hilt in his fist.
He opened his mouth wide and bellowed at us. The teeth in the back of his jaw were black and rotten, and his spittle blew into my face in a cloud. Memnon used that classic straight thrust to end it. He drove the point of the blue blade through Apachan’s open mouth, deeply into the back of his throat. His angry bellow was drowned out by the torrent of bright blood that burst through his hairy lips.