Shiri

by D. S.

  His men roared and without need of the order the jog burst into a run. Jacobaam turned as they overhauled him and he joined the charge. They surged forward, screaming like wild beasts. Fifty yards, a massed volley from the Gypto archers barely slowed them. Twenty yards, rock and stone from Gypto slingers bounced off them. Ten yards, the Companions’ lowered spears and shouted threats didn’t scare them. With fury they crashed against the invaders that meant to enslave them all. By the gods they would not do so without a fight.

  X

  Josef stared at the columns of dark smoke blotting out the horizon. The battle has already begun! He spurred his mounts and drew up beside the old King’s litter, his face red, his eyes wide. “We must quicken the pace or it will be too late!”

  Aratama peered through the curtains of the litter. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, his brow furrowed and wrinkled as if he could not comprehend how this could be happening, “No … this cannot be … Pharaoh is days away.”

  “Pharaoh is on us now!” Josef shouted. “Give the signal! We must move as quickly as we can! We will take him in the flank or at the very least add our force to my father’s and bolster his ranks.”

  The King shook his head, his face was ashen. Josef jumped from his chariot and grabbed the old man by the arm, shaking him almost violently. In half a daze Aratama turned to him, “No, no, youngling we … we must not be rash. We ... must come to the battle fresh and in good order.”

  A moment, Josef stared at him in disbelief. “You mean to let my father fight Pharaoh alone?”

  Aratama didn’t answer and Josef looked about him desperately. “Then send forth the Maryannu! I’ll go with them, give your own men the command if it pleases you, but send them now! My father has nothing to match the Gypto chariots. If they’re charging unhindered about his flanks he won’t have a chance! The Maryannu can at least engage them and keep the battle between men on foot. It may be enough to sway the odds.”

  “But that would leave my own flanks unprotected! What if Pharaoh has a second force hidden in the mountains waiting for me to make just such a mistake? No, the Maryannu must stay with their King,” Aratama shook his head determinedly and lay back in his bed. “Wine ... bring ... bring me wine.” His guard nodded and set about it at once.

  Josef could cry out with the frustration. He glanced towards the smoke. Anything could be happening. Even now Father could be beset from all sides, fighting for his life. I must not fail him. He turned back to the King and there was anger in his voice, “Will you do nothing then? Will you do naught but wring your hands and take to your bed while the fate of your kingdom is decided by others? Know well that if Pharaoh triumphs Mitanni will be next to feel his wrath.”

  The old King was shaking now, his voice a barely audible whisper. “We ... must remain in good order ... or ... or risk falling into a trap ... we must not be hasty.”

  With a roar of frustration Josef turned from him. Tuthmosis would be carving odes to his victory in the halls of Karnack before good King Aratama deemed it a prudent time to join the fray. “Out!” he shouted at Yuya and the slave jumped from the chariot. He spun to his lieutenants. “Aretas! Chalfon! To me!”

  He cracked the whip and his steeds leaped forward. Aretas growled a command and a man jumped into Josef’s chariot, “If you want a free sword hand best have a man to take the reins,” Aretas said over his shoulder as he drew a great two handed blade.

  From an army of five thousand Josef’s fifty charged forward. The smoke in the distance acted as a spur and they ran like the wind, throwing up a great cloud of dust as they went. Soon enough Aratama and his men were left behind. They followed in slow, but decidedly organised march.

  Josef’s heart sank when he saw them. Chariots, Gypto chariots everywhere. They were swarming about a fleeing mass of beaten foes that were vainly trying to make it back to Megiddo. I’m too late. I’m too late.

  “There’s too many!” Aretas roared. “Back to Aratama, he’s our only chance now.” But Josef would not give the command. One group was still fighting, they were falling back true enough, but there was still some order about them. They held their shields high and to the sides as if trying to protect something, or someone. He recognised the standards, the King’s own clan – Father!

  The chariots were concentrating on this one group, wearing it down with a never ending hail of flying death. Doggedly it strode forward, forcing a path through the frothing enemy, driving ever nearer to the city. But its momentum was flagging. The chariots were circling closer and closer, their shafts penetrating shield and armour both. They will not make Megiddo, unless...

  Josef sounded the charge. The Gypto chariots swung away from their prey to face him off. Four hundred yards out the Prince stretched his bow. Too far yet. He held the string and his fifty did likewise, waiting for the Gypto’s to come within range.

  Suddenly Egyptian shafts were falling amongst them. Men and horse to either side of him went down. Josef cursed. The Gypto bows outrange us! He fired and the forty still with him fired too. Their shafts fell short. Josef notched another arrow, but then a second wave of flying death came at them. Josef’s force disintegrated. Chalfon fell, three arrows in his chest. Both of Aretas’s mounts were hit, the horses screamed and the chariot crashed and toppled, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

  Josef’s driver was struck in the throat. He wretched and coughed blood before tumbling head over heels off the back of the chariot. Josef lunged for the reins and that saved him, an arrow grazed his back. More shafts rained down. This was not a fight. This was a slaughter.

  Ducking low as Egyptian arrows battered the side of his craft Josef swung the vehicle around. The Egyptians surged after him. He lashed his mounts as arrows fell like hail. One landed not an inch from his foot, another glanced off the side of his helmet with a disorientating thump. He nearly lost the reins then. Abruptly the onslaught ceased. The Gyptos have turned back. He stood a little higher and peered over his shoulder. The bedraggled force, last remnants of his father’s host had made Megiddo, but all about them the enemy raged. They will not hold the gates for long.

  Warning horns turned his head. Five thousand warriors were drawn up in front of him. Aratama seemed to have quickened his pace by some degree. Perhaps we can still catch the Pharaoh between the hammer and the anvil. Josef steered his mounts towards the King.

  Aratama had abandoned his litter in favour of a gold plated chariot. Yuya was at his side. Josef leaped from his own vehicle and ran to him. “Pharaoh’s troops are spread out across the plain hunting down our forces, their flanks are exposed and undefended, their troops tired and bloodied. A strike now, Your Grace, and victory will yet be ours!”

  Aratama’s face was pale. “Lost ... all is lost.”

  “No! There is still time! Look at them! A disordered mob stretched out from Aruna to Megiddo! In now and you’ll rip them asunder!”

  Aratama looked at Yuya. “It ... it is as you foretold ... he is too mighty ... the god of war in mortal form, and now he comes upon us in vengeance and anger ... I cannot defeat him.” He turned back to the Prince, “A parley now, friend Josef. A parley and...”

  “A parley! What would you say to him? What can you give him that he wants? You have naught to offer him but the edge of your sword!”

  Aratama glanced almost furtively at Yuya. And Josef only now seemed to notice the slave. The Prince looked from one to the other. The old King peered at Josef almost sadly before turning away, unable to meet his gaze. “You ... are young, friend Josef, very young.”

  Suddenly Yuya spoke, “Seize him!”

  The King’s men launched themselves at Josef, throwing him to the earth, pinning him cursing on the ground. Josef roared and kicked out, but strong arms held him fast.

  If Yuya’s grin was any broader and his teeth any whiter it would have been seen from Megiddo itself. “The fortunes of war are ever shifting … Josef.” He hopped down from the King’s chariot and moved towards him, “Once I was the slave and y
ou the master, but now it seems the tide has turned.” He kneeled before the Prince and gently lifted his chin, “But I am not unmerciful. You did me a favour once, I return it now. Kiss the dirt at my feet and call me, ‘master.’” He grinned, “Pronounce yourself slave to a better man and you may yet live.”

  Josef shook his head, his mind a whirl. “Y ... Yuya?” Desperately he looked past him; he could see the back of the old King’s head as he shuffled away. “Aratama! You betray me?” The old King did not turn and was soon out of sight.

  Yuya kicked him in the ribs, once, twice and then a third time. He stepped back, took several breaths and then spoke calmly, “Does the Prince of Shepherds not have ears? Swear fealty to me. Call me, ‘master.’”

  Josef coughed, clutching his ribs with the pain. He wanted to hold them and curl up in a ball, but Aratama’s guards held him fast. “The ... the son of Jacobaam calls no man master.”

  “We shall see.” Yuya nodded to the guards and turned away for a moment as they pounded the Prince with fist and boot. All the while Yuya spoke to him, “A slave is to speak only when bidden. A slave must never meet his master’s eye. A slave must bow and prostrate himself when better men draw near ... a slave must call his owner ‘master.’” When he turned back the Prince was on all fours spitting blood. Yuya smiled, “You learn quickly, Josef.”

  He placed his sandaled foot between Josef’s hands. “Kiss it.” Josef remained where he was, breathing heavily. “Kiss it, Josef, kiss your master’s feet and lick the filth from between his toes, do it, or it will be the worse for you. You think I’ll not flay you alive? You think I’ll not take your cock and feed it to the dogs?”

  Slowly Josef looked up. “Why ... do you do this to me, Yuya ... have I not always treated you well?”

  Yuya’s eyes blazed. “You treated me as your slave! Me, an Egyptian of noble birth, slave to Habiru scum like you!”

  “It was to save your life that I took you ... you know that. You were innocent of your father’s crime. It was not you that took her, not you that forced yourself on her.”

  There was a glint in Yuya’s eye at that. “Aye. That’s right ... that’s what I told you wasn’t it? And I spoke true enough...” he grinned and leaned forward, “For the most part.” He bent closer, whispering in Josef’s ear, “Aye, ‘twas not I that took her, not I that forced myself on her ... at least ... not that first time.”

  He laughed as Josef’s eyes widened. “The Beautiful One they called her, and she was at that. You’ll be comforted to know that she squirmed well. My father liked that not, but I ... found it only added to my pleasure.”

  Old King Aratama heard the Prince of Shepherds roar from the confines of his litter. He wrung his hands, licked trembling lips and gave the signal to send the messenger to Pharaoh.

  XI

  All about her Megiddo burned. Something had gone wrong, terribly wrong. From the battlements she’d seen the dust and smoke of battle on the horizon, heard the rumble of horses’ hooves and clash of arms as it seemed to draw nearer and nearer until at last she could see them; a mass of surging Gypto chariots, a ragged band of beaten rebels retreating before them. She watched them run for the scant cover of the battered walls of Megiddo. Watched them briefly hold the enemy at the gates. And then the Gypto’s were through.

  Simeon grabbed her by the hand and led her to the square. Shiri followed in muted horror as it all happened again. Gypto’s were tearing through the streets, women and children were screaming. Not again, not again.

  She looked at the soldiers about her. There are so few – the last holdouts of a failed rebellion. Ten thousand had marched, not two hundred had returned. In the fortified town square they gathered about the cart that held the broken body of their King. There was an arrow in his chest, blood oozing from his lips. But still he lived. Shiri felt drawn to him and ran to his side

  A moment she looked back and stared beyond the barricades. She caught her breath at what she saw. The monster! He was astride his chariot looking pleased with himself. He was laughing and pointing at something on the street in front of him. Shiri couldn’t see what, but screams told her all she needed to know. She turned back to the King, taking a damp rag to his brow as his cart was dragged away from the line of fire.

  “Josef?” His voice was weak, “I ... saw your ... chariots ... I knew you would come.”

  Simeon looked at Shiri then back to the King. He shook his head. “He has not come, Sire. I ... I know not why, he must have seen the smoke of battle, our scouts spotted outriders from Aratama’s host not two miles distant and yet ... as best we can tell, neither he nor Prince Josef has joined battle.”

  The King’s eyes opened and for a moment he looked confused. His head lolled back, “Josef will not ... fail me. He will ... come.”

  There was a crash behind them. A few remaining stalwarts were still holding it up, but the barricade would not last much longer. Simeon grabbed her, his eyes frantic. “You can do no more for him.”

  “I can hold his hand.” She took Jacobaam’s beefy paw in hers. His other hand was shut in a tight fist. He was grasping something there, but she couldn’t see what. Blood came in bubbles about his mouth and his breathing was laboured, but something in her touch opened his eyes. She saw recognition there. He offered her a faint and sad smile before heavy lids closed once more. His fingers clasped around hers and squeezed. That was enough for her. No man wanted to die alone. I will not leave him.

  Simeon looked pained. “Will you not run?”

  “I’ve run long enough,” Shiri said. “Besides, there’s nowhere else to run to.”

  Simeon sighed, took her rough-spun shawl and attempted to wrap it around her head. She shrugged him off, but in this at least he would not be denied, “Put it on,” he commanded. “If ... if you escape their attention on this first night…” He looked away, he couldn’t bare look in those eyes as he said it, “It ... might not be so rough after.”

  Shiri paid him no heed. Her eyes could see only Jacobaam. She’d done nothing when her father breathed his last. She’d closed her ears to her mother’s dying screams. I can’t abandon him too. Abruptly Simeon turned her about. He slipped an eating knife into the leather cord about her waist and ignoring her protestations, forcefully wrapped her shawl tightly about her head, tucking her hair inside. “If a Gypto captures you … it would be best if he thinks you a boy,” he said with a cheerless smile.

  Briefly Shiri met his eye, “No,” she said. She took the small knife in hand. “It would be best if he died. It would be best if he died and burned in hell.”

  XII

  Amenhotep was grinning broadly. His father had turned with the bulk of their force to deal with the approaching force from Mitanni leaving him to mop up the last of the rebel holdouts in Megiddo.

  The attack on the town had been faltering when he’d arrived. Or at least that’s what his report to Pharaoh would claim. He pondered the wording for a moment. ‘I led a well timed counterstroke ... I led a masterful counterstroke as the Shepherds attempted to hold ... as the Shepherds attempted to drive us back, and that finally did for them’.

  In truth he had little to do other than watch as his hounds ripped through the streets. The desperate defence, mounted by the few rebels that had made it back to Megiddo, barely slowed the oncoming tide. Now, with little more than two hundred held up behind their barricades, Amenhotep decided the time was ripe. He signalled. A ram’s horn sounded and his men came to a halt. With a grin he turned to his ghaffir; his personal bodyguard, “Narmer, send a man under a flag of truce to the shepherds. Tell them they have fought well this day, and the great Prince of the Two Lands is willing to show them mercy, if they lay down their arms.”

  The Prince’s ghaffir furrowed his brow in a surprised expression. “But ... Pharaoh has ordered that no prisoners be taken from amongst those that fought. Only women, children and those men without courage enough to fight are to be taken for the slave caravans.”

  A flash of anger crosse
d Amenhotep’s features. “Who is it that commands here, me or my father?”

  Narmer looked confused. “Aye, but, Your Grace, it’s pointless, alive or dead, they will not give up their king.”

  “Then tell them the heir to the Red Deshret Crown promises them their king will not be harmed. Tell them I will be merciful to all that have stood so gallantly over him even when all was lost. Tell them if they surrender now we will go easy on their women.”

  Narmer seemed unhappy but bowed and went to personally convey the message. The response from the rebels was slow in coming. Arguments and raised voices could be heard amongst them. But soon word came that they agreed to the terms imposed upon them. The Prince’s men forced their way through the barricades unopposed, and dejectedly the rebels gave up their arms.

  Amenhotep paraded confidently into the square atop his gleaming chariot. He lashed the reins and circled about it, passing close by the King’s wagon. “Line up the prisoners.”

  The rebels were forced to kneel in a long line, hands bound behind their backs. The Prince jumped from the chariot and approached their leader. He adjusted those golden bracelets and his grin grew broader as he drew his sword. It was a fine piece. He’d liberated it from a barbarian in that mountain village a few days past. He’d been the first man the Prince had killed by his own hand, fitting then that he should have his sword.

  A boy was at the King’s side, holding his hand. Amenhotep pushed the runt aside. A moment the boy glared at him. Sad eyes found the Prince’s sword and there was a sudden burst of anger in them. The wretch screamed and drew a concealed knife. He lunged forward with an even higher pitched scream.

  The Prince was ready for just such an act of foolishness. A deft little side step and he caught the boy’s arm under his. A fist to the side of the face sent him to the ground. He was skilled at fighting younglings. The Prince barely glanced at the peasant as he lay in a heap at his feet. Narmer grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him a few yards away. One of the prisoners in the line up cried out and attempted to struggle from his knees, but was met with the butt of a spear.