Silence returned. Zayin and Ain waited, as the enemy troops round the corner must have been waiting for the scouts who would never come back. The moon dipped below the horizon, but already a gray light was filtering over the black mass of the mountain wall. The night was nearly at an end. If the enemy was to attack in force, it would be at dawn. Zayin took off his helmet and handed it to the soldier, and clambered up to peep over the shoulder of rock. He must see what was happening. It was very shadowy under the cliff; shapes, that he knew must be rocks, seemed to move as he stared at them. Then a small sound caught his ear, and his eyes focused on a party of men advancing cautiously along the cliff ledge. He could not make out their number but it would be more than one each next time. He went back to his companion and held a whispered conference. Then they withdrew together, not this time into the niche in the rocks, but up a bank of loose rock and shale to the side of the track, at the top of which they flattened themselves against the cliff face.
The sounds of the approaching party became clearer, though they were moving with more caution than the first two scouts. They are wondering what happened to the scouts, thought Zayin; their nerves are on edge, they know something’s wrong. Zayin kept a hand on Ain’s arm as they watched the men round the corner, all the time looking carefully about them. Zayin had been right, a silent short-range attack would not have worked this time. One, two, three, four, five, and then a sixth was outlined against the phosphorescence of the sea, and the party stood, exchanging low whispers as they surveyed the next bay and the cliffs ahead.
Then Zayin moved, and so did Ain. Clashing their weapons and shields, kicking loose rocks ahead of them, whooping and hollering until the echoes aroused from the cliffs made them sound like a charging battalion. They hurtled down the slope. Two of the startled enemy stepped back into thin air and fell into the sea below without being touched. Zayin and Ain engaged a man apiece, shield to shield. Zayin gave his adversary a stab in the side, and by sheer weight bore him backward off the ledge; immediately he noticed that another had turned aside and stumbled over the first scout’s body; this one he killed too, before the man could recover his feet. Then Zayin turned to Ain who was struggling with another Egyptian, and between them they soon disposed of him. They paused, breathing heavily, and looked around for more.
“There were six,” said Zayin.
“The other man must have run away,” panted Ain. “He will tell them we’re here,” he added anxiously.
“Never mind,” said Zayin thoughtfully, “the time for secrecy and surprise is over. He will go back and tell the main guard that the pass is held by a strong force. There will be a breathing space before they attack again.”
Ain nodded, and then suddenly held his breath and listened. “Then what’s that?” he demanded. To their ears came the tramp of deliberate marching feet, the sound of many soldiers and at no great distance. Zayin held his breath too, while his heart missed a beat. Surely they could not be pressing on the attack so soon! Then he heard a gasp of relief from Ain, who was pointing back up the coast. “They’re ours, sir,” he said thankfully, and now in spite of the distortion of sound among the cliffs, Zayin realized that the marching feet were those of his own army approaching from the camp.
As the sky brightened over the ridge of the mountains, the Giblite army was drawn up for battle at the coastal pass that would be known for ever afterward as the Dog River, in honor of the unknown animal that had saved a nation. The plan of battle could hardly be simpler. The battlefront consisted of twelve men, for there was only room for twelve men to stand side by side on the part of the ledge they were defending. But then, too, there was room for only twelve Egyptians from the whole of Pharaoh’s host to attack. The rest of the Giblite army stood to along the banks of the river. Just as the water of the river flowed continually to replenish the sea, so the columns were able to keep moving down its banks, to replace the twelve fighters in the forefront of the battle.
Zayin mounted a rock where he could be seen by as much of his strung-out army as possible. Standing beside him, Ain displayed the helmets and armor of the three available Egyptian victims. At that early hour and in that gray light, Zayin did not feel like giving an impassioned oration. At dawn, a few words are enough.
“You’ve been wondering what you’re here for,” he cried, his voice echoing along the gorge. “Now you know. Your General and one of your comrades have already disposed of seven men between them. The rest will soon be here—and even if the odds are seven to two, what have we to fear? Our enemies are at the end of a long march in strange country. We are defending our homes and families. Stand firm—we have more to fight for than the enemy. I’m only sorry you can’t all fight at once. Be patient though—I’ll see that you all have your turns.”
They waited impatiently for the expected attack. The advance guard of Egyptians came round the corner of the cliff in a determined rush, met no resistance, and then saw the motionless line of armed men blocking the base of the cliff farther along the ledge. On Zayin’s orders, his men remained quite silent. The Egyptians marched to within a javelin’s throw of the Giblites, and a herald stepped forward and spoke:
“In the name of Pharaoh, let us pass! We will do you no harm if you lay down your arms and go home.”
An echo from the face of the cliffs threw back his last words: “Go home!” Zayin himself was awed, and knew that no other reply was needed. The Egyptians, seeing the towering cliffs and the silent soldiers of this unknown northern country, faltered. But it seemed that their orders had been to attack and test the defenses. They formed up on as broad a front as they could manage, twelve abreast on the rocky ledge, set their spears at the ready and their shields before them, and in silence, too, advanced at a steady pace to the attack.
Seldom has a battle been joined in such cold blood. Though each army had put its most hardened soldiers into the front rank, there seemed to be a moment when both sides hesitated to break the silence of dawn with the clash of arms. Then shields met shields, sword parried spear, and the first grunts, curses, and cries of anguish awoke the echoes of the gorge. There could only be one outcome of this first engagement. Men fell on both sides, but every empty space in the Giblite ranks was quickly filled. The Egyptians had no means of telling how great were the defenses, but they soon discovered that this was no mere handful of men masquerading as an army. At a word of command, the advance guard disengaged itself and retreated back along the ledge more quickly than they had advanced, but still with disciplined deliberation. A hail of javelins now helped them on their way. Leaving their wounded on the ledge, they fell back round the point to regroup and report to the main guard.
There were exclamations of jubilation among the Giblite troops, but Zayin quelled them. “The battle’s not over yet—it’s not even begun! Well done though, they’ve had a taste of our mettle!”
Another wait followed. The wounded in the front rank were replaced by fresh soldiers—many of the former protesting that they had hardly had a chance yet. But Zayin knew the next attack would be more determined.
When at last it came, it was obvious that the Egyptian commander had decided upon the maximum show of force. A broad column of marching men appeared round the corner and advanced in a compact mass along the ledge, uttering rhythmic war-chants and filling the air with the sound of their advance. It seemed that the mere pressure of bodies from behind must make them irresistible and that nothing human could stand in their way. But Zayin called above the noise, “Stand firm, Giblites. They can still only fight twelve at a time!”
Then he saw what must be done. Instead of presenting a square block across the path of the advancing army, he re-formed his troops so that they stood diagonally across the ledge. The head of the column met the ranks of the defenders. The Giblites kept formation and hacked savagely at the leaders of the column. There was now no attempt at silence and coolness; men were grappling at close quarters and sheer weight opposed
sheer weight.
But the leaders of the column were stumbling upon heaps of dead and wounded, and were being crowded by their fellows behind them. Unable to go on or disengage themselves, and swollen by more files of soldiers urged on from behind, the column began to swell until it was a tight-packed mass of struggling men, unable to use their weapons. The wedge-shaped barrier of Giblites, combined with the pressure from the rear, forced the men at the head of the column outward from the cliff until they began to drop off the ledge into the sea by dozens, howling and cursing. Zayin himself, perched above the seething mass, felt sickened. This was no heroic battle—it was like sheep attacked in the fold by wolves. But it was war. He gave a signal to the parties of mountaineers halfway up the cliff above the ledge, and they began to loosen rocks and boulders so that they fell on the heads of the enemy below, some of them starting small landslides. The panic on the ledge became a rout. Soldiers near the front turned round and started using their weapons on their own troops, shouting to the officers in the rear to stop sending more men round the point. Men were dropping off all along the ledge, some dislodged by the falling rocks, some pushed off by their friends. The flow round the point ceased, then began to ebb backward. When the pressure was released, the battle at the head of the column became freer and more furious for a while, until the leaders became aware of the retreat behind them. Then they turned and fled, followed by more showers of javelins. The triumphant Giblites were about to pursue them, but Zayin shouted to them to keep their ranks. There was no advantage to be gained from chasing along the coast toward the main army.
What now? So far it was a victory for the Giblites. So few of them had been able to get at grips with the enemy that their casualties had been very low, while the ledge was strewn with dead and dying Egyptians, and many more bodies washed around in the sea below. And yet it was unlikely that the Egyptian general would let it go at that. The glory of Pharaoh was at stake. It was impossible that one small city-state could defy the might of Egypt for ever.
Zayin relieved the defenders again, though there were still men among the first contingent who had been within a few yards of the battle and had not struck a blow—and at the other end of the army, in the gorge of the river, soldiers were still asking when the fight would begin. But from his high point above the pass, Zayin was better able to understand what was happening. What would he do, he wondered, if he were attacking.
“If I were the Egyptian general,” he said to himself, “I would know that my reserves were as the sands of the seashore compared with the handful of grit that is the Giblite army. I would consider that, given an equal chance, one swordsman is more or less equal to another. I would tell myself that as long as my troops are willing to fight and are given room to maneuver, I can wear down any opposition in time. All the same, they’ve had a shock and a defeat and they won’t feel much like going back on that ledge again.”
The unknown Egyptian general down the coast must indeed have been thinking on those lines. When the next attack came, halfway through the morning, it was made by picked fighters from Upper Egypt who advanced in open order, section by section, and fought fiercely and well, giving the Giblites little rest and causing many casualties. But still the ranks were closed by fresh troops from the river, and there was time to carry the wounded and dead to the rear. Each Egyptian attack was met by apparently the same wall of armed men, while the number of Egyptian dead and wounded could be seen by each wave of attackers. One wave was composed of nearly naked black Nubians; another one, in the dead of the afternoon, was of wild men from the desert with fuzzy hair and long lances; but the Giblites, now sweating in the direct rays of the sun, fought on grimly like men caught in a machine. There was nothing else they could do but fight man to man and keep closing up the ranks—until there were no men left to close them.
That was the last attack of the day. The Giblites remained in formation until the sun went down into the sea; then Zayin made his dispositions for the night. He ensured that the outpost was well manned—he hardly needed to tell them to keep a good look-out tonight—and that enough troops were in armed readiness at the pass in case of a night attack. Only then did he realize that he was himself dropping with fatigue and hunger; he could not remember when he had last eaten or slept. He crammed some food into his mouth, stretched out on some dried leaves in a hut, and fell into a deep sleep.
He thought it was a bad dream, that someone kept shaking him by the shoulder saying, “A message from the King. You are to fall back on Gebal.” Then he opened his eyes. Someone was indeed shaking him. He leaped to his feet and reached for his sword. “What is it?” he exclaimed “Are they attacking? Strange!—I dreamed there was a message from the King, saying, ‘Fall back on Gebal.’”
The messenger hesitated, standing there holding a flaming torch, and still breathing heavily after his long run. Then he said, “That was the message, sir.”
“But the Egyptians are here. This is the only place where we can defend Gebal. His Majesty knows that.”
“I am to say that there will be no city to defend, if you do not return within the walls. The enemy from the North are nearly upon us.”
Zayin sat down again, feeling sick and defeated. He might be winning a battle here, but they were losing a war waged on two fronts.
It was nearly dawn. When the army had formed column again and marched off toward the city, most of the soldiers thought the battle was won and they were returning victorious. They left a handful of men to make a show of defense, but Zàyin knew that the Egyptians would soon find out the truth, and would be advancing on the city. He felt in his heart that it was the end of everything.
11
The Darkening of the Sun
The earthquake under the sea—The Chaldean announces that the day of destruction has come—The escape of the people of Gebal—The catastrophic eruption of Thira takes place—The return of Aleph—A prophecy of the greatness of the Phoenician people
The King of Gebal was sitting in a small room of the palace, overlooking the sea and the whole line of coast from north to south. He was talking to a prisoner who stood in chains, flanked by two palace guards.
“General Zayin knows me,” the man was saying. “I was his staff-sergeant in the expeditionary force he led up north. We were captured together, then I lost sight of him. They say he escaped. Me, I was taken to Carchemish, and then to Nineveh. And all the time I was prisoner they were preparing for war. Or maybe they’re always like that, the Mitanni. Keen soldiers all right, even if it is all chariots. So when the time came to invade the coast here, they wanted me as a guide, knowing I was a Giblite. What could I do, Your Majesty? I thought maybe I could lose them somewhere, mislead them like. Anyway, I was with the leading unit. Chariots it was, mainly. Ugh! No way for a soldier to travel—give me two feet any time—”
“So you guided the enemy to our land?” interjected the King harshly.
“I tell you, sir, it wasn’t a case of doing that. It was as big a shock to me as it was to them when we came across the Giblite army waiting for us that far north. The first battle was a victory for us—I mean the Giblites of course. The Mitanni were beaten back, and ran. Now’s my chance to go over to my own people, I thought. But no, they kept an eye on me and I couldn’t escape. We followed them, that is the Giblites followed the Mitanni, me still being a prisoner, but that was the mistake, to go after the Mitanni on to the open plains. I reckon if General Zayin had been there he wouldn’t have allowed it. Once in the open, the reinforcements came up, chariotry, of course, and our lot—the Giblites that is—was split up and cut to pieces—they didn’t stand a chance, foot soldiers against horse on the plains.” There were tears in the sergeant’s eyes as he said this.
“Well, then we regrouped and marched south—the Mitanni that is, and me their prisoner. I swear I didn’t help them, Your Majesty! As soon as I started recognizing the ground I gave them the slip one night in the mountains—and
here I am. Lucky it’s slow going for chariots down the coast and I kept ahead of them. If I’ve had two hours’ sleep the last five nights call me a liar! But I’m not that far ahead, Your Majesty. They’ll be on us any time now, and there’s not a Giblite soldier between them and the city.”
The King pulled at his beard and spoke as if to himself. “How do I know you are telling the truth? How do I know you are not sent by the enemy to spread tales to alarm us? How do I know who you are?”
“I am no spy, Your Majesty!” the soldier protested. “Where’s General Zayin? He knows me! Ask him!” And at that moment a man strode into the room and the soldier looked hopefully into his face, thinking to recognize the features of Zayin. But it was not Zayin, though the face bore some resemblance. It was Nun, the sailor.
Nun made his obeisance to the King, and before he rose the King asked flatly, “Well, what is the news from the sea? Is it victory or defeat?”
“Neither, as yet, Your Majesty,” said Nun. “You know we set out with a small force of ships to patrol the coast to the north and south. Much as we expected, I spied the Cretan ships lying up for the night in a safe bay. They are a strong fleet. We stood in to land, trying to lure them into the open sea to do battle, and three fast rowing galleys came out to engage us. But night was falling and only one had the courage to brave the sea and the darkness. We boarded her and took prisoners. They say their fleet carries many soldiers, and their intention is to attack our city and destroy it without mercy. Your Majesty, they may be here within hours. We must have all the ships and all the troops available, and we must meet them at sea and fight there!”
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