by Overton, Max
Paramessu nodded and set about organizing the bivouac. "No fires," he said. "We may be close enough to be seen." He sent a pair of soldiers up the hillside into the dusk. The moon had risen, a slender crescent, when one of the guards returned. He squatted beside his leader and put a hand on his sleeping form, shaking him awake.
"Sir. There are fires to the east."
Paramessu scrambled up the slope in the dark, slowly following the guard. Horemheb stayed on his heels, seemingly unconcerned by the steep climb.
"There sirs," the guard said, pointing. "And there."
A distant pin-prick of orange light hung in the night sky, low down on the horizon. To the right and slightly higher hung another, slightly larger and brighter.
"A star," Paramessu said with a tinge of disgust and disappointment. "A star or a wanderer ..." He broke off as he suddenly realized that what he had taken for a low bank of cloud was in fact a low line of hills. "You may be right."
Horemheb nodded, just visible against the lighter sky. "Campfires. The nearer one maybe two hours away, the farther...maybe another hour."
"We could make the crossing and be on them at dawn, general."
"Assuming it is who we are after. However, I don't think there will be any others out here."
Paramessu took a bearing on the stars and led his men out in a double column at a slow trot. The ground was sandy and undulating, with patches of broken stony ground that slowed them to a walk. Two hours crept by, then a third as the stars slowly wheeled in the sky before a scout came running back with the news of a large body of men camped ahead. He halted the men and crept forward with Horemheb. The camp lay in the shallow depression of a meandering dry stream bed. A large fire now burned down to coals and glowing embers lay in the middle of a large encampment. Numbers of bodies lay curled up against the chill of the night, others sat, resting against boulders or stood on guard duty, dim against the first faint pre-dawn flush of the sky. Horses whickered off to the left.
"Are they those we seek?" Paramessu whispered.
"They have the look of Amorites," Horemheb answered. "Bearded. The armor they wear is what I would expect." The breeze shifted slightly, bringing the sour odour of wood ash and unwashed bodies to the watchers. "They smell like Amorites too," Horemheb growled.
"I count forty-three, sir. Maybe more if there are guards by the horses. How do you want to do this?"
"We outnumber them two to one. We surround them at a distance, put our archers in position on that rise there, and call on them to surrender when dawn breaks."
Paramessu looked round in surprise. "You will not attack them?"
"Fighting is over-rated, Paramessu. People tend to die, some of them your own men. I prefer to do things without fuss if possible."
A faint scrabbling noise came from behind them and they whirled, hands gripping dagger hilts. A scout eased out of the darkness and squatted beside them. "Sirs, another group of men, perhaps an hour away, also camped."
"Who are they? Could you identify them?"
"Yes, sir. Well, I think so, sir. Amorites like these here but the other ones are soldiers like. More discipline it seems."
"How many, soldier?"
"About a hundred. Leastwise I think there was. It were dark, sir."
"That alters the odds somewhat," Horemheb muttered. He dismissed the scout and returned to his contemplation of the camp site below him. "What would you do, son?"
Paramessu thought. "I don't see we can afford to take these men without fighting now, sir. And we cannot hope to guard them or take them prisoner with this large group of soldiers only an hour away. Two groups of Amorites must be more than coincidence; they are planning on meeting up. We must stop them."
"Very good. How?"
"This group below us are the ones that destroyed the fort. I say we surround and attack under cover of night. Surprise and numbers. With luck we can be away before dawn, without the soldiers even aware we were here."
"A night attack?"
"I know it is not usual sir, and if it were any but my own men, I'd hesitate. But they are well trained and disciplined. I'll take out the sentries then have the men rush in silently in three columns. We can kill most of them before they waken. With your permission, of course."
Horemheb nodded and Paramessu crawled back to give his orders. Before many minutes had passed he was back beside the general on the rise overlooking the camp, thirty men prone in the sand behind him. He listened, counting off the minutes, then a hoopoe called off to his right, followed a few moments later by another on his left. He waited. At last the noise of horses stamping in the lines came to them and another hoopoe rent the pre-dawn air with its eerie cry.
"That's the other sentries taken out," Paramessu murmured. "Now there are just the two below us." He rose to his feet and unsheathed a long bronze dagger.
"You are doing this yourself?" Horemheb whispered.
Paramessu grinned, his teeth gleaming faintly in the darkness. "Did you not always tell me never to ask one of my men to do anything I would not do?"
Horemheb grunted. "You learn well, boy. Permit me to accompany you?"
"I would be honoured."
The two men crept down the slope, bent low and taking advantage of every shadow and hint of cover. They picked their feet up and slowly settled them before putting any weight on, creeping silently into position behind the dozing sentries. One of the sentries farted loudly, eliciting a laugh and a show of light-hearted disgust from the other. The flatulent man laughed and turned up slope, pulling at his leggings. He started to piss, his gaze following the stream to where it spattered on the sand in front of a man-sized figure. He stared at the darkness, his mouth opening in a cry of surprise, cut off abruptly as the shadow flowed forward and a sharp blade sought out his heart. He collapsed; the sound and movement bringing the other sentry's attention around. Horemheb brought him low with an arm around his throat and his own dagger in the kidneys.
Paramessu looked around in the darkness, listening. He lifted a hand and framed his mouth, imitating the hoopoe. He nodded as Horemheb tapped him on the arm. "The fornicator pissed on me," he muttered. Lifting his hand once more, he gave the cry of the desert owl when it has made a kill. The night rustled around them as thirty men crested the rise and flowed down toward the camp like a silent black tide. Paramessu and Horemheb joined them, running ahead into the Amorite camp, stabbing and hacking at the sleeping men. Darkened forms flowed from the night on the other side of the camp too, joining the silent killing.
Paramessu's men were through the camp and turning back to sweep through again before the alarm was raised. A horrified scream, cut off as a sword slashed, sent other Amorites stumbling from their beds, hands scrabbling for weapons. The Kemetus tore into the camp from different points and the Amorites died. Within minutes of the desert owl's scream, the attack was over.
Horemheb ordered a sweep of the perimeter and a check on the horses before returning to Paramessu by the remains of the campfire.
"I'm impressed," Horemheb said. "That was efficiently done."
"And no injuries to the men sir, apart from a few cuts." Paramessu looked around the camp, the men and the sprawled bodies already clearer as the sky lightened. "It will be dawn soon. What do you want to do about the other group of Amorites?"
"We have reduced the odds," Horemheb grinned. "And we still have the element of surprise. I say we rid Kemet of a few more troublesome jackals."
"I was rather hoping you might say that, sir," Paramessu said. Then he frowned. "We will not have the cover of night and these others are disciplined soldiers. How will we surprise them?"
Horemheb considered a moment. "What is the worst thing you can do to a dead Amorite? Other than rob him of his death coin?"
Paramessu snorted. "Take his head, you mean? You think to anger the others?"
"Angry men do not think well. What would an Amorite do if he happened upon forty of his fellows, headless, and twenty Kemetu running away with the heads?
"
"Pursue and attack at once, probably without stopping to think how twenty defeated forty."
"Exactly. Now if we can think of a way to lead them into a trap, we have them."
Paramessu set his men to the grisly task of taking heads, ordering that the bodies be laid out naked in rows. Then he sat down with Horemheb to plan the trap.
"There is a shallow gully about an hour's travel back the way we came," Horemheb said. He drew a rough plan in the sand with his finger. "I recall there were large rocks on one side...here. If our men led them into the gully at this end, and through it, with the Amorites close behind, I think we could take them."
Paramessu nodded, studying the sand. "I'd like to get some others on this side too." He tapped the sand on the other side of the gully. "If we could conceal some archers here ..."
"That might depend on the nature of the cover. We won't know until we get there. There is another problem too. The horses. If we take them they might give our ambush away, but if we leave them, the Amorites may use them to pursue our men."
"I'd say leave them but hide their tackle. If we taunt them enough with the bodies they won't stop to saddle them, just pursue us."
"Let us hope so." Horemheb looked up at the graying sky. "Dawn soon. We'd better be heading off now if we are to set up the trap. Pick out twenty of your swiftest men, Paramessu and be sure to give them full instructions. They must know exactly what we expect of them."
"I intend to lead them myself sir. I can't think of anyone I'd rather have set the ambush than you, and I need to be with my men."
Horemheb smiled and clapped his officer on the shoulder with a great horny hand, before gathering the men about him, leading them off toward the west at a run. Paramessu had the heads gathered up into linen bags and distributed among the men in his squads. He detailed two to run to the east to give warning on the approach of the Amorites, taking the others up to the low ridge overlooking the camp and sitting them down.
"Get what rest you can. We'll be running for our lives soon."
The sun rose, leaping up from the horizon and casting colour back into the desert. Paramessu, like many other officers, was a lower-ranked priest in addition to his military duties, so he led his men of the Re regiment in the morning devotional to their titular deity. They settled back down again, seeking what comfort they could in the already hot morning, gnawing on hunks of dried bread and sipping from depleted flasks of water.
"Where are they?" growled one of the soldiers. "I don't mind fighting the hairy sons of bitches but I hate this sitting around."
A shout split the air and every head turned, searching to the east. The two scouts came racing back toward them, leaping and jumping over boulders, kicking up the acrid dust. "They're coming, sir," panted one of them as he came to a halt in front of his officer. "All of them, but slowly."
"Did they see you?"
"Yes, sir. As you said to, we didn't hide. Made sure the bastards saw us, then ran." The scout hesitated then blurted out. "They got horses, sir. We saw eight."
Paramessu cursed long and fluently, drawing grins of appreciation from the men within earshot. He looked around him at the bare ground and lack of cover, the low ridge and the swell of the land to the east offering but scant protection. He called over his three archers and explained the situation to them.
"We have to kill their horses. If we try and outrun them, we'll just get cut down."
He positioned the three archers behind the ridge with the bulk of his men, then led six of them eastward at a trot. "This is going to be chancy," he explained. "We are going to run headlong into them, turn and run back over the ridge. I'm hoping the archers can take care of them."
They crested the low swell of land and came face to face with the vanguard of Amorites, clambering up the slope towards them. Paramessu spotted horses beyond, in the indistinct body of men threading their way between rocky hillocks. He dashed forward with a yell and slashed at the Amorite in the lead with his sword, wounding him and sending him staggering back. His men leapt forward, hacking and stabbing, scattering their foes. An outcry arose beyond them and Paramessu grabbed one of his men, preventing him from chasing the enemy.
"Run!" he yelled. "For your lives."
Paramessu bolted back over the swell, his men close behind him. He looked back as they ran and saw half a dozen horsemen in pursuit. Already they were urging their mounts up the slope toward them. The Kemetu raced down the far slope, bypassing the bloodied camp with its rows of headless bodies and up the slope to the ridge and the waiting archers. The horsemen galloped over the rise then pulled to the left, away from the camp, seemingly intent on cutting off the fleeing men. Paramessu halted his men and cut back toward the camp, trying to draw the Amorites back. The horsemen changed direction again and urged their mounts along the line of the ridge, trying to herd the Kemetu back toward their main force.
The archers rose to their feet as the first of the horsemen passed them, less than ten paces away and slightly below. The first arrows plunged deep into the chests of the horses, sending them crashing to the ground, their riders flying. The horses behind reared and plunged, their riders struggling to avoid their fallen comrades, two more falling as arrows found their mark. The soldiers waiting with the archers screamed out and ran at the fallen Amorites, their lethal long-bladed axes tearing the life out of the fallen men.
The remaining three horsemen wrestled their mounts around and kicked them into motion, fleeing back the way they had come. A volley of arrows cut one down, the horse squealing in agony as the bronze barbs bit deep. One of the soldiers threw himself in front of the horses, slashing at the legs with his axe. The man, horse and rider went down in a welter of bloodied limbs. The horse was the only one to rise, hobbling on blood-soaked legs, head down and trembling. The remaining rider galloped out of sight, swaying in the saddle with an arrow in one shoulder.
The Kemetu soldiers made short work of the Amorites, putting the wounded horses out of their misery.
"Cut the tackle as well," Paramessu ordered. "Make sure it is useless."
The Kemetu soldier who had thrown himself in front of the horse was dead, his skull stove in by a flying hoof. The rider still lived, but not for long, and the horse was likewise dispatched and the bit and bridle destroyed.
The sound of drumming feet and the clattering of rocks disturbed them and Paramessu signaled the retreat, bringing up the rear as his men gathered up their weapons and the linen bags with the Amorite heads and fled toward the west. Paramessu paused on the ridgeline and looked back at the Amorites swarming over the hillock. Three horsemen were among them but they made no effort to get closer, contenting themselves with urging the men on foot to attack. Paramessu grinned and shook his arm at them, making a universally known gesture of contempt before trotting unhurriedly over the ridge.
Once out of sight he picked up the pace, angling toward his right to intercept his men. Catching up, he slowed the pace and corrected the direction of travel slightly. At the top of a slight rise he looked back to see the Amorite soldiers strung out in a ragged line about fifteen hundred paces back. He halted his men and allowed them to catch their breath then, leaving a few of the blood-spattered heads behind to enrage their pursuers, they jogged on.
Meny, Leader of Ten though now separated from his Ten, ran alongside Paramessu, their slowly shortening shadows preceding them as they angled slightly north of west, heading for the shallow gully and the rocks.
"They're not very good runners are they, sir," Meny grumbled. "If we went any slower we'd be walking."
Paramessu laughed. "That's because they are part-time soldiers, not professionals. They have not been trained for it." He glanced over his shoulder toward the haze of dust that marked the Amorite passage. "Still, they are too far back. If they approach the gully slowly there is a chance they will see the trap. We must hurry them along somehow."
Meny shrugged. "Well, if you want to stop, I don't mind. I could do with a piss, sir." He looked
across at his commander and after a few seconds of silence added, "Sir?"
Paramessu grinned. "You want to show us how fast you can run, Meny? You'll get your chance." He picked his speed up and overtook the rest of his men running in a tight bunch a few paces ahead. "See that rock up ahead? We are nearly at the trap. Stop there."
The men slowed and halted by a large boulder sitting in a puddle of sand. At once Meny and a couple of the others lifted their kilts but dropped them at a snapped order from their commander. "Wait. Now," Paramessu said with a grin. "I need the men with the fullest bladders." He selected five and bade them stand, fidgeting, to one side. "You others dump your Amorite heads here and run on through the gully, along its length. When you reach the end, form a defensive line. We will be with you shortly."
Paramessu nudged the blood-spattered heads into a loose pile, keeping an eye on the approaching enemy. "All right, grab a couple of heads each and wave them in the air. Make sure they can see what they are." He held two up by their bedraggled locks, judging the distance to the oncoming soldiers. "Drop them, men, lift your kilts and piss on them. Laugh. Show your contempt."
A roar of rage erupted from the Amorites and they surged forward, the horsemen who had been urging the foot soldiers on, swinging around the men and digging their heels into their horses' sides, swords drawn and waving. Closer they came, the foot soldiers putting in a burst of speed, their bearded faces contorted with a killing hatred.
The streams of urine faltered and two of the men stepped back in alarm. "Shit!" one of them yelped.
"Not now," Meny growled. "You'll have to wait for that."
"Now!" screamed Paramessu as the first of the soldiers reached them. He parried the down-swinging sword and kicked the man in the gut, swinging round and stumbling into a run in the same motion. "Run! Run as you never have before." The men fled, only paces ahead of the enemy. Without looking back they leapt and vaulted over rocks, racing and slipping over loose stones, kicking up sand as they fought to stay ahead of eager death.