The Sunbird

by Wilbur Smith

  They set the rate of exchange at 590 mikthals per finger, and went on to negotiate the slaving agreement, and the cotton and silk clauses. On the fifth day they ate salt together and exchanged extravagant gifts, while the armies gave displays of archery and swordsmanship and drill. These were intended to impress the other side.

  ‘Their archers are ineffectual,’ Lannon appraised them.

  ‘The bow is too short, and they draw to the waist not the chin,’ Huy agreed. ‘They limit their range and accuracy.’

  Then later when the infantry drilled:

  ‘Their infantry are lighter armed and armoured, my lord. They have no axemen, and I doubt those breastplates would turn an arrow.’

  ‘And yet they move fast, and they have a fiery spirit - do not dismiss them lightly, my Sunbird.’

  ‘No, my lord. I will not do that.’

  The elephants charged across the open ground with the archers in their castles spraying a shower of arrows ahead of the line. The huge grey beasts tossed and trampled the lines of straw dummies and their squeals and trumpets rang against the crest of the hills.

  ‘See their faces,’ Lannon murmured. ‘The prince seems to be looking on the eternal seas!’ And it was true that the Dravs were silent and subdued for they had no elephants of their own, they had not mastered the art of training them.

  They parted and when Lannon and Huy looked back into the valley they saw the Drav army winding away eastwards in column, with the sunlight sparkling on helmets and spearheads.

  ‘Our eastern border is secure for five more years,’ Lannon declared with satisfaction.

  ‘Or until the princes change their minds,’ Huy qualified.

  ‘No, Sunbird. They must honour the treaty - it is in their own best interest. Trust me, old friend.’

  ‘You, I trust,’ said Huy.

  On the return to Zeng-Hanno the legions assembled and preparations began for the burning which Lannon planned to lead across the great river.

  Huy’s legion was one of those chosen, and he spent much time with his priest-officers. They dined with him in the splendid quarters set aside for him within the enclosure of the temple of Baal. Huy invited the reverend priestesses of Astarte, and provided magnificent fare for he had hunted the day before and there was game to add to the beef and chicken and fish seasoned with spices traded from the Drav, while the gardens of Zeng provided the best of their fruits and wines.

  Lannon was the guest of honour, and they were all decked with wreaths of flowers and boisterous with wine.

  ‘Reverend Mother,’ one of Huy’s priests, a handsome young rake named Bakmor, called across the board to the High Priestess of Astarte. ‘Is it true that you have discovered a new oracle among your novices to replace the Lady Imilce who died two years ago of the shivering sickness?’

  The reverend mother turned wise old eyes on the young officer. She had pale, brittle-looking skin and her hair was fine and fluffy white. Her arms were thin and pale also and her hands skeletal and corded with blue veins. Up until now she had sat withdrawn from the revelry.

  ‘It is true that one of the temple novices shows wisdom and wit beyond her years or training, it is true also that she has seen beyond the veil and made prophecy, but the sisterhood has not yet decided to send her to the High Priest for examination.’

  ‘Is there doubt then, Reverend Mother?’ Bakmor insisted.

  ‘There is always doubt, my son,’ the priestess answered, in a tone that clearly rebuked his presumption and the youngster sat back discomforted.

  ‘I have not heard of this,’ Huy remarked with interest and a trace of accusation in his tone. For two years the priesthood had been without the services of an oracle, and the search had been diligent. Fees for divination and prophecy formed a significant proportion of the temple income, and there were also political reasons why Huy was anxious to find a successor to Lady Imilce.

  ‘Forgive me, Holy Father. I had determined to discuss this with you privately,’ the High Priestess spoke confidentially, but Lannon leaned across Huy to join the discussion.

  ‘Send for the wench,’ he said, speaking thickly with wine. The priestess stiffened at his choice of words. ‘Send for her, let her entertain us with her prophecies.’

  ‘My lord,’ Huy wished to remonstrate but Lannon brushed his protest aside, and raised his voice.

  ‘Send for the oracle - let her speak on the outcome of the campaign to the north.’

  Huy turned back to the priestess with an apology in his eyes.

  ‘The king commands,’ he said, and the priestess inclined her head then turned to whisper to her body slave. The slave hurried from the hall.

  When she came the loud voices and laughter stilled, and they stared at her with curiosity. She was a tall girl with finely boned wrists and ankles. She wore the long green robes of the temple novice which left her arms bare, and her skin had a lustre and smoothness which made it glow in the lamp light. Her hair was dark and soft, so that it floated cloudlike to her shoulders. She wore the gold crescent moon emblem of Astarte on her deep bulging forehead, dangling from a fine chain of gold, and her earrings were two small sun stones that shone like the stars of heaven.

  Her eyes were green, a colour that reminded Huy of the pool of Astarte in the cavern of the temple of Opet. Her lips were full and quivered faintly, betraying her agitation at his unexpected summons, while there were spots of colour in her cheeks. However, her manner was calm and controlled, and she moved with dignity to where Huy sat. He saw then that she was very young.

  ‘Pray for me, Holy Father,’ she greeted him and bowed her head. Huy studied her avidly, taken with her direct manner and her dignity.

  ‘Greet your king, my child,’ he murmured and the girl turned to Lannon. While she made the formal greeting Huy continued to examine her.

  ‘What is your name? he asked, and the girl turned back to Huy and fixed him with those solemn green eyes.

  ‘Tanith,’ she answered. It was the ancient name of the goddess, from the days of the old city of Carthage.

  ‘It is a pretty name,’ Huy nodded. ‘I have always loved it.’ And the girl smiled at him. It was a smile that took him by surprise, for it was as warm and uplifting as the dawn of Baal.

  ‘You are kind, Holy Father,’ she said, smiling at him and Huy Ben-Amon fell in love. He felt the bottom fall out of his stomach, and his vitals sucked downwards in a long sliding sensation. He stared at Tanith, unable to speak, feeling his cheeks flush with hot blood, searching desperately for the right word but not finding it.

  Lannon broke the spell by shouting at a slave, ‘Bring a cushion.’ And they seated Tanith before the king and priests.

  ‘Make an oracle,’ Lannon commanded, and leaned towards her, breathing heavily and with the wine flushing his face. Tanith looked at him calmly with the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.

  ‘If it were within my power, I would speak an oracle for you, lord, but then there would be a matter of fee and question.’

  ‘What is the fee?’ Lannon demanded, he had flushed a little darker with the first stirring of anger. He was not accustomed to this treatment.

  ‘Holy Father, would you set the fee?’ Tanith asked of Huy and the devil took Huy.

  ‘One hundred fingers of fine gold,’ he spoke before he realized what he had done. It was an enormous fee, and it constituted a challenge to Lannon, daring him to back down or pay. Tanith smiled again now, a provocative dimple appeared in her cheek and she held Lannon’s scowl with a cool amused stare. Huy was suddenly aware that he had placed the girl in a position of peril. Lannon would not forgive this readily, and Huy hastened to give Lannon a graceful escape.

  ‘For this fee the Gry-Lion may put as many questions as he has fingers on his sword hand.’

  Lannon hesitated, Huy could see that he was still angry but slightly placated by Huy’s amendment.

  ‘I doubt that the wisdom of a child will be worth that much, but it amuses me to test this wench,’ Lannon mumbled
, looking anything but amused. He took up his wine bowl and drank deeply, then he wiped his beard and looked at Tanith.

  ‘I go northwards on a mission. Speak to me of the outcome,’ he ordered, and Tanith settled herself on the leather cushion, spreading her green robe about her. She lowered her head slightly, and her green eyes seemed to look inwards. There was an expectant hush on the guests now, and they watched her eagerly. Huy noticed that her cheeks paled, and her lips also rimmed with white.

  ‘There will be a mighty harvest,’ Tanith whispered hoarsely in a strange unnatural monotone, ‘more than the Gry-Lion expects or realizes.’

  The guests stirred, glancing at each other, whispering, pondering the answer. Lannon frowned over the girl’s words.

  ‘Do you speak of a harvest of death?’ Lannon asked.

  ‘You will take death with you, but death will return with you unknown and secretly,’ Tanith replied. It was an unfavourable oracle, the young officers were restless, sobering rapidly. Huy wanted to intervene - he was regretting the whole business. He knew his king, knew he would not readily forget or forgive.

  ‘What must I fear?’ Lannon asked.

  ‘Blackness,’ Tanith answered readily.

  ‘How will I find death?’ Lannon was shaking with anger now, his voice guttural and his pale blue eyes deadly.

  ‘At the hand of a friend.’

  ‘Who will reign in Opet after me?’

  ‘He who kills the gry-lion,’ Tanith replied, and Lannon struck the wine bowl aside and it shattered on the earthen floor, the red wine splattering the feet of a waiting slave.

  ‘The gry-lion is finished,’ he shouted. ‘I killed the last of them - do you dare prophesy the death of house Barca?’

  ‘That is your sixth question, my lord.’ Tanith looked up. ‘1 cannot see the answer to it.’

  ‘Get her out of here,’ Lannon roared. ‘Take the witch away.’

  And Huy signalled quickly for the High Priestess to take her, for a slave to replace Lannon’s wine bowl, and for another to fetch his lute. After Huy’s third song Lannon laughed again.

  On the eve of the departure of the legions from Zeng-Hanno, Huy sent for the priestess and the novice Tanith. It was five days since her disastrous prophecies to Lannon Hycanus, and it had taken all Huy’s strength of will not to send for her earlier.

  When she came she was fresher and lovelier than he remembered. While the priestess sat in the shade, Huy walked with Tanith upon the walls of the city, looking down on the one hand upon the streets and courtyards with the bustle of the army preparing for its march, while on the other hand they looked across the wooded hills and terraces where the slaves tended the neatly laid out vineyards and orchards.

  ‘I have instructed the reverend mother that you will join the convoy to Opet through the middle kingdom. You will travel with the wives of the king, and at Opet you will enter the sisterhood of Astarte - and await my return.’

  ‘Yes, my lord.’ Her humble tone was at odds with her saucy expression. Huy stopped and looked into her green eyes, she held his gaze easily, smiling a little.

  ‘Do you truly possess the sight, Tanith?’

  ‘I do not know, my lord.’

  ‘The words you spoke to the king, what did they mean?’

  ‘I do not know. They are words that came into my mind unbidden. 1 cannot explain them.’

  Huy nodded, and paced on in silence. There was an appealing innocence about this girl, coupled with a bright mind and a sunny disposition it was impossible to resist. Huy stopped again, and she waited for him to speak.

  ‘Do you love the gods, Tanith?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Do you believe that I am their appointed one?’

  ‘I do, Holy Father,’ she answered with such conviction, with such transparent honesty and respect, that Huy’s reservations were set at rest. There was no doubt that she was an instrument which could be used, as long as it was used with skill.

  ‘What is your destiny, Tanith?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘I cannot see it,’ she answered, but she hesitated then and for the first time Huy knew she was uncertain. ‘But this I know, that this - this meeting between you and me is part of that destiny.’

  Huy felt his heart swell, but his voice was gruff as he replied. ‘Caution, child. You are a priestess, dedicated to the goddess. You know better than to speak like that to a man.’

  Tanith dropped her eyes and colour stained her skin a dusky rose. The soft wing of dark hair swung forward against her cheek, and she pushed it away with her hand. Huy felt his soul shrivel with despair. Her presence was a physical agony, for no matter how great his need of her it could never be slaked. She belonged to the gods, forbidden, untouchable.

  ‘You know that,’ Huy warned her sternly. ‘Do not trifle with the gods.’

  She looked up at him demurely, but Huy could have sworn there were glints of laughter and teasing mockery in the green eyes.

  ‘Holiness, you wrong me. I did not mean as man and maid.’

  ‘How then?’ demanded Huy, disappointed and with a hollow feeling in his guts at the denial.

  ‘We will find the answer to that when we meet at Opet, Holiness,’ she murmured and Huy knew that the months until then would pass slowly.

  Lannon stood over a clay box in which was modelled a relief map of the great river area. In the east rose the Clouds of Baal, a mighty waterfall where the river fell hundreds of feet into a dark gorge and the spray from the torrent rose high into the heavens, a perpetual cloud that stood upon the plains.* From here the river flowed into a deep valley, a hot unhealthy place where rough and rocky ramparts rose on each bank, heavily forested and rich with the ivory-bearing herds. Six hundred miles farther east the river entered the territory of the Dravs, and ran through a wide alluvial plain which was inundated in the season of rain. Then at last the river joined the eastern sea through a dozen fan-shaped mouths.

  * Victoria Falls

  Lannon pointed out the main features of this country on the model to his generals, occasionally turning for verification to his garrison commanders who had held the river during the past year. There were twenty men in the large leather tent, and the sides were lifted to allow a dry breeze to enter - and to show the view across the wide valley below the camp. The great river itself was obscured by the tall dark green growth of trees along its bank. There was an occasional flash of reflected sunlight from the water amongst the trees. Far to the north the opposite escarpment of the valley rose in smoky blue tiers of hills.

  ‘Our spies have marked the main towns at which the tribes are gathered. They are mostly on the high ground, a day’s march beyond the river, and it is important that each tribe be attacked on the same day.’

  He went on to assign a target to each of his commanders, a crossing place over the river, and a return route.

  ‘There will be no danger of attack on the return march, as long as you break their spirit on the first day. Each of the tribes is at war with the others, and they will not rally to the assistance of each other. The only way in which we can fail is if warning is carried to the barbarians and they scatter before our thrust.’

  He explained the plan in detail, dwelling on the logistics of supply and routes of march, until at last Lannon set a date for the attack.

  ‘Twelve days from now. That will give each of your legions time to march to the crossing places, and reach the towns of the barbarians.’

  From the camp on the escarpment of the valley, Huy marched the Sixth Ben-Amon to the garrison fort on the banks of the great river at Sett, and here he put the legion into camp in a forest of mopane trees which would screen them from observers on the opposite bank. Fires were forbidden during the day and were carefully screened at night and the men were kept busy building the rafts for the crossing. Heavy rains in the west had swollen the river and the ford was impassable.

  Mago Tellema, the garrison commander, was a tall balding disillusioned man with the yellowish skin and eyes of the
shivering sickness which was endemic along the river. He seemed pathetically glad of Huy’s company during the waiting days, and Huy found his information valuable, so they dined together every evening - Huy provided the wine out of the ample stocks he had brought from Zeng.

  ‘I have kept my patrols on their usual routine, as you ordered.’

  ‘Good,’ Huy nodded over a bowl of baked river fish and wild rice. ‘Have they noticed any increase in activity since my arrival?’

  ‘No, Holiness. A war party of a few hundred crossed last night and attacked one of my outposts. We drove them off readily enough, killing fifty of them.’

  ‘What do they gain by these raids?’

  ‘Weapons, and an appraisal of our strength.’

  ‘Is the whole border so active?’

  ‘No, Holy Father. But here at Sett we oppose one of the more warlike tribes, the Vendi - they are exceptional. You recall how four years ago they crossed in strength, 20,000 of them overwhelmed the garrison here and left the valley—’

  ‘Yes,’ Huy interrupted. ‘I was with the legions when we met them at Bhor.’

  ‘Ah! Of course. I remember now that your legion’s number was on the honour list.’ The commander chuckled. ‘Of that 20,000 not one returned across the river.’

  ‘They fought well, though - for pagans,’ Huy conceded.

  ‘Indeed, Holiness, they are exceptional in that respect also and in the years since then they have become more formidable.’

  ‘Have you seen their town?’

  ‘No, Holiness, but I have many spies. It is set on the first slopes of the northern escarpment, where the tributary river Kal comes down from the plateau.’

  ‘What is the population?’

  ‘I believe them to number 50,000.’

  ‘So large!’ Huy looked up with a mouthful of fish and stared at the commander.

  ‘They are a numerous tribe - not all of them live in the town. They tend large herds of cattle and are spread over a vast area.’

  ‘Is the town fortified?’

  ‘It is a large and sprawling huddle of huts, Holiness. Some of the huts are ringed with primitive palisades, but these are defence against wild animals only.’