by Wilbur Smith
It was then he remembered the messenger from Opet, the young ensign of Legion Ben-Amon who had passed through the garrison the previous day carrying an urgent message for the High Priest. He debated with himself for a moment, then decided not to disturb Huy’s rest. He would tell him when he woke at dusk
At dusk Huy woke, ate a light meal and oiled his body. Twenty minutes later he ran out into the cool of evening through the garrison gate with fifteen legionaries as escort, and it was only after they had disappeared into the dark and silent forests of the south that Marmon again remembered the message that the young ensign had given him.
He thought to send a messenger after Huy, but he knew that no runner of his could hope to catch the priest after he had such a head start. The speed of Huy’s long legs were part of the legend.
Marmon thought comfortably, ‘He will be in Opet soon enough.’ And he paced along the parapet until he reached the far side of the fortress. He stayed there until after darkness had fallen, staring into the turbulent north and wondering how soon they would come.
The Divine Council came to Tanith’s cell on the morning of the ninth day of the Festival of the Fruitful Earth. They were led by the Reverend Mother, frail and uncertain, shifty-eyed with guilt.
‘We have joyous news for you, my child,’ she told Tanith, and Tanith sat up quickly on her couch - her heart leaping within her. The Gry-Lion had changed his mind perhaps.
‘Oh, Reverend Mother!’ she whispered, feeling the tears of relief at the back of her eyelids. She was still shaky and weak from the loss of the child, and it took little to make her weep now.
The Reverend Mother was gabbling on, not looking at Tanith, unable to meet her eyes, and for a while Tanith was puzzled. She could not understand this talk of precedent and ecclesiastical law, until she glanced at Sister Haka’s face and saw how gloating and lustful were the dark features and how brightly the cruel eyes shone.
Then suddenly she realized that this was no reprieve.
‘And so in his wisdom the king has chosen you, has given to you the great honour of carrying the message of Opet to the goddess.’
They had not come to release her, but to seal her fate. Sister Haka was smiling.
‘You must give thanks, my child. The king has given you life eternal. You will live in glory at the side of the goddess, hers for ever,’ said the Reverend Mother, and the priestesses chorused, ‘Praise to Astarte. Praise to Baal.’
The Reverend Mother went on, ‘You must prepare yourself. I will send Aina to help you. She knows the path of the messenger well, for she has attended many of the chosen ones. Remember to pray, my child. Pray that the goddess will find you acceptable.’
Tanith stared at them, white-faced and afraid. She did not want to die. She wanted to cry out, ‘Spare me. I am too young. I want just a little more happiness, just a little more love before I die.’
The Divine Council filed from the chamber, leaving her alone. Now at last the tears flooded her eyes, and she cried out aloud, ‘Huy, come to me! Please, come to me.’
Huy struggled up through the glutinous dark swamp of exhausted sleep with the nightmare cry still echoing in his ears. It took him a while to remember where he was and to realize that he had dreamed the horror that had woken him.
He lay in the sparse shade of the wild fig, and through the branches he saw the altitude of the sun and knew that they had slept for only an hour. His legs still felt leaden, his body torpid and completely enervated by two days of hard travel.
He should sleep again for another three or four hours at the least, but the nightmare stayed with him, denying him rest.
He pulled himself up on an elbow, surprised at the effort it required, but then remembering that he had run over two hundred Roman miles in two days. He looked at the remains of his escort, three of them, haggard-faced and finely drawn from their exertions, sleeping like dead men in the attitudes in which they had fallen. The other twelve had dropped along the way, unable to match the blistering pace which Huy had set.
Huy heaved himself to his feet. He could not sleep, could not rest, while dread haunted him and the safety of his king and his land was in jeopardy.
He limped stiffly down to the bed of the small stream, and knelt in the sugary white sand. He splashed his face and body with the clear water, soaking his tunic and beard, then he climbed the bank and looked at his sleeping men. He felt pity for them, pity that did not prevent him calling out, ‘Up! On your feet! We march for Opet.’
One of them could not wake, though Huy kicked his ribs and slapped his cheeks with an open hand. They left him lying, whimpering in his sleep.
The other two dragged themselves up, groaning, moving with stiff sore legs, and the glazed expressions of fatigue.
Huy walked the first half mile to loosen aching muscles, with the escort staggering after him.
Then he went up onto his toes, changed the vulture axe from one shoulder to the other, and went away at a run, bouncing long-legged on a springy stride that covered the ground like the trot of an eland bull.
One of the legionaries cried out as his leg collapsed under him and he went down sprawling in the dust. He was finished, and he lay there groaning with mortification and the pain of cramped and torn muscles.
The other followed Huy, his steps firming as his legs loosened and charged with new blood.
They ran the sun to its zenith, spurning the pitiless heat of the noonday, and they ran on into the afternoon.
Ahead of them, low on the horizon, stood the perpetual bank of cloud which marked the Lake of Opet, a beacon of hope, and Huy ran with his face lifted to it, instinct guiding his feet and his will feeding his exhausted body, allowing him to run on when all physical strength was burned up.
In the last low rays of the sun the walls and towers of Opet glowed with a warm rose colour and the surface of the lake was flaming gold that pained the eye.
Huy plunged on down the caravan road, racing past other dusty travellers who pulled to the side of the track, calling after him as they recognized him.
‘Pray for us, Holy Father.’
‘Baal’s blessing on you, Holiness.’
Halfway down the pass of the cliffs that led to the lake shore and the city, the legionary who followed Huy shouted in a clear strong voice, ‘Forgive me, Holy Father, I can go no farther.’ And his knees buckled under him, he lost direction, blundering to the side of the track; his face contorted at the agony of his bursting heart, he went down face first and lay without movement, dead before he struck the ground.
Huy Ben-Amon ran on alone, and the guard upon the palace gate of Opet saw him afar off, and they swung the gates open to welcome him.
Tanith woke with gentle hands shaking her. There was a lamp burning beside her couch, and Aina leaned over her. Tanith saw that the old face was screwed up into a toothless grin, the monkey eyes twinkling in their web of ancient wrinkles.
‘Child, are you awake?’
‘What is it, Aina?’ Tanith sat up quickly, her spirits leaping upwards like sparks from the bonfire of hope when she saw Aina’s smile.
‘He is come! ’ Aina told her jubilantly.
‘Huy?’
‘Yes, the Holy Father has come.’
‘Are you sure?’ Tanith demanded.
‘I have heard it shouted in the streets. The whole city is agog. They say he ran from Zanat to Opet in three days, they say he killed fifteen men who tried to run with him. He broke their hearts and left them lying on the road,’
‘Oh, Aina.’ Tanith embraced the old priestess, hugging her to her breast. ‘If he came so fast, it must be because he knows.’
‘Yes, child. Of course he knows. Why else would he come with such speed? One of the ensigns would have reached him with my message. He knows all right,’ Aina drooled and nodded her conviction. ‘He knows!’
‘Where is he now?’ Tanith was laughing with her excitement, ‘Do you know where he is?’
‘With the king. He went straight to the pala
ce.’
‘Oh, praise the goddess and all the gods,’ breathed Tanith. ‘He has gone to use his influence with the Gry-Lion. Do you think he will succeed, Aina? Will the king change his mind?’
‘Of course, child. Do you doubt it? If Huy Ben-Amon set his mind to it, he would make Baal himself change his mind.’
‘Oh, I am so happy, old mother.’ Tanith clung to Aina, and they comforted each other in the night. Until at last Tanith drew away.
‘Go to him, Aina. Wait for him outside the palace. Tell him everything, and come back to me with his message.’
As Aina was about to leave the chamber Tanith called after her, ‘Tell him I love him. Tell him I love him better than life and all the gods.’
‘Hush,’ said Aina, ‘hush, child. Someone may hear you.’
Alone, Tanith lay back on her couch and smiled.
‘I don’t care,’ she whispered ‘Huy is here, and nothing else matters.’
Lannon listened to Huy in rising consternation. His first thought when Huy had arrived unheralded and unexpected in the night was that he had somehow learned of the sacrifice at tomorrow’s ceremony. He had considered refusing Huy an audience, considered all manner of evasion, but while he was considering it Huy had barged his way into Lannon’s bedchamber past the startled and protesting guards.
Lannon had risen naked from the side of his youngest wife, angry words shrivelled on his lips when he saw the state to which Huy was reduced.
‘Forgive me, Majesty. I carry dreadful tidings.
Lannon stared at him, saw the filthy and dusty tunic, the unkempt hair and beard, the skull-like face from which the flesh had wasted, and the wild eyes in their bruised and sunken sockets.
‘What is it, Huy?’ He went quickly to the priest, and steadied him with a brotherly arm.
The Council of Nine, all the noble families of Opet, met in night session and they heard the report of Huy Ben-Amon in horrified silence. Only when he had croaked out the last of it and slumped wearily on his stool did the babble of fault-finding, and blame-laying, and self-pity and doubt begin.
‘We were told he was destroyed at Sett!’
Huy said, ‘You were told only that I slew 30,000 at Sett. I did not name them.’
‘How could such an army be recruited without our knowledge? Who is to blame?’
Huy answered, ‘It was recruited beyond our borders. No one is to blame.’
‘What of the mines - we must protect them.’
Huy smiled wearily, ‘That is what we intend.’
‘Why is there only one legion on the border?’
Huy answered them grimly, ‘Because you refused to vote the money for more.’
They turned on him then, their words hammering through the fog of weariness.
‘How did you pass unscathed through the enemy lines?’
‘Was not this Timon once your protege?’
‘You know him well, you taught him, did you not?’ And Huy looked at Lannon.
‘Enough!’ Lannon’s voice cut through the tirade. ‘His Holiness has called the nation to war. He has shown me copies of the scrolls, and I am about to sign them in ratification.’
‘Should we not wait a while?’ That was Philo, naturally, ‘Are we not being too hasty?’
‘What will you wait for?’ Huy demanded. ‘Until they open your bowels with a spear-blade and cut off your testicles?’
Lannon signed the war orders a little before dawn, and he dismissed the Council of Nine with the words:
‘We will meet again at noon, after the final ceremony of the Fruitful Earth. See to your arms and take leave of your families.’
To Huy he spoke kindly when they were alone. ‘Sleep here. There is nothing more you can do now.’
He was too late. Huy was already asleep, slumped forward on the table with his head on his arms. Lannon picked him up from his stool, and carried him like a sleeping child to a guest chamber.
He placed a sentry at the door.
‘No one must wake the Holy Father,’ he instructed. ‘No one! Do you understand?’
It was almost dawn. The sacrifice would take place in a very few hours, and he knew that Huy was in a kind of death sleep that might last for many days. He left him, and went to bathe and dress for the procession.
Aina lifted the hood of her cloak over her head, covering her face. She thrust her bony old hands into the wide sleeves, and leaned forward to blow out the lamp.
She stood in the darkness, considering what she must do. She would not wait for the High Priest to leave the palace. Aina had access to the palace kitchens. The majordomo there was the grandson of her youngest sister, and she often went to eat there as a change from the temple fare. All the palace slaves knew her. It would be a simple matter to find out from one of them whereabouts in the rambling mud-walled building the High Priest was, an even simpler matter to get word to him.
Quietly she drew the curtains of her cell aside, and peered out. There was a single torch guttering in its bracket at the end of the passage, but it threw only a feeble light and Aina did not see the dark figure waiting for her in a shadowy angle of the corridor until it came gliding towards her.
‘Not yet asleep, old woman?’ a deep, almost masculine voice asked softly, and a strong hand closed on Aina’s wrist.
‘Are you going visiting so late at night? Is it that you have heard of Huy Ben-Amon’s return to Opet?’
‘No,’ whimpered Aina. ‘I swear it.’ And she struggled feebly. With her free hand Sister Haka pushed the old priestess’s hood back from her face and peered into her eyes.
‘You were going to Ben-Amon, were you not?’
‘No. I swear it.’ Aina saw death in Sister Haka’s expression, and she began to scream. It was a thin passionless sound like the sound of the wind, and it was cut off abruptly as Sister Haka’s powerful hand whipped over her mouth.
From a doorway opposite a frightened face peered out, and Sister Haka snapped, ‘Go back to your couch.’ And the young novice obeyed quickly.
Sister Haka forced Aina’s frail body back through the curtains and onto her couch. She held her hand over mouth and nostrils, holding Aina down with an arm across her chest.
Aina’s struggles exploded feverishly, her heels drummed and kicked against the wall and her arms flapped and clawed at Sister Haka’s face. Then swiftly it was over and she subsided and lay still. Sister Haka held her mouth and nostrils closed for a long time after she was quiet, then with one hand she felt the scrawny old chest with its empty pendulant dugs for a heartbeat.
Finding none she nodded with satisfaction, arranged the careless limbs tidily, and left the cell. Through the single window slit the first light of dawn lit Aina’s face. Her mouth hung open, her eyes were startled and a wisp of silky silver hair floated on her forehead.
Lannon was conscious of the need to carry through the final ritual of the Festival meticulously. It was apparent that he faced a national emergency of vast proportions, that Opet was opposed by an enemy more powerful and relentless than any in her long history. The oracle had spoken against him, perhaps he or his kingdom had incurred the wrath of the gods.
Lannon knew that the fate of nations hangs not entirely on the actions of men, battles are not won by swords alone. He knew there were influences beyond, sometimes malignant and sometimes benign, which dictated the outcome of earthly affairs. He knew it was possible to placate an angry god, and to enlist the goodwill of one that was kindly disposed.
As the Reverend Mother led him through the catechism beside the pool of Astarte, he paid special concern to the correctness of his responses, and there was no mistaking the sincerity of his voice as he made his pledge to the goddess.
The priestesses closed in about him and light hands helped him shed his robes of purple silk. Currents of cool air stroked his naked body as he strode forward to the edge of the pool, went down the stone steps and lowered himself into the dear green waters.
His body shone white below the surface, and his
long golden tresses and beard glistened with water as the priestesses beside him scooped up water in the conch shells and poured it over his head.
They emerged from the pool, and Lannon felt a sense of spiritual cleansing, as though the sacred waters had washed away his cares and armed him against the dangers that lay ahead. He was not a man of deep religious faith, and yet in this moment he felt uplifted. He was happy then that he had chosen such an important messenger for the goddess.
His own petty and personal motives no longer counted. He was sending a priestess of the blood, a god-touched oracle, a person of value and weight. Surely the goddess must find her acceptable, surely Astarte would now turn her countenance upon the children of Opet, spread her wings across the nation in this time of trial and danger.
They dried off his skin, and the muscle was firm and beautifully shaped in leg and arm and wide shoulders. Two priestesses came forward and lifted a white silk robe over his head, the colour of joy and rejoicing. The Reverend Mother placed a garland of flowers about his neck, crimson cave lilies whose scent was sweet and heavy in the hushed cavern.
It was the moment when the praise of the goddess must be sung, and then the offertory. The silence persisted a moment longer and then a voice rang through the cavern.
The voice startled Lannon, and he turned his head searching for the singer. There was no mistaking that voice, the sweet shimmering power of it, the depth and timbre that made the hair on Lannon’s forearms come erect and set the echoes flying about the temple, seeming almost to ruffle the quiet surface of the green pool.
Lannon gaped at Huy. He had stepped out of the ranks of nobles and officers and as he sang he paced slowly towards Lannon. His arms spread in the sun sign, his mouth wide open showing the strong white teeth and achingly beautiful voice pouring from his throat. The praise song ended, and Huy stood close beside the king looking up at him. His face was still raddled with fatigue, the dark eyes still underscored by bluish purple smears, the skin pale and drawn, but he was smiling at Lannon with an expression of loyal affection.