by Overton, Max
Djedhor and the other Kemetu legions--Heru and Khent-Abt--arrived a little before sunset. The legions encircled the little fort just out of range of the archers and camped, setting out guards. The commanders of the legions met--Murtu could see them from the wall--and discussed the situation, but whatever was the outcome, they did nothing before nightfall.
The campfires of over three thousand men blazed in a ring of fire around the Fort of the Gulls, and only a handful of fires warmed the defenders of the fort. Murtu doubled the number of guards during the hours of darkness.
"I doubt they'll attack at night," Murtu said. "It's not the Kemetu way, but you never know. Rest the men in shifts."
"No word from General Jebu, sir?"
"None."
The stars spun slowly on the northern axle of the sky and finally faded as the dawn goddess clothed herself in raiment of pink and gold. The Kemetu campfires had died down and when Murtu peered out into the grey light, he knew their soldiers had slept through the night and were well rested for the coming day of battle.
A chorus of horn blasts woke the multitude and for a space the plains outside the fort was a hubbub of men relieving themselves in temporary middens, breaking their fast at the cook tents and preparing for the day ahead. Murtu had his own men aroused and fed, bringing his archers up onto the walls. He turned to Egas.
"You can be sure the enemy has men who served in this fort, so they know the defences. If you were Djedhor, how would you press your attack today?"
Egas considered the problem. "He will know that we do not have many men, while he has thousands. I think he will feint at one spot before launching his main attack elsewhere."
"And where will that main attack fall?"
"The gate, sir. It is strong, but it is wooden. They do not appear to have rams, but they do have brushwood and kindling. I think they will launch another assault on the walls and while we are busy defending them, a few men will pile brush against the gate and fire it."
Murtu nodded. "This fort is strong, but that is undoubtedly the weak point. How would you counter it? Talk fast, Egas, they will not wait forever."
"Station men behind the gate? When the enemy advance with fire, rush out and slaughter them."
"That might work once, but any thinking man will send soldiers with the fire starters. You open the gate to attack them and the enemy pours in. Do not rule it out, but wait until you see who approaches the gate. What else?"
"Archers on the wall."
"Good, but not enough. We do not have enough arrows to keep them at bay forever, and no doubt they will advance under cover of bulls-hide shields. What else?"
"Heated oil?"
"That would merely fan the flames, though it might kill some men too."
"Water then, to put out the flames."
"Better would be boiling water. That will kill, but also put out the fire. Have fires prepared on the battlements above the gates and cauldrons readied. Have water brought from the well and a chain of men ready to replenish it."
The attack came not long after dawn and it happened much as Murtu had predicted. Djedhor threw his legions at the fort walls, men scrambling up fresh notched poles while his archers laid down cloud after cloud of shafts. The Amorite soldiers fought back, stolid in defence, attempting no more than thrusting back the poles and dispatching the men who made it to the top of the wall. It was an unequal struggle and if Djedhor had relied on numbers alone, his army would have overwhelmed the defenders, as more and more men reached the top of the wall and attacked the Amorite enemy hand to hand. Kemetu men were dying too, though, men falling from the walls in their scores. The sunbaked brick was stained with blood when Djedhor called a retreat, his men then having to withdraw back down the poles while fighting.
The gate had come under attack, though with little success. Djedhor had sent enough guards with the fire starters to discourage an attack from the fort, and they had carried bundles of kindling through a hail of arrows to stack by the dry wooden timbers of the gate. Fire was brought in clay pots and smashed, the sticks and straw bursting into flames, but each time, before the fire could catch, cauldrons of water drowned the fuel and the attackers had to start anew. The water did no more than douse the flames as not enough time had passed to heat the water to more than a tepid bath, but the effect on the Kemetu soldiers was still discouraging. They withdrew with their diversionary comrades to tend their wounded and plan a fresh attack.
Egas had been wounded in the last attack and reported to his commander with a bloodied linen bandage around his arm. Together, he and Murtu watched their men lay the dead to one side, bind each other's wounds and repair their weapons and equipment.
"How many?" Murtu asked.
"Fifty-four dead, another dozen or so likely to die, and a hundred wounded."
"How many can face the next attack?"
"About a hundred and twenty capable of fighting."
"We'll be lucky to survive another attack like that one. Jebu had better hurry up and intervene."
Murtu climbed back onto the wall and, with Egas, stared at the thousands of Kemetu soldiers. "We've killed hundreds but we've scarcely scratched their strength."
"Why do you think Djedhor called off the attack?" Egas asked. "They were winning."
"One thing you have to understand about the Kemetu, especially those trained by Horemheb and Paramessu. They think the lives of their soldiers are precious. He stopped because he was losing too many."
"Is he mad? Of course men will die. Soldiers expect it in battle."
Murtu nodded. "You and I would sacrifice our men to win, but the Kemetu generals will think twice before doing so. That gives us an advantage. If we can inflict enough pain, enough death, they will withdraw."
Egas considered his commander's words. "The trouble is going to be inflicting enough damage next time. We barely have enough men to man the walls, let alone fighting back the fire bearers."
"Yes, we need a strategy. Think hard, Egas. They'll attack before noon, I think."
Egas took his leave and wandered off to check on the morale of his men. He spent some time encouraging them, paying special attention to the wounded, before collecting some bread and sour beer from the kitchens. He sat in the shade and watched his men, the notion of a winning strategy tucked away at the back of his mind.
Some of the younger unhurt soldiers were at play, horsing around, kicking up the dust. Some sat on the shoulders of their comrades and tried to wrestle their opponents to the ground. One red-haired pair that looked so alike they were surely brothers, were smaller than the others and were repeatedly sent tumbling to the ground. After one fall, the rider grabbed a willow broom lying nearby and disdaining his brother's shoulders, started jabbing and pushing the others with the broom, often toppling them. Egas grinned at the outrage on the other men's faces at this unfair tactic and laughed aloud when they turned on him in unison and bore him to the ground. The men dusted themselves off and dispersed in comradely fashion, even the red-haired brothers, but Egas thought about what he had seen and an idea came to him. He thought it through and could not find fault with it, so he hurried off to find Murtu.
"The reason we were nearly overcome last time was that there were too many of the notched poles laid up against our walls. We tried to kill the men as they climbed them, and also to push the poles away, but we could not push them far enough. We need longer arms."
Murtu dragged his attention away from the Kemetu camp where the soldiers were starting to form up in troops for the next attack. "That's your great idea, Egas? Grow longer arms?"
Egas flushed. "No sir, but we could make our arms longer by using something like a broom." He explained what he had seen the red-haired man use.
"How many brooms have we got?" Murtu asked sceptically. "I doubt ten in the whole fort. We would need many more."
"I thought the posts that hold up the rafters in the buildings. They are about man height or a bit more and most are forked at the end."
"Yo
u would have me destroy our fort from the inside? Yes, yes, I know..." Murtu waved his hand irritably. "If we do not, the Kemetu will do it for us. Order it done, and get the poles up to the walls."
Egas hurried off, shouting orders, and presently the buildings inside the fort were piles of jumbled rafters and thatch. Fifty poles were carried up to the parapet and distributed around the perimeter and just in time, for the horns were sounding in the Kemetu camp, signalling an advance.
The soldiers rushed forward yelling, positioning poles against the walls and clambering up them. The Amorite defenders brought out their own poles and heaved the notched ones away from the wall, forcing the men on them to jump to avoid injury. The idea worked well, but there were too few defenders and too many attackers. Kemetu archers began targeting the top of the wall, and the number of attackers started to overwhelm the defences. At the same time, fire starters headed for the gates again, and this time, a squad of bowmen kept the battlements above the gate clear of defenders. The flames caught and soon the gate was ablaze.
"A good idea, but not enough," Murtu told Egas. "Prepare to sell your life dearly."
The attackers poured over the walls and Murtu ordered his surviving men down into the courtyard where they gathered for a final stand. The Kemetu jumped down to face the Amorites, and some ran to the gates to throw them wide. Horns sounded loudly outside the fort, and thousands of voices rose in triumphant cries. Murtu and his men, some forty strong, fought fiercely, determined to take as many Kemetu men as possible down into death with them. They were pressed back and then the smouldering gates were thrown down and a horde of bearded, armed men rushed in, hacking and slashing at the Kemetu.
"It's that fornicator Jebu," Murtu yelled. "He's arrived at last."
"About bloody time," Egas said. He thrust his sword into the face of a wavering foe and kicked the man as he fell screaming.
Murtu ran up the steps back onto the now-deserted battlements and stared out at the surrounding plain. Thousands of men were engaged in a struggle for their lives and Murtu could see the banners of the legions as well as those of Jebu's Corps. Now the Kemetu streamed away, the Amorites in pursuit. In places, Kemetu soldiers held their own, fighting in a disciplined fashion, but even these groups started to retreat as the flight of their fellows threatened to leave them exposed. Egas joined his commander, yelling with delight.
"There, the banner of a legion has gone down. Which one is it? I don't recognise it."
Murtu shook his head. "I don't know, but the Heru banner still flies, as does that of Re. The Kemetu are fighting well in retreat," he grudgingly admitted.
The retreat continued, with Jebu's army chasing them over the plain. Horns sounded again, and the Amorites slowly responded, giving up the chase and marching back to the fort. Murtu and Egas gathered those of their men who could still bear arms--less than forty, and almost all wounded--and marched out to meet Jebu.
"You took your bloody time...sir," Murtu growled. "A little longer and we'd all have been killed."
"I know. It was...necessary. The ploy worked though. I had to wait until Djedhor's attention was fully on the fort."
"You have physicians with your army? We have a hundred men in need of them."
"You shall have them," Jebu said. "And food and wine too. We have achieved a great victory here, Murtu. Twice now, we have smashed the might of Kemet. The road to the river lies open to us."
Return to Contents
* * *
Chapter Five
The Son of the Sun and his daughter Merye came to the land of Midian by degrees. He saw nothing but the usual darkness splashed with occasional streaks of colour, and she saw only the sand and the rocks and the scrubby plants that eked out a spare existence in the dry land. There was no marker stone that told them they had entered Midian, nor a stele erected by a distant king that spoke of the boundaries of Kemet and of his might. Nor did the people change, the wandering tribes who crossed the stony wastes, seeking sustenance for their herds of goats. The people of Midian did not think of themselves as Midianites, but answered to many names, most of which translated in their tongue to 'The People'. The Parunum tribe on the westernmost stretches of Midian was one such people.
The Parunum tribe allowed the man and woman to draw water from their well and offered them a guest-gift of grain and a handful of green dates. The chief of the tribe, a hulking man disfigured by a scar that slashed diagonally across his face, approached and gave them the word of welcome when they walked out of the setting sun.
"I am Biltir of the Parunum; you are welcome to camp here tonight." He pointed to a site in the lee of a rock pile. "I will have food and water brought." Biltir examined the man carefully and saw the sunburnt and wandering eyes of a blind beggar. "May the gods be with you," he said.
"Thank you," the woman said quietly. "We gratefully accept your hospitality and shall move on in the morning."
Biltir relaxed slightly, reassured that these two beggars would not be a long-lasting drain on the tribe's resources. "May I ask your names and tribe?"
"I am Merye, and this is my father. We have no tribe."
"But your father has a name?" Biltir persisted.
"He...he has been called Waenre."
"Like the king of Kemet? The strange one?"
"Yes, like that."
The old man stirred and stared blindly at Biltir. "I was son of the sun disc, but he blinded me. I wandered in the desert until I was born--Mose--of the god. I am Yahmose. My god has sent me to Midian."
"If your god sends you, then you are welcome, Yahmose. What is the name of your god?"
"'I am' sends me."
Biltir raised his eyebrows. "A strange name. I have not heard of this god." The man called Yahmose vouchsafed no further information, so Biltir gestured toward the camp site. "Be welcome then, Yahmose, you and your daughter. My wife will bring you food." He walked back to his tribe and started talking in low tones.
Merye guided her father to the pile of rocks and selected a place where they could catch the last rays of the setting sun. She knew it would be cold at night and they had no fuel for a fire. A woman approached them, bearing a woven basket and a clay pot. She knelt beside them and offered food and water, grain, dates, and some dried dung for fuel. The pot held an ember from the campfire.
"Please accept our hospitality," the woman said. "You grace us by your presence."
Merye accepted the offerings. "We thank you, woman of the Parunum."
"I am called Aalia, wife of Biltir."
"Then we thank you, Aalia u-Biltir."
Aalia took out two smoothed rocks from her basket and helped Merye grind the grain into coarse flour. The fire fuelled by the dried dung smoked, but not unpleasantly, and gave off sufficient heat for cooking.
"My husband said you follow a strange god."
"He is the god of all men," Yahmose said. "But most men do not yet know it."
"What does he look like, this god of yours?"
"'I am' has no face, no form. He is a blinding light that no man may look upon and live."
"So you have never seen him?"
"I have gazed upon his light, and it struck me blind, as you see."
"I thought you told my husband the sun blinded you."
"The sun is but an aspect of god."
"How do you worship him? By sacrifice or prayer?"
Yahmose sighed. "'I am' has not told me yet."
"Why is he called 'I am'?"
"Because he is the eternal god with no beginning and no end. Before the world was created--I am. When the world burns up in the fire--I am. He will be there from evermore to evermore, constant and unchanging. His being is summed up in the words 'I am'."
"A strange and frightening god," Aalia murmured.
"Yet one who has called me to him for a purpose."
"You did not tell me this, father," Merye said, pausing in her grinding. "What is this purpose?"
"I do not know," Yahmose replied. "But I feel it is so."
Aalia lent Merye a flat cooking stone and went back to her family. Merye finished grinding the grain, added water and a pinch of salt and spread it out on the stone. It sizzled and spat but soon curled at the edges. After turning it over, she waited a few more minutes and eased the unleavened cake off the heat. She waited until it cooled, then ripped it in half and gave a piece to her father.
They ate in silence, saving the dates to eat in the morning. As the last of the light faded from the sky, Yahmose and Merye lay down by the cooling fire for sleep. Sounds from the tribal tents and smoke from their fires drifted over them, making them feel as if they were part of a company.
"We are in Midian now, father," Merye murmured. "What direction do we take in the morning?"
"God will tell us. He will give us a sign."
They rose at first light and Yahmose faced the rising sun and offered up a hymn of praise while Merye waited patiently. As Yahmose called out, the Parunum tribesmen and women came out and watched. Though he could not see them gather, he heard their movements and mutterings, and expanded his hymn of praise to include their hosts.
"Oh Lord and God most high, who dwells in the heavens,
Look down on us and give us your life-sustaining nourishment.
You who live from evermore to evermore,
Guide us in our paths and keep us from harm.
Let your goodness and light drive away the darkness
And deliver us from the hands of evil men.
Let your hand enfold the people of Parunum
And bring them happiness and prosperity
For the kindness they have done to your servant."
Yahmose lowered his arms and stood silently, his head bowed. Merye gathered up their things and put the items Aalia had lent them back into the woven basket. Guiding her father with one hand, she walked across to Biltir and Aalia and gave them back the basket.
"We thank you for your hospitality, Biltir."
"You are both welcome among our tents, you and your god. Where will you go now?"
"'I am' will guide our steps," Yahmose said.