Authors: Wilbur Smith
Tags: #Archaeologists - Botswana, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Adventure Fiction, #Historical, #Archaeologists, #Men's Adventure, #Terrorism, #General, #Botswana
He crossed the audience hall of the oracle and found the officers of the temple guards in the chamber beyond. They greeted him joyfully.
'We had heard you were dead, Holiness.'
'Is our duty still at this post, Holy Father?'
'Release us from the temple, Holiness. Let us fight at your side.'
They helped him place the scrolls in the pottery jars and seal them with the golden tablets. Then they carried them through into the archives and placed them upon the stone shelves, hidden by a row of the larger jars.
Huy led the four officers and one hundred men of Legion Ben-Amon back through the city to the camp of the army, leaving the temple unguarded, and Lannon greeted him with relief.
'I doubted you would return, Huy. I thought the fates might keep us apart once more.'
'I gave you a promise, Majesty,' Huy reassured him. 'See what I have for you.' And he led him from the tent to show him the temple guard. One hundred of the finest warriors of Opet, worth as much as a cohort of Yuye troops. Lannon laughed.
'Huy, my worker of miracles.' Then he turned to the men and looked at them. They were fresh, their armour burnished and bright, and there was a fierce wolfish quality about them which contrasted with the battle weariness of the rest of Lannon's army.
Lannon spoke to their officers. 'You are mine own guard. When the battle begins, stay with me, close with me and Huy Ben-Amon.' Then he dismissed them to eat and rest.
In the big leather tent Lannon and Huy planned the battle, deciding what formations to employ, working out the evolutions for every eventuality, while scribes wrote out the orders.
They were interrupted continually by officers and aides asking for orders, or reporting the movements of the enemy.
Rib-Addi came into the tent begging audience, dry-washing his hands, tugging nervously at his beard and whispering in his secretive book-keeper's voice.
'The treasury, Majesty. Should we not move it to a place of safety?'
'Tell me what place is safe,' Lannon snarled at him, looking up from the clay box in which he and Huy were studying the dispositions. 'Nobody out there knows about the sun door. Leave the treasure where it is, it will remain there until we come for it.'
'The guards have been withdrawn,' Rib-Addi persisted. 'It is not right--'
'Listen to me, old man. It would require 1,000 men and ten days to remove that treasure. I have neither the men nor the time to spare. Go, leave us alone. We have more important matters to employ us now.'
Rib-Addi went, looking very distressed. What more important matters were there than gold and treasure?
Before midnight Lannon straightened up and ran his hands through his thick golden curls', now laced with silver. He sighed, and he looked ill and tired.
'That is all we can do now, Huy. The rest is in the hands of the gods.' He placed an arm about Huy's shoulders and led him to the flap of the tent. 'A bowl of wine, a breath of lake air - then sleep.'
They stood outside the tent, drinking together and a cool breeze came off the lake, fluttering the tassels upon the golden battle standards.
Something which Huy thought for a moment was a big brown dog sleeping curled against the side of the tent stirred at their voices. Then Huy saw it was the little bushman huntmaster Xhai, faithful as ever, sleeping at the opening of his master's tent. He shook himself awake, grinned when he saw Lannon and Huy, and came to squat beside Lannon.
'I have tried to send him away,' said Lannon. 'He does not understand. He will not leave.' Lannon sighed. 'It seems unnecessary that he should die also, but how can I force him to go.'
'Send him on an errand,' suggested Huy and Lannon glanced at him thoughtfully.
'What errand?'
'Send him to search for sign of the gry-lion upon the southern shores. He will believe that.'
'Yes, he will believe that,' Lannon agreed. 'Tell him, Huy.'
In his own language Huy explained to the little yellow man that the king wanted to hunt the gry-lion once more. Xhai's slanted yellow eyes crinkled and he grinned and nodded with delight, pleased to be of service to the man he considered a god.
'You must go at once,' Huy told him. 'It is an urgent matter.'
Xhai clasped Lannon's knees, bobbing his head, and then he rolled up his sleeping mat and vanished amongst the shadows of the camp. Once he had gone they were silent for a while until Lannon said, 'Do you recall the prophecy, Huy?'
And Huy nodded, remembering it upon Tanith's lips.
'Who shall reign in Opet after me?'
'He who slays the gry-lion.'
He remembered also the prophecy that followed.
'What must I fear?'
'Blackness.'
Huy turned and looked to the north where the great black beast crouched, ready to spring. Lannon's thoughts paralleled his own.
'Yes, Huy,' he murmured. 'Blackness!' And then he drained his wine bowl and hurled it upon the watch fire. A spout of sparks flew upwards.
'At the hand of a friend,' he said, remembering the final prophecy. 'We shall see,' he said. 'We shall see.' Then he glanced at Huy and saw his face.
'Oh, forgive me, old friend. I did not mean to add fuel to the fires of your sorrow. I should not have reminded you of the girl.'
Huy drank the last of his wine and threw the bowl upon the fire. He did not need to be reminded of Tanith, she was ever in his thoughts.
'Let us rest now,' Huy said, but his face was ravished with grief.
The shouting and the trumpets woke Huy, and his first thought was of a night attack upon the camp. He threw on his armour and snatched up the vulture axe, stumbling out of the tent still fumbling with the straps of his breastplate.
The night sky was aglow with a light like that of the dawn, but it was rising from the wrong direction, coming up out of the lake, lighting the towers and walls of Opet.
Lannon joined him, still half-asleep, cursing as he struggled with his armour and helmet.
'What is it, Huy?' he demanded.
'I do not know,' Huy admitted, and they stood staring at the strange light which grew brighter, until they could clearly see each other's features.
'The harbour,' said Huy, understanding at last. 'The fleet. The women.'
'Merciful Baal,' gasped Lannon. 'Come!' And they ran together.
Manatassi had taken the tubes from the beached galleys before he burned them. A little experimentation had shown him how they worked. It was a simple procedure, dependent mostly upon current and wind direction. He had carried the tubes overland, and installed them in the bows of a pair of captured fishing-boats, whose slave crew were skilled seamen and eager to join Manatassi.
The on-shore wind had suited his purpose ideally and carried the boats silently into the mouth of the harbour of Opet. He had personally gone aboard one of the boats and he stood now in the stern wrapped in a leopard-skin robe, watching with fierce and hungry eyes as the jets squirted upon the surface of the wind-chopped water and burst into flame.
Carried on the wind the flame swept into the harbour in a solid wall, roaring like a waterfall and lighting the sky with a false dawn.
Huy stood beside Lannon upon the wharf. The entire basin of the harbour was filled with tall yellow flame, roaring hungrily, the black smoke clouds blocking out the starry sky and rolling in thick evil-smelling billows across the city.
The galleys of Habbakuk Lal stood like islands in a sea of fire. The decks were crowded with the women and children of all the noble families of Opet, and their screams carried over the dull furnace roar of flame.
The watchers upon the shore were unable to offer any escape to them, they looked on helplessly while from the alleyways the lowly ones who had been denied passage hooted and screeched with laughter.
The flames caught upon the wooden hulls and the mooring lines, racing upwards to the crowded decks.
Like ants upon a piece of rotten firewood, they scrambled and milled aimlessly, until the circle of flame tightened about them and shrivelled them.
One of the galleys began drifting in towards the shore. Its anchor lines were burned through, and the wind pushed it so it turned and swung gently, its mast and rigging traced in outlines of yellow fire. Upon the high castle at the stern, clinging together with their blonde hair shining in the firelight, stood Helanca and Imilce, the twin daughters of Lannon Hycanus.
Before the galley touched the stone wall of the quayside, the flames had smothered it, and the girls were gone.
Manatassi watched intently, the firelight glinting on those fierce yellow eyes. When the last flames had died and only the burnt-out hulks of the galleys still smouldered, he lifted his iron hand in command. The two fishing-boats hoisted sail and bore out, close on the wind, northwards to where Manatassi's army was stirring like an awakening monster in the dawn.
This was the mood in which to fight the last battle, this fine blend of sadness and anger, Huy thought as he strode with Lannon along the ranks. The sun was up, throwing long shadows on the pale brown grass of the plain. On their left stretched the cheerful azure of the lake, flecked with crests of white by the morning breeze. The water fowl flew low in loose V-formations, white against the cloudless blue of the high heavens. On their left rose the rugged rampart of the cliffs, touched with subtle shades of rose and pink and capped with dark green vegetation.
Huy, looking at lake and cliff, saw them only as points on which to anchor his flanks.
Ahead, in front of the walls, the land was open, with low scrub and a very few big shady trees; it sloped gently from cliff to lake shore, a Roman mile wide. It was a clear front from which no surprise could spring, although it undulated in a series of low rises like the swell of a sleepy ocean.
In their rear were the buildings and streets of the lower city, a maze of low clay walls and flat roofs, while further back rose the massive stone walls of the temple, and above them showed the tops of the sun towers.
This then was a good place in which to fight the last battle, this attenuated front with firm flanks and an open line of retreat.
Lannon strode along the ranks. There was a spring and purpose in his step that belied his tired eyes and grief-sick face; the face of a man who had seen his family burn to death while he stood by. Huy followed a pace behind him, walking with the long-legged crabbing gait which was so familiar to them all. The axe was on his shoulder, and the armour shaped to his bowed back was highly polished and sparkled in the sunlight. Bakmor and a group of officers followed him.
The legions were drawn up into their battle formations, and Huy could find no fault with the placing. The light infantry thrown out in a screen, each man armed with a bundle of javelins as well as his side arms. Behind them were placed the heavy infantry, big men armed with axe and war-spear, carrying a great weight of armour, these men were the backbones of the legions. When hard-pressed, the light infantry could retire through their ranks, and let the enemy spend themselves upon this solid reef of armour.