Lion of the Sands

by Robert Sullivan

  To my left I saw a score of slingsmen fall, torn asunder by the mighty Beast, their stones bouncing from the armour of the Beast like wheat from the floor of the grainary. One slingsman stood firm for but a moment, his leather spinning fast above his head. But even as he loosed his stone he fell, his body crushed and bloodied as the Beast broke through our line. When the next Beast attacked, and the next, our courage failed. There was a shiver through the line as the second Beast struck, and when the third Beast followed, the cohort to our left could not hold. Though the Centurions shouts joined the enormous din, they could not halt it. Men were being torn asunder all around me. I saw a man, his body in two pieces. He lay upon the sand, still screaming, pointing to his legs that lay a spear length away. I saw a man run past me with one arm torn from the shoulder, blood spraying onto the yellow sand. Even as I watched he fell. I saw a Beast bite another man into pieces and swallow parts before throwing its head back and screaming again at the sun. As I watched it dropped its head and shook it from side to side, then it coughed and began to swing its head back to the battle. It roared once more and, in a single bound, took down twenty men. I speak the truth. It was then I also turned and ran.

  As I ran back along the course of the valley I saw a whole army in retreat. All around ran my comrades, some still carrying their weapons and armour, others wearing only a loincloth and sandals. Many were wounded. Many fell and were left upon the sand as we ran. We knew that the Beasts would kill them before they died of their wounds. When I looked for my friends I saw that they ran close by. To my left ran Naguib, still carrying his spear, his eye upon me, a look of mirth upon his face. Even at a time of greatest danger could Naguib see some humour. I admit that it failed me on this day. He, too, was covered in the blood of our comrades, but I could see no wound. Behind Naguib ran the two Omars. They never strayed far from one another, their bows in one hand, quivers in the other. Minkaf ran with them. I was relieved that we had all survived the attack but I could not see Isesi. I looked again at Naguib and he tipped his head forward. I lifted my eyes and, up ahead to be sure, there was Isesi. He had lost his drum and ran unhindered, but as a duck might run, still carrying the long stick.

  * * *

  (Here endeth early the third night of words of Agymah Chahine of Abydos – due to a disorder of the bowels which Agymah is sure has been caused by bad wine – scribed by Imhotep, Son of Shariff, at the house of Khuyb, Daughter of Agymah, in the City of Memphis in the Fourth Year of the Ox. Agymah’s wife, Eti, is saddened by her husband’s flatulence and ill humour.)

  Part IV – God of Gods

  (Here is written the fourth night of words of Agymah Chahine of Abydos - scribed by Imhotep, Son of Shariff, at the house of Khuyb, Daughter of Agymah, in the City of Memphis in the 33rd year of Senusret I, Pharaoh of all Egypt. Khuyb grinds ink and prepares the papyrus and is assisted by Paser. But the ink is poor of colour and filled with small rocks and so I have spoken curses and cast it to the ground. Khuyb smites me with eyes of fire. Paser cries like a baby.)

  My belly is on fire and my bowels are ill humoured. I blame this on that wine merchant Nedemeb. His name is well suited. It means he is content, and so should he be, for his wine is the most expensive in Memphis. I do not mind that it is expensive, but for such a price, no less than a kitchen chair for a full goatskin, I would like to drink wine that does not cause my bowels to go to war.

  Young Imhotep is not amused with my ramblings. I know that he and Khuyb believe it is not the taste of the wine, but that I drank the whole goatskin. Perhaps. Perhaps. But I see that Imhotep is becoming impatient, so I should continue my story. I shall start where I have finished. With the Battle of the Valley of the Winds. For though we did not know it, and truly believed we had been vanquished, it was a turning point. I will come to that.

  We had been routed. Of that we were certain. The cohorts had run in to battle ten wide and two deep, the traditional Egyptian hammer that was to shatter the Beast on the rocky anvil of the valley floor. But it was not to be. In but the blink of an eye the Beast had smitten the Pharaoh’s mighty army, breaking through all forty lines of cohorts and slaying the unfortunate in their thousands. The broken army retreated upon the very path it had taken only hours before. All was chaos. All around us men fell wounded or exhausted and at first no one stopped to aid the fallen. But as the sounds of battle fell behind us and the Beasts no longer came, so men began to stop and tend to the fallen. Men dropped, exhausted, to the ground, tearing their water skins from their belts and drinking deeply. The Centurions ran about, shouting orders and regrouping the cohorts, pushing spear carriers to the front, archers and slingsmen to the centre, drummers to the rear. I wondered what Isesi would do without his drum.

  The sun was low in the sky as the army reformed. We had lost many, but not so many as it first seemed. Our cohorts were two score in number when we began the morning. Of course some cohorts lost many men. And so these cohorts were joined to others. In the yellow light of the afternoon we found that but one score and five cohorts remained. Many of our comrades were dead and as many had been carried from the battlefield on wagons, their wounds terrible to behold. Truly, our losses were terrible. But we had not lost the many thousands we believed. And not the thousands that had fallen in so many other battles! Why was this so? Even the Centurions did not know? And why did the Beasts not follow and destroy us as we ran? What had saved us? In truth, I did not care. I sank to my knees in the sand and gave thanks.

  As night fell, food and drink was carried to our camp in wagons. While we ate, the Centurions told us we would not fight again this day. For it was in darkness that the Beast was most terrible. Tonight we rest. We would fight again at first light. A short archer from Thebes, his skin dark as it is with those from the south, his face marked by disease, asked why the Beast had not followed the broken army. For his insolence a Centurion beat him with his sword but spoke then to the great mass of men. The Centurion told us that the Beast could be defeated if battled in the light of the sun. The Pharaoh had prayed to the Gods, and the Gods had sent a disease to attack the eyes of the Beasts, blinding them and driving them into the caves and hollows where the darkness lay. And so the Pharaoh’s army went forth, and fought the Beast only when the sun was high. And when night fell, the army would retreat to its camp. Three battles had been fought in this way, and each time the Beast had been defeated. Many Beasts had been killed and, at each battle, the dead and wounded were not as great. This news sent a rush of strength through the gathered men who raised their spears and swords and crashed them against their shields. But the Beast had become even more terrible when faced at night. The disease that destroyed its eyes in daytime had turned its eyes red like those of the Djinn, able to see in the darkest cave or deepest night. This sent another shiver through the gathering and there was much muttering and grumbling among the men.

  The archer from Thebes spoke again and asked what we were to do if the Beast attacked in the darkness? We could not fight an enemy we could not see but one that could see us so well that it was as daylight to its reddened eye. The Centurion laughed and again slapped the archer with his sword. I knew now that they were known each to the other. The Centurion said that the Beast had not attacked the army for fourteen days, and that each battle, no matter how terrible, was now the making of the Pharaoh’s army. He said that ten thousand Beasts had crossed the Empty Quarter, stripping the land in a path that was two day’s ride to cross and stretching as far as the borders of Nubia and Maroc. In the many battles since the 4th year of Senroswet, thirty thousand men had died, but also many thousands of Beasts, and now less than three hundred remained. The Pharaoh had decreed that a number should be captured, not less than a score, but that all others must die. This was good news, and we slept with full bellies and hope in our hearts. But even then, as I lay in the dark, I felt fear touch me. I had seen the Beast and looked into its eyes. I knew that we would be tested. I knew that there would be many more deaths before the battle was won.
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  We were raised early on that final day, the desert sand cold beneath our feet, the water in our goatskins crackling with ice. The Centurions shouted and kicked at the sleeping men. When the first bright rays of the sun broke over the distant horizon all men had eaten and the cohorts were formed. As we stood shivering, our weapons cold in our hands, the Centurions told us that we would attack in the mid morning, before the sun reached its zenith, but with it hard and bright at our backs. They said that the Beasts were nested near the head of the valley and that scouts had been on watch throughout the night. With the sun behind us as we attacked, the Beasts would be blind. As the drums began to beat we began our march. We were ready.

  The desert stretched away from us on all sides, a wilderness of rocks and sand. Nowhere was there a tree or even a blade of grass. This was the Empty Quarter and I knew now why it was called so. Neither animal nor plant dwelled here. Nothing lived in the Empty Quarter except scorpions and black flies and the desert beetle, living on the dew left on the cold mornings, for there was no other water. A land of cruel beauty, it was a fitting place for our battle with the Beast. When we reached the mouth of the valley we rested, the sun hot upon our necks and shoulders, our faces wet with heat. Every man ate bread and drank well from his goatskin, for we did not know when we would again eat or drink. We gave greeting to the men around us and asked the Gods for guidance, for we did not know who would perish this day. I wore a short lace around my neck, tied with a tiny horse of clay, a gift from my brothers. I held it to my mouth and prayed. I hoped that I would live through this day and again see my family.

  The line of battle was ten cohorts wide and five deep. This time we would sweep into the valley and wrap our army around the Beast, attacking it from all sides. Again the drums began to beat, the sound echoing from the hillsides and the valley rocks. In the distance, at the head of the valley, the air shimmered with the desert heat. Was there something moving? Was it the Beast? I felt fear rise again in my chest. Then the Centurions shouted again, and we began to run. Our feet pounded on the sand and stones, our weapons crashed against our shields, our drums beat loud as those in the temple of Osiris, our voices rose as one in the early morning air. We were almost five thousand strong, against three hundred. We must triumph. But in my heart I knew it was, at best, a battle of equals.

  As we entered the valley we could see the Beasts stirring in the shade of the rocks, distant from us, but still close enough to see their size and their strength. We knew, in this battle, that we were the aggressor. We were not the prey but the predator. For the first time I felt some pity for the Beast. But in the next moment that was swept away as the Beasts attacked. At the first movement of the Beasts our lines halted and we knelt and braced our long spears in the earth. I was in the second line and to each side of me there stretched a wall of bronze teeth, the spear tips gleaming in the sun. Again the arrows whispered in the air above us, flying in their thousands towards the oncoming terror. We watched as the first wave of Beasts fell, their eyes pierced by the long shafts. But more ran on than those that fell. I felt a fear rise within me again as the Beasts closed upon us. But this time, I felt also a strength. I knew that we must prevail but still my heart pounded with fear.

  The Centurions said that three hundred Beasts remained. Of that three hundred I believe a full ten score attacked us in the first wave on that fateful morning. As before, the Beasts came to us us faster than the fastest horse, many falling under the arrows but many more rushing on in great leaps and bounds, the sounds of their demon feet against the sand as loud as the thunder of a mighty storm, their screams so loud as to pierce my head with pain. I heard the muttering of the men around me rise to a roar as the first Beasts crashed into the line. All around me men and Beasts screamed and fought, the noise so loud that I felt my head would burst. The spear carrier in front of me took a Beast, his spear piercing it through the chest. But his spear collapsed and he was crushed as the Beast thrust forward only to impale itself deeply upon my weapon. Again, in my shame, my bowels failed. I recall that I screamed in fear but, by Osiris, some strength came to me and I held fast as the Beast roared, its foul breath choking my lungs, its plunging all but pulling my arms from my body. It was my good fortune that my spear held firm, its shaft strong and firmly planted, for the Beast frothed blood from its mouth and nose and died.

  The Beast lay with my spear passed through its throat and I could not remove it. But the dead were many and I did not seek long for another weapon. I chose the spear of a comrade who had fallen nearby and prepared myself for the next charge. A hand fell on my shoulder and I saw the face of Naguib. He was bloodied as before but safe. He knelt beside me. Another whisper of arrows passed over us and we watched more Beasts fall. The floor of the valley was covered with huge carcasses, many alive and clawing at their eyes, others unmoving in the sand. Not even this mighty Beast could stand against the poisons on the barbs. To my left and right I could see that our line stood firm, though holed and shattered in many places, the dead piled in rows like fallen trees. Again, thousands were falling beneath the claws of the Beast.

  Then our Centurions returned, running back and forth across the line, shouting at us, regrouping and moving to reform the line. I could not believe it. The Beasts had retreated to the head of the valley after only one charge. There were many dead on the valley floor, at least five score. I saw that no more than ten score remained alive. The legion of mighty Beasts was no more. But even now I felt the quiver of fear flow through me. And I saw in the eyes of my fellows that even they did not dare to believe that we could win this battle. Even now, when only ten score of the Beasts remained, would our great army prevail?

  Behind us our drums began to beat, again driving us to our feet and forward, toward the Beast, toward the end of this terrible war. We moved forward, crashing our feet hard into the sand, crashing our weapons against out shields, shouting at the Gods. The noise we made was mighty and we believed we were mighty. This was the end. This was where it would end. The Beasts roared and screamed in the deep shade under the rocks. As the Beasts moved about I saw smaller forms to the rear. I remember that I was surprised. For I had not thought anything of the origin of the Beast other than it was the spawn of the Gods of the underworld, an evil demon sent forth into the world of man. But off course it was not. It was an animal. And animals will sire young. Again, I was moved and felt pity for what we were about to do. Then the drums stopped and a Centurion ran in front and halted the advance.

  As we stood in the sand, our sandals hot against our feet, our armour burning like the pots in our mother’s hearth, we heard the scrape and rattle of chariots and the whinny of horses. A loud roar came from the men to our right. We knew the only user of horses and chariots to be the Pharaoh. Could it be that he was here. But why? To fight with us against the Beast? Or to watch while we destroyed it? We cheered loudly as the chariot raced along our flank before stopping on a small rise near the head of our cohort. Two horses, white and painted, hauled the chariot, their leather fittings gilded with studs of gold and silver, their heads plumed with tall white feathers from the birds traded by the Nubians. The chariot was like the sun, yellow gold and pink copper, the wheel rims of bronze, the spokes of gilded wood.

  It was our Pharaoh, Senusret I, God of Gods, Born of the Sun, Child of Isis and Osiris. He had come to speak with us, to tell us of his message from the Gods and the homage they asked of him. If only we had known what further perils would follow. But that is not the way of the world, and it is not given to any man to foresee his future. Perhaps this is not so bad, for ill it would be for man to know the time of his death, or that of his loved ones. And I have been happy these many years with my wife Eti. And the many joys I have know have sprung unforeseen to my heart and in this have been ever more joyful. And, truth be known, it might be that had I known of my wife’s mother my courage might have failed me. To have fled the kingdom of the Q’uin without Eti at my side? I could not think of it. And w
hile it is true that I could never feel affection for Chang Ying, and I have not seen her these many years, still her evil eye haunts me.

  But I should talk no more this night, for Khuyb has now turned her own evil eye upon me, and has told me that should I not show respect for my wife’s mother I will be cast in stone and forced to live forever as the rock that holds fast the door of the latrine. Such words. May the Gods have mercy upon my daughter.

  * * *

  (Here endeth the fourth night of words of Agymah Chahine of Abydos – scribed by Imhotep, Son of Shariff, at the house of Khuyb, Daughter of Agymah, in the City of Memphis in the 33rd year of Senusret I. Khuyb refuses to speak with me and Paser has returned to his home.)

  Part V – Under a Boiling Sun

  (Here is written the fifth night of words of Agymah Chahine of Abydos - scribed by Imhotep, Son of Shariff, at the house of Khuyb, Daughter of Agymah, in the City of Memphis in the 33rd year of Senusret I, Pharaoh of all Egypt. I have spoken with Paser who has returned to assist Khuyb. Her mother, Eti, has cooked sweetbreads and laid them before me.)