It’s necessary to kill a dragon! he thought. Otherwise, these faint hearts will be chilled by fear.
He drew his sword with a trenchant blade; he considered a great bull that was struggling in the formidable grip, and launched himself forward with a bound. He sliced the dragon through the middle. The severed sections writhed horribly.
Setne shouted: “What are you afraid of, faint hearts? Does not each of you have a well tempered sword?”
Intar had already imitated the chief’s example. He succeeded in cleaving a dragon, but only half way through; a blow from the tail threw him to the ground. Hesitation returned to the hearts of the warriors, until the chief of the sands had got up and seized his blade again.
Only then did the phalanx advance, launching its darts and striking with lances. Men fell, but also dragons; the victory was not in doubt for long. The hideous beasts lay on the ground, amid warriors and bloody bulls.
That triumph filled Setne with joy, not because he misunderstood its scant importance, but because it destroyed in minds the apprehension of something prodigious or magical. He had the cadavers collected and gave them a warrior sepulcher, which was done in accordance with a simpler rite than on the soil of the homeland, but with a mysterious promise of return; the god Horus, after a few generations, would recover the bodies thus abandoned from the foreign soil and bring them back to the holy necropolises.
Setne pronounced the speech of judgment. He spoke about the imperishable cycle, Ammon-Osiris, glorious day spring from fecund night, the scintillating boat in the full waters of darkness and impure spirits, the resurrection in the bright waters of the firmament. He announced the bliss, in the light of the Amenti, of warriors died without weakness. Then he reserved the cadaver of the bravest warrior, which would be embalmed during the evening halt, and given recompenses.
That first contact with peril was good for him. It pleased his men and made them redoubtable; his sword, his speech and his actions seemed full of force. When he gave the signal to depart they were no longer following an unknown leader; a new energy was born in them, obedient and warm: faith.
The army marched for an hour without encountering any obstacle. Then it traversed a crepuscular terrain. Plants the color of ash grew on the edges of coppery pools; limp and sad trees whose bark was coming away in scales agitated sparse spiral foliage as dry as tinder. Black snakes fled; moist creatures plunged into bloody waters; bald vultures rose up at the summits of rocks, which screeched as they soared over the men.
Finally, the dragons reappeared, more numerous, on sand the color of charcoal. Setne raced forward; he cried to the phalanx of the advance guard: “Close ranks, and receive them on your lances! They won’t be able to reach you...”
The warriors obeyed. The attack of the dragons ran into a quadruple harrow of iron, while the archers on the flanks launched a rain of arrows. The beasts persisted; the instinct of victory was in them; of so many millennia when everything had succumbed to their strength on that residual terrain of fabulous times. Blood and flesh made horrible pools; a few men were carried off in the impetuous attack, but the phalanx triumphed. Nothing remained but writhing stumps and scattered heads biting the void or devouring one another, red water and sticky foam.
That victory filled the Egyptians with a joy more violent than the first. It gave them the sentiment that the era of the beasts was over, that they would always be vanquished by an army in battle. What wild beasts could be more terrible than those dragons, which fought together, and each one of which could have vanquished a lion?
Now, in those times, the Beast was still terrible; it was only braved in the past. Its mystery, its strength and its hordes, surging from the Unknown, were feared; human legend was filled with its malice; Egypt rendered it a worship that, for all that it was indirect and increasingly symbolic, was still divided between gratitude and terror.
The shadows extended over the desert; the furnace of Ka was sinking toward the hills. The army had surpassed the land of the dragons; immense marshes extended to the left. It reached the edge of a forest. Setne ordered a halt. He said to the chief of the sands: “Thus far, the stories of your people have been in conformity with the truth. We still have three hours of daylight. Do you think that is sufficient to traverse the forest?”
“According to Doud’s account, it requires a quarter of a spring day, if one escapes the tigers. Then one enters a regions where the soil is red; trees and bushes are sparse there, and until the marshes of the Men of the Water it is similar. Now you know all that I know myself. If you have the time, perhaps it would be better to traverse the forest in the morning; the wild beasts will be sated then, and we’ll have less to fear from a surprise attack by the Men of the Water.”
“But I don’t have the time, Intar. It’s necessary to cross the forest before dark, or, at least, arrive close to the far edge. I don’t fear the tigers; they can’t be more redoubtable than the dragons.”
“They’re quicker, and almost ungraspable. Doud recounted that those in this forest don’t hesitate, even when solitary, to seize a man from the midst of a hundred other, with the speed of a dart and the strength of an elephant. They spring out of the shadows without anything allowing them to be anticipated. It isn’t possible to calculate the wound that one inflicts on them with an ax, an arrow or a lance, so disconcerting is their suppleness. Scarcely have they appeared that they’re under cover, ready to recommence the attack and vanquish again. In truth, Lord, I believe them to be more terrible than the dragons. They will surely carry off a considerable number of men, and spread terror, if you have the imprudence to disdain them.”
“Thank you,” said Setne, “but even if the danger were less redoubtable, I would not disdain it.”
“It is pride that dooms the lion,” said Intar, gravely.
Setne distributed throughout his troop the men who held lances and long darts. Those weapons, alternately inclined to the right and the left, bristled from the army and defended it against the sudden bounds of wild beasts. He did not leave the men ignorant of the peril.
“The coward will be punished by himself, for in the forest, the sole refuge is in courage. Whoever emerges from the ranks will fall under a mortal claw.”
Intar had found the pass; it was like a strip of red desert, scarcely interrupted by a little brushwood, between two millennial forests. The phalanges penetrated into it silently.
“One might think,” said Habak, “that a river of death had passed, like the sea that killed the cities of Kenen.”
They perceived trees so high that they seemed to be touching the waters of the sky, some of which must have been fifty centuries old. The warriors contemplated them with suspicion. They sensed a force so old that nothing in the Delta or the land of Kush approached it. Here, man was not yet present; it was the soil of legend, full of secret and formidable forces. Extraordinary things, ancient nature unvanquished, were growing there, perhaps sufficient to annihilate all the toil of nations, all the genius of armies.
For a long time the forest remained silent. Scarcely a few subtle breaths passed, which went from leaf to leaf and suddenly died, like an interrupted speech. Sometimes, there was an agile flight, the flash of a snake, the tawny body of a deer, the leap of a monkey or a bird in the branches, and then once again the immense lake of trees, grass and beasts hid its profound life. But the sun tinted it red; its brazier was seen swelling behind giant columns, and the cry of the evening rose up, little flutes piping on the edges of nests, nervous monkeys, herbivores trembling at the arrival of the devouring night. There was still a truce, however. Only a few hungry beasts were waiting in ambush. The great royal beasts, the living sepulchers, were asleep in their ossuaries.
The sun was going down rapidly, from branch to branch. It appeared to be holding the occident of the forest in its round maw. It finally sank, and the noise of furious beasts was magnified, drawing ever closer, like the resonant waves of the sea.
“Can you see any sign announcing the e
nd of the forest?” Setne asked Intar. “We’ve been marching for three hours...”
“None. Doud mentioned a great clearing that was an hour from the edge. We haven’t reached that clearing yet...”
“It’s necessary to reach it and camp there,” said Setne, “for we can’t traverse a hour of forest, perhaps more, in profound darkness. The moon is dead at the commencement of the evening...”
Darkness dominated the coppery light; forms became vague; the space was populated by fabulous things; anguish hovered over the phalanges. Suddenly, an enormous beast crossed the hedge of lances. A cry of death was heard, and then the beast reappeared, with a man in its jaws. It disappeared between the trees.
Setne had shivered. He sensed the terror siding into souls and chilling limbs.
“In truth,” he murmured, “those are more terrible than the dragons!”
Immense roars filled the air. The entire forest was nothing but an immense clamor. In spite of their number, in spite of the order and their pointed weapons, the men no longer believed in their strength. The same distress reigned that kept the Kushite sheltered in his cavern. And again, the beast surged forth. Forms as rapid as lightning bounded in the penumbra, crossing the line of lances and carrying men away. One tiger passed within six cubits of Setne, Intar and Habak, and disappeared before they could launch a dart or lift a sword.
“We haven’t been able to stop one of them!” Setne cried, angrily.
Another cry of agony, and then another; the weapons of bewildered warriors clashed; a sigh of fear rose up from a thousand breasts. The shadow thickened; they could no longer see further than a few cubits; the reflection of weapons added to the horror of darkness.
Humiliation filled the soul of the Egyptian chief. Suddenly, he found himself under the beast. A warm and powerful weight had rolled over his breath; a fetid mouth blew in his face, and he saw fiery eyes and sparkling teeth descending. He thought he was doomed; he struck at hazard with his sword. Already, Intar and Habak had fallen upon the tiger, but it carried off its victim. Habak discharged a blow of his ax at the head, Intar’s sword plunged, and Setne found himself on his feet again. His sword had pierced the tiger’s heart. The monster died, with a great scream.
“Are you wounded, my Lord?” cried Habak.
Setne had a torn shoulder and a bloody breast, but no deep wound. The tiger had seized him by his garments. He placed his hand on Habak’s head and looked at Intar in silence. Both were as close to his heart as if one mother had engendered them. But the cries of fear did not cease resounding along the sinister route. Always the same drama, more hideous than the increased darkness, always the light and formidable bounds before which the multitude of armed men remained as impotent as a herd of deer or gazelles. At each attack of the wild beasts a soldier disappeared into the night and death.
Setne hastened the march, and with twenty warriors armed with pikes he presented himself successively at the front of the phalanges, encouraging the crowd with strong words. No one was listening to him; an immense terror was making the soldiers totter; some, seized by madness, ran into the carnivorous forest.
Then Setne became desperate. He sensed his weakness and the weakness of man Ancient nature weighed upon his soul as it weighed upon feeble populations in fabulous times. He believed that that frightful terrain would be his sepulcher,
Instar’s voice pulled him out of his discouragement. “The clearing!”
The open strip in which the army was marching broadened out. A vast triangular area appeared, confusedly strewn with vegetation. The sky cast a meager starlight there, which gradually increased in the light of the nascent moon. Then Setne, encouraging his men with a loud voice, caused the long Theban trumpets to resound.
Before the open extent, however, the phalanges broke up. Everyone raced forward in a vertigo of terror and hope. Tigers bounded through that disorder, ad Setne, devoured by rage, feared the supreme panic. His voice and Habak’s summoned the iron phalanx. That elite troop deployed around the leader, organized in the red light of the rising moon. The trumpets, with increased energy, sounded the rallying cry.
At that moment, two tigers glided toward Setne. In response to a curt order, the pikes were raised. The audacious beasts pounced. One of them fell on the points. Pierced through, it writhed, with a long roar so formidable that the pikemen dropped their weapons. But already, Intar’s and Setne’s swords had pierced it with twenty thrusts. It rolled over in the middle of the phalanx and lay still. A long cry of triumph, prolonged through the clearing, reanimated the crowd.
The other tiger had seized a prey and carried it away. Armed with a short sword, the victim struck relentlessly, frantically. A fortunate thrust stopped the wild beast in its tracks, Intar, Habak and several soldiers raced forward, but the tiger bounded outside the circle of lances and swords three times. Its immense claws tore muscles, pectorals and entire shoulders. Finally, its entrails sprang forth. A sword punctured its eyes, and ten javelins nailed the beast to the ground. It stayed there, panting, for a long time; the soldiers, exulting in its agony, delivered thrusts at intervals that awoke it with a start and drew long howls from it.
Then a fanfare sounded the triumph; confidence was reborn in the bewildered souls; the phalanges reformed. In the broadening clearing, weapons plied by firmer hands regained the advantage over the monsters.
Setne commanded that large fires be lit and took a roll call of the troops.
He found that he had lost fifty men; that loss seemed small, and in the depths of his soul he rejoiced. But, hiding his joy, he went from fire to fire, insulting his troops, denouncing their cowardice and depicting the torture of those who had fled into the forest.
He added: “Take care that you are in the hands of the gods! Bravery alone can save you, and will save you. Those who attempt to escape by flight will only serve to assuage the hunger of beasts. If I had not succeeded in reforming your ranks, only a few would still be prowling around this clearing and in the forest. The majority would have perished.”
The Egyptians listened to their chief with humility. They recognized that his energy had saved them; they obtained a more profound confidence in his resources.
“I shall not seek this evening to discover the most cowardly,” Setne cried, “but no peril must any longer surprise you! I am taking my precautions; I will know those who quit the ranks; I will be pitiless!”
“No one will quit the ranks again,” said an old Memphite. “We shall be in your hands, like your sword and your staff of command.”
And the clamors of the phalanges rose up, amid the smoke and the flames, above the carnivorous forest.
V. The Queen of the Waters
“Let’s climb that hill,” said Intar. “We’ll be able to see the land of the marshes better from there.”
Setne climbed, and observed the motionless waters for a long time. They were heavy, leaden and equivocal, interrupted by vegetal islands; they extended all the way to the horizon. A natural causeway traversed them, which swelled into peninsulas.
“It requires three hours of marching to emerge from the peril,” said the nomad, “the marshes will not be ended yet, even then; they divide; some stretch southwards, the others northwards. The Men of the Waters do not venture on to solid ground, however, and one can reach the gorge to the Hennar without difficulty.”
“Do they fight hand-to-hand, Intar?”
“Yes, after having harassed the enemy. They remain invisible for a long time; their arrows seem to emerge from the waters.”
“Do you believe that their bows have a longer range than our Egyptian bows?”
“Their range, according to the accounts, seem to equal the range of my tribe’s bows. Yours shoot further, Lord.”
Setne considered the causeway again.
“We’ll send messengers of peace,” he said. “If they don’t consent to our passage, I’ll occupy that first peninsula; I’ll calculate the resistance of the enemy thus.”
He summoned Habak
with the phalanx chief Bitiu, and ordered them to prepared four hundred men. Then he put on a helmet and a breastplate, took a large buckler and, accompanied by Intar and ten warriors, protected like him against arrows, he headed rapidly for the marshes.
When he approached the edge, he raised his voice to call to the Men of the Waters. At first, nothing budged. The heavy waters seemed dead, as thick as the waves of the sea where two cities lie in eternal sleep. No plant quivered on the sinister extent; the pale nympheas resembled flowers of enamel.
Then the leaves of the nenuphars stirred, and heads surged firth. Extraordinary, with long violet hair that railed like algae, their eyes emerald, their skin blue on their faces and breasts, the beings appeared to be more different from the men of Egypt than the negroes of Libya, the red-haired Scythians, the yellow people or the men the color of ash who lived in caverns. They were not ugly. One of them had a strange, disconcerting beauty, with a tint of nacreous azure, a moist gleam in the eyes, and luminous teeth, not like pearls but opals.
They all remained motionless for some time, listening to the speech of the Egyptian chief. Abruptly, they dived. Their blue bodies disappeared like steaks of light.
“That’s not a good augury,” said Intar.
He had scarcely finished speaking when twenty arrows emerged from between the broad leaves of the nenuphars. They collided with the Egyptians’ solid bucklers
“It’s war!” murmured Setne. “Let’s go prepare for it.”
The little embassy went back up toward the phalanges, and Setne gave his instructions to the attack column.
“You’ll march between two rows of bucklers, constantly turned toward the waters. In the center, you’ll imbricate the bucklers in a roof. The archers and the slingshot wielders will only launch projectiles on command.
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