Stealing Fire

by Jo Graham

  I stopped the column and we poured out a libation of the best wine and I offered prayers. Then I stood back respectfully beside the sphinx while the column began moving again. If I had had my eyes closed I would still have known the moment the hearse passed the border.

  It was like distant thunder, like rain in far-off mountains, like the sounding of the sea. The gods welcomed Alexander to Egypt.

  My palms prickled with the power and I shook them out. If I were a priest, I thought, I should know what to do with this. I should know how to control this power, to raise the very land itself against pursuit. But I was a soldier, and I did not know.

  Instead, I mounted up and we moved on again, taking my place at the head of the column.

  WE HAD ONLY gone on a little ways when I heard a lion roar. My horse's head went up, her ears swiveling toward the sound. I looked around.

  On a ledge halfway up the cliff a tawny lioness was reclining, her golden head raised. As I looked up, her green eyes met mine. She did not leap up or appear startled by the appearance of the long column of armed men, nor did she challenge us. She simply looked.

  I reined in, pulling to the side of the column. Her eyes did not leave me.

  I did not look away. “Lady of the Desert,” I said. “Please pardon our trespass on your place. We are only passing through and will soon be gone.”

  She blinked lazily, her eyes bright, her front paws before her in exactly the same posture as the sphinx.

  As the sphinx.

  Bagoas had come up beside me on foot. “Is it an omen?” he asked.

  “Or a goddess incarnate,” I said. She was truly a magnificent animal, the largest lioness I had ever seen, well fed and sleek, her hide almost glowing with good health.

  Bagoas glanced about. “How did she get up there?” The walls of the wadi were very steep, and did not give footholds even for a lion.

  “She must have come from another side,” I said. I looked around, pushing myself up on my horse's back to look.

  Her eyes never leaving me, the lioness got up, stretching purposefully. Slowly she ambled a few paces, then stopped and looked at me. Deliberately, she walked up a gentle incline behind her, and then walked along a track I could not see, passing behind fallen boulders. After a moment I saw her again. She halted, looking down at me from the track.

  “There's a way up there,” I said. “A way along the side of the cliff. I wonder where it comes out.”

  I followed the lioness back along the road, passing the hearse and the men who rode behind. Now and again she paused. The track she followed was almost invisible, dipping now and again behind outcroppings. For a while I thought I had lost it and her entirely. Half a mile or more I did not see her. The path she followed had gone behind rocks.

  I came around a turn in the road, and there she was, sitting in the middle of the road behind where our procession had passed. Beside her a gentle slope led up and then curved around a red boulder.

  The lioness blinked and lay down, her paws before her.

  And suddenly I saw all I needed to.

  “Thank you, Lady of the Desert,” I said. “Thank you.”

  The lioness got up, and with a swift leap dashed away among the rocks on the opposite side.

  I dismounted. Bagoas had followed me on foot, saying nothing, and now he watched the lioness leave without flinching. Lions will not generally attack an armed man on horseback, but an unarmed man on foot is another thing. My estimation of his courage went up, though I should have expected it. Alexander would not suffer cowards.

  My horse sweated and rolled her eyes nervously at the scent of lions, but she obeyed. “Come on, Bagoas,” I said, and led my horse toward the gentle slope that led to the track.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Seeing where it comes out and if you can lead a horse along it.” I led my mare uphill and around the boulder.

  It was possible. I should not want to try it in darkness, or at anything other than a careful walk, but it was certainly possible to lead a horse along it. We passed the spot where I had first seen her, then passed the hearse itself.

  Glaukos called up to me. The track was more exposed at that end. At the northern end you could not see it from the road.

  “I'm trying something,” I called back. “Go on. I'll catch up.”

  Around the next bend the track descended to the road again, coming out just ahead of the cortege.

  Perhaps in some earlier day this had been the original path, before the broad road was built by a long-dead pharaoh so that merchants and soldiers could travel more easily. It was disused, but still passable.

  I waited while the column came up. Glaukos approached me. “What's that about?”

  “We're going to ambush them,” I said. “Send twenty men and the hearse on ahead. Tell them to ride through the night and put as much distance between them and us as possible. Everyone else stays here.”

  “Ambush? With horses? In this?” Glaukos gestured up at the steep sides of the wadi.

  Bagoas smiled, and I thought he understood.

  “There's a track that goes back that way,” I said. “About three miles. That end of it can't be seen from the road. You're going to take two hundred men that way, in single file, leading their horses. You'll see where it descends again. Don't go quite that far. Keep them up the trail, where it's out of sight. Keep them quiet. When Perdiccas’ men come through here they'll be going fast. They'll be able to tell from the freshness of the dung that they're nearly on us. They won't be stopping to scout. They'll go hell for leather trying to catch us by surprise. As soon as they go past you, come down and form up on the road.”

  Glaukos grinned. “Then come down on them from the rear like a wolf on the fold. Where will you be?”

  “We're going to hold here,” I said. “The wadi is narrow enough, and it looks like there are some thorn bushes we could cut and make a barricade with to break the charge.”

  “A barricade of thorn bushes isn't going to slow them down much,” Glaukos said.

  “It will if they're on fire,” I said. “All this brush is dry. It will burn.”

  “And then they'll be caught between you and our charge,” he said.

  I nodded. “That's the shape of it. Now get to it! They're not more than half a day behind us!”

  THEY CAME DOWN upon us an hour short of nightfall. We were ready.

  Our first warning was the sudden starting of birds, a hawk spiraling suddenly into the air crying indignantly. And then there was the thunder of hooves and they came round the bend.

  “Now!” I shouted, flinging my torch into the brush, ten other men following suit. The dry tinder caught with a roar.

  Before their cavalry's headlong dash a wall of fire sprang up, flames licking up blown by the hot wind that rose at exactly the right moment, sending flames flying like banners toward them.

  I stepped my horse back. Even she shied at the flames.

  It broke the charge utterly. No horse will run straight into fire. The front riders pulled up, fouling those behind them, men swearing and shouting. One horse, less nimble than the others, ran straight up on another and they both fell, thrashing about with loud, frightened cries, their riders pinned beneath them.

  The second cohort ran almost on top of them. They pulled up, horses rearing and pitching. It was sheer chaos.

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the barrier our men waited in good order. Our horses did not like the fire either, but they were not being asked to do anything about it, and had seen it kindled as they had seen our campfires lit each night. We waited. I wished I had Artashir and a troop of Persian archers. They would be perfect targets.

  Their officers were shouting, trying to get them untangled. The last cohorts had stopped short and now milled about, attempting to stay out of the way in the narrow wadi. They were not in good order either, and with their attention on the struggle in front of them they were not watching behind. They would not hear Glaukos over the shouting unti
l he was practically on top of them.

  Already the flames were dying back, the tinder-dry brush consumed quickly. In a few minutes there would not be enough left to hinder them. It would not be long before someone tried it.

  I marked Polemon, whom I knew, astride a black horse, surveying the flames and measuring the dying fires, his horse lifting his head so that the bells on his bridle shook. A big horse, I thought. A black Nisean, with strong legs and a stout heart. He could make the jump now, but they would not all follow. It would not be long.

  “Form up!” I heard Polemon yell. “Form up!”

  “Wait,” I said to the senior cavalryman beside me. “Wait. Let them come for us.”

  How long would it take for them to form up? It seemed moments, and an eternity at the same time. But surely it hadn't been long since we lit the brush. The flames had not died entirely.

  “Form up! Are you Companions or what?” I heard Polemon shouting, trying to get people back into line. One of the fallen horses seemed to have broken a leg and was thrashing about right in the middle of where they would need to be. It would divide their charge in half, splitting to go around him. “Form up!”

  “Sir,” the trooper beside me began.

  “Wait,” I said, raising a hand. “Wait for my signal.”

  And then I heard the sound of hooves, and a great shout as Glaukos and his men thundered down the wadi behind them, swords drawn and in full charge.

  They broke into the back of Polemon's men like boulders falling down a mountain, the screams of injured horses competing with the cries of men.

  Orders or not, every man looked around.

  “Forward!” I shouted, and touched my heels to her sides as we started forward across the smoldering ashes.

  After that it was hard to tell what was happening more than a length from my own horse, cut and thrust and guard, the nimble mare dancing over the fallen. Blood was in my eyes, in my hair, and I could see nothing except the plunging horses around me, a trooper of my own to my right on a big bay horse.

  “Forward!” It was hard to tell who was whom. We all wore the same armor, friends and foes alike, all had familiar faces. We had been friends, not two years ago. We had all fought for Alexander.

  Polemon appeared out of the chaos, his helmet askew on his head. I saw him mark me and was not surprised.

  He came straight for me, but at the last moment the movement of the battle shifted, so that we should pass wrong-sided, left to left rather than right to right. I tried to switch over, but his horse was bigger than mine, and in a moment our horses were shoulder to shoulder. He lifted his sword, but it was an awkward thrust, fully across his body.

  I could not parry all the way across in time. I saw it rise, and the seconds elongated.

  It was nothing but animal reaction to throw my left arm up to guard my head. So close were we, and so awkward the thrust, that I caught the guard just above his hand, the full weight of the descent with the horse's weight behind it caught on my left hand, the wrist bent entirely back. I heard the bones break, snapping like dry twigs.

  And then we were past him, the pass incomplete, my horse taking her head from the suddenly slack reins.

  “Retreat! Retreat!” Someone was shouting. “Retreat and form up!” I thought it was Polemon. All about us in the wadi men were down. Perhaps he thought more of them were his.

  My arm was on fire, my hand completely useless. I gathered the reins in my sword hand, holding both together.

  “Don't pursue!” I shouted. “Men of Ptolemy's Ile, do not pursue!”

  “Form up!”

  Everyone was shouting to form up.

  I wheeled the horse about one-handed. We needed to back off, give it some room and see what we had compared to them. There was no dishonor in yielding the field. One bit of this wadi was like another.

  “Ptolemy's Ile, back up!” I shouted. I guided my mare back over the embers with my legs, my left hand entirely unresponsive. I could not move my thumb at all.

  “Back up, you fornicating slobs!” That was Glaukos, shouting at the first ranks, getting them back.

  “Pick up the wounded,” I directed. “Anyone you can carry.”

  “Form up!”

  We backed down the wadi slowly, our eyes on them. They were also backing off a little.

  I could not tell who precisely we had lost, but it looked as though many more of them were on the ground than of us.

  They did not pursue. I did not think they would, not with night falling, a bitter mauling, and no idea what further backup we might have. They would not pursue until morning.

  I looked about for Glaukos. “Put an hour's ride between us. We need some breathing room.”

  He glanced down at the reins in my sword hand, and a furrow came between his eyes. “You hurt?”

  “I broke my fucking wrist,” I said. “But I can ride.” Truly, it did not feel so bad at the moment, merely useless. But battle makes it so. I have seen men continue on mortally wounded, seeming not to feel the wounds that have already killed them.

  Night was coming swiftly down as we stopped at last, an hour along the track. I sent scouts back immediately, but there was no pursuit.

  “Numbers,” I said. “I want numbers from every column leader. What have we got?” By now it was starting to throb, and when I glanced at my wrist it looked misshapen, bones in entirely the wrong places beneath the skin. I could only move the last two fingers at all. The thumb and the first two did not respond.

  Troop by troop we formed up. The numbers were not as bad as they might have been. Sixty-seven wounded, including myself, forty-one of whom needed camp and medical attention immediately. Twenty-six men missing, presumably dead on the field. Polemon and Attalos would burn them honorably with their own dead, I thought. We were not so far gone from the time we had been brothers.

  Glaukos frowned. “Roughly one man in eight wounded or killed,” he said.

  I tilted my head to the side. “Tolerable for facing fifty percent above our own numbers.”

  “We can try to hold on here,” he said.

  I shook my head. “We don't need to hold ground. We need to keep them away from the hearse. It's all about delay, my friend. The hearse needs to get to Pelousion.” I looked up at the stars coming out brightly. It seemed years since last night. “Three more days down to Pelousion, at the hearse's pace. But they're not supposed to stop tonight. They're supposed to drive the oxen on with only a short rest.” I looked about. “Get me the two gamest men you've got. They need to go ahead at their best pace, catch up to the hearse and pass it, and go on to Pelousion. They'll carry orders for the infantry phalanx there to march this way to meet the hearse. That should get the hearse coverage in…” I closed my eyes for a moment, calculating. A full day and a bit more for the riders to reach Pelousion, their horses tired as they were. Given that the phalanx marched in a few hours, they should meet the hearse in two days, a critical day before the hearse could reach Pelousion. So we needed a day's delay.

  Had we already bought it? It might be. It looked as though Perdiccas’ forces had made camp for the night. We needed to ride on and get a night's march on them. We would have to leave the wounded who could not travel behind with an escort. I thought it would be safer for them than dragging on through the night. Polemon would behave with that much honor, and besides they knew nothing he did not, save that Ptolemy had an infantry phalanx at Pelousion, which he should have guessed.

  No, I thought. The question Polemon will be asking is where is the phalanx? He does not have the men to take it on, not all cavalry on a solid phalanx, not in this terrain. Of course, twelve miles from Pelousion the road comes out of the wadis and into the river delta, with plowed fields watered by canals and drainage ditches. It is that last twelve miles that will be the hardest.

  “We push on,” I said. “The badly wounded will stay behind, and the fourth cohort will stay with them to tend them. Otherwise we ride through the night.”

  WE CAME UP to the
hearse at dawn. By then my arm hurt, stabbing pains running all the way up and into my shoulder and chest, hurting with every breath, with every step of my horse. They had stopped for three hours, letting the oxen breathe a little.

  “Make camp,” I said to Glaukos through gritted teeth. “Walk the horses down and put out scouts. We rest till noon.”

  Glaukos looked at me, and I wondered if I looked as tired as he. “Are you all right?”

  “No,” I said, low. “But I have to be. Just let me rest a couple of hours. I'll be ready to go again.”

  I WOKE BEFORE noon, conscious that someone was sitting beside me. My arm was on fire, and I shivered, though it was bright sun.

  “Water?” Bagoas said, and handed me a cup.

  I drank it down with my right hand. “Thanks.”

  He nodded. “There is bread too.”

  “Later,” I said, feeling that I could hardly stomach anything just now.

  “You will be lightheaded,” he observed.

  I opened my mouth to insist I wouldn't be, but thought better of it. I probably would be. Instead I took it.

  He nodded and got to his feet with one graceful motion. Glaukos was coming over. Behind him I saw the stir of breaking camp, the mounting up beginning.

  “Ready, sir?”

  “Ready,” I said. I looked about for Bagoas to thank him for the bread, but he was already swinging up on the stoop of the hearse, nimble as a gymnast.

  Glaukos had to help me mount, and I ate the bread as we rode. We stuck close to the hearse, urging the oxen to a better pace, our eyes on the road behind.

  An hour short of nightfall our scouts to the rear came up, reporting that they had seen Polemon and Attalos’ scouts, two men following us who had wheeled about and cantered back the way they came when they rode after them.

  I blew out a breath. Less than a day behind, perhaps only half a day. Perhaps only a few hours.