by Wilbur Smith
Once their weight was on the pole it was impossible for the defenders
to dislodge it. They had to meet the warriors hand to hand when they reached the top of the wall. Imbali and her women stood in the line with the men, and dealt out deadly execution with their battleaxes. But the Basmara seemed impervious to their losses. They clambered over the corpses of their comrades, and rushed into the fray, eager and undaunted.
At last a small bunch had fought their way on to the parapet. It took hard and bitter fighting before the last was hurled back. However, fresh waves swarmed to take their places. Just when it seemed that the exhausted defenders were about to be overwhelmed by the sheer weight of painted bodies, the whistles shrilled again and the attackers melted away.
They drank, dressed their wounds and changed their blunted swords for new ones with keener edges, but the respite was short-lived before the cry went up once more: 'Stand to your arms! They are coming again.'
Meren's men met two more rushes before sunset, but the last was costly. Eight men and two of Imbali's companions had been speared or clubbed to death on the parapet before the Basmara were thrown back.
Few of the troopers had survived the day unscathed. Some had only light cuts or bruises. Two had broken bones from blows of the heavy Basmara clubs. Two more would not see out the night: a spear thrust through the guts and another through the lungs would carry them off before dawn. Many were too weary to eat or even to drag themselves to the shelter of the huts. As soon as they had quenched their thirst they threw themselves down on the parapet and fell asleep in their sweat soaked armour and bloody bandages.
'We will not hold out here another day,' Meren told Taita. 'This village has become a death-trap. I had not thought the Basmara could be so tenacious. We will have to kill every one before we can get away.'
He looked tired and despondent. His eye cavity was hurting — he kept lifting the patch and rubbing it with his knuckles.
Taita had seldom seen him in such a reduced state. 'We do not have enough men to hold this perimeter,' he agreed. 'We will have to pull back to the inner line.' They looked across at the final ring of defences around the well. 'We can do that under cover of night. Then we will set fire to the stockade at the first enemy charge in the morning. That will hold them for a few hours until the flames burn down.'
'And then?'
'We will keep the horses saddled, and wait for our chance to break out of the town and escape.'
'To where?'
'I will tell you when I know,' Taita promised, and stood up stiffly.
'Make sure the men holding the stockade have fire-pots. I am going to Fenn.'
She was asleep when he entered the hut. He did not want to wake her to examine her leg, but when he touched her cheek it was cool, not flushed or feverish. The wound has not mortified, he reassured himself.
He sent Lala away, and lay down at Fenn's side. Before he had taken more than three breaths, he had dropped into a deep, dark sleep.
Hi
I”¥“ TT e awoke in the uncertain light of dawn. Fenn was sitting over him anxiously. 'I thought you were dead,' she exclaimed, as he . opened his eyes.
'So did I.' Taita sat up. 'Let me see your leg.' He unwrapped the bandage and found the wound only slightly inflamed, but no hotter than his own hand. He leant close and sniffed at the stitches. There were no putrescent odours. 'You must get dressed. We may have to move quickly.' While he helped her into her tunic and loincloth, he told her, 'I am going to make a crutch for you, but you will have little opportunity to learn to use it. The Basmara will certainly attack again at sunrise.' Quickly he fashioned it from a light staff and a carved crosspiece, which he padded with bark cloth. She leant on it heavily as he helped her hobble out to the horse lines. Between them, they put the bridle and saddle on Whirlwind. There was a warning shout from the outer stockade.
'Stay with Whirlwind,' Taita told her. 'I will come back to find you.'
He hurried to the stockade, where Meren was waiting for him.
'Fenn - how is she?' were his first words.
'She will be able to ride and is waiting with the horses,' Taita told him. 'What is happening here?'
Meren pointed across the open ground. Two hundred paces away, the Basmara regiments were mustering at the edge of the forest.
'So few,' Taita observed. 'Half as many as there were last evening.'
'Look to the south wall,' Meren told him.
Taita swivelled around to gaze in the direction of the great lake.
'So! They are doing what they should have done yesterday,' he remarked drily. 'They will make a double-pronged assault.' He pondered a moment, then asked, 'How many men are fit enough to hold a weapon this morning?'
I WILBUR SMITH
'Three died during the night, and four of our troopers took their Shilluk whores and brats and deserted in the darkness. I doubt they will get far before the Basmara find them. That leaves sixteen of us, including Nakonto, Imbali and her tribe-sister, Aoka.'
'We have fifteen horses strong enough to carry a man and his baggage,'
Taita said.
'Do we stand to meet another Basmara charge or set fire to the outer stockade and try to escape on the horses in the smoke?'
Taita did not take long to decide. 'To stay here will only delay the inevitable,' he said. 'We will take our chance on the horses and make a run for it. Warn the men of what we intend.'
Meren went down the line with the order and returned swiftly. 'They all know what to do, Magus. The fire-pots are ready. The dice of hazard are in the cup and ready for the throw.' Taita was silent, watching the enemy regiments. They heard the familiar war chant begin, the drumming of the shields and the stamp of hundreds of bare feet.
'They are coming,' said Meren softly.
'Fire the stockade,' Taita ordered. The men at the piles of dry kindling dashed on to them the smouldering contents of the fire-pots and fanned them with their sleeping mats. The flames leapt up instantly.
'Fall back!' Meren bellowed, and the survivors jumped down from the burning parapet. Some ran, while others hobbled or limped, supporting each other painfully. Watching them go, Taita felt suddenly tired, frail and old. Was it all to end here in this remote, wild corner of the earth?
Was so much endeavour, suffering and death to be of no consequence?
Meren was watching him. He straightened his shoulders and stood to his full height. He could not falter now: he had his duty to Meren and the remaining men, but even more so to Fenn.
'It is time to go, Magus,' Meren said gently, and took his arm to help him down the ladder. By the time they reached the horses the entire length of the outer stockade was enveloped in a roaring, leaping wall of flame. They shrank away from the fierce, blistering heat.
The troopers led out the horses. Meren went down the column assigning the mounts. Of course, Fenn would ride Whirlwind and take Imbali on her stirrup to guard her. Taita would have Windsmoke, with Nakonto hanging on to his stirrup ropes. Meren would be on his bay with Aoka covering his blind side. All the other troopers would ride their own mounts. Now that no mules were left alive the two spare horses were loaded with food and baggage. Hilto and Shabako took them on lead reins.
240 I
Under cover of the flaming stockade they mounted, facing the outer gateway. Taita raised high the golden Periapt of Lostris, and cast the spell of concealment over them, shielding them from the eyes of the enemy. He was well aware of the difficulty in cloaking such a large group of horses and men, but the primitive Basmara would be readily susceptible to the illusions he wove.
The Basmara made no effort to break through the burning stockade.
Evidently they believed that their victims were trapped within and were waiting their chance to finish them. They were chanting and shouting on the far side of the blaze. Taita waited until the flames had burnt through the outer gates and sent them crashing to earth.
'Now!' he ordered. Habari and Shabako galloped into the smoke an
d threw loops of rope over the fallen gates. Before the fire could burn through the ropes, they dragged them aside. Now the way was open and the two men galloped back to the others.
'Keep together, the closer the better, and follow me,' Taita said. The spell's efficacy would be revealed once they were through the gates and out on the open ground beyond. The gateway was framed with fire and they had to get through quickly, before they were roasted alive.
'Forward at the gallop,' Taita ordered quietly, but he used the voice of power, which carried clearly to every man in the line. They charged to the flaming gate. The heat struck them like a wall and some of the horses balked, but their riders forced them on with spurs and whips, the heat singing coats and manes. It scorched the men's faces too and stung their eyes before, still in a tight group, they were on open ground.
Basmara were prancing and howling all around them. Although some looked at them their eyes passed blankly over them, then lifted to the top of the burning stockade. Taita's spell was holding.
'Quietly, slowly,' Taita warned. 'Keep close together. Make no sudden movement.' He kept the Periapt held high. Beside him, Fenn followed his example. She lifted her own gold talisman and her lips moved as she recited the words he had taught her. She was assisting Taita, reinforcing the spell. They moved across the open ground until they were almost clear. The edge of the forest was less than two hundred paces ahead, and still their presence had not been detected by the tribesmen. Then Taita felt a cold draught on the back of his neck. Beside him, Fenn gasped and dropped her talisman on its chain. 'It burnt me!' she exclaimed, and stared at the red mark on her fingertips. Then she turned, with a stricken expression, to Taita. 'Something is breaking our spell.' She was right. Taita felt it tear and shred, like a perished sail in a blast of wind.
They were being stripped of their concealing cloak. Another influence was working on them, and he could not deflect or divert it.; 'Forward at the gallop!' he shouted, and the horses headed for the edge of the forest. A great shout went up from the Basmara legions.
Every painted face turned in their direction, every eye lit with bloodlust.
They swarmed towards the little band of riders from every quarter of the field.
'Run!' Taita urged Windsmoke, but she was carrying two big men.
Everything seemed to happen with dreamlike slowness. Although they were pulling ahead of the warriors that followed them, another formation of spearmen was running in from the right flank.
'Come on! Fast as you can!' Taita urged. He saw that Basma was leading the race to cut them off. He bounded across their front with his spear balanced on his right shoulder, ready for a clean throw. His men were baying like hounds on a hot scent.
'Come on!' Taita yelled. He judged the angles and speeds. 'We're going to get through.'
Basma made the same calculation as the band of horsemen swept past him, thirty paces clear. Basma used the impetus of his run and the strength of his frustration to hurl the spear after them. He launched it high and it dropped towards Meren's heavily laden bay gelding.
'Meren!' Taita shouted a warning, but the spear was in his blind spot.
It struck his mount just behind the saddle, hitting the spine. The bay's back legs collapsed. Meren and Aoka were thrown into a tangle on the scorched earth. The Basmara, who had been about to abandon the chase, took heart and rushed forward, led by their chief. Meren rolled to his feet and saw the faces of the other horsemen looking back at him as they were carried away by their own mounts.
'Go on!' he shouted. 'Save yourselves, for you cannot save us.' The Basmara were closing round him swiftly.
Fenn touched Whirlwind's neck and called to him: 'Whoa! Whirlwind, whoa!'
The grey colt turned like a swallow in mid-flight, and before any of them realized what had happened Fenn was racing back to where Meren stood with Aoka. For a moment he was too astonished to speak as he saw Fenn tearing back towards him, with Imbali hanging on to her stirrup and brandishing her axe. He tried to wave her back: 'Go away!'
But as soon as Fenn had turned, so had Taita in the same suicidal gesture. The rest of the band was thrown into confusion. The horses
reared and plunged, bumping into each other and milling about until the riders had them under control. Then they all raced back.
Now the nearest Basmara, led by their chief, were almost upon them.
They hurled spears as they closed in. First Hilto's horse, then Shabako's were hit and fell heavily, throwing the men from their backs as they went down.
With a quick glance Taita assessed their changed circumstances: there were no longer enough horses to carry them all away. 'Form the defensive circle!' he shouted. 'We must stand and fight them here.'
The men who had been thrown struggled to their feet and limped towards him. Those on unwounded mounts jumped down and pulled them into the centre of the circle. The archers unslung their bows; Imbali and Aoka hefted their axes. They faced outwards. When they looked upon the massed formations of spearmen rushing to attack them they were in no doubt as to the final outcome.
'This is the last fight. Give them something to remember us by!'
Meren shouted joyfully, and they met the first rush of Basmara head on.
They fought with the ferocity and abandon of despair. They pushed back the attackers. But Chief Basma rallied them, leaping and screeching, and they came again with him at the head of the charge. He went for Nakonto and ducked under his guard to hit him in the thigh.
Imbali was beside him and when she saw his blood springing from the wound she flew at Basma like a lioness protecting her mate. He turned to defend himself and lifted his spear to deflect the sweep of the axe. Imbali's blow sheared the shaft as though it were a papyrus reed and went on to thump into Basma's right shoulder. He staggered back, his half-severed arm hanging at his side. Imbali jerked the blade free and struck again, this time for the head. The blade cut cleanly through the crown of flamingo feathers, and went on to split Basma's skull to his teeth. For a moment the divided eyes squinted at each other round the blade, then Imbali levered it free. The metal grated harshly against the bone as it came away, yellow brain matter oozing after it.
The Basmara saw their chief struck down and, with a despairing shout, drew back. The fighting had been hard. They had suffered heavy losses — corpses lay thickly around the little circle. The Egyptians were few, but they hesitated to rush in and end it. Taita took advantage of the pause to bolster their position. He forced the horses to lie flat, a trick that all cavalry mounts were taught. Their bodies offered some protection from the javelins of the Basmara. He placed his archers behind them and held
Imbali, Aoka and Fenn with him in the centre, then took his own position at Fenn's side. He would be with her at the end, just as he had been in the other life. This time, though, he was determined to make it quicker and easier for her.
He looked at the others in the circle. Habari, Shofar and the last two troopers were all dead. Shabako and Hilto were still on their feet, but had been wounded. They had not bothered to treat their injuries, had merely staunched the bleeding by slapping a handful of dirt over it.
Beyond them, Imbali was kneeling to bind up Nakonto's thigh. When she finished, she looked up at him with an expression in her eyes that was much more woman than warrior.
Meren had fallen on his face when his horse threw him. His cheek was grazed and his ruined eye was bleeding again. A tiny trickle of blood ran out from under the leather patch down the side of his nose and on to his upper lip. He licked it away as he stropped the whetting stone down the blade of his sword. Surrounded by the dense ranks of the enemy, wounded and broken as they were, there was nothing heroic about any of them.
If by some miracle I should survive this day I will write of them a battle poem that will flood the eyes of all who hear it, Taita promised himself grimly.
A single voice broke the silence with a high-pitched challenge: 'Are we old women or are we fighting impis of the Basmara?' The multitudes be
gan again to hum, sway and stamp.
Another voice called an answer to the first question: 'We are men and we have come for the killing!'
'Kill! Bring the spear! Use the spear! Kill!' The chant went up and the ranks came forward, dancing and stamping. Imbali stood beside Nakonto, a thin, cruel smile on her lips. Hilto and Shabako smoothed back their hair and replaced their helmets. Meren wiped the blood off his lip and blinked his good eye to clear and sharpen his vision. Then he slipped his sword into its scabbard, picked up his bow and leant upon it as he watched the enemy close in. Fenn came stiffly to her feet, favouring her wounded leg. She took Taita's hand.
'Don't be afraid, little one,' he told her.
'I am not afraid,' she said, 'but I wish you had taught me to draw a bow. I could have been more use to you now.'
The ivory whistles squealed and the hordes poured down upon them.
The little knot of defenders loosed a flight of arrows into them and another, then nocked and shot as fast as they could draw, but they were
so few that they caused barely a ripple in the waves of prancing black bodies.
The Basmara broke into the circle, and it was hand-to-hand again.
Shabako was hit in the throat and spouted blood like a harpooned whale as he died. The frail circle broke up under the rush of bodies. Imbali and Nakonto stood back to back as they hacked and thrust. Aoka fell, dead.
Meren gave ground until he and Taita had Fenn between them. They might fight on a little longer, but Taita knew that soon he must give mercy to Fenn. He would follow her swiftly, and they would remain united.
Meren killed a man with a straight thrust through the heart, while at the same moment Taita struck down the man beside him.
Meren glanced at him. 'It is time, Magus, but I will do it for you if you wish,' he croaked, through a throat rough with thirst and dust.
Taita knew how Meren had come to love Fenn and how much it would cost him to kill her. 'Nay, good Meren, though I thank you for it. The duty is mine.' Taita looked down at Fenn fondly. 'Kiss Meren farewell, my sweet, for he is your true friend.' She did so, then turned trustingly to Taita. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Taita was glad of that: he could never have done it while those green eyes were upon him. He raised his sword, but checked the stroke before it was launched. The war chant of the Basmara had changed to a great moan of despair and terror. Their ranks broke and scattered, like a shoal of sardines before a wolf-fanged barracuda.
