by Wilbur Smith
There was sudden and deathly silence on the entire group, and all their faces turned towards the lean dark man with the thin sneering mouth and bright acquisitive eyes.
It took a few seconds of the silence for Zadal to realize what he had said, then he glanced quickly about the circle of watching faces. With a small chill he saw they were looking at him with that same detached curious expression that men looked upon those doomed to sacrifice. Beside him a noble said softly but matter of factly, ‘You are a dead man.’
Swiftly, with real alarm, Zadal looked back at Huy Ben-Amon. Too late he recalled the reputation of this priest. It was said that no man still lived who had sneered at his back or his height or his courage. With relief he saw that the priest was smiling slightly, and delicately wiping his fingers on the hem of his tunic.
‘Thank you, great Baal’, Huy prayed silently, smiling a little. ‘It was right that you remind me of my promise. I held back from the hunt. Forgive me, great Baal. I will give you your chance now.’
Zadal’s relief was shortlived for when Huy looked directly at him he saw the smile was on the priest’s lips only. His eyes were bright and black and cold.
‘Zadal,’ Huy said softly, and the crowd pressed closer to hear his words. ‘Will you fly with me on the wings of the storm?’
They stirred at the challenge, a quick buzz of comment and they watched Zadal’s face. It had paled to a dirty yellow, and his lips compressed into a thin white line.
‘I forbid it,’ said Lannon loudly. ‘I will not let you do this, Huy. You are too valuable to me to waste your life in—’
Huy interrupted him quietly, ‘Majesty, it is a matter of honour. This one called me coward.’
‘But no man has hunted in that manner for fifty years,’ Lannon protested.
‘Fifty years is too long,’ Huy smiled, ‘is it not, Zadal? You and I will revive the custom.’
Zadal stared at him, hating his own unruly tongue.
Huy still smiled at him. ‘Or is it that the game is too fierce for you?’ he asked softly. For long moments it seemed that Zadal might refuse, then he nodded curtly, his lips still white.
‘As you wish, Holiness.’ And he knew they were right, he was a dead man.
In two large baskets, slaves had collected from one of the elephant carcasses the contents of the lower intestines. As Huy and Zadal, stripped naked, smeared their bodies with the yellow dung he overheard young Bakmor discussing the hunt with Mursil.
‘I do not believe it is possible to kill a full-grown bull elephant with a battle-axe. It sounds to me like an unpleasant form of suicide.’
‘That’s why they call it flying on the wings of the storm.’
The elephant dung had a rank odour, strong enough to mask the man smell. It was the one protection the hunters would have. Their one chance of getting into close contact with the great beasts without being discovered. The sharp sense of smell of the elephant is its main defence, for its vision is weak and near sighted.
Timon came over from the king’s entourage and assisted Huy, spreading the dung across his back. Quickly Timon had understood the method that they would use.
‘High-born, I fear for you,’ he said softly.
I fear for myself,‘ Huy admitted. ’Spread the dung thickly, Timon. I would prefer to stink, rather than die.‘
Huy looked down the steep slope which stretched down into the valley from the saucer. The elephant road zig-zagged up through the sparse forest. They would intercept the next herd here, before it was alarmed by the smell of blood in the saucer.
Huy glanced around him and saw that the huntsmen had spread out along the ridge, selecting vantage points from which to view the sport. His eyes met those of Zadal. The huntmaster was daubed with the yellow filth from his head to his feet, and he gripped the handle of his axe too hard. There was fear in those dark eyes, and tear in the taut manner in which he held himself. Huy smiled at him, enjoying his discomfort, and Zadal looked away. His lips quivered.
‘Are you ready, huntmaster?’ Huy asked, and Zadal nodded. He could not trust his voice.
‘Come,’ said Huy, and started down the slope, but Lannon stepped into his path. There was a foreboding in his eyes, and his smile was unconvincing.
‘That fool Zadal spoke in haste and without meaning it. No man here doubts your courage, Huy, except you yourself. Do not seek to prove it too convincingly. Life will hold little for me without my Sunbird.’
‘My lord,’ Huy’s voice was hoarse. He was touched to the heart by Lannon’s concern.
‘The first cut is the dangerous one, Huy. Be careful that when he drops, he does not fall upon you’
‘I will remember.’
‘Remember also to bathe before you dine with me this evening.’ Lannon smiled and stepped aside.
Twice during the afternoon small herds of elephant passed them, moving swiftly up the slope amongst the trees. Each time Huy shook his head at Zadal and let them pass for they were cows and calves and immature bulls.
The day drew towards its close, and Huy felt an uneasy sense of relief. Perhaps the gods had decided in his favour and would not seek to put him to the test.
There was an hour of light left now. Huy and Zadal sat quietly beside the path, hidden by a screen of monkey apple vines that hung from one of the trees.
The dung had dried upon their bodies, making Huy’s skin feel stiff and uncomfortable. He sat with the vulture axe across his lap and watched the path, hoping that nothing would come up it before darkness and he could abandon this mad adventure to which he was committed by honour and hasty choice. It was strange how inactivity dulled even the brightest passion, Huy thought, and grinned wryly as he fondled the handle of the axe.
He saw movement far down the slope, a grey drifting movement like smoke amongst the trees and he felt his skin prickle. Zadal had seen it also, he stopped his restless fidgeting and sat woodenly beside Huy.
They waited, and suddenly two elephants came out of the trees. Two big old bulls, with heavy ivory, stepping lightly up the slope. They were a hundred paces apart, spaced out on the path and there was an alertness and a sense of purpose in their tread that warned Huy they had been freshly disturbed, possibly wounded, by the huntsmen down in the valley.
‘We will take these two,’ Huy whispered. ‘Choose one.’
Zadal was silent a moment, watching the two bulls with an experienced eye. The leading bull was older, and his one tusk was broken off at the lip. He was leaner and rangier-looking than his companion, and his leading position showed he was the more experienced, the more alert, and the broken tusk would make him meaner and his temper more uncertain.
‘The second one,’ Zadal whispered, and Huy nodded. He had expected it.
‘I will move back now. We must try to attack at the same moment.’ He left the cover of the hanging vines, and slipped back along the path opening a gap between him and Zadal approximately equal to that between the bulls.
Huy dropped into a patch of coarse grass beside the trail, and looked back. The elephants were striding steadily up towards them. The leading bull passed Zadal’s hiding place, and came on. Huy saw that the gap between the two bulls had closed. Zadal’s elephant would reach him before Huy’s came level with the clump of grass where he lay.
If one of the hunters launched his attack prematurely the other bull would be alerted, and the danger multiplied many times. Huy knew he could not rely on consideration from Zadal. The man would think only of his own best interests.
As the thought came to him he saw Zadal leave the shelter of the vines, and run silently out into the path behind the second bull. Huy’s elephant was still fifty paces from where he lay, and it was facing him.
Zadal was following his elephant, running close upon its heels. Huy felt a moment’s admiration for him. Perhaps he had misjudged him. Perhaps Zadal would follow the second bull and wait for Huy to get into position.
Then Huy saw the huntmaster’s axe go up and glint at the top of its swi
ng; as it flashed down, Huy transferred all his attention to the leading bull.
There was a squeal of pain and alarm as Zadal’s axe struck, and Huy’s bull burst into a full run. Sweeping down on him until it seemed to fill the whole field of Huy’s vision, an animal as large as the very path it sprang from.
As Huy rose from his hide he knew he had a few fleeting seconds in which to strike. The the bull would be gone.
He went bounding along beside the bull, keeping uphill of him for when he fell he would roll down the slope. The pace stretched Huy’s long legs to the full, and he was losing ground swiftly, falling back to the bull’s hindquarters.
With every pace, as the huge weight of the grey body fell on the hind legs, so the hamstring tendons running down the back of the leg from knee to heel tightened under the coarse eroded skin. The tendon was a thick cord, that flexed and bulged, thick as a girl’s wrist; it carried the whole weight of the bull at each stride.
Huy swerved in his ran, crossing behind the bull and as the tendon in the nearest leg tightened he slashed the blade of the vulture axe across it, severing it cleanly so that the sound of it was a sharp snapping, like the sheet of a sail parting in a gale.
The bull lunged off balance as the leg collapsed under him, he teetered wildly on the edge of the path, his weight held only on the good leg.
‘For Baal!’ Huy shouted with excitement and the axe went high as he swung. The second tendon parted as sharply, and the huge grey beast dropped heavily. The sound of its fall carried clearly to the watchers on the ridge, and a cloud of dust boiled up from the dry earth. Huy had danced back from under the rolling body and that terrible flailing trunk.
He steeled himself for the final act. as he danced about the rearing floundering animal, knowing he had only seconds to exploit his surprise, seconds before the maimed animal braced itself and saw him, and he searched for his opening desperately.
The bull reared up on its front legs, dragging its crippled hind legs behind it. In its unreasoning rage it was tearing at the trees, and slashing its terrible trunk in wild circles, gouging the earth with its single tusk.
But its back was turned to Huy, it had not recognized its attacker yet. Lightly Huy ran in, ducking under the flailing trunk. He vaulted up on the bull’s wide back, landing on his knees with the axe high above his head.
The knotted spine stood out clearly through the wrinkled dry skin, great knuckles of bone braced for the blade. Huy struck, the killing stroke that crashed through the bone, and severed the soft yellow core of the spinal tissue. The bull shrieked, and collapsed, kicking and shaking spasmodically in its death throes,
Huy jumped down from its pulsating body and danced back out of danger from the legs and trunk of the dying beast. He felt a soaring sense of triumph and relief. It was done, he had flown upon the wings of the storm - and lived through it.
He heard the wild shrill trumpeting of the other bull, and he spun around. One glance showed him that the task was not yet completed, the gods were not finished with him.
Zadal had blundered. His second cut had missed the tendon and the bull was on three legs, but moving with agility and speed as it hunted the man. Zadal had thrown his axe aside, and was running, dodging up the slope with the bull close upon him. The bull was shrieking with rage, its trunk outstretched, gaining swiftly on the fleeing man.
As Huy started forward it caught him. It wrapped its trunk around Zadal’s body and flung him high in the air, above the tops of the tallest trees and his body spun loosely in the air. He fell face down on the rocky earth, and the bull placed one foot in the small of his back while with its trunk it plucked his head from his body, the way a farmer kills a chicken, and it tossed the head aside. It bounced and rolled down the slope like a child’s ball.
Huy ran towards the bull, scrambling up the slope. The bull knelt on the mangled corpse and drove one tusk through Zadal’s chest. It was so preoccupied with the mutilation of Zadal’s body that Huy came up easily behind it.
He saw the deep gash in the back of the bull’s knee where Zadal’s stroke had failed to find the tendon, and the vulture axe moaned softly in flight. This time there was no mistake.
‘I give you a new title.’ Lannon lifted his wine bowl, and silence fell expectantly on the nobles and knights who sat about his board. I give a battle honour for the man who has flown on the wings of the storm.‘
Huy dropped his eyes modestly, blushing a little in the torch light under the leather awning of Lannon’s campaign tent.
‘Huy Ben-Amon - Axeman of the Gods!’ Lannon shouted the title, and the nobles echoed it, saluting Huy with clenched fists.
‘Drink. Huy! Drink, my Sunbird!’ Lannon offered Huy his own wine bowl. Huy sipped the wine, smiling around at the company. Tonight he would not look too deeply into the wine bowl. He did not want to cloud or befuddle this sense of joy. The gods had answered him. and he sat quietly smiling in the midst of noisy revelry, hardly hearing the laughter and the banter, listening instead to the voice deep inside him which sang, Tanith! Tanith!‘
When he rose to leave, Lannon was outraged, dragging him down into his seat by the hem of his tunic.
‘You’ll not leave here on your feet, Axeman. You deserve to be carried to your couch this night! Come, I challenge you to a bout with the wine cups.’
Huy shrugged aside the challenge, laughing and shaking his head.
‘One challenge a day, my lord, I beg of you.’
Outside the night was still, and the sky was brilliant with the stars. The heat of the day was cooling, and the feel of the night wind in his face was like the caress of Tanith’s silky tresses against his cheek.
‘Astarte!’ The goddess rose out of the valley, the golden disc of her countenance lighting the land with a soft radiance. ‘Mother of earth, I thank you,’ Huy whispered, and felt the tears of happiness flood his eyes.
He moved on through the camp towards his own tent, hugging the warmth of his love secretly to him.
Tanith,‘ he whispered, ’Tanith.‘
He moved on through the shadows until movement caught his attention, and he stopped. Beside one of the cooking fires crouched a figure, a slave woman working on the grinding stone, crushing corn for cakes.
The firelight caught her handsome features, and shone on the dark skin of her strong arms. It was the nurse Sellene.
Huy was about to move on, when the slave girl looked up expectantly. A man came towards her out of the darkness, and the girl’s face lit with such a look of adoration, such unashamed love, that Huy felt his heart go out to her
The man stepped into the firelight, and it needed only one glance at the powerful body and rounded bald head for Huy to recognize Timon.
Sellene stood up and went quickly to meet Timon, and they embraced. Then sniffed at each other’s face in the strange love greeting of the pagans, holding each other closely. Huy smiled tenderly, feeling the warm sympathy of the lover for all other lovers Timon drew back from the girl, holding her at arm’s length and he spoke softly. Huy could not catch the words. He heard only the sort rumble of Timon’s voice, and the girl nodded quickly.
Timon left her and disappeared amongst the tents. Sellene went to the grinding stone and filled a leather bag with ground corn, then she glanced about furtively and followed Timon into the darkness. Huy watched her go, and smiled.
‘I must talk to Lannon,’ he thought. ‘I could arrange a pairing between those two.’
In his own tent Huy took the golden scroll and spread it upon his writing pallet. He adjusted the lamp wicks, picked up his engraving tool, and began to write the poem to Tanith.
‘Her hair is dark and soft as the smoke from the papyrus fires upon the great lake,’ he wrote, and the incident between Timon and Sellene was forgotten.
Exhaustion overcame him a little after midnight, and he fell forward across his writing pallet and he slept with one cheek pressed to the love poem to Tanith on the golden scroll. The lamp flames smoked and faded and died.
Rough hands shook him awake in the dawn, and he looked up groggily. It was Mursil, the huntmaster.
‘The Gry-Lion sends for you, Holiness. The hounds are in leash, and the slave-masters assembled. Two of the king’s slaves have run, and the king bids you join the chase.’
Even in his half-wakening state, Huy knew who the running slaves were, and he felt the sick sliding of his guts.
‘The fools,’ he whispered. ‘Oh, the stupid fools.’ Then he looked at Mursil. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I cannot - I will not go with him. I am sick, tell him I am sick.’
Sellene stood in the shadows and listened to the drunken bellowing and laughter from the king’s tent. Beneath the short cloak was concealed the leather grain-bag, a bundle of smoked meat dried into hard black sticks, and a small earthen cooking pot. There was food for two of them for four days, and by then they would be across the great river. She was fearful, and elated at the same time. They had planned this moment for two years, and many emotions played behind her round impassive face as she waited.
Timon came at last; quietly he appeared beside her with such suddenness that she gasped with fright. He took her hand, and led her away towards the perimeter of the camp. She saw that he wore a cloak also, and that a bow and quiver stood behind his shoulder and a short iron sword was belted at his waist. These were weapons forbidden to a slave, and death was the penalty for carrying them.
There were two guards at the gate of the stockade, and while Sellene spoke with them, offering favours, Timon came from the darkness behind them. He broke their necks with his bare hands, taking one in each hand and shaking them the way a dog will shake a rat. There was no outcry, and Timon laid the bodies gently beside the stockade gate and they went through.
They passed through the saucer where the elephant had been butchered, and the night was hideous with the snarling and yammering of the scavengers. Hyena and jackal fought over the bloody scraps and bone chips. With the sword bared in one hand Timon led Sellene through, and though the slinking hump-shouldered hyena followed them, moaning and sniggering, they reached the pass and started down the elephant road into the valley. The moon gave them good light, and they moved fast. They stopped only once at the ford of the stream to rest and drink a little water, then they hurried on towards the north.
