by Peter Grant
“I’ll do that, sir. You take care. We’ll see you in a few weeks, if the gods are willing.”
“Let’s hope they are! One more thing. Send word to the Governor, discreetly, that things were going all right when last you saw me. If he wants more information, he’ll ask you directly. Don’t say anything to anyone else, though. If anyone want to know where I am or what I’m doing, you’ve no idea, except that I’m ‘trading’.”
“Of course, sir.”
“Good luck, sergeant-major.”
Hadi watched as the raiding column moved off, walking slowly until the horses had warmed up their muscles. He knew they’d be riding hard all afternoon, to get to their next target that night.
9
By sunset a strong breeze had come up, blowing almost directly into the column’s faces as they trotted through yet another valley. The scout had just told Taghri they were no more than two miles from the village of Shirah, which sat at the exit of the hill trail, guarding the plains beyond and the caravan route to Quwain and Bahil. He relaxed inwardly. They had made good time, and would be in position before darkness fell to attack later tonight.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud call from the scout riding ahead of the column. “Rider coming, sir! He’s heading straight for us!”
Taghri spurred his horse forward, pulling to one side as he held up his hand. “Column, halt!” Behind him he heard the shouts of his team leaders as they repeated his order, and the horses slowed to a stop.
The panting, puffing man reined his horse to a plunging halt next to Taghri. He recognized him. “Hallo, Boulos. I hadn’t expected to see you for an hour yet.”
“No, sir… pant, puff… but something’s going on… gasp… Two horsemen galloped into town… sucking in a deep breath… from the direction of Qisha… a couple of hours back… looked like plow horses, sir… they rode bareback… their backsides must have hurt something fierce…”
“Yes, yes. Some farmers must have left their teams in the fields to graze, so we didn’t find them. Go on, man!”
“Yes, sir… they rode straight in the gate, shouting… me and Habi could hear them… some of the elders and councilors… came rushing out of their houses… there was a lot of talking and yelling… then the whole place erupted… like ants when you step on an anthill, sir… There was a mad scramble to get… horses out of the stable… and saddle them. Looks like… they’re loading everything valuable on them… As soon as some are ready… they’re led off towards Bodah… escorted by a few men… while others load the next horses. Habi said… I should get word to you right away… while he stayed to watch… he reckons they’ve been warned… that we hit Qisha last night… and they’re expecting to be next.”
“What about the residents?”
“They’re also packing up, sir… whole families loading stuff onto ox-carts… and their own backs… some going towards Bodah… others heading out into the plains… some men tried to form groups… armed themselves… but the elders yelled at them… sent them away, too.”
“They wanted to stay behind to protect the village,” Taghri said, nodding. “Stupid idea. Curse it! This means all sorts of trouble.” He fell silent, racking his brain to try to think of a way to deal with this.
Some of the hastily departing residents of Shirah were bound to reach Bodah long before the column could get there. He couldn’t go straight there, because he had to meet the ships at the rendezvous. If he didn’t, the ships would assume the worst, and head for Alconteral to report disaster. By meeting the ships before going on, he would not be able to reach Bodah before the third night from now. By then it would have been warned, and would have sent for reinforcements from Quwain. There wasn’t a big Army garrison in the port city – its defenses relied on galleys to secure its seaward approaches – but if its commander knew what he was about, he’d send most of his troops to Bodah. He’d put some in the village as a hidden ambush force, and send the rest to circle around behind the attackers and pin them between two forces as soon as the attack started.
The scout said dubiously, “What are we going to do, sir?”
Taghri shook his head curtly, “Wait a moment.” Could he possibly salvage anything from this mess? He couldn’t see any way out but to run for home, before the garrison troops found him.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, raucous croak from above. They all looked up. The scout said incredulously, “It’s a bloody great raven! What’s it doing here? This isn’t raven territory!”
As they watched, the big black bird circled low overhead. It seemed to Taghri that it was peering straight at him. It turned to the west-nor’west, then flew fast and straight as an arrow in that direction, climbing steadily. As they watched, it dwindled to a speck in the sky, then vanished.
“He’s right, sir,” Boulos said, his voice puzzled. “We’ve seen no ravens since we got here.”
Taghri suddenly remembered the Temple of Kokat in Alconteral. As clearly as if she was standing next to him, he heard the seer’s voice echoing in his mind. “The goddess says to you, ‘Look for the raven out of place. You will see it three times. Each time you do, follow, and you will find what you seek.’ This is her word to you.”
He tried to think of the layout of the territory. What lay to the west-nor’west? Bodah was more north-nor’west, but if one turned from there towards the coast… he felt a sudden, electric thrill. Was this a sign, telling him what he should do next? He couldn’t help a short, sharp laugh. Whether it is or not, what have I got to lose? We’ll get nothing from Shirah now, and it looks like Bodah’s going to be armed and ready when we arrive, so why not? I’d planned to abandon the horses anyway. This will just speed it up.
He turned to the scout. “Pass the word for all troop sergeants to join me here.”
“Aye, sir!” The scout whirled his horse and was gone.
Taghri turned back to Boulos. “You and Habi have done very well. There’ll be a bonus for both of you.”
The other had almost recovered his breath. “Thank you, sir.”
“We’ll still hit Shirah tonight, even though we won’t get much loot out of it any more. We’ll burn it, then head for the rendezvous with our ships. You and Habi have a new mission. Ride like the wind for Bodah. You know where Ilyas and Jadat were planning to set up their hide to watch the town, like you were doing at Shirah?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Find them, and tell them we won’t be coming. Instead, all four of you are to head for the rendezvous at Salwa as fast as you can. We’ll have left by the time you get there, but we’ll leave some troops to guard the fishermen for a couple of days, to make sure they don’t warn their army about our movements. They’ll have a ship to make their own getaway. Go back to Alconteral with them, and wait for us there. I’ll tell them to expect you. Make sure you reach Salwa not more than three days from now, otherwise they might have left before you arrive. Quicker would be better.”
“Aye, sir!”
“Good man. Get a fresh horse from our remounts, then go back and tell Habi. The two of you are to head for Bodah right away. Don’t wait for us to arrive. Oh – if you get the chance, say by meeting someone on the road, give the enemy the impression we still plan to hit Bodah in three nights from now. Don’t give them any inkling we may do something else.”
“Aye, sir!”
The advance scout nudged his tired steed into motion, heading for the remounts at the rear of the column. As he did so, the first of the troop sergeants came galloping up. Taghri waited until they had all assembled, then told them what was happening at Shirah. He waited for their disappointed curses to die down, then said, “Don’t worry. If this works out, we’ll still get plenty of loot, even without Shirah’s contribution.”
“How, sir?” one asked, perking up immediately.
“We’re going to hit Shirah tonight, to make it look as if we didn’t know they were gone. We’ll stage a full attack, just like we did at Qisha. Tell your men to make a noise, sho
ut and carry on, and act disappointed and angry when they don’t find anyone. We’ll fire the town, just as we’d planned. If I were the enemy, I’d have scouts close in to the village, concealed by the darkness. They’ll listen to everything we say, trying to find out what we’re going to do next. Let them hear your people shouting that the cowards may have run from Shirah, but they can’t run forever, and we’ll get them at Bodah in a few nights’ time. The enemy scouts can tell their leaders that’s where we’re going – but we won’t.”
“Where, then, sir?” Othmar asked, grinning.
“You’ll have to take that on trust for now, and don’t say a word about it to your men. I don’t want anyone mentioning it where an enemy scout might hear him. Rest assured, there’s still plenty of fighting ahead, and plenty of loot too, I hope.” Their fierce grins showed their approval.
“Let’s get closer to Shirah while there’s still daylight. We’ll stop a mile short of town, eat, and rest for a few hours. We’ll start to move again when the moon’s up, to show us the way. We’ll hit the town at midnight. Tell your men to put on a good show. It’s got to look realistic.”
Later that night, as the departing column topped the crest of a path between two hills and headed down the far side, Taghri pulled his horse to one side and looked back. The burning remains of the village of Shirah glowed and smoked behind them. He could imagine the curses of its residents – those who’d hidden to see what he did, anyway. They would carry word of the loss of their town to Bodah as fast as horseflesh could carry them. By the time they arrived, its elders would have sent to Quwain for support. The garrison there would be boiling over with sudden activity, men being assembled, horses saddled up and loaded, and probably carts being prepared as well.
What would I do, if I were in the garrison commander’s shoes? Taghri asked himself. He’d probably want the reflected glory of commanding an operation that wiped out a raiding column, so he’d most likely lead the reinforcements himself. Quwain would be safe enough behind its landward walls from a small attacking force – he’d be aware of its size before long, thanks to reports from Qisha and Shirah – so he’d strip it of most of his soldiers, probably drafting sailors from the patrol galleys and some of the townsfolk to take their places on the walls for a few days. That’s all the time he would expect to need, to deal with the intruders.
Taghri turned his horse back into the column. They had a long ride ahead of them before they reached the next rendezvous. He spared a moment for a grateful prayer to Kokat. Thank you, goddess, for your inspiration back there. I hope Hobal won’t object, but I’m beginning to warm to you. I suppose, if this leads to a nice battle, he won’t mind too much.
He suddenly imagined that he heard, deep in his mind, a soft, feminine chuckle. It sounded suspiciously like Princess Gulbahar’s voice.
The column topped the rise above the fishing village of Salwa at the eleventh hour of the morning. Horses and humans were exhausted, having had very little rest. A tired cheer rose as the riders saw the familiar silhouettes of the ships anchored close in to the shore, with a boum moored alongside the makeshift jetty. Half a dozen small fishing craft were drawn up on the beach. Smoke came from the chimneys of the fishermen’s huts, but there was no sign of them or their families. A contingent of sailors was standing guard over the houses, and had probably ordered them all to remain indoors.
As they clattered down the slope and into the village, Taghri saw a boat putting off from a boum in the harbor. Peering, he thought he recognized the figure in its stern, urging the rowers to a brisker pace. Sure enough, as it drew nearer, Elhac shouted, “Success, sir! Everything went well!”
“That’s good!” he called back. He turned to the troops, who had halted and were waiting for orders. “You know our plans have changed, thanks to the enemy getting word of what we’re doing. That means we’re not in so much of a hurry today. Remove your saddles and pack saddles and turn the horses loose to graze, with a light guard to stop them straying. Everyone get some sleep. We’ll have a good meal later this afternoon.”
He swung down from the saddle, and handed his reins to a scout. “Take care of my horse for me, please.”
“Aye, sir!”
The seaman wrung his forearm in a warrior’s grip as he stepped onto the jetty. “Quwain bought all the supplies I took, sir, and they want more. Apparently they’ve not had a shipment of chandler’s stores in a month or more. I told them I might be able to bring two or three ships loaded with supplies, and they say they’ll buy the lot if I do.”
“That’s very good news, because that’s what we’re going to do next.”
Elhac’s eyes widened. “But, sir, we don’t have any supplies to sell them – and what about the attack on Bodah?”
“Things have changed. Come and walk on the beach with me, so we won’t be overheard.”
Walking away from the jetty, Taghri described the events of the past couple of days. “We can’t hit Bodah now. It’ll have been reinforced by the time we get there. However, those reinforcements can only come from one place.”
“You mean Quwain, sir?”
“That’s right. If the garrison commander there takes most of his troops to Bodah, and replaces them on the walls with the only other disciplined force he’s got – his patrol galley crews – that means their harbor security will be disrupted. I’d originally planned only to capture a couple of ships as they came out of the harbor, but if we can sneak inside while their guard is down…”
“We’ll make a fortune, sir! Someone captured a ghanjah fully loaded with spices – two hundred tons of them! He brought it into Quwain to be sold at next weekend’s auction. All the spices were being offloaded into the auction warehouse as we left harbor.”
“And the weekend’s still two days away. What’s the market value of a cargo of spices like that?”
Elhac whistled, shaking his head. “I can’t say for sure, sir, because it depends where and when you sell them. Some places have better prices than others, and markets with less supply pay higher than those that get lots of spices shipped in. Even so, I’d say you might get five or six thousand diracs from a merchant for that cargo. He’ll make double that selling it to his customers, a little at a time.”
Taghri felt suddenly breathless. “Six thousand?” That would rival the annual income of the wealthiest nobles of the realm!
“Yes, sir. Don’t forget, some very rare spices sell for their weight in gold, and others for their weight in silver. You might get more than six thousand in the right place at the right time. A cargo that large will set up a few spice merchants, or one big one, for an entire trading season.”
Taghri shook his head bemusedly. The figure was three times more than he’d hoped to get from all three villages combined – and there was the prospect of more loot besides.
“How do they unload the ships into the auction warehouse?”
“There are slave pens behind it, sir. They must hold three or four hundred men.”
“I see. What about the rest of the stuff in the warehouse?”
“It’s valuable enough, sir, but it’s big and bulky – furniture, rolls of cloth, ship’s stores, that sort of thing. It would take up a lot of room compared to the spices.”
Taghri grinned. “Sounds like it’ll burn well. What about the merchants and traders? I presume their shops and warehouses are near the harbor too?”
“Yes, sir. Let me draw you a map.”
Elhac drew the dagger from his waist and squatted on the firm sand, drawing lines and curves. He swiftly outlined the harbor, marking important points with symbols. “This is the auction warehouse, sir, with its slave pens and the yard where the sales are held. It’s right on the quayside. Beyond the auction yard and the harbor are the merchants’ shops, arranged around a big square. Most of the merchants live above or behind their shops, for convenience.”
“Do you know who the biggest and richest merchants are?”
“Yes, sir. These three.” He marked poi
nts on the square. “They probably do as much business as all the others put together.”
“And they live there too?”
“Two of them do, sir. The third has a house further up the hill.”
“Well, two out of three isn’t bad. What about getting in and out of the harbor? Show me its layout, and how ships are berthed inside.”
“Aye, sir.” Elhac added to his drawing. “The entrance is along this channel between the breakwater and the shore, sir. It’s tricky to get into its mouth, especially when the wind’s up and the sea is choppy, but once you’re in, it’s easy enough. There are bedans waiting there. You hire one to tow your ship into the inner harbor. The channel runs for a hundred yards or so, then opens up into the harbor basin. There’s room for a dozen big baghlahs, ghanjahs or boums along the inner walls, plus a tightly-packed area for smaller craft like shu’ais and bedans, which lie alongside each other, tied together like a big raft. This section here is a square basin cut into the land, where the patrol galleys are berthed. One or two patrol the bay during the day. They usually tie up at night.”
“How many are there, and how big are their crews?”
“Five galleys, sir, each with about twenty fighting men, and seventy to eighty slaves to man the oars.”
“Where do the slaves go when the ships are tied up?”
“Those on the duty vessels stay on board, sir. The others share the slave pen behind the auction warehouse.”
“Any cannon guarding the harbor, apart from the ones on the galleys?”
“No, sir. There are cannon in the fortress at the top of the hill, anchoring the city walls, but they’re sited to aim inland. It would be very hard to attack the harbor. The bay beyond its walls and breakwater is full of rocks, except for the approach channel. Any ship trying to approach the seaward side of the walls would hit the rocks and sink. A sailing ship couldn’t row itself into harbor, and oared vessels would face the concentrated fire of the patrol galleys if they tried to use the entrance. I don’t suppose they need cannon on land, sir.”
