Shiri (5 page)

IX

Its towering walls were built of large un-mortared stones. The forgotten crafts of ages past had worked on them and raised them high above the plains. But here and there, great gaps could be seen where the Shepherd King’s armies had brought them down.

Shiri had heard many tales of how
Megiddo fell. They had come on the tongues of travellers and merchants as they passed through Yaham. Most said that the people of Megiddo had risen up and overthrown their Gypto overlords even as the Shepherd King did battle with the Lord of Armegiddo in the plains below.

Others claimed there’d been no rising from within, and the fortress had only fallen after long and bloody siege. Shiri had scoffed at that tale. Either way, the fortress
had
fallen and even Shiri could see that it could not stand siege again. The once mighty gates of oak and bronze that she remembered from the trip with her father lay smashed and ruined, the strong and ancient walls breached in a dozen places.

Simeon pointed to a lone figure that stood tall atop the highest rampart still standing and Shiri’s eyes widened.
It’s him … it must be.
An enormous sable cloak billowed about the man, a grey wolf’s pelt adorned impossibly broad shoulders, and long dark locks fell over his brow. A great and shaggy beard of a slightly lighter shade obscured much of his face, but not the glint of gold about his forehead.

As Shiri looked up it seemed that the man felt her gaze and peered in her direction. She spoke, half to herself, half to Simeon, “Is that … is that really him?”

“Aye,” Simeon said. “There stands Jacobaam, King of Shepherds.” He spurred their well lathered mount one more time as they galloped up the low hill and into the town proper.

The King turned as the rider disappeared under the archway. He had come not from the east, from Josef, as he’d been expecting but from the south from … he struggled for the name …
from Aruna … aye that was it, Aruna
. There was something troubling in that. Something troubling too in the stare of the peasant girl that clung to the rider’s back.
Those eyes had seen death.

As ever, a cheer went up as he dis
appeared behind the battlements. “Jacobaam! Jacobaam! Jacobaam!” Even now groups of them continued to flock to his ranks. Sprawling, excitable clusters mainly composed of men more suited to the life of the farmer than the fighter. They carried a hotchpotch of weapons, some shouldered bows, but most of those he’d sent to the Pass of Gilboa, almost two thousand of them. They’d been well placed in the rocks and gullies above the pass and would do bloody slaughter when Pharaoh passed below.

Of the rest, a rare few bore ancient and well polished swords. But most held clubs, axes, slings and scythes. Scythes they had used but a few days before to harvest their crops.
He could count nearly a dozen warlords and kings amongst them. He laughed at that,
kings
. Even the chiefs of the smallest clans considered themselves as such.
Fools, well meaning fools.
His laugh was echoed by a sigh.
If they are fools then what am I but the biggest fool of all?

Simeon saluted as he crested the steps and came before his king. It had not been three moons since he’d last stood before Jacobaam, and yet, even so, there was a little more frost about the King’s locks than before. Shiri stared at Jacobaam wide-eyed. He did not wear the mass of gold and jewels that adorned the monster, nor even a giant crown of blue and silver like Pharaoh. A simple band of metal no thicker than her thumb was all he bore to mark his rank. She’d heard it said that he’d claimed, ‘that was heavy enough.’

He came closer and Shiri felt a little afraid.
He isn’t just big, he’s huge.
He would dwarf even her father; that made her feel strange. His arms were corded muscle hard as oak, his eyes, dark coals, coals that ever threatened to ignite in flame. He towered above not only her, but the men around him. Strapped across his back was the famed war axe, named for the Storm Lord himself,
Ba’al
. It was Ba’al that had taken the governor’s head, Ba’al that had sent the Gyptos reeling ... or at least that’s what folk said. She went to her knees before him, head down, eyes fixed on the ground.

The King’s gaze found Simeon.
“Who gave you leave to abandon your post?”

“No
one, Sire, I took my own counsel, and that of the girl.”

“That she gives better counsel than Asher I don’t doubt.” He glanced at her again but did not bid her speak. “What news then?”

“The girl would tell it best, Sire.”

Jacobaam turned his attention
to her and grunted impatiently. “To your feet, child, or would you have me speak to the back of your head?”

Shiri rose but did not meet his eyes. She attempted to say something but her mouth went dry.

“Speak then; where do you hail from?”

“Y …Yaham”

“Yaham?” he pondered the name for a moment, “Yaham of the mountains? Village of the well?”

She nodded, surprised that he had heard of it. He smiled as if remembering something, or someone. He raised her chin, as if he was curious or looking for something in her features, “Yaham of Esau?”

Shiri’s eyes widened.
Father.
She managed to nod
.
The King was grinning broadly now, “His Lady served me well upon a time. Tell me does he keep her sharp still?”

Finally Shiri met his gaze, “Esau is dead and Lady lies in the dust where she fell. The Gyptos they … they killed him, they killed them all.”

The King drew back. His smile vanished. Suddenly he spoke more aggressively, “How came you here?”

“Aruna
… I … they left by Aruna and I…”

The coals ignited. He grabbed her by the shoulders, lifting her clear off her feet and raising her until their eyes were on a level
. He shook her almost violently. “Speak quickly! Quickly I say!”

“I … I … all the hosts o
f P... Pharaoh went before me I…” she inhaled, she would not play the fool before this gathering. “I outpaced them, but not by much. They’ll make Jezreel before the sun makes noon. They may have reached the plain already.”

He loosed his grip on her and spun round, “ARUNA! He comes at me from Aruna! Sweet
Ba’al
almighty! Why didn’t I see it?”

He tore away from her, shouting at a man she had not noticed before, “Ready the army! Call in the outriders!”

The man seemed taken aback, “But, Sire, Pharaoh is days away at least, and he must come from the Pass of Gilboa ... you can’t believe-”

“Now damn you, NOW!”

Suddenly horns were blaring and all was confusion. Shiri was buffeted one way and then the next. She felt Simeon grab her and push her through the mob. She found herself running after the King, he was astride his chariot already. He turned when he saw her and paused. Their eyes met, “Would that I had a hundred men to match the daughter of Esau.” He said before donning a helm of bronze with twisted ram’s horns about its flanks, “Keep her safe, Simeon. If you fail in all else do not fail in that.”

There was a crack of whip that made Shiri jump, and suddenly the King’s chariot was tearing through the shattered gates of Megiddo and down towards the plains below. He thundered through his camp and as he did men rose cheering.

Shiri ran to mount the walls of the city. She reached the battlements in time to see the giant host slowly forming up and moving south. Fifty chariots were charging ahead. She recognised the King’s giant form in the lead vehicle. Banners were raised, drums beating, trumpets blaring and the whole plain seemed suddenly alive to the sound of ten thousand voices chanting, “Jacobaam! Jacobaam!” she watched in awe as they pumped fearsome looking weapons in the air above their heads.
They are mighty, they can win!
At some hidden signal the whole host broke into an impatient jog. For the first time in days Shiri allowed herself to hope, allowed herself the briefest flicker of a smile.
Now the Gyptos will pay for Yaham.

Jacobaam didn’t have to wait long to discover the truth of her tale. He paled when he saw them, a monstrous host of Egyptian soldiers pouring out of the pass.
There must be twenty thousand at least.
Ahead of them riders were running down the last few survivors from Asher’s company.

At the fore of the juggernaut, Jacobaam could see Pharaoh’s personal guard, the Companions, rushing to form up. Behind them marched countless thousands of spearmen. They beat their rawhide shields in tune to their steps. Perhaps two thousand
medjoy
archers from desert kingdom of Nubia, naked but for cheetah skin loin cloths ran at their flanks. And all the while more and more were belching out of Aruna.

To face this onslaught was Jacobaam’s army of farmers and peasants, brothers and sons, eight thousand from Jezreel and the northlands, two thousand from the mountains and vales of the south. Many had never before held sword, bow or axe.
Gods be good, I send them to their deaths.

The Gyptos were but three hundred yards away now, their warning horns blaring, their ranks a mass of confusion. Once they had formed up all would be lost, no army could match them on the open plains. Only the fact that he had caught them still exiting the pass gave him any hope at all. Jacobaam’s chariot weaved left and right in front of his troops as he shouted encouragement at them.

Two hundred yards from the Gypto lines and arrows began to fall amongst them. One or two of his men stumbled. The rest paid little heed. Jacobaam placed a powerful hand on Ba’al and with a yell he raised it above his head. An incomprehensible roar went up from the masses behind and their steady jog increased in pace. A lone voice started the chant and was drowned out by ten thousand more, “Jacobaam! Jacobaam! Jacobaam!”

A hundred yards out Jacobaam jumped from his chariot, his driver wheeled away to the right. This was not some palace bred princling accustomed to fighting from safety and distance. This was Jacobaam, King of Shepherds, and he would fight on foot as ever before. In the front rank he would stand shoulder to shoulder with the common born, feet planted wide in the free earth, the Storm Lord in his hands.

He turned before them caring not for the ever increasing rain of Gypto shafts that fell about him. He swung Ba’al aloft, “Fight for me!” He bellowed, “Fight for your comrades! Fight for your family and for your wives! Fight for your daughters and for your sons! But above all else, fight for YOU!”

His men roared and without need of the order the jog burst into a run. Jacobaam turned as they overhauled him and he joined the charge. They surged forward, screaming like wild beasts. Fifty yards, a massed volley from the Gypto archers barely slowed them. Twenty yards, rock and stone from Gypto slingers bounced off them. Ten yards, the Companions’ lowered spears and shouted threats didn’t scare them. With fury they crashed against the invaders that meant to enslave them all. By the gods they would not do so without a fight.

X

Josef stared at the columns of dark smoke blotting out the horizon.
The battle has already begun!
He spurred his mounts and drew up beside the old King’s litter, his face red, his eyes wide. “We must quicken the pace or it will be too late!”

Aratama peered through the curtains of the litter. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, his brow furrowed and wrinkled as if he could not comprehend how this could be happening, “No … this cannot be … Pharaoh is days away.”

“Pharaoh is on us now!” Josef shouted. “Give the signal! We must move as quickly as we can! We will take him in the flank or at the very least add our force to my father’s and bolster his ranks.”

The King shook his head, his face was ashen. Josef jumped from his chariot and grabbed the old man by the arm, shaking him almost violently. In half a daze Aratama turned to him, “No, no, youngling we
… we must not be rash. We ... must come to the battle fresh and in good order.”

A moment, J
osef stared at him in disbelief. “You mean to let my father fight Pharaoh alone?”

Aratama didn’t answer and Jos
ef looked about him desperately. “Then send forth the
Maryannu
! I’ll go with them, give your own men the command if it pleases you, but send them now! My father has nothing to match the Gypto chariots. If they’re charging unhindered about his flanks he won’t have a chance! The
Maryannu
can at least engage them and keep the battle between men on foot. It may be enough to sway the odds.”

“But that would leave my own flanks unprotected! What if Pharaoh has a second force hidden in the mountains waiting for me to make just such a mistake? No, the
Maryannu
must stay with their King,” Aratama shook his head determinedly and lay back in his bed. “Wine ... bring ... bring me wine.” His guard nodded and set about it at once.

Josef could cry out with the frustration. He glanced towards the smoke. Anything could be happening.
Even now Father could be beset from all sides, fighting for his life. I must not fail him.
He turned back to the King and there was anger in his voice, “Will you do nothing then? Will you do naught but wring your hands and take to your bed while the fate of your kingdom is decided by others? Know well that if Pharaoh triumphs Mitanni will be next to feel his wrath.”

The old King was shaking now, his
voice a barely audible whisper. “We ... must remain in good order ... or ... or risk falling into a trap ... we must not be hasty.”

With a roar of frustration Josef turned from him. Tuthmosis would be carving odes to his victory in the halls of Karnack before good King Aratama deemed it
a prudent time to join the fray. “Out!” he shouted at Yuya and the slave jumped from the chariot. He spun to his lieutenants. “Aretas! Chalfon! To me!”

He cracked the whip and his steeds leaped forward. Aretas growled a command and a man jumped into Josef’s chariot, “If you want a free sword hand best have a man to take the reins,” Aretas said over his shoulder as he drew a great two handed blade.

From an army of five thousand Josef’s fifty charged forward. The smoke in the distance acted as a spur and they ran like the wind, throwing up a great cloud of dust as they went. Soon enough Aratama and his men were left behind. They followed in slow, but decidedly organised march.

Josef’s heart sank when he saw them.
Chariots, Gypto chariots everywhere.
They were swarming about a fleeing mass of beaten foes that were vainly trying to make it back to Megiddo.
I’m too late. I’m too late.

“T
here’s too many!” Aretas roared. “Back to Aratama, he’s our only chance now.” But Josef would not give the command. One group was still fighting, they were falling back true enough, but there was still some order about them. They held their shields high and to the sides as if trying to protect something, or someone. He recognised the standards, the King’s own clan –
Father!

The chariots were concentrating on this one group, wearing it down with a never ending hail of flying death. Doggedly it strode forward, forcing a path through the frothing enemy, driving ever nearer to the city. But its momentum was flagging. The chariots were circling closer and closer, their shafts penetrating shield and armour both.
They will not make Megiddo, unless...

Josef sounded the charge. The Gypto chariots swung away from their prey to face him off. Four hundred yards out the Prince stretched his bow.
Too far yet.
He held the string and his fifty did likewise, waiting for the Gypto’s to come within range.

Suddenly Egyptian shafts were falling amongst them. Men and horse to either side of him went down. Josef cursed.
The Gypto bows outrange us!
He fired and the forty still with him fired too. Their shafts fell short. Josef notched another arrow, but then a second wave of flying death came at them. Josef’s force disintegrated. Chalfon fell, three arrows in his chest. Both of Aretas’s mounts were hit, the horses screamed and the chariot crashed and toppled, disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Josef’s driver was struck in the throat. He wretched and coughed blood before tumbling head over heels off the back of the chariot. Josef lunged for the reins and that saved him, an arrow grazed his back. More shafts rained down. This was not a fight. This was a slaughter.

Ducking low as Egyptian arrows battered the side of his craft Josef swung the vehicle around. The Egyptians surged after him. He lashed his mounts as arrows fell like hail. One landed not an inch from his foot, another glanced off the side of his helmet with a disorientating thump. He nearly lost the reins then. Abruptly the onslaught ceased.
The Gyptos have turned back.
He stood a little higher and peered over his shoulder. The bedraggled force, last remnants of his father’s host had made Megiddo, but all about them the enemy raged.
They will not hold the gates for long.

Warning horns turned his head. Five thousand warriors were drawn up in front of him. Aratama seemed to have quickened his pace by some degree.
Perhaps we can still catch the Pharaoh between the hammer and the anvil.
Josef steered his mounts towards the King.

Aratama had abandoned his litter in favour of a gold plated chariot. Yuya was at his side. Josef leaped from
his own vehicle and ran to him. “Pharaoh’s troops are spread out across the plain hunting down our forces, their flanks are exposed and undefended, their troops tired and bloodied. A strike now, Your Grace, and victory will yet be ours!”

Aratama’s face was pale.
“Lost ... all is lost.”

“No! There is still time! Look at them! A disordered mob stretched out from Aruna to
Megiddo! In now and you’ll rip them asunder!”

Aratama looked at Yuya.
“It ... it is as you foretold ... he is too mighty ... the god of war in mortal form, and now he comes upon us in vengeance and anger ... I cannot defeat him.” He turned back to the Prince, “A parley now, friend Josef. A parley and...”

“A parley! What would you say to him? What can you give him that he wants? You have naught to offer him but the edge of your sword!”

Aratama glanced almost furtively at Yuya. And Josef only now seemed to notice the slave. The Prince looked from one to the other. The old King peered at Josef almost sadly before turning away, unable to meet his gaze. “You ... are young, friend Josef, very young.”

Suddenly Yuya spoke, “Seize him!”

The King’s men launched themselves at Josef, throwing him to the earth, pinning him cursing on the ground. Josef roared and kicked out, but strong arms held him fast.

If Yuya’s grin was any broader and his teeth any whiter it would hav
e been seen from Megiddo itself. “The fortunes of war are ever shifting … Josef.” He hopped down from the King’s chariot and moved towards him, “Once I was the slave and you the master, but now it seems the tide has turned.” He kneeled before the Prince and gently lifted his chin, “But I am not unmerciful. You did me a favour once, I return it now. Kiss the dirt at my feet and call me, ‘master.’” He grinned, “Pronounce yourself slave to a better man and you may yet live.”

Josef s
hook his head, his mind a whirl. “Y ... Yuya?” Desperately he looked past him; he could see the back of the old King’s head as he shuffled away. “Aratama! You betray me?” The old King did not turn and was soon out of sight.

Yuya kicked him in the ribs, once
, twice and then a third time. He stepped back, took several breaths and then spoke calmly, “Does the Prince of Shepherds not have ears? Swear fealty to me. Call me, ‘master.’”

Josef coughed, clutching his ribs with the pain. He wanted to hold them and curl up in a ball, but
Aratama’s guards held him fast. “The ... the son of Jacobaam calls no man master.”

“We shall see.” Yuya nodded to the guards and turned away for a moment as they pounded the Prince with fist and boot. All the while Yuya spoke to him, “A slave is to speak only when bidden. A slave must never meet his master’s eye. A slave must bow and prostrate himself when better men draw near ... a slave must call his owner ‘master.’” When he turned back the Prince was on all fours spitting blood. Yuya smiled, “You learn quickly, Josef.”

He placed his sandaled foot between Josef’s hands. “Kiss it.” Josef remained where he was, breathing heavily. “Kiss it, Josef, kiss your master’s feet and lick the filth from between his toes, do it, or it will be the worse for you. You think I’ll not flay you alive? You think I’ll not take your cock and feed it to the dogs?”

Slowly Josef looked up.
“Why ... do you do this to me, Yuya ... have I not always treated you well?”

Yuya’s eyes blazed.
“You treated me as your slave! Me, an Egyptian of noble birth, slave to Habiru scum like you!”

“It was to save your life that I took you ... you know that. You were innocent of your father’s crime. It was not you that took her, not you that forced yourself on her.”

There was a glint in Yuya’s eye at that. “Aye. That’s right ... that’s what I told you wasn’t it? And I spoke true enough...” he grinned and leaned forward, “For the most part.” He bent closer, whispering in Josef’s ear, “Aye, ‘twas not I that took her, not I that forced myself on her ... at least ... not that first time.”

He
laughed as Josef’s eyes widened. “The Beautiful One they called her, and she was at that. You’ll be comforted to know that she squirmed well. My father liked that not, but I ... found it only added to my pleasure.”

Old King Aratama heard the Prince of Shepherds roar from the confines of his litter. He wrung his hands, licked trembling lips and gave the signal to send the messenger to Pharaoh.