Sunbird (82 page)

Read Sunbird Online

Authors: Wilbur Smith

Tags: #Archaeologists - Botswana, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #Adventure Fiction, #Historical, #Archaeologists, #Men's Adventure, #Terrorism, #General, #Botswana

BOOK: Sunbird
8.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

'Should you warn an enemy?' Huy asked. 'Did I teach you that?'

Manatassi smiled. 'A warning will not help him,' he said. 'Tell him what you saw here. Tell him of this army - and let it chill his guts. Tell him I come for him, and I will spare none nor leave a memory of him to taint this land. Tell him I come, and I come swiftly.'

Manatassi picked up the vulture axe and handed it to Huy.

'Go!' he said. 'All debts between us have been paid. You have no call on me, and I have no call upon you. When I meet you again I shall kill you.'

They stared at each other, standing close enough to touch, but separated by a distance wider than the span of the oceans or the vastness of the land.

Huy turned and limped away down the corridor of warriors that opened for him, and no man barred his way.

'Old mother, you must not distress yourself so,' Tanith whispered. 'It was not your fault.'

'I would have told them,' Aina mumbled. 'I know I would have told them. That Sister Haka, she terrifies me.'

'You did not tell,' Tanith comforted her. 'You kept our secret well - even we ourselves did not know you had found out.'

Aina set down the food bowl beside Tanith's bed, and she smiled reflectively. 'You were so happy, the two of you. It made me feel good just to see you. He is a good person, despite his poor crooked back, he is gentle and kind.'

Tanith moved across on the couch, making room for Aina to sit. 'Sit by me for a while, old mother. I am so lonely here, it makes the waiting so much harder.'

Aina glanced fearfully across the narrow chamber at the barred doorway.

'They do not like me to stay too long.'

'Please,' Tanith entreated. 'There is so little time left.' And Aina nodded and gathered up her skirts to sit, creaking at her knee joints, upon the couch. Tanith leaned closer to her, and she whispered eagerly, 'Did you send messengers, did you find someone to go?'

'I sent two young ensigns from Legion Ben-Amon. They worship the Holy Father as though he were himself a god. I told them that you were in mortal danger, and that the Holy Father must return with all speed.'

'Do you think they will find him?'

'There are a hundred roads that he might take, and the land is wide. I would not lie to you, my child. The chance is not good.'

'I know,' said Tanith. 'And if they find him, can he return in time, and if he does, is there aught he can do to dissuade the Gry-Lion?'

'If he returns in time, then you are safe. I know the man.'

'Wait for him, Aina. If he returns, go to him secretly and tell him that the king knows about us. You must warn him of that, for he is also in danger.'

'I will warn him,' promised Aina.

'Oh, I pray to all the gods that he returns swiftly to Opet. I do not want to die, old mother. There is so much I would yet have from life, but the days run out now. It is already the sixth day of the Festival, Unless Huy comes there are but four days of my life left.'

'Gently, child/ Aina crooned and put an arm about Tanith to pat and cuddle her. 'Be brave,' she crooned, 'be brave, child.'

'It is not so easy,' Tanith told her, 'but I will try.' And she pulled away from Aina's embrace and sat up straight. 'You must go now, old mother - or Haka will beat you again.'

On the walls of the fortress at Zanat, south of the great river, a sentry held a javelin lightly in his right hand, concealing it below the level of the parapet, and he looked down on the strange wild figure below him. The man's hair was filthy and matted, he wore no armour, his tunic hung in tatters, and his face was bruised and badly swollen. He seemed to be wounded for he was doubled up painfully in an unnatural posture, bowed beneath the weight of the huge battle-axe he carried.

'What is your name, and what your business?' the sentry hailed, and the traveller looked up at him.

'I am Ben-Amon, High Priest of Baal and warrior of Opet. My business is the king's.'

The sentry started, and thrust the javelin back into its rack. He realized how close he had come to making a fool of himself. The crooked back and the axe were famous throughout the four kingdoms, he should have recognized them immediately, and he berated himself as he ran down into the courtyard shouting for the officer of the guard, warning him of their distinguished caller.

Huy came in through the side gate the moment it swung open, and he cut short the military salutes with a curt, 'Enough of that nonsense.'

The officer of the guard was startled at having the legion's beloved ceremonial dismissed in such a cavalier fashion, and he smothered a grin. Coupled with his appearance and his beggar's garb this story would go to swell the body of legend that already existed about this remarkable little man.

Huy was striding past the hastily assembled guard, demanding of the officer as he passed, 'Where is the general? Is he here?'

'Yes, my lord - Holiness. He is in his quarters.'

'Praise to Baal!' Huy grunted with relief.

Huy wolfed a thick cut of cold meat folded between two corn cakes, and he washed it down with a bowl of red wine, speaking through and around each mouthful of food as he issued his orders.

Marmon's scribe dashed off each article, racing to keep up with the flow of Huy's words. Marmon sat on his stool in the corner, his head of silver hair shining like a summer thunder cloud and his handsome face anxious and worried.

He could hardly believe what he was hearing, yet he knew better than to doubt the word of Huy Ben-Amon. He realized that he was culpable, that he should have been the one to discover this deadly threat that had grown up so swiftly on their borders. Perhaps he had spent too much of his time dreaming over his ancient histories, perhaps he had grown old and feeble without realizing it. He wondered what retribution there would be from Huy Ben-Amon and the Gry-Lion of Opet. Neither of them were men who let failure pass unnoticed.

He listened as Huy issued the orders which would place every garrison and every unit on the alert, would mobilize every disbanded legion, would send messengers racing across the land carrying the scrolls that would place the entire empire on a war footing. Marmon wondered at the courage of a man who could make this battle decision alone, a decision for which he would have to answer to the king and the council of nobles. He might be held responsible for all the losses and damages that would arise when the entire industry and commerce of the nation were suspended. It was a decision upon which his own life might hang, as well as that of Opet.

As he watched Huy signing the orders he doubted that he would have had that much certainty of the rightness of his own actions. He knew he would have sent to Opet for orders, and probably have jeopardized whatever chance there was of survival. For, from what Huy had told him, it was a matter of survival. They were confronted by an enemy so vastly superior in numbers that success lay with the gods.

Huy was finished. He signed the last scroll and the fire went out in him. It was only then that Marmon realized that the man was exhausted. He staggered slightly, his whole body slumping and he seemed to shrivel in size under the burden of his weariness.

Marmon jumped up from his stool and went to him. Huy brushed off the helping arm and tried to gather his strength in hand again.

'I must leave for Opet,' he said, slurring like a drunkard and steadying himself against a corner of the table. 'What day is it, Marmon? I seem to have lost count of the days,'

'It is the seventh day of the Festival, Holiness.'

'The Festival?' Huy looked at him stupidly.

'The Fruitful Earth,' Marmon reminded him.

'Ah!' Huy nodded. 'I did not think it was that late. Have you a war elephant to carry me to Opet?'

'Nay, Holiness,' Marmon told him regretfully. There are no elephants here.'

'Then I must march.' Huy resigned himself.

'You must rest first.'

'Yes, Huy agreed. 'I must rest.' And he let Marmon lead him to the bedchamber. As he fell across the couch he asked, 'How long will it take to reach Opet from here, Marmon?'

'If you move fast, six days. Five, if you fly.'

'I shall fly,' said Huy. Wake me at dusk.' And he fell asleep.

Looking down on the sleeping figure. Marmon felt the familiar stirring of his affections. He felt his admiration for the great heart of this little fighting man, felt envy for the thrust and drive which always carried him ahead of the pack, and he was glad that Huy Ben-Amon led them at a time of such a crisis

It was then he remembered the messenger from Opet, the young ensign of Legion Ben-Amon who had passed through the garrison the previous day carrying an urgent message for the High Priest. He debated with himself for a moment, then decided not to disturb Huy's rest. He would tell him when he woke at dusk

At dusk Huy woke, ate a light meal and oiled his body. Twenty minutes later he ran out into the cool of evening through the garrison gate with fifteen legionaries as escort, and it was only after they had disappeared into the dark and silent forests of the south that Marmon again remembered the message that the young ensign had given him.

He thought to send a messenger after Huy, but he knew that no runner of his could hope to catch the priest after he had such a head start. The speed of Huy's long legs were part of the legend.

Marmon thought comfortably, 'He will be in Opet soon enough.' And he paced along the parapet until he reached the far side of the fortress. He stayed there until after darkness had fallen, staring into the turbulent north and wondering how soon they would come.

The Divine Council came to Tanith's cell on the morning of the ninth day of the Festival of the Fruitful Earth. They were led by the Reverend Mother, frail and uncertain, shifty-eyed with guilt.

'We have joyous news for you, my child,' she told Tanith, and Tanith sat up quickly on her couch - her heart leaping within her. The Gry-Lion had changed his mind perhaps.

'Oh, Reverend Mother!' she whispered, feeling the tears of relief at the back of her eyelids. She was still shaky and weak from the loss of the child, and it took little to make her weep now.

The Reverend Mother was gabbling on, not looking at Tanith, unable to meet her eyes, and for a while Tanith was puzzled. She could not understand this talk of precedent and ecclesiastical law, until she glanced at Sister Haka's face and saw how gloating and lustful were the dark features and how brightly the cruel eyes shone.

Then suddenly she realized that this was no reprieve.

'And so in his wisdom the king has chosen you, has given to you the great honour of carrying the message of Opet to the goddess.'

They had not come to release her, but to seal her fate. Sister Haka was smiling.

'You must give thanks, my child. The king has given you life eternal. You will live in glory at the side of the goddess, hers for ever,' said the Reverend Mother, and the priestesses chorused, 'Praise to Astarte. Praise to Baal.'

The Reverend Mother went on, 'You must prepare yourself. I will send Aina to help you. She knows the path of the messenger well, for she has attended many of the chosen ones. Remember to pray, my child. Pray that the goddess will find you acceptable.'

Other books

I Cross My Heart by Vicki Lewis Thompson
El Ășltimo Dickens by Matthew Pearl
And Home Was Kariakoo by M.G. Vassanji
Dragonfire by Anne Forbes
Taken by Erin Bowman
Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs
Take My Breath Away by Martin Edwards
Death of a Toy Soldier by Barbara Early
Born to Be Wylde by Jan Irving