their horses carry double saddles. It also seems to me that all of the enemy I can see are wearing broad belts and diagonal sashes with headgear of the same color which looks black in this light but may be dark green or red.'
Beside him the silent Mareth seemed to grow even more quiet while Bashir cursed softly and said, 'This is worse than I expected. They wear the markings of our enemy sheik's personal guard, men who have been born without pity or had it scourged out of them. The reason they make no attempt to cover their military dress is, of course, that they will slay everyone in the caravan without exception who might link them to the bloody massacre they intend.'
He paused, looked at Declan very seriously and said, 'If you do not wish to share the fate of your master, which is certain, you should ride at once to the caravanserai with the news of what has happened here so that my sheik will learn of this crime, and then go wherever you desire… But your body wriggles in silent argument. Speak it in words, brave and probably stupid though the words may be.'
'My master has another servant,' said Declan awkwardly, 'who is little more than a child. I would not want to abandon them.'
'Do as you wish,' said Bashir impatiently. 'Now I must engage the enemy… But I sense another argument coming from you. What is it?'
'I am a stranger here,' said Declan carefully, 'and although I bear the prince's swords, I should not presume to give you advice. But I think there might be a small chance of us winning this battle.'
Mareth was nearly strangling himself in an effort to laugh silently while Bashir's voice was scornful as he said, 'Are you about to suggest some wild, Hibernian tactic that will triple our strength? You do presume, Declan, but give your advice. It is my decision whether or not I take it.'
'Of course,' said Declan. He raised his head for an instant to look down on the closest enemy position, then he went on quickly, 'Am I right in thinking that the enemy is so confident of holding the element of surprise that they haven't bothered to post any outlying lookouts? If that is so then we are in an ideal position to make the surprise attack you plan. But I think the surprise would be more effective if we waited until the sun has risen a little above the horizon and is behind us and dazzling the eyes of the men below.
'Waiting would give us three advantages,' he went on, unable to keep the enthusiasm from his voice. 'The imminent arrival of the caravan should attract all of the enemy's attention to the leading camels in the train, and the trouble developing here on their eastern flank would not be clearly seen because of the low sun. That will make them uncertain, especially if you choose the same moment to attack their main body from the rear. While these things are happening, and to further confuse the enemy, later I would like two of your horsemen to ride with me from the front to the rear of the caravan. On that first pass we would not stop to fight. Instead we would ride like the wind, shouting loudly to the camel drivers as we went by that more help was coming. That would not be strictly true but it would further confuse the enemy…'
'It would be a barefaced lie,' said Bashir, his teeth showing brightly in a face that was still gray with the growing light of dawn, 'but an allowable stratagem in times of war. You have more advice?'
'Yes,' said Declan, looking at Mareth, 'for the bowmen.'
'Go on,' said Bashir.
Declan's eyes were on Mareth as he said, 'The group below us are all lying prone, most of them with their backs to us as they watch for the caravan. They will make easy targets. At my signal, have your bowmen rise from cover and take careful aim, for the sun will be in the enemies' eyes and there will be plenty of time to aim and shoot the first flight of arrows as one and making each one of them find its mark. They will then advance down the slope on the enemy shooting at will, but I suggest they stop and kneel to steady themselves because an arrow loosed by a running bowman rarely finds its mark. By this time the survivors of the group will have organized themselves and will be shooting back, but they will still be dazzled by the sun behind you and will squint and hesitate while taking aim. When an enemy bowman has drawn back his bowstring and is about to loose an arrow, drop flat so as to give him the smallest possible target, the top of your head and shoulders, at which to aim and, hopefully, miss. When he is nocking another arrow, either shoot back at him or advance closer. Soon you will be too close for an exchange of arrows and you will use your swords to press home the attack. While you are doing this, I shall be drawing some of their attention with a flanking attack to further unsettle them. My horse is fast enough to make me a difficult target.
'But remember,' he went on, 'your men must remain calm and level-headed at all times. There must be no death or glory charges, no stupid heroics, and no heaps of brave, dead soldiers. We have a saying before battle that nobody lives forever, but in this case I want your men to try. This may not be your customary manner of warfare, but we are seriously outnumbered and must therefore fight in this cowardly fashion. Do you understand?'
Before the other could reply, Bashir said, 'Declan, your advice is good and I'm taking it, all of it. Mareth, instruct your men accordingly and do not attack until Declan gives the word. When I see you go into action we also will attack. I have orders of my own to give…'
Bashir was moving down the slope toward the horses and Mareth was crawling with instructions toward the closest of his bowmen.
It was a time for patience, Declan thought, as the rising sun turned from red to orange as it cleared the hills behind them and the caravan had not yet come into sight. Mareth's bowmen were spread out in an open line under the brow of the hill, watching him silently. Deliberately he did not raise his head too often, but the next time he looked the first of the camels were coming into sight and the eyes of the enemy would be on them. He gave Mareth the signal and bent low as he ran for his horse.
He watched from their flank as the bowmen rose into sight only enough to loose the first flight of arrows in unison at their unsuspecting targets, then more sporadically a second and a third flight before the enemy realized where the attack was coming from and began to shoot back. As expected, with the sun in their eyes their aim was hopelessly inaccurate. When Mareth's men rose to their feet and charged down the hill, Declan urged his horse forward and did the same, but instead of charging down on them in a straight line he rode in a semicircle so as to come at their position from the flank.
From that angle the sun was not in their eyes so that they had a clear view of him. He was attracting many arrows, but his original intention was to take the enemy bowmen's attention from the men who were attacking more slowly on foot, and it seemed to be working. Deliberately he guided his mount from side to side as he came rather than riding down on the position in a straight line. So many arrows flew his way that he wondered if the enemy bowmen would soon run short of them. Only two came close to him, however, one that tugged sharply as it went through his cloak and another that whispered past his ear. But their number and frequency was diminishing and suddenly he realized why.
More than half of the enemy lay still or writhing on the ground with arrows sprouting from their bodies, most of them the victims of the first few moments of the attack. Mareth was following instructions, but not quite to the letter because he had added an improvement that Declan had not considered. Most of the men had drawn their scimitars and were closing rapidly but erratically on the enemy as they tried to make more difficult targets of themselves, but not all of them. A few of Mareth's bowmen, probably his best marksmen, were holding back and continuing to kneel on the ground while they shot at any opposing bowman who was threatening their companions' advance. Declan dropped his reins so as to free both hands, drew the long-axe, and used his knees to urge his horse forward.
He was almost on top of them when the barb of an arrow scraped past his horse's neck, leaving a short, deep scratch and causing it to rear and shy to the side so violently that he almost lost his seat. The axe swing he had been aiming at the enemy bowman tore away the other's burnoose without touching the head inside. By the time he had regained control of his mount and returned to the attack, the fight was over.
Declan derived no pleasure from seeing wounded and already dying enemies being hacked unnecessarily to death, so he looked away in the direction of the other battle where Bashir's men had also surprised the enemy, although not as completely as had happened here. As he watched, Bashir detached himself from the fighting and began galloping towards Declan a few moments before Mareth joined him.
'You must have been a popular commander, Hibernian,' he said, smiling broadly and waving his bloody scimitar. 'We didn't lose a single man…'
He broke off as Bashir arrived, looked around and nodded approval.
'This was well done,' he said. 'Now they outnumber us by only two to one. Mareth, retrieve as many arrows as you can, theirs as well as yours, because you will need them. Then gather your men and follow Declan and me on foot as we ride along the caravan shouting about the relief force that is coming to help them. That is you,
