ducked under his guard to hit him in the thigh.
Imbali was beside him and when she saw his blood springing from the wound she flew at Basma like a lioness protecting her mate. He turned to defend himself and lifted his spear to deflect the sweep of the axe. Imbali's blow sheared the shaft as though it were a papyrus reed and went on to thump into Basma's right shoulder. He staggered back, his half-severed arm hanging at his side. Imbali jerked the blade free and struck again, this time for the head. The blade cut cleanly through the crown of flamingo feathers, and went on to split Basma's skull to his teeth. For a moment the divided eyes squinted at each other round the blade, then Imbali levered it free. The metal grated harshly against the bone as it came away, yellow brain matter oozing after it.
The Basmara saw their chief struck down and, with a despairing shout, drew back. The fighting had been hard. They had suffered heavy losses — corpses lay thickly around the little circle. The Egyptians were few, but they hesitated to rush in and end it. Taita took advantage of the pause to bolster their position. He forced the horses to lie flat, a trick that all cavalry mounts were taught. Their bodies offered some protection from the javelins of the Basmara. He placed his archers behind them and held
Imbali, Aoka and Fenn with him in the centre, then took his own position at Fenn's side. He would be with her at the end, just as he had been in the other life. This time, though, he was determined to make it quicker and easier for her.
He looked at the others in the circle. Habari, Shofar and the last two troopers were all dead. Shabako and Hilto were still on their feet, but had been wounded. They had not bothered to treat their injuries, had merely staunched the bleeding by slapping a handful of dirt over it.
Beyond them, Imbali was kneeling to bind up Nakonto's thigh. When she finished, she looked up at him with an expression in her eyes that was much more woman than warrior.
Meren had fallen on his face when his horse threw him. His cheek was grazed and his ruined eye was bleeding again. A tiny trickle of blood ran out from under the leather patch down the side of his nose and on to his upper lip. He licked it away as he stropped the whetting stone down the blade of his sword. Surrounded by the dense ranks of the enemy, wounded and broken as they were, there was nothing heroic about any of them.
If by some miracle I should survive this day I will write of them a battle poem that will flood the eyes of all who hear it, Taita promised himself grimly.
A single voice broke the silence with a high-pitched challenge: 'Are we old women or are we fighting impis of the Basmara?' The multitudes began again to hum, sway and stamp.
Another voice called an answer to the first question: 'We are men and we have come for the killing!'
'Kill! Bring the spear! Use the spear! Kill!' The chant went up and the ranks came forward, dancing and stamping. Imbali stood beside Nakonto, a thin, cruel smile on her lips. Hilto and Shabako smoothed back their hair and replaced their helmets. Meren wiped the blood off his lip and blinked his good eye to clear and sharpen his vision. Then he slipped his sword into its scabbard, picked up his bow and leant upon it as he watched the enemy close in. Fenn came stiffly to her feet, favouring her wounded leg. She took Taita's hand.
'Don't be afraid, little one,' he told her.
'I am not afraid,' she said, 'but I wish you had taught me to draw a bow. I could have been more use to you now.'
The ivory whistles squealed and the hordes poured down upon them.
The little knot of defenders loosed a flight of arrows into them and another, then nocked and shot as fast as they could draw, but they were
so few that they caused barely a ripple in the waves of prancing black bodies.
The Basmara broke into the circle, and it was hand-to-hand again.
Shabako was hit in the throat and spouted blood like a harpooned whale as he died. The frail circle broke up under the rush of bodies. Imbali and Nakonto stood back to back as they hacked and thrust. Aoka fell, dead.
Meren gave ground until he and Taita had Fenn between them. They might fight on a little longer, but Taita knew that soon he must give mercy to Fenn. He would follow her swiftly, and they would remain united.
Meren killed a man with a straight thrust through the heart, while at the same moment Taita struck down the man beside him.
Meren glanced at him. 'It is time, Magus, but I will do it for you if you wish,' he croaked, through a throat rough with thirst and dust.
Taita knew how Meren had come to love Fenn and how much it would cost him to kill her. 'Nay, good Meren, though I thank you for it. The duty is mine.' Taita looked down at Fenn fondly. 'Kiss Meren farewell, my sweet, for he is your true friend.' She did so, then turned trustingly to Taita. She bowed her head and closed her eyes. Taita was glad of that: he could never have done it while those green eyes were upon him. He raised his sword, but checked the stroke before it was launched. The war chant of the Basmara had changed to a great moan of despair and terror. Their ranks broke and scattered, like a shoal of sardines before a wolf-fanged barracuda.
The little group were left standing bewildered in the circle. They were bathed in their own sweat and blood and that of their enemies. They looked at each other with incomprehension, unable to understand why they were still alive. The field was almost obscured by the clouds of dust kicked up by feet and hoofs, while thick eddies of smoke drifted down from the burning stockade. It was barely possible to see the tree line.
'Horses!' gritted Meren. 'I hear hoofs.'
'You imagine it,' said Taita, as hoarsely. 'It is not possible.'
'No, Meren is right,' piped up Fenn, and pointed towards the trees.
'Horses!'
Taita blinked in the dust and smoke, but he could not see clearly. His vision was blurred and dull. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then stared again. 'Cavalry?' he muttered, in disbelief.
'Egyptian cavalry,' Meren whooped. 'Crack troops! A blue pennant flying over them.' The cavalry charged through the Basmara lines, taking them on the lance, then wheeling back to finish the work with the sword. The Basmara threw down their weapons and fled in disarray.
