‘No army, but a slave rabble.’
‘Thirty thousand, none the less.’
‘We cannot reinforce him in time.’
‘It would be folly to try odds like that - and, my lord, Ben-Amon is no fool.’
‘The nearest reserves are at Sett on the river.’
‘Ben-Amon will not fight,’ one of them declared, and they looked to Lannon for his opinion.
Lannon smiled. ‘Content yourselves. Ben-Amon will fight. At a time and a place of his own choosing His Holiness will fight.’ Then the smile was gone. ‘I will march in four hours with all available troops to support Ben- Amon. Issue mobilization orders to all the disbanded legions, send runners to Zeng.’
‘Will there be a battle?’ Tanith asked. Her eyes sparkled green with anticipation, and her lips were parted expectantly. ‘I mean, a real battle like the ones you sing about?’
Huy grunted without looking up from his writing pallet where he was formulating his orders to the garrison commander at Sett.
‘Gather to you all troops within your sector and hold them within your walls. Account to me for your store of javelins, arrows and other weapons. What force of elephant do you command? Command the galleys of the river patrol to an-chor beneath your walls and await my orders. Inform me of the level of the river. What fords are passable?
‘I will join you within six days to assume command. It is my intention to dispute the enemies’ passage of the river at—’
Tanith slipped off the couch and crossed the tent. She came up behind Huy and put a finger in his ear.
‘My lord.’
‘Please, Tanith. I am busy on affairs of moment. This is urgent.’
‘No more urgent than a reply to my question - will there be a battle?’
‘Yes,’ Huy replied testily. ‘Yes, there will.’
‘Oh, good!’ Tanith clapped her hands. ‘I have never watched a real battle.’
‘Nor will you now!’ replied Huy grimly as he resumed his writing. ‘You will leave tomorrow morning on a war elephant with an escort of fifty men. You are going home to Opet until this trouble is over.’
Tanith returned to the couch and plumped herself down upon it with the skirts of her tunic drawn up wantonly about her smooth thighs. She glared at the back of Huy’s head, and her lips compressed into a stubborn line.
‘That, Holy Father,’ she whispered inaudibly, ‘may be your plan!’
Tanith lay unsleeping and listened to the voices of Huy and his officers as they planned the campaign. Her tent was placed conveniently close to that of the High Priest, and the unlit space between them could be crossed without observation by the sentries. This journey to Sinai had been planned by Huy as a love tryst, an escape for them from the restraints of Opet.
Across the tent from her, Aina, the ancient priestess, burbled and muttered in her sleep. Tanith picked up one of her sandals from beside the couch and threw it at her. Aina hiccupped and subsided into silence.
Tanith was too excited by the momentous events in which she had been caught up for her to even contemplate sleep. A savage slave army was trundling down upon them, tens of thousands of wild men, leaving behind them a wide swathe of rape and slaughter and fire-blackened earth.
All that day the refugees had poured into the camp, each of them bringing fresh tales of horror and death. To oppose these savages was Huy Ben-Amon and his small band of heroes, outnumbered twenty to one. It was the stuff of legend, and Tanith would not miss a moment of it. In her mind the outcome was assured, in the ballads the hero always triumphed. He was the favourite of the gods, and therefore invincible. It was a pity merely that the favourite of the gods in the usual masculine fashion was being tiresome, but Tanith had laid her plans.
It was long after midnight before Tanith heard the officers taking loud leave of Huy, and clumping away to their own tents. She sat up, and started to induce tears to flood her eyes. She could usually achieve this by remembering a puppy she had owned as a child. A leopard had taken it. Tonight the trick would not work and she had to resort to rubbing her eyes with her knuckles.
Huy lay on his couch, with the lamp wick trimmed low so the corners of the tent were in darkness. He came up quickly on one elbow when Tanith slipped in through the tent flap, and before he could speak she had thrown herself on the couch beside him and wrapped her arms about his neck. She was shivering violently.
‘What is it, my heart?’ Huy was alarmed.
‘Oh my lord, a dream. A dream of ill omen.’ And Huy felt icy little prickles of dread upon the back of his neck. In two years he had learned that Tanith was truly possessed of the gift of prescience. She was capable of vivid glimpses of the future, from small incidents to matters of the gravest moment. If Huy primed her on the course her prophesies should take, it was only on the more mundane consultations. He had, however, developed a hearty respect for her abilities. Tanith knew this as she whispered, ‘I walked upon a night field lit only by the funeral fires.’ And Huy held her closer, feeling the chill spreading through his body - night, funeral fires, ill-omens indeed.
‘I was weeping, my lord. I do not know why, but there was a great sense of loss. There had been a battle. The field was littered with weapons, and broken shields. I came upon the standard of the sixth legion, the sunbird, broken and discarded in the dirt.’ Huy shuddered with awe, the sunbird thrown down! It was not only the symbol of his legion, but his own personal totem.
‘Then our Lady Astarte was with me. She also was weeping. Silver tears that ran down across her white face. She was very beautiful and very sad. She spoke to me, chiding me sorrowfully. “You should have stayed with him, Tanith. This would never have happened if you had stayed with him.” ’
Huy felt the quick stab of doubt through his superstitious awe. He placed his hands on Tanith’s shoulders and held her away to study her face. Her eyes were reddened, and tears had washed her cheeks, but still he was suspicious. It seemed a little too neat, and he had learned that when Tanith set her heart on something she was not easily put off.
