‘Tanith,’ he said severely. ‘You know how grave a matter it is to misrepresent the words of the gods.’
Tanith nodded fervently. ‘Oh yes, my lord.’
‘As a seeress you have a sacred duty,’ Huy insisted, and Tanith wiped her cheeks and remembered how Huy had used that sacred duty to steer the political and economic life of the nation, not to mention his personal profit. She could not deny herself a wicked pleasure in paying him in his own coin.
‘I know it well, Holy Father.’ Huy stared at her but could find no evidence of guile. Unable to withstand the scrutiny of those dark eyes a moment longer, Tanith buried her face in his neck once more and waited silently. The silence lasted a long time, before Huy finally admitted defeat.
‘Very well,’ he gruffed. ‘I will keep you with me, if that is what the goddess wants.’ And Tanith hugged him closer and smiled triumphantly into Huy Ben-Amon’s curly beard.
For five days Huy probed and tested that moving mass of humanity as it flowed on towards the great river like a vast black jelly-fish. Always he moved back, retreating ahead of it, keeping his tiny force compact and well under his hand, using it with economy and purpose.
On the fifth day he linked up with the garrison at Sett. Mago, the elderly commander, placed himself under Huy with 1,800 archers and light infantry, twelve war elephants, two patrol galleys of 100 oars each, and the garrison’s considerable arsenal.
Huy greeted him in the heated noonday on a small hill a dozen miles south of the river, and he led Mago aside out of earshot of the staff.
‘I am honoured to serve under you. Holy Father. They say there is glory for those that follow the standard of the Sun-bird.’
‘There will be enough glory for all here, I warrant you,’ Huy told him grimly, and pointed across the open forest land. ‘There they are.’
The slave army moved like a thick column of foraging ants, and a pale mist of dust rose above the trees.
‘What thought comes first to your mind, Captain?’ Huy asked quietly, and Mago studied the distant army.
‘From here, my lord, they look like any other army on the march,’ he muttered doubtfully.
‘And does that not strike you as odd? This is not an army, Mago, it is a rabble of escaped slaves. Yet it moves like an army.’
Mago nodded quickly, understanding. ‘Yes! Yes! They are in hand, you can see it. It is true, you would not expect such control.’
‘There is more to it than that,’ Huy told him. ‘You will see it demonstrated in a moment, for I have arranged a little entertainment. I believe in giving these slaves plenty of pepper in their diet. We will raid their baggage in a moment, and then you will see what I mean.’
They were silent for a moment, watching the enemy move slowly down towards them.
Then Huy asked, ‘What is the state of the river, Mago?’
‘My lord, it is very low.’
‘The ford is passable?’ Huy insisted. ‘How deep is it?’
‘It can be crossed on foot. The water at the deepest is neck-deep, but flowing fast. I have had the guide ropes cut.’
Huy nodded. ‘They are moving towards the ford at Sett. I have been sure of that from the moment when they chose the Lulule pass of the escarpment.’ Huy was silent a moment longer. ‘That is where I will destroy them,’ he went on firmly, and Mago glanced sideways at him. ‘Destroy’ seemed a strange word for a general of 3,000 men to use in connection with an army of 30,000.
‘My lord!’ one of Huy’s officers shouted. ‘The attack begins! ’ And Huy hurried across to join the group.
‘Ah!’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Bakmor has chosen his moment well.’
From their carefully prepared ambush, Bakmor’s 500 heavy infantry men charged into the flank of the column. Huy’s favourite had picked a weak spot in the protective screen of black spearmen. His axemen hacked their way through to the baggage train, and the drivers of the bullock wagons jumped from their seats and ran, the women bearers dropped the baskets of grain from their heads and followed them in a shrieking panic.
Swiftly the attackers slaughtered the oxen in their traces, and piled the grain baskets in heaps. Fire from the earthenware pots was fanned to life and within minutes the plundered food stores of the slave army were ablaze.
‘Look!’ Huy pointed out to Mago the response of the slaves to this sudden onslaught. From head and tail of the column formations of spearmen were doubling back and forward in the classical manoeuvre of envelopment. The movement was not executed with any of the precision of a trained legion. It was slow and unwieldy, a mere parody of the correct formations, but it was recognizable.
‘Remarkable!’ Mago exclaimed. ‘A soldier commands them, one at least who has read the military statutes. Your officer must be careful now.’
‘Bakmor knows what to do,’ Huy assured him, and as he spoke the distant axemen formed up quickly into the testudo formation, an armoured tortoise of shields, and they trotted out between the enclosing arms of spearmen, beating the encircling movement with minutes to spare. Behind them the baggage train burned, smearing black smoke across the tree-tops.
‘Good! Good!’ Huy grinned his pleasure and relief, slapping his thigh with pleasure. ‘Sweetly done! Now, let the slave commander show if he is as great a quartermaster as he is a tactician! There will be growling bellies in the enemy camp tonight.’ Huy took Mago’s arm and led him away. ‘A bowl of wine,’ he suggested. ‘Watching and waiting is almost as thirsty work as swinging the axe.’
Mago smiled. ‘Speaking of wine, Holiness. I have a few amphorae of wine that I am sure will give no offence even to a palate as knowledgeable as yours Will you dine with me this night?’
‘I look forward to it with the keenest anticipation,’ Huy assured him.
