Over the heads of the attackers the archers and javelin men hurled a rain of missiles into Timon’s centre, and so densely was it packed that the dead men could not fall but were held upright by their neighbours’ striving bodies.
Now the galleys stole in quietly towards the bank and from the high castles the archers loosed their arrows into the van of Timon’s army. The bank began to crumble away beneath the desperate feet, and living and dead slid and fell into the swift waters.
Soon the colour of the water changed from green to brown, and then to the bright scarlet of life blood.
‘A river of blood, Holiness,’ the galley commander remarked in conversational tones. ‘I have heard it sung by the poets before, but this is the first time I have ever seen it.’
Huy nodded without answering. He could see that the battle had reached a point of equilibrium. The pressure that Bakmor’s cohorts, even strengthened with those of Mago, could exert was insufficient to drive the enemy back another yard. Soon that pressure must relax, for already the axemen were tiring. When that happened the slave army would explode outwards, like a released bowstring. It needed but an ounce more pressure to topple the slaves into the river, but that pressure must come within the next few minutes.
Huy muttered impatiently, ‘Come, Bakmor, are you blinded by blood? Has battle-lust drowned your reason? Now is your moment, but it is passing!’ And Huy began to pace the wooden deck anxiously. It was so clear to him what should be done, that it amazed him that others could not see it.
‘Come, Bakmor, come!’ he pleaded, and then he grunted his relief.
‘Not a moment too soon!’
Bakmor had charged his war elephants into the massed remnant of Timon’s army. Trumpeting and squealing, the huge animals waded through living bodies, crushing them under-foot, lifting men in their trunks and flinging them towards the sky. A terrified screeching of despair went up from 10,000 throats, and Timon’s army turned to water.
‘Now!’ shouted Huy, and the galleys shot in towards the bank of the river. They ran aground together, and from them poured 400 heavy axemen, led by Huy Ben-Amon.
His men tried to keep with him. For in the sixth legion the place of honour in battle was at the side of the High Priest. But the vulture axe clave forward so swiftly that it took a good man to pace it.
‘For Baal!’ And they reaped the bloody harvest so the ground beneath their feet turned to red mud, and the river flowed brightly.
In the midst of it Huy saw Timon. The shock of it slowed his arm for a second, and a spear jabbed at him, scoring his ribs. Huy killed the spearman with a casual back-handed stroke, then cut his way through the press towards Timon. It was slow work, and Timon retreated ahead of him towards the river bank.
‘Timon!’ Huy shouted in desperation, and those terrible smoky yellow eyes turned to him and held his gaze. They were the eyes of a leopard in the trap, cruel and merciless.
‘A challenge!’ Huy called. ‘Fight me!’
In reply Timon reared to his full height and hurled his spear at Huy. Huy ducked and the point glanced off his helmet and buried itself in the neck of the man beside Huy. The man cried out and fell.
Timon turned and with three strides he had reached the bank of the river. He leapt out into the red waters, and then struck out powerfully in the over-arm stroke that Huy had taught him.
Huy reached the edge of the bank and tore off his helmet and breastplate, he snapped the leather straps of his greaves and kicked off his sandals.
Naked, except for the belt which held his axe, Huy looked out across the river. Timon was out of range of the archers on the bank, he was halfway across to the island in the time which it had taken Huy to strip.
Huy dived cleanly from the bank, and struck the water flat on his belly. Then he was swimming, dragging himself through the bloody water with those long thick arms and churning the surface white with his powerful legs.
On the island Timon had found weapons The throwing spears of the charred bodies that lay thick upon the ground.
As Huy found his footing and waded ashore, Timon hurled the first of them. Huy deflected the spear with a swing of his axe, catching the spear-blade full on the great butterfly-shaped head, swatting the spear out of the air as though it were an insect.
Again Timon threw, and again - but now Huy was charging him across the rocky, corpse-strewn ground, and each thrown spear was caught neatly upon the head of the axe and sent spinning aside to fall harmlessly on the rocky earth.
In desperation Timon stooped and picked up one at the round river boulders as large as a man’s head. He lifted it over his head with both hands, and stepped forward as he threw it. The rock caught Huy a glancing blow on his shoulder, and knocked him down on his back with the axe skidding away from his hand.
Timon charged at him, careless in his anger and hatred. Huy bounced off the earth, flipping himself forward like a thrown javelin.
The top of Huy’s head crashed into Timon’s body just below the rib-cage and the air of his lungs rushed out of his throat in a gasp of agony. Timon doubled up and dropped to his knees, clutching at his chest with both hands.
Huy stood over him, and bunched his hand in the manner of the gladiators. He struck Timon with the bony hammer of his fist just below the ear, and Timon toppled forward senseless to the rocks.
‘I cannot kill you, Timon,’ Huy’s voice came to him through grey mist, and from a great distance. ‘Though you deserve death as no one else has done before you. You have betrayed my trust. You have carried the sword against me and my king - you deserve to die.’
Huy’s face came into focus, and Timon found himself tying on his back with arms outstretched. He tried to move and found himself bound. Leather thongs were knotted tightly about his fingers and pegged down to the earth, holding him captive. He rolled his head and found himself on the north side of the island, hidden from watchers on the south bank and alone with Huy.
