‘I know,’ said Tanith. ‘And if they find him, can he return in time, and if he does, is there aught he can do to dissuade the Gry-Lion?’
‘If he returns in time, then you are safe. I know the man.’
‘Wait for him, Aina. If he returns, go to him secretly and tell him that the king knows about us. You must warn him of that, for he is also in danger.’
‘I will warn him,’ promised Aina.
‘Oh, I pray to all the gods that he returns swiftly to Opet. I do not want to die, old mother. There is so much I would yet have from life, but the days run out now. It is already the sixth day of the Festival, Unless Huy comes there are but four days of my life left.’
‘Gently, child/ Aina crooned and put an arm about Tanith to pat and cuddle her. ’Be brave,‘ she crooned, ’be brave, child.‘
‘It is not so easy,’ Tanith told her, ‘but I will try.’ And she pulled away from Aina’s embrace and sat up straight. ‘You must go now, old mother - or Haka will beat you again.’
On the walls of the fortress at Zanat, south of the great river, a sentry held a javelin lightly in his right hand, concealing it below the level of the parapet, and he looked down on the strange wild figure below him. The man’s hair was filthy and matted, he wore no armour, his tunic hung in tatters, and his face was bruised and badly swollen. He seemed to be wounded for he was doubled up painfully in an unnatural posture, bowed beneath the weight of the huge battle-axe he carried.
‘What is your name, and what your business?’ the sentry hailed, and the traveller looked up at him.
‘I am Ben-Amon, High Priest of Baal and warrior of Opet. My business is the king’s.’
The sentry started, and thrust the javelin back into its rack. He realized how close he had come to making a fool of himself. The crooked back and the axe were famous throughout the four kingdoms, he should have recognized them immediately, and he berated himself as he ran down into the courtyard shouting for the officer of the guard, warning him of their distinguished caller.
Huy came in through the side gate the moment it swung open, and he cut short the military salutes with a curt, ‘Enough of that nonsense.’
The officer of the guard was startled at having the legion’s beloved ceremonial dismissed in such a cavalier fashion, and he smothered a grin. Coupled with his appearance and his beggar’s garb this story would go to swell the body of legend that already existed about this remarkable little man.
Huy was striding past the hastily assembled guard, demanding of the officer as he passed, ‘Where is the general? Is he here?’
‘Yes, my lord - Holiness. He is in his quarters.’
‘Praise to Baal!’ Huy grunted with relief.
Huy wolfed a thick cut of cold meat folded between two corn cakes, and he washed it down with a bowl of red wine, speaking through and around each mouthful of food as he issued his orders.
Marmon’s scribe dashed off each article, racing to keep up with the flow of Huy’s words. Marmon sat on his stool in the corner, his head of silver hair shining like a summer thunder cloud and his handsome face anxious and worried.
He could hardly believe what he was hearing, yet he knew better than to doubt the word of Huy Ben-Amon. He realized that he was culpable, that he should have been the one to discover this deadly threat that had grown up so swiftly on their borders. Perhaps he had spent too much of his time dreaming over his ancient histories, perhaps he had grown old and feeble without realizing it. He wondered what retribution there would be from Huy Ben-Amon and the Gry-Lion of Opet. Neither of them were men who let failure pass unnoticed.
He listened as Huy issued the orders which would place every garrison and every unit on the alert, would mobilize every disbanded legion, would send messengers racing across the land carrying the scrolls that would place the entire empire on a war footing. Marmon wondered at the courage of a man who could make this battle decision alone, a decision for which he would have to answer to the king and the council of nobles. He might be held responsible for all the losses and damages that would arise when the entire industry and commerce of the nation were suspended. It was a decision upon which his own life might hang, as well as that of Opet.
As he watched Huy signing the orders he doubted that he would have had that much certainty of the rightness of his own actions. He knew he would have sent to Opet for orders, and probably have jeopardized whatever chance there was of survival. For, from what Huy had told him, it was a matter of survival. They were confronted by an enemy so vastly superior in numbers that success lay with the gods.
Huy was finished. He signed the last scroll and the fire went out in him. It was only then that Marmon realized that the man was exhausted. He staggered slightly, his whole body slumping and he seemed to shrivel in size under the burden of his weariness.
Marmon jumped up from his stool and went to him. Huy brushed off the helping arm and tried to gather his strength in hand again.
‘I must leave for Opet,’ he said, slurring like a drunkard and steadying himself against a corner of the table. ‘What day is it, Marmon? I seem to have lost count of the days,’
‘It is the seventh day of the Festival, Holiness.’
‘The Festival?’ Huy looked at him stupidly.
‘The Fruitful Earth,’ Marmon reminded him.
‘Ah!’ Huy nodded. ‘I did not think it was that late. Have you a war elephant to carry me to Opet?’
‘Nay, Holiness,’ Marmon told him regretfully. There are no elephants here.‘
‘Then I must march.’ Huy resigned himself.
‘You must rest first.’
‘Yes, Huy agreed. ’I must rest.‘ And he let Marmon lead him to the bedchamber. As he fell across the couch he asked, ’How long will it take to reach Opet from here, Marmon?‘
