‘Majesty, grant me an hour,’ he said as they came abreast of the turning that led down to his house beside the lake.
‘What is it, Huy?’ Lannon demanded irritably. ‘There is still much to do, and we must rest. What is it that demands your time?’
‘I must take leave of my household. My slaves must be released from their duties and my valuables hidden, especially the scrolls — the golden scrolls.’
‘As you will,’ Lannon conceded bad-temperedly. ‘But do not waste time. Return as soon as you can.’
The old slaves could not understand Huy’s dismissal. ‘This is our home,’ they pleaded. ‘Do not drive us out.’ And Huy could not explain. He left them there sitting huddled together in the kitchens, bewildered and afraid.
With one of the younger slaves to help him, both of them bowed under the immense weight of the scrolls, Huy crossed the temple of Baal and went through the cleft into the cavern of Astarte. It was silent and deserted. The priestesses were all aboard the galleys in the harbour. Huy paused beside the pool and looked down into its depths.
‘Wait for me, my love,’ he said. ‘I will follow close behind you. Keep a place for me at your side.’
He crossed the audience hall of the oracle and found the officers of the temple guards in the chamber beyond. They greeted him joyfully.
‘We had heard you were dead, Holiness.’
‘Is our duty still at this post, Holy Father?’
‘Release us from the temple, Holiness. Let us fight at your side.’
They helped him place the scrolls in the pottery jars and seal them with the golden tablets. Then they carried them through into the archives and placed them upon the stone shelves, hidden by a row of the larger jars.
Huy led the four officers and one hundred men of Legion Ben-Amon back through the city to the camp of the army, leaving the temple unguarded, and Lannon greeted him with relief.
‘I doubted you would return, Huy. I thought the fates might keep us apart once more.’
‘I gave you a promise, Majesty,’ Huy reassured him. ‘See what I have for you.’ And he led him from the tent to show him the temple guard. One hundred of the finest warriors of Opet, worth as much as a cohort of Yuye troops. Lannon laughed.
‘Huy, my worker of miracles.’ Then he turned to the men and looked at them. They were fresh, their armour burnished and bright, and there was a fierce wolfish quality about them which contrasted with the battle weariness of the rest of Lannon’s army.
Lannon spoke to their officers. ‘You are mine own guard. When the battle begins, stay with me, close with me and Huy Ben-Amon.’ Then he dismissed them to eat and rest.
In the big leather tent Lannon and Huy planned the battle, deciding what formations to employ, working out the evolutions for every eventuality, while scribes wrote out the orders.
They were interrupted continually by officers and aides asking for orders, or reporting the movements of the enemy.
Rib-Addi came into the tent begging audience, dry-washing his hands, tugging nervously at his beard and whispering in his secretive book-keeper’s voice.
‘The treasury, Majesty. Should we not move it to a place of safety?’
‘Tell me what place is safe,’ Lannon snarled at him, looking up from the clay box in which he and Huy were studying the dispositions. ‘Nobody out there knows about the sun door. Leave the treasure where it is, it will remain there until we come for it.’
‘The guards have been withdrawn,’ Rib-Addi persisted. ‘It is not right—’
‘Listen to me, old man. It would require 1,000 men and ten days to remove that treasure. I have neither the men nor the time to spare. Go, leave us alone. We have more important matters to employ us now.’
Rib-Addi went, looking very distressed. What more important matters were there than gold and treasure?
Before midnight Lannon straightened up and ran his hands through his thick golden curls‘, now laced with silver. He sighed, and he looked ill and tired.
‘That is all we can do now, Huy. The rest is in the hands of the gods.’ He placed an arm about Huy’s shoulders and led him to the flap of the tent. ‘A bowl of wine, a breath of lake air - then sleep.’
They stood outside the tent, drinking together and a cool breeze came off the lake, fluttering the tassels upon the golden battle standards.
Something which Huy thought for a moment was a big brown dog sleeping curled against the side of the tent stirred at their voices. Then Huy saw it was the little bushman huntmaster Xhai, faithful as ever, sleeping at the opening of his master’s tent. He shook himself awake, grinned when he saw Lannon and Huy, and came to squat beside Lannon.
‘I have tried to send him away,’ said Lannon. ‘He does not understand. He will not leave.’ Lannon sighed. ‘It seems unnecessary that he should die also, but how can I force him to go.’
‘Send him on an errand,’ suggested Huy and Lannon glanced at him thoughtfully.
‘What errand?’
‘Send him to search for sign of the gry-lion upon the southern shores. He will believe that.’
‘Yes, he will believe that,’ Lannon agreed. ‘Tell him, Huy.’
In his own language Huy explained to the little yellow man that the king wanted to hunt the gry-lion once more. Xhai’s slanted yellow eyes crinkled and he grinned and nodded with delight, pleased to be of service to the man he considered a god.
