Shiri (4 page)

VII

Asher was a brave if unimaginative man whose mediocre ambitions fitted well with his mediocre ability. Nonetheless, through a combination of his luck and others misfortunes, he had grasped the rank of captain and had been given the task of scanning the Aruna Pass for Gypto raiding parties. Asher had concluded it was a pointless mission for one as valiant as he.

He knew with the certainty of one wise and well versed in tactics, that the Gyptos wouldn’t be fool enough to try to launch an attack from the pass. Little wonder then, that neither he, nor his men, went about their duties with a great deal of vigour or initiative. Their patrols consisted of little more than locating the next keg of wine. But wine was rare in these parts, and they were as successful at finding it as the non-existent Gypto raiding parties. The brown local ales which they’d discovered in great quantity would have to suffice.

He laughed as he observed his men suffering the after effects of their latest patrol and spent the small hours throwing scorn upon them. Resting his back against a keg, a fresh mug in hand, he loudly extorted the values of the latest beverage. “This upland brew is more than just an ale do ye hear? One sip makes the modest proud, two makes the coward bold, three makes the weak strong...”

“...
And four makes the stomach turn,” one of his men groaned causing the captain to laugh all the harder. An additional glance around the bloodshot eyes of his suffering company did little to dissuade him from his argument. He could not be called an observant man. He raised the mug to his lips but stopped in mid-motion, as for once he
had
managed to observe something; a lone shepherd girl stumbling towards him. The girl materialised at the mouth of the pass, staggering towards them on legs that seemed fit to give way at any moment. And give way they did. She collapsed before she got to them.

Asher and his men rushed to her aid. Her face was battered and bruised, her arms and legs all cuts and scrapes. The captain raised her limp form in his arms, and lacking any other beverage, brought a mug of the one drink he had an abundance of to her lips. The frothy ale spilled down about her chin and for a moment he thought the pitiful creature had died in his arms.

But slowly, even as her body remained limp, he saw those lips part almost by a will of their own and accept the liquid. She coughed, and as if in confirmation of his earlier musings, her eyes briefly fluttered open. The captain turned to the nearest man. “Bread! Bring me bread!”

A single word escaped her lips, but it was too faint for him to hear.

“Hush now, you need rest.”

The girl’s eyes flickered closed before suddenly shooting open. “Gyptos!”

“What’s that?” He set her down on some pelts beside his keg and gave her the bread. She took it with a glow of gratitude and downed a mouthful. She hadn’t eaten in two days. And then, all at once, the flood gates broke and it all came out in a torrent. “Gyptos! Thousands of them! Hundreds of thousands! They are coming through the pass!” She pointed behind her. “Quick! We must tell the King!” She attempted to stand but her legs wouldn’t work.

For an instant, Asher’s face was a mask of panic. He was about to rise and sound the alarm when he realised the truth of it. “But of course they are! And they’re bringing the Giants of Giza with them no doubt!” His men laughed at that and Asher placed his hand on her forehead as if he knew his business, “I fear you may have a fever.”

Shiri pushed him off. “Fools! They are coming as we speak! Pharaoh himself leads them. He wears a blue crown. They mean to surprise the Shepherd King by taking the route he least suspects. We must warn him before it is too late!” She glanced behind her at the mouth of the pass expecting to see them at any moment. Again she pointed vigorously as if it would add weight to her tale. “They’re coming! They’re coming!”

Asher’s smile had left him. “The
Khepresh
Crown of war, only Pharaoh himself…” He loosed a string of oaths. “Sweet
Ba’al
almighty! How do you know this?”

“They burned Yaham not two days ago! They killed my parents and many more and now they are coming to kill
you
!”

“You came from Yaham in but two days? Even through Aruna ‘tis a good three days march by my reckoning.” He spoke slowly as if pondering over the words, “Nay ... if you did come in two ... and that’s a fancy tale, like as not ... they’ll be a day behind yet.”

“No! They take but a few hours rest when the night is darkest. They’re right behind me!”

Asher stared from girl to pass and back again, his brow furrowing with the effort of surmounting his confusion. After an eternity of silence he finally spoke, “If … truly they were coming we could see the smoke from their signal fires. The way I hear it, the Gyptos never move a large force without a pillar of fire or smoke to lead the way.”

Shiri shook her head desperately.
Why won’t he believe me?
“You think they want to announce their approach to every lookout between here and Megiddo?”

“We should send a party into the valley,” he concluded at length, no longer looking at the girl. “There may be some truth to her stories; mayhap Pharaoh is sending a small raiding party by means of a diversion, a score of riders to divert men from the
Pass of Gilboa…”

“NO!” Shiri had managed to find her feet now and spoke with a forcefulness she didn’t know she possessed. “It’s not a diversion, it’s the whole damn army! Thousands and thousands of them! They have more soldiers then there are stars in the heavens, and they’re coming! You must warn the King NOW!” She looked desperately from man to man, “It’s our only chance!”

“And what does a little shepherd girl know of war? Pharaoh is at least a week away, two more like.”

“She knows enough to recognise the
Khepresh
Crown.” One of Asher’s men stepped forward, his eyes concerned, “We should warn the King. If we attack while the Gyptos are trapped in the pass victory will be assured.” He was met with a several murmurs of agreement.

“And what do you propose we tell him?” Asher said. “That some youngling fresh from her mother’s teats thinks the entire Gypto army is marching down a pass that not even a horse and cart could negotiate? Nay, I’ll lead the troop into the valley to see what’s afoot. You, Simeon, can remain here with the girl. She’ll get the back of my hand and more besides if she’s been spinning me a yarn.”

With that, Asher ordered the troop of fifty to march immediately for the Aruna Pass, to rout what he expected to be little more than a lightly armed Gypto scouting party. Shiri collapsed dejected on the bench. It seemed all her efforts had been for nothing. She felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and looked up at Simeon. He smiled, somewhat nervously, “You’re telling the truth aren’t you?”

She shrugged, she was so tired
and nobody was listening to her. “They’re coming ... I ... we must warn the King.” Simeon couldn’t tell if it was the desperation in her plea, or the fortitude with which she held his stare, but something about her convinced him that she at least believed what she was saying.

He nodded. “We’ll take my horse to
Megiddo and alert the King that something is afoot, but on your head be it if you play me for a fool.”

VIII

Old King Aratama could not die. His ancient bones had seen a dozen wives breathe their last, some through illness, some through intrigue, and some he knew not how. His eldest son had fallen on the fields of Aleppo and three more had walked the dark path in times more recent. A grandson had died the previous winter and Aratama felt certain he would soon hear of a great grandchild taken by the reaper. Such was the curse of immortality.

He’d settled into his throne at a time when Mitanni stretched from the rivers of Babylon to the very shores of the Great Green Sea. In the years to come, his record in battle had been at best, consistent
– he’d never fought a war he hadn’t lost.

His biggest campaign and greatest defeat had come against the Lords of Hattusha; a growing power threatening his northern borders. Their armies had moved on Midas of Gordia, vassal of
Mitanni. Aratama had hoisted his banners and marched to meet them.

But he’d moved with all the speed of a glacier. He arrived too late to help his allies gain victory but just in time to share in their defeat. The Lords of Hattusha turned at his approach and offered battle. They numbered little more than five thousand spears and perhaps if Aratama had listened to others, the result may have been different. But the King chose this moment to
trust his own instincts.

Rather than accepting Gordia had fallen and seeking terms with the victors, he’d rushed in and calamity ensued. It was fifteen years since his defeat at Gordia, but the memory was still fresh.

The Shepherd Prince stood before him, the slave, Yuya at his side. The slave wore long multi-coloured robes; the style the
Hyksos
of old had always liked best in their slaves. Aratama had met the slave once before, ten years past. Not a slave then. Yuya had been wide-eyed and fresh from a long stay in Heliopolis, City of the Sun. It was common knowledge that his father had been on good terms with the high priest of the ancient city and that Yuya, barely out of the cradle at the time, had been named as his heir in waiting.

Aratama turned his
attention from slave to master. “Chance or fate has seen your people gain power, Josef, Prince of Shepherds.”

Josef bowed.
“Strong arms and noble cause have served their part.”

Aratama stared at him through long white plaits that fell in cascades from the thin, golden circlet that nestled over his wrinkled brows, “Pharaoh would deem his cause the nobler.”

“What cause is that?” Josef said. “The cause that would see an entire people enslaved? Or that which would see all the nations of earth bending the knee?”

Aratama glanced to the Prince’s
own
slave as the boy spoke. He smiled, “No man can stand forever. All nations must one day fall. What matter to me if yours falls on the morrow or in a thousand years?”

“If ours falls on the morrow,
Mitanni will fall soon after. Pharaoh will not be content with Palestine alone.”

“You claim great knowledge of Pharaoh’s mind.”

“The knowledge of a people who have suffered long by his hand, our lore-masters could tell it better than I, but suffice it to say their crimes are many and terrible.”

“All speak of their enemies thusly,” Aratama said, “Does the Shepherd King bring naught but a list of his people’s grievances and tales of past defeats? Mayhap I should ally with the stronger side.”

Josef shifted. This was not some peasant village to be swayed by talk of high honour and past wrongs. What did Aratama care for the history of others? Better to speak of Mitanni and what it could gain by alliance than speak of what strange folk had suffered in times past and parts foreign.

He spoke more urgently, “Mitanni will stand or fall by your next decision. This year past Pharaoh’s representatives thrice demanded you act against us, but thrice your troops refused to answer his call. A move from Mitanni even six moons ago would likely have put an end to the Shepherd King. He has a long memory this Tuthmosis and will not forgive that. What will he do if he casts down my father and routs our armies? What will he do when he has a host ten or twenty thousand strong sitting on the borders of
Mitanni? Will he turn and march peaceably home or will he do as he has ever done before? Will he seek vengeance for your lack of assistance in his time of need?”

Aratama’s features grew grave. He’
d thought long and hard over the messages from Pharaoh. Tuthmosis had sent him an ultimatum; join him and crush the rebels and all would go well for Mitanni. Refuse and things may not be so pleasant. Eloquent in his brevity was Tuthmosis.

Aratama had not joined him. Not soon enough at any rate. He’d dithered and delayed and now the moment was passed. He could either join the Shepherd King, hoping that their combined force would outmatch Pharaoh, or he could wait still further. Wait for Pharaoh to defeat the rebels and then come asking why his noble ally had not rallied to his cause.

The King stretched out his fingers, studying them in silence.
Old and weak ... like my kingdom
. He spoke slowly, “Ever have ambition and power been a dangerous mix. Pharaoh has great power...” he inhaled almost sadly, “and greater ambition, like as not, he means to bring both our realms forever under his sway.”

“And like as not, that
will mean invasion,” Josef said. “He would deal with Mitanni as he dealt with all the nations he has vanquished. The once noble court of Aratama reduced to little more than a vassal of Thebes. Only by uniting against him can we hope to hold out.”

The King seemed to nod almost imperceptibly at that. He smiled at the young Prince, the boy was passionate, his eyes earnest an
d honest. Josef drew closer. “What say you? Will you ride with us?”

Aratama played with the hairs of a long white beard as he pondered it. The clans of
Palestine were ever a weak and divided folk. True enough, they had united and grown strong of late, but if Pharaoh was defeated that would not last. The clans would fracture and divide once more, soon enough they would be fighting amongst themselves like in the days of old. Chance then, for Mitanni to pick up the pieces. Chance then, for the heirs of Aratama to grow strong. Chance even, for an astute King of Mitanni to claim lordship over their lands for himself. Little hope of that if Pharaoh won the day. Little hope that Mitanni would even survive the winter.

Slowly Aratama rose to his feet. A raised hand kept his attendants at bay. Leaning heavily on a staff of gnarled acacia, faltering but deliberate steps brought the King towards the Prince. Old grey eyes peered out from under heavy
lids as he scrutinised the boy. “So be it.” He turned to his famed
Maryannu
; charioteers that matched any that rode beneath the skies, “Aratama will march with the Shepherd King. Aratama will march with noble Prince Josef and together we will have victory!”

The
Maryannu
beat spear on shield causing an impressive din and a great cheer went up from Josef’s men. The Prince’s heart skipped a beat. He took the old King’s hand, “You will not regret this choice, friend Aratama. In my father and in his son, you will find forever allies, forever friends of Mitanni. If the Lords of Hattusha ride against you or the swords of Babylon demand tribute, let Mitanni just say the word and it will find us at its side.” He swung round, “Prepare to march, we leave for Megiddo at once!”

Aratama laughed, “What need for haste, friend Josef? The way I hear it, Pharaoh is yet many leagues to the south. Let us break our fast together!! Let the heroes of the Shepherd King and the champions of
Mitanni celebrate the joining of our peoples with good meat and strong ale by the light of the morning sun!” His words were met by a hearty chorus of cheers.

The Prince looked unsure.
“Let us celebrate when the battle is won. Pharaoh marches hard, we should do no less.”

Aratama placed a hand about Josef’s shoulder and the Prince helped steady him. The King cast his staff
aside. “Friend Josef shall be Aratama’s staff!” he declared it in a surprisingly loud voice that received further cheers before turning his lips to Josef’s ear and offering more discreet counsel. “Ah, to be young and impetuous once more, our men have journeyed far and are in need of rest. Let us eat, drink and make merry, time enough to march in an hour or two, we’ll make Megiddo before the sun makes noon.”

“But my father counselled haste, best not tarry when we could be marching now.”

Aratama shook his head, “Too often does the hasty blow miss its mark. Better to strike hard when the moment is ripe, than soft when it is yet too soon.” He squeezed the Prince’s shoulder in a manner that would brook no further argument. “Now, let us talk of bonds that cannot easily be broken.” He grinned, “They say you have not yet taken a wife. I must show you my daughters. I have many and men say they are fair. Perhaps when Pharaoh is defeated we will make blood ties, you and I.”

Josef’s eyes widened.
“Marriage! I ... had not considered ... it would be an honour ... an honour of course. But I ... I did not know you would wish it so,” he managed a sheepish smile.

Aratama laughed well at that.
“You are young, friend Josef ... very young.”