The Paladin Chronicles Book bundle 1-4 by Neil Port - HTML preview

Down low would be out of the wind, wouldn't it?

"More dust lower down," Lasha said simply. "And it is not likely, but if it rains in the mountains, it can bring the quick-floods."

Coskun looked around at the dry dusty land. "Floods?"

Lasha gestured to a narrow ravine in what looked like a dry creek bed. "This is formed by rivers that flow once every few years. Look there, you can see how high they can flow. If it rains heavily on this side of the mountains the water can come suddenly like a solid wave and flood a camp site when people are asleep, or trapped by the storm. It kills the unwary.

"After the storm has gone the camp will be confused; it would be a good time for an attack."

Attack? Coskun was starting to dismiss the thought of the enemy, they seemed to watch only. Now he shuddered. Lasha saw his expression.

"Shantawi, yes, but they are not our only enemies; stay close and do not wander. Now we must hurry, when it comes it will come very quickly."

The Mongols continued on, a bit further while the Nabatean men spurred their horses towards a tall pile of rocks higher than a man on a horse. There was a narrow cleft that widened into a small enclosed area. Coskun ran to the end to watch the approaching storm while the men hurriedly set up their Bedouin tents, frantically hammering pegs, tying ropes around big rocks and placing piles of heavy rocks on top of sheets to secure them and protect their horses.

Coskun could see the storm before he heard it, a monstrous boiling, churning wall of dust coming from the west: yellowish-grey, racing to blot out the last of the sun. Then he heard its sound: a roar, distant at first then louder and finally as loud as a great daimôn. He stood transfixed, awestruck by its size and power. Then he felt a strong hand grip his arm.

"It is closer than you think." Yousef had to shout in Coskun's ear by this time. He gripped his arm almost painfully as he led him into one of the tents where Lasha, another man and three horses were crowded in. Then he ruffled his hair and gave him a push and was gone.

The sand and dust were already starting to hit the tent, making a sound like heavy rain. Coskun adjusted his keffiyeh till he was breathing fully through the cloth. There was only a tiny slit for him to look through, but still dust got in, stinging his eyes, caking his mouth, making it hard to breathe. Someone outside was tying a loose canvas sheet down, and then Nahum charged through the flap followed by a cloud of dust.

"Don't worry," he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the din. "It's not a bad one."

* * *

Coskun didn't know if it was day or night.

Nahum passed him some mare's milk in a goat's skin and meat, tough and dry. Chewing it gave him something to do. Conversation had to be shouted and was too exhausting, so after a while, having nothing else to do, he went to sleep. When he woke the wind had died down but the light was all grey.

Yousef stuck his nose in the flap. "No damage to us and our Mongol brothers, but I don't know about the Hun. The water situation is worse than I had thought and this has cost us most of a day. We will have to travel while this haze is still around. Keep your weapons close. No sign of the enemy, or perhaps I should say the other enemy."

No one laughed.

* * *

Those not on scouting duty travelled in a tight group with Coskun and the horses. Hands were never far from their weapons. The horses of the Nabateans and the Mongols were, with very few exceptions, in good condition.

Aysun was trotting along with the rest of the horses now without any trouble at all. Coskun was tempted to ride him but Lasha wouldn't let him. Now when he fussed over the horse's hoof, he had a grin on his face rather than a frown. Aysun had become familiar with the routine and would snuffle the old Nabatean fondly as he worked.

There were few clouds now and the sun beat savagely down. Many of the main army's horses were weakening. They had stopped killing and butchering the sick horses. There was more meat than they could carry. They let them follow without a saddle for as long as they could, but they ignored the sick ones for the healthy ones, so few were likely to recover.

Some of the Hun were no longer riding horses but leading them. The Nabateans watched it all happening, their faces bleak. The Huns had started accusing them of finding water that they did not share.

And then the attacks started.

"They are only few," Temur noted.

It had the desired effect, though. The attacks were at the weaker rear. Orders were sent forward to slow the advance. The army was less strung out but it was moving at the pace of its weakest members.

The next day the first of the men collapsed. At first they were loaded on the carts. But when the carts had no room they were given a tent and a small ration of water and the army moved on. If they recovered they could catch up in the cool of the evening.

None ever did.

Lasha told Coskun what would happen, as they watched them making a tent for one of the men overcome by the heat. "You simply collapse the tent with your weakened enemy inside."

Coskun looked at him in horror.

That was murder! The Shantawi must be animals to do such terrible things.

A cloud of carrion crows began circling the column, waiting for the weakening horses. The incessant 'caw, caw' began to eat at their will. High up, specks indicated the huge Egyptian vultures. At night they could hear the eerie call of hyenas.

"How many men do you think we are losing?" Yousef asked the leader of the scouts.

"Today, a handful – not enough to hurt us, we have ten thousand," Temur replied. "How long is it before the next water?"

"At our earlier pace, two days, now it will be three. If we slow further it will be four," Yousef said, staring out over the column.

"I hear that some men didn't even get enough clean water. They tried to complain but were just told to move on," Temur said.

Yousef looked at him in fear. "That can't be right!"

The Mongol said nothing but he looked very grim.

By the next day, it was clear that Armagan had made a serious mistake. Yousef and Temur were summoned to the command tent.

"We are losing too many horses and are starting to lose men," Armagan announced without preamble. After a babble of shocked voices, he turned to the scouts.

You should have waited, Yousef felt like saying. Instead, he took a breath.

"Bring your Greek merchant and his family to the front to guide us, but guard them well, not only against the enemy but also against your own men. We will need them, nothing must happen to them.

"You need cleaner water for your horses; strain it through cloth or a little washed sand. Work out how much water you need to get to the next water for each man and one horse, maybe two; set this aside for the healthiest men and horses.

"Send the weakest men and horses back to the last well with men to guard them. The tribesmen are not so many and they can defend themselves till they recover. Otherwise, as they straggle, you will leave them one at a time to be picked off."

There were a lot of angry responses but Armagan held up his hand.

"This man is right. We will lose these men anyway, this way maybe we will have them for later use. Will you help us share the water?"

"No, Bey." Temur bowed respectfully. "Your men stopped us from having water for our horses, so we were forced to find our own."

Armagan hesitated a moment and then nodded.

* * *

They sent over a thousand men and many of the affected horses back to the oasis. They couldn't send all of the affected horses back, there were just too many of them, but at least they could offer the remainder cleaner water to drink.

It slowed but didn't stop the losses but at least the column could move faster. They briefly considered travelling at night and resting during the day as the Bedouin would, but it was too dangerous this deep in enemy territory.

By the evening of the fourth day they hadn't found the next oasis and they had run out of water for the horses. If they didn't find the next oasis soon, not many of the weakened animals would last.

Yousef went with Temur to the command 'Ordu' that evening. They walked in to find the Greek merchant trembling in fear. His wife and daughters were dry-eyed but their eyes were dull with shock.

"I don't understand it!" he was saying. "We should be there."

"All these wadis look the same, Bey," Yousef said respectfully. "Please do not hurt Hypatos or his family. He has done well to lead us this far. Stay here tomorrow in what shade you can find and let me and my men search. If it is near here, we will find it."

* * *

It happened the next day while Yousef was scouting for the water.

Coskun had decided to investigate some greenery, in case it might be something for the horses. He had two of the Nabatean's spare horses and Aysun. He was about halfway there when he came up against four men blocking his path. He went to move around them but they spread out, surrounding him. He felt a thrill of fear as he realised he was some distance from the Mongol camp.

"Give us those horses!" their leader demanded.

"That's not fair! We haven't lost a horse and we only have a few spares. You didn't look after yours." Coskun shouted, anger overcoming his fear.

"I'll have none of your cheek, boy." The leader drew his sword. "We will have all three of those spare horses now." One of the others fitted an arrow to his bow and two others had their swords drawn.

"This one is lame and she's mine," Coskun pleaded.

"She looks fine to me and will do me as a ride." One of the men moved forward.

Coskun slid his three javelins out of his saddle holster by reflex. He heard someone galloping up behind him but didn't risk a look. His heart leapt in relief to hear Lasha's voice.

"So we have some horse thieves, do we, Coskun?"

In one fluid motion Lasha put his leg over his saddle and slid off the horse, calmly fitting an arrow to his bow as he did so. He clutched three more in his bow-hand, ready.

"Get behind me and the horses, son."

Coskun stood resolutely facing the men, hefting one of his javelins.

"Move on," Lasha demanded. "You know what we do with horse thieves."

"Better to take a chance on that than die in this place," their leader snarled.

A few things happened at once. Their bowman drew back; the leader shouted, "Take them!"

The bowman let fly; Lasha, instead of shooting, shoved Coskun hard to one side and then spun back to draw his own bow.

Coskun tripped and went sprawling in the dirt. He heard the sound of galloping hoofs; half a dozen of the Mongols were galloping up. They were still some distance back when they let fly. The Huns dropped like rag dolls, peppered with arrows.

The Mongols waited with bows drawn while one of their number dismounted and approached the Huns from the side, keeping out of his companion's line of fire.

"This one's dead!" he announced to the others. He cut the man's throat. There was no spray of blood. "This one still breathes. I'm tempted to let him die slowly." He jerked his knife across the man's throat.

Coskun heard a faint noise and rolled over to look for Lasha. The old Nabatean was panting and looking very pale. He had an arrow buried in his chest.

"Lie still," Coskun said as he moved to cradle the old man's head.

"Won't make any difference," Lasha smiled weakly. "Did I ever tell you that I have a grandson your age?"

He coughed, gasping for breath. "Travel well, my little Hun." The, with a sigh, he lay back as if weary.

Coskun sat a long time, holding the body of the old man, tears running down his cheeks. The Mongols left him be. He didn't see, but a score of them had surrounded him as guards, their bows held loosely but arrows notched, ready.

Eventually someone approached.

"Coskun, we need to bury him."

Yousef had come back.

"H-he gave his life for me," Coskun said through his tears.

"It was well done," Yousef said squatting down.

"I shouldn't have wandered away," Coskun cried. "I'm not worth a man's life."

"Lasha thought you were," Yousef said gently. "Remember him. Be something he could be proud of. These men have brought hate into the desert. They think to possess it."

"It sounds like you hate them."

"I have no love for this army," Yousef admitted. "They plan to strip Karsh bare for one of their great armies following. It will leave the people with nothing."

"That can't be true! If Karsh surrenders the people will be treated well."

"If Karsh surrenders the people will be allowed to till their fields and tend their flocks for a time. When the great Orde passes they won't be allowed one grain of wheat, a single date or a single animal. That is what you Hun bring to this place."

Coskun looked at him, horrified. "Am I your enemy, Yousef?"

Yousef laughed gently and ruffled his hair. "What does your heart say, little Hun? Let us bury Lasha. We will build a cairn so the hyenas cannot find him." His face turned grim. "Then we will pay a visit to these snakes who call themselves our friends."

* * *

"I have found the next water but what have you done while I was gone?" Yousef demanded in a rage. "You murder my men for our horses."

Temur stood next to him, equally angry.

"It was just an argument, you make too much of it," one of the Hun commanders complained. "You shouldn't hoard the horses."

Yousef exploded. "Those are not your horses! We brought them, we care for them and we are leaving with them. Anyone who touches any of ours is a dead man. If you wish, I will leave with my men now. But remember, it was I who have guided you and I who have found the water."

Armagan held up his hand to forestall an argument. "Yousef, I apologise for the behaviour of those men." He sounded tired and looked worn. "We would have killed them ourselves if we knew. What would you have of me?"

"I am sorry, Lord. I wish half my money when we sight Karsh. Then I and my men will leave you."

"Yousef!" Armagan growled warningly. "You insult me!"

"Not you, my Lord," Yousef replied evenly.

Temur spoke coldly. "I too have cared for my horses instead of squandering them. My friend and I will camp a little way separate. If any come near to touch our men, our water or our horses it will be the last thing they do."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and left.

Yousef hesitated a minute before following. "I will show you the way to the water in the morning; it is not far."

Then he bowed and followed Temur.

 

 

Chapter 3: The Face of my Enemy

From that moment on Temur and Yousef maintained an armed camp within an armed camp. Coskun was not allowed to go anywhere without an escort. It felt strange to be surrounded by Mongols and Bedouins and see his own people as the enemy.

The same problem arose over the new water.

It was a largish-sized pool fed by a spring but it was emptied before even half the men and animals had been watered. The noyans had to form a guard around it to prevent a crowd of men and desperate animals trampling it into mud.

This time the scouts had to find water not only for their horses but also for their men.

The next morning Armagan elected to press on, leaving any men not fit to travel at the oasis with the sick horses. That way he had enough water without waiting for the pool to refill. Even so, he had to send more men back on the second day.

He had lost a quarter of his force and barely met the enemy. A minghan (one thousand) of his force either had no horse or their last horse was too weak to ride. If they made the same pace and used water at the same rate they would run out two days before the next stop. Yousef and Temur hated to think what would happen then.

* * *

Coskun in his misery was walled off from the desperate situation of the men around him.

His heart was as desolate as the land they rode through. He had loved the old Nabatean. If he hadn't wandered off, Lasha would be still alive.

Worse, it was Coskun's own people that had murdered him. That and the ugly truth about what they were going to do to Karsh weighed heavily on him.

His brother, Apsikal, came to visit him but when he asked his brother if what he heard about Karsh was true, Apsikal would give no answer.

He remembered shouting at him.

He had been filled with excitement and dreams of glory when he was told he would accompany his brother to war. Now those dreams had turned to ashes.

Yousef went in search of him the second evening. He was carrying some food.

"I'm not hungry, Bey."

"If you wish to ride with me then you will eat this." Yousef passed it across. "Grief is one thing, but we are in a dangerous place surrounded by enemies; I cannot afford to have you mope. We depend on each other. The horses need you. I need you." He gave him a gentle smile.

"The people of Karsh, the people we fight against, they are just like you, you and Lasha aren't they?" Coskun asked.

Yousef sighed.

"If I kill my neighbour, if I rape his wife and daughters, if I steal his money and horses then I am a common criminal and a bandit. Every upright man will set their hand against me and chase me till I am found and hung. They will spit on my corpse and leave it to the carrion.

"That is as it should be, but if I am marching in a great army behind my king and I do exactly these same things when my king cries 'havoc' (gives an order to plunder), then I will be seen as a great warrior.

"If I murder my father, my brothers, my cousins and my uncles to grab an inheritance not due me, what would you think of me then? But if I am a prince and do the exact same thing, people see me as a strong king and will gladly follow me. If I am a prince and I do not raise my hand against my brother and he imprisons me and kills me then I am thought as a weakling and will be forgotten by history."

"Then you would not do any of those things?" Coskun was incredulous.

Yousef's eyes were cold. "I would not rape women or kill children or those truly defenceless. But if it is the season, as it is now, and my neighbour or friend points a sword at me or my people I will do all manner of bad things to him and much more."

"I don't understand what you are saying."

"Once a war has come, if you are to be a man, you must be a man and fight, no matter what side you find yourself on. You must look upon the face of your enemy and forget they are someone who could be your friend. I just do not call it 'great'." He smiled and cuffed Coskun gently behind the ear. "You are young. You still dream of greatness. Eat this and then try to get some sleep. We leave early in the morning."

* * *

It was on the third day out that the attacks begun in earnest.

It was still small groups, often barely a hundred at a time, hit and run. The enemy seemed to appear out of nowhere and they had an almost superhuman ability to know where the army was weakest.

Most attacks were at the rear which was now stretched out by weakening men and horses. Armagan ordered his finest horsemen to form up and be ready for pursuit. There were soon groups of three hundred Hun patrolling back and forward readying for the next attack.

It was not serious in terms of numbers lost, often less than a dozen at a time, but even Coskun realised what the enemy were doing. They were slowing them down.

Coskun saw one such attack. Sixty Shantawi suddenly appeared out of a small gully and fired their bows at what would have been close to maximum range. Then they simply turned and galloped off. It was his brother who led a group of Hun horsemen, three hundred in all, thundering after them.

He later heard what happened. At first it seemed that the Huns had the advantage and were gaining, but even the tough Hun ponies could not keep up a full gallop for long. The Shantawi had a head start and they were pacing their horses, slower for a longer chase.

After almost an hour Apsikal's men seemed to be gaining on them again. A few of his men cried out in triumph and spurred their horses faster, pulling away from the main party. The Shantawi turned for a narrow canyon, with their pursuers thundering close behind. Halfway down, the Shantawi sped up, leaving the pursuit behind and leapt a brush fence. It was turpentine bush soaked in pitch and was lit as soon as they passed. Only thirty Hun got through.

By the time Apsikal reached it, it was a wall of flame, scorching with its heat. His horse reared and wouldn't go near. All his men could do was to mill around in anger. Beyond the crackle and roar of the flames he could hear the shouting and screams as the thirty men were slaughtered ... and then silence and only the crackle of the fire.

Apsikal glanced anxiously at the cliffs overhead, maybe six or eight paces high. If this was a trap then ... Up there! He screamed to his men to get out of the canyon just as the arrows and rocks began to rain down on them.

There was no cover.

Panic reigned.

Horses reared in pain and terror; men shouted and screamed.

The main body of men gathered itself together and surged back down the canyon to its entrance, leaving their wounded and dying behind. Above and in front, they saw a wagon loaded high with burning bushes tumbling down from the heights. It burst apart in a shower of sparks. It was followed by three great pithoi (huge amphorae) filled with oil. Men high up were frantically flinging bales of brush and hay to the valley floor.

They were trying to cut them off from the exit

"They use our tactics against us; this is a Hun ambush, if I ever saw one," Iliger shouted.

"Follow me," Apsikal yelled and turned his horse galloping closer towards the cliff, making for the exit. For a moment the oil and hay smothered the fire on that side. It would not be for long. The flames near the middle were beginning to flare again already.

The enemy were too busy to fire on them or likely couldn't see for smoke. If it was not for Apsikal's quick thinking they would all be dead, but still he had only managed to save half his men. All he could do then was wait out of bowshot and watch in agony as the fire cut off the rest of his men from escape.

He would find a way to repay the Shantawi for this!

He sent two squads back to the main column for help. Armagan must have been in a fury at the news because it was not long before a thousand men trotted up under Irnikh, another of the noyans.

As they rode up Irnikh's men broke into two to circle around to cut off any escape by their enemy from the canyon. Irnikh joined Apsikal without even greeting him.

Some Huns signalled from the height, the enemy had left. A hundred and fifty men lay dead in the canyon. Yousef, the leader of the Nabateans, finally rode up to join the two leaders.

"I can track them if you wish, Lords. But we will have to travel fast."

"Don't worry; I'm sure they can lead us on a long chase till we are thoroughly lost," Apsikal spat. "It won't be long now; let's see if these desert vermin can escape with their whole city on their back."

* * *

The raids continued that night.

Just when the men dropped off to sleep there was another alarm. None of them were serious: a fire arrow out of the darkness or a noise or some movement. There was no moon and it was impossible to give chase. Dawn found the men gritty eyed and tired. As the day wore on the men were given no rest.

They were losing more horses which would improve their water shortage but their progress had become very slow. It was then someone brought the news to Coskun that his brother was dead.

Perhaps his thirst for vengeance had betrayed him. He had taken a group of two hundred men chasing a hundred Shantawi. A large group of Shantawi waited under cover, and there were spikes hidden in the sand. None of the men he led returned.

* * *

Troia

"Have you seen Mel?" Alba asked. Thaïs and Anastasia were with her.

"No." Jacinta looked up from the old book on herbs she was reading. "Why?"

"She received a letter and a parcel and now she is hiding from us."

"Who would send Meliboea a letter?" Jacinta asked, jumping up. She could only think of one person. They did spend a lot of time together. She broke into a smile. "We had better find her then!"

"No, I don't know where she is," Eirene said when they asked her. "But she has a right to her privacy from her nosy friends."

"Of course, she does," Thaïs agreed. "Let's look in the garden."

Either to protect Meliboea or out of her own curiosity, Eirene followed. They found Meliboea sitting on a stone bench with a small copy of 'conversations', a book on Shayvist philosophy, beside her.

"That's hardly romantic," Thaïs said, disappointed.

Meliboea laughed. She had Brother Shafer's letter in her hand.

"I am sorry to disappoint you, girls, but he mostly talks about his new position; he likes it there."

"Is that all?" Alba plonked down beside her sister and peered over her shoulder.

No professions of undying love?

"Almost," Meliboea said with a secret smile. "He heads a small group of monks interested in philosophy and he wants me to join him there."

The girls simply looked at her in shock. They were shocked that they might lose Meliboea, and they were disappointed the offer wasn't for something more romantic.

Jacinta sat on the pathway and looked up at Meliboea, her voice was dull. "I can't give you the sort of training that you need."

"I don't want to leave," Meliboea said, looking around at her friends and her sister. "I swore I would help you."

"Your oath is to our God, not to me," Jacinta reminded her.

"I don't think you can become all you are meant to be if you stay here." Eirene agreed. "If it is your fate, you might return to us later, all the better for it."

Jacinta saw Meliboea casting side glances at her sister. She wants to go.

"I'll miss you, we all will." Alba gave her an affectionate hug. "Is there any other reason why he might want you there, Mel? Be honest now."

"Honestly, I don't know; a definite maybe, though." Meliboea smiled in relief. "I will go, but I am making progress with my fighting and I'm learning a lot about healing from the Queen. I think it is better I train with you girls some more before I have to train with a bunch of men."

"A definite maybe!" Anastasia laughed. "I think you should grab something like that with both hands!"

* * *

The desert

The next morning screams of rage and anguish woke the camp. The Greek merchant and his family were gone. Their guards were found with their throats cut.

Temur and Yousef were immediately summoned to the command tent. They were greeted by frightened and angry men.

"It seems they were working for the Warlord all along," Yousef said heavily. "But they couldn't have escaped all by themselves."

"Where were your men during the night?"

"It was I that told you to guard him closely," Yousef reminded them.

If he was upset at being questioned like that, he didn't show it.

"My men and I slept close to Temur's sentries. Our camp was not attacked in the night, though none slept easily."

"How convenient," sneered one of the Hun commanders.

"What Yousef says is true," Temur said. "We have been led into a trap. I doubt there is any water between here and Karsh. The only question is whether we should turn back."

"No!" Armagan screamed in a rage.

"Cowardly Mongol dog!" someone cursed from the back.

Temur's hand flew to the hilt of his sword but Yousef grabbed his arm in a grip of steel. If they turned back now all the noyans would be killed.

"Is there any chance if we go on?" Armagan turned to Yousef.

Yousef nodded, looking grim. "I think there will be a source of water between here and Karsh. We are following what seems to be an important route. That he left now suggests that the last oasis is not where he said it was, but it has to be somewhere. If it is anywhere close, I can find it for you in a day or two. If it is not close and it takes longer, a lot of people will die."

"Did you foresee this?"

"That it might be a trap, of course I did, we all did."

Armagan didn't look at all happy, but then none of them were. "We will go on."

"What about your horses?" one of the noyans demanded.

"We look after our own horses," Temur said quietly.

"I think it is suspicious that you scouts are not short of water."

"Do you really want your scouts to walk?" Yousef asked. "We know the desert and its ways and how to manage horses."

"You find water and don't tell us."

"Sometimes we dig and get enough water for a three men and a couple of horses," Temur said. "You also can dig."

"But you don't tell us where!"

"In wadis and near cliffs," Temur said. "Twice now when water was short you would not give us our share, even though it was we who found it. Now you say when your water is short you want to take ours as well. The answer is no."

Several of Armagan's commanders stared at them with hatred written on their faces. If they didn't need scouts Yousef and Temur would have died there and then.

"We will head in the direction of the oasis on the map. If it is where we were promised, or nearby, you will have enough for your men to get there, but not all your horses," Yousef said quickly before violence started.

Armagan took a breath to gain control. "We will water a thousand horses and any that pull the wagons till the wagons they pull are empty. The rest will be taken back to the last oasis by any of the men who can't go on."

No one said anything. None of the horses would make a journey back. For the men it would be a death sentence. Of more than thirty thousand war horses they would reach Karsh with barely a thousand.

Mòdú Chányú would only forgive this if they took and held Karsh.

* * *

Fear, desperation and anger hung over the long column of men like a physical thing. The heat was relentless and the attacks continued. The Hun would give chase and it would lead to a trap. Sometimes there were spikes were hidden in the dirt, sometimes there was a bad drop, sometimes there was an ambush.

Their remaining cavalry was now outnumbered by the small Shantawi force that had been sent against them. Without bows their situation would have been impossible.

All night, repeated alarms kept them awake. When they woke the next morning a good part of their precious water was destroyed.

Armagan had lost half his men and had had little effect on the enemy.

* * *

While it was only morning, the heat was already like a furnace.

Temur was following Yousef back in search of Armagan. Many of the men he passed were flushed and listless. Their lips were dry and cracked from the sun and wind and their faces burnt and blistered. Some were confused beyond even bothering to stay out of the sun. One he saw staggered around in a circle in the sun before collapsing. No one went to help.

Only a few of the horses were able to be ridden. If they got too weak, they were simply left. No one had the strength to do anything else. Men would drop in a faint and no one had the energy to help them.

Fights had broken out over water and men had been killed. The strong and desperate were getting their water ration at the expense of the weak. The resistance to the Shantawi attacks was ineffective but the real danger was not the enemy, it was the desert. The column would soon be reduced to a third of those who set out.

Armagan was leading his horse to conserve it. He had a headache and it was hard to think. He saw Temur and Yousef ride up to him but it took him a minute to understand what he saw, his vision seemed to ripple in the heat. Yousef slipped off his horse, snatching at a goatskin of water.

"Bey, drink this!" he said. "You're shorting yourself on your ration. We need our commander."

Through dry lips Armagan's voice cracked. "Not enough water, too many men."

"Bey," Temur said. "One of my scouts has seen a large green patch in a wadi a long way to the east. Should we turn the army towards it or should we scout it first?"

"Perhaps the Greek didn't lie," Armagan whispered. "There is no choice, we will all go there."

* * *

The Oasis

"Do you notice something?" Temur asked his friend as they approached the oasis.

"Yes, the trees are too young. They have been planted only a few years ago."

"Or even transplanted," Temur said grimly. "Well, let's see if there is any water here."

There was none.

"They channelled water from a nearby spring," Yousef said, indicating the tiny clay pipe running in a groove carved in the rock. He climbed the cliff, following the fine terracotta pipe hardly half an inch in diameter.

"And now it is cut off and the cistern dry," Temur finished. "A false oasis."

It was the final trap.

"This was not built overnight. This has been years in the planning. How long have they known you were coming?" Yousef asked. He climbed further up and opened the pipe with his knife. "It's dry up here too, the blockage is somewhere else."

He carefully sealed the hole with straw and dirt moistened with spittle. Then he jumped down, landing like a great cat.

"If the true spring is not too far, I can find it. The main army will be here any moment," he said.

Neither of them expected they would find anything, but they would look.

"Tell them to wait here for us," Temur said to one of his leaders of ten. "The rest of us will go. We will split up in three groups. May Tengri, your sky father, guard us because this is the perfect time for the enemy to attack the forward scouts."

They spent almost half a day searching without any luck. As Yousef and Temur led their scouts back they could see men celebrating and filling up barrels and goat skins. Temur looked at Yousef in disbelief and then realisation struck. They spurred their horses, desperate to stop the men.

"There was another hidden cistern and we found it!" one of the men shouted in joy. "It was cleverly hidden but we managed. The mud sealing it was hardly dry, that's how we found it."

"Stop!" shouted Temur frantically. "Don't drink it!"

Men stopped and stared at him as if he had gone mad.

One shouted back angrily, "It tastes all right."

"Have you climbed in and checked it?" Yousef screamed at him.

He trotted his horse up to Armagan and reached out to knock the goat's skin from his hand.

"Did you drink any?" he asked, jumping down, his face reflecting his fear. "How many have drunk from it?"

Armagan looked at him, perplexed. "These Shantawi hid water but we found it. We were so thirsty no one would wait. Is something wrong?"

"You know this is a trap. This is no oasis. You find water that you are supposed to find and what do you do? You drink it! Didn't anyone check it?"

Armagan looked at the goat's skin and the spreading stain of water on the ground in horror.

The great cistern was dug into a blind cave in the rock. Yousef made a torch from some shrubs and oil and climbed in.

"There is a ledge." His voice echoed in the small chamber.

They could see the light moving around.

"Pass me a rope." His voice was a croak.

He grunted, moving around; it seemed to be taking a while. He seemed to be tying the rope around something. They heard him cough. At least it sounded like a cough.

Finally he appeared at the lip of the cistern, rope in one hand; his clothes were wet. His face was almost white. For a moment he couldn't talk, he climbed out weakly on all fours and thrust the rope in one of the waiting hands. Before he could speak, he crawled a short distance further to dry-retch, on the sand. He sat for a moment gulping air. They stood watching him in mounting fear.

"Just a horse, not the rider, thank the Gods. It has been dead a while."

"Most, you say, have drunk from this?" Temur asked Armagan again.

The men looked pale and frightened.

"My Lord," Yousef said urgently. "Get your men to clean out the cistern, sift it of any muck. Boil all the water thoroughly and then strain it first through a cloth laden with sand and then one with fine charcoal. After that, boil it again. That will give you drinkable water. My men and I will go for help. We can be at Karsh in less than two days travelling day and night."

"I will come," Temur said.

Yousef looked at him for a moment and then nodded. "We will have to go fast."

"Will we find help at Karsh?" Temur asked.

"Just pray that we do," Yousef said grimly.

* * *

Yousef and his men led the small band along the course of the wadi and then sharply to the right. Spurring their horses to a trot, they moved now with a desperation that ate distance.

As dusk and then night fell they slowed to a walk but kept on as a half-moon rose. They only stopped once the next day, when one of the Mongols saw a small spring. Yousef himself energetically dug it out and then they rested and watered the horses and ate some dried meat. They slept briefly in the heat of the midday and then they started again.

Coskun had never felt so tired before in his life. One of the Mongols was leading his horse. Yousef dropped back for a while to check on him. "If you are too tired, little Hun, you may ride with me."

"No, Bey, I can manage. You are the son of a Sheik! I don't want to be trouble to you."

To his surprise Yousef threw back his head and laughed.

"Son of a Sheik, I had almost forgotten that. Coskun, you have been no trouble to me. Soon we will come in sight of Karsh and then I will be leaving the rest of you. If you wish, you are welcome to come with me and my men, but I need to warn you. I am not always the friend of the Hun, though I am not always their enemy."

"I don't understand, Bey." Coskun looked at him puzzled. "Why don't you stay with us?"

"We are Badawiyyūn, not the Hun. If you join us, we will accept you as one of our own but there will be times when you have to set your hand against those who you now call kin."

"I cannot do that, Bey."

"Well spoken, little Hun." Yousef nodded slowly.

Then he gently patted him on the shoulder. "Stay close to Temur in the retreat."

Coskun wondered what he meant.

What retreat?

* * *

The Shantawi

It was late in the afternoon and they were almost in sight of Karsh.

As they rode around a bend in the trail a large group of Shantawi warriors, maybe two thousand, were spread out on a gentle rise blocking the road. Temur barked an order and his small party faced up against an army.

"I expected they would be here," Yousef said to Temur. "Get your men to put away their weapons. Come with me; there is something we need to talk about before you go any further.

"You can come too, Coskun."

"How could you know they would be here?" Temur asked.

"Did you think they wouldn't be?"

The leader of the Shantawi moved forward, bearing a truce flag and accompanied by an escort of fifty. Yousef and his eight remaining men with Temur and Coskun rode forward to meet them.

"Is this where we will die, in sight of our goal?" Temur asked.

"Hardly, Mongke Temur," the tall stranger said. "Respect the truce and you will not be harmed."

How does he know my name?

He was a big man...

"You must be Hakeem! You are a legend and now I see why it is so. You have destroyed an army using little more than the desert."

"I am Persos, the commander of Hakeem's personal guard," the big man said.

"What happened to the other army?" Temur asked.

"Your questions will be answered but first let me greet these men," Yousef said.

He raised his hand in salute, turning his horse slowly to acknowledge every one of them.

They answered with the "Zaghareet", the loud ululation from the back of throat. Their leader had returned to them.

"Oktar is already in the city of Karsh," Yousef said in reply to Temur's earlier question. "We gave him no rest but he lost less than one thousand. I will let you join him there if you wish."

"You!" Temur swung around to him in shock. "It cannot be!"

"Bastard! Traitor!" Coskun accused the big man. "Is there nothing you wouldn't do for gold? I hate you!"

"Easy, Coskun," Temur said. "This man does not sell out his friends. Do you, Hakeem?

"I have ridden with you, I shared bread with you and I have laughed with you." Then he threw his head back and laughed. "It is a great joke, yes, Hakeem leading the army that came to fight him."

Coskun looked at the big tribesman in shock.

"If you wish, you can join me, Temur," Hakeem said. "I would value a man like you. I will find you the prettiest women, the finest horses and the best wine."

"I have given my oath, but if peace ever comes between us I would like to share a skin of wine with you and have you introduce me to those pretty women." Temur reached out his hand and Hakeem clasped it firmly.

"It would be an honour, Temur. Go now to Karsh. I will not interfere with any attempt to aid the victims of the poisoned water."

"What happened to those that we sent back?" Temur asked.

Hakeem shook his head.

"You're a coward," Coskun screamed. "Can't you face us in a fair fight?"

"My only regret is the poisoned water. We are of the desert. We do not fight by poisoning water. We made it obvious, but you were led by a fool.

"Temur, take a message from me to Oktar, he will listen or he will not. If he does no damage to Karsh, I will allow him to withdraw unhindered. Otherwise few that he leads now will live."

"Withdraw?" Coskun laughed. "We have your city and we still have a great army. Why should we withdraw?"

Hakeem shrugged. "If Oktar doesn't listen, remember to stay close to Temur in the retreat. You are young, Coskun; don't be the first into battle."

"You would give me advice?" spat Coskun.

"Coskun."

"Yes traitor?" Coskun asked coldly.

"I would have treated you as a son, but know this: any that come here to kill my people or take what is theirs, I will kill. I will kill them without warning and without mercy. Choose to ride with them and even my love for you will not save you."

With that, Hakeem moved to join his men and the Shantawi disappeared into the gathering night.

 

 

Chapter 4: The Taking of Karsh

Days before, Oktar's force

The hit-and-run tactics of the Shantawi had started almost as soon as they passed the Jabal Abu Rujmayan ranges. The Shantawi seemed to appear as if out of the ground. They hit the scouts, they hit those in the rear and they hit the outriders.

They attacked anywhere there was a weakness. The main camp was never let sleep, till the warriors drooped in their saddles or shuffled like the dead and became easy targets.

The Huns themselves were expert skirmishers but here they faced an enemy that grew up in this land and knew every rock, every crevice and every shrub.

Still, they could not be facing a lot, not more than a thousand men.

"Where are the rest?" Oktar asked Akgun, his second in charge as they drew close to the desert city.

"I do not understand how these Shantawi wage war, my Lord," Akgun said as he looked out across the desert with eyes gritty from lack of sleep. "It is a pleasure to fight them, though a painful one. They are superb warriors and very clever. On a horse, they over match even us, but why are there so few? Perhaps they are concentrating on opposing our Lord Armagan."

Oktar shuddered. They had faced so few and yet had lost a thousand men. If the enemy took on Armagan with their main strength and a similar level of skill, few that Armagan led could survive.

"We will know soon enough," Oktar said. "We are not much more than a day's ride from the city. The Shantawi are horse archers. They will not retreat behind the walls. The big battle will be there. Tell the men to be prepared. Let's hope Lord Armagan can join us before that."

* * *

Incredibly, the attacks ceased.

Most had slept like the dead. Now they rode nervously as they approached the city.

It had to be a trap. But how could the Warlord expect to surprise them now?

When the weary men crested a small hill to look down on the wadi, it seemed deserted. There were no horsemen marshalling, no villagers fleeing in a last-minute panic. There weren't the usual animal sounds of an oasis: no sheep or cows or goats, not even a cockerel.

Halfway down the slope to the floor of the wadi there was an old walled village of mud-brick and rammed earth. Several of Oktar's Chin assembled five of his mobile siege engines and soon the loud kick of the catapults and the softer thump of rocks hitting mudbrick echoed over the floor of the wadi.

There was no reply. The village was being progressively converted into a ruin, dust rising up; no horsemen issued forth, no villagers made a run for it.

Oktar began to be filled with a sense of growing dread as they rode past the ruin. He felt an urgent need to find out what was waiting for him at Karsh.

As he descended the slope, his feeling of unease grew and he spurred his horse forward till he and his bodyguards were in the van.

Something was far wrong.

All around the oasis the dates and other fruit had been removed, even unripe fruit. All the crops had been ploughed back into the soil. It was all too thorough.

They had been preparing for this for a long while.

His men surprised a solitary stray dog which slinked away, mangy, weak and starved.

The silence was eerie and yet everywhere was a sense of watchfulness. He drew his sword and there was a clatter as the men around him readied their weapons but his sword would not help him against the horror that he feared to find.

He kept thinking of Alamut.

It was a fanatical sect, the Hashshahsin.

They were weak and had taken to assassination to protect themselves. They could kill anyone, infiltrate any security. If a would-be invader expected to be killed, he would leave them be.

Finally, one of the local satrapes (military governors) had had enough. He attacked them in revenge, taking all their territory and laying siege to their fortress at Alamut. When the gates were finally broken down and the governor rode in, all was silent. Men, women and even children were lying dead, bloated bodies scattered in the sun. They had taken poison rather than be captured.

As Oktar rounded a bend in the valley, he had his first close sight of Karsh.

No proud flags flew their defiance; no row of warriors lined the walls; no mounted tribesmen were forming up outside the gates. The gates were open, but there was no delegation of important townsfolk waiting. Heart racing, he spurred his horse to where his scouts guarded four travellers and their wagons outside the silent city.

"It is deserted my Lord," Yigit, his chief of scouts, called out as he cantered up.

Oktar felt a rush of relief and then he was stunned. Where could they hide that many people? Not in the desert, surely.

He sent a thousand men in. The rest waited, ready in case it was a trap. He need not have bothered. Anything edible or small and valuable had been removed. Everything else remained: homes and furniture, bath houses, barracks, the fortified palace. They had even left some of their siege weapons.

Yet this was no hasty departure. There were no chairs overturned, no piles of clothing strewn on the floors, and no food left on the table in sudden desperate panic.

Where were they all?

Well, he and his men held the city and they would be reinforced. He set men to man the battlements, others to organise the quarters for the men and animals and sent a zuut (hundred) fast riders to their agent in Raqqa

Still, he couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched. When he went with his staff to occupy the citadel, with their horse's hoofs echoing on the cobble stones, he found his commanders were talking in whispers. It was like a vast tomb. It felt like at any moment the doors would be flung open and the townsfolk would rush out and resume their busy day-to-day affairs, as if it had all been a dream.

* * *

The merchants outside the city had been carrying bags of barley flour piled high on their carts. When they were finally ushered in to see Oktar in his new quarters their owner was pathetically anxious to convince him of the quality of what he had.

It was, he said, wonderful for eating or for making barley bread. It also made a rare and superior type of beer, not at all cloudy, my Lord. Why the king of—

"I will buy your barley." Oktar cut him off. "I will buy as much as you and your friends can bring here as long as the price is reasonable. We need feed for horses and our men and will pay you well. Do you know where the Warlord is hiding his people?"

The merchant was grinning from ear to ear. Oktar hadn't even discussed price! He would have told Oktar anything he wanted to know, he would have plucked the stars from the sky and given them to him if he could. But he was one of those dull men who were ponderously slow to reach the point of a story.

"The citizens of Karsh were always a sober people, My Lord, too serious for me by half. For the last few years all they seemed to do was work. What drove them, I cannot say. Not even my two cousins, who are also traders, knew.

"Then the population started to shrink, still no one would talk about it but strangely the market for grain was even better than normal. I don't say much, Lord, but I am no fool."

Oktar managed to smile politely at that. He nodded for the man to continue.

"The last few times when I came we were met by groups of warriors. They bought my barley but wouldn't even let me near the city. They gave no explanation. Other traders were having the same experience. Still they took all my grain and paid a good price.

"It was when I heard they were building that great fortress in the desert, I realised where everyone was going ..."

Oktar felt like leaping to his feet and embracing and kissing the man. He felt like shouting out to all his waiting men.

Instead, he schooled his expression to one of polite interest.

"No one knew where it was, except it was on top of a rocky plateau. I tried to ask but the soldiers gave me quite a scare. They were so rude that I almost considered not returning, but it has been such a profitable route. I think you understand.

"This time when I came, the city was deserted."

* * *

The next two days Oktar had been busy establishing order in the newest Hun city.

The initial impression that all valuables had been removed was, of course, false. Statues, temple decorations, fine carpets: the list was endless. He had had to exert iron control to prevent most of this men disappearing on individual treasure hunts.

Most of the things were too bulky or heavy to be plunder for a travelling army, but for anyone occupying the city they would be worth a fortune when trade was re-established.

The Warlord had obviously left orders for his people to leave no small, portable valuables or coin for the invaders. But he had not taken into account human nature. Wealthy householders seemed to believe no one else could possibly think to look for their stash of gold and sometimes even jewels cleverly hidden in house walls, underneath a loose piece of pavement, under a piece of carpet, in the garden or down the well.

They couldn't know, or maybe didn't think, that Oktar would have someone like Ragnar.

Ragnar had been a thief before he decided to join the conquest, perhaps to avoid arrest. He and his motley collection of helpers delighted in proving these optimists wrong. In fact, the more ingenious the hiding place, the more Ragnar liked it.

Sadly for Ragnar the missing citizens of Karsh were no more clever or inventive than the thousands of other householders he had looted over many years.

It was hardly a challenge for him.

* * *

It was the morning of the third day and Oktar was breakfasting on his new balcony, looking out over the city and thinking. His servants had served him gazelle, fresh roasted this morning with fresh barley bread, water and mare's milk.

He had this beautiful city and oasis without even having to fight for it. Trade would soon be re-established. Oktar didn't know how the Warlord knew they were coming, but he seemed to have been preparing for this invasion for years.

And what did he do? It was unbelievable. He had conceded the city without a fight and had withdrawn to some sort of fortress in the desert.

It was completely stupid, his food source was right here. He would have his whole population to feed. All Oktar had to do now was to hold the city and await the reinforcements Armagan would bring.

When the citizens of Karsh ran out of food, they would have to come to him. He wouldn't even have to besiege their fortress if they were hungry enough.

If he wanted to force battle on the Shantawi it would be simplicity itself. All he had to do was to threaten the fortress; they would be forced to defend it. The Shantawi may be good at skirmishing, but they didn't have a clue about any real strategy.

Oktar spent a moment examining the design of the intricately patterned silver plate he was dining off. Then he lifted one of the golden goblets up and watched the sun shine off it and paused to admire the new gold ring on his finger with the garnet set in it.

He could get used to this place.

It was a shame that Mòdú Chányú planned to strip it bare, but it would eventually recover and of course plans could change. He felt in no hurry at all for Armagan to arrive. The man would claim this for himself.

Oktar frowned at the thought. He wondered if there was a way that could be changed.

As he was pondering on this, he saw a rider galloping his horse through the streets leading to the palace. The man threw himself from his horse and ran for the steps.

Oktar felt a chill of fear.

He only just had time to banish all signs of it from his face before his guards ushered the man in. It was Yigit, his head scout, and he looked pale and shaken.

"Great Noyan, Yagmur sent me to search for both you and Lord Akgun. We have found some dead men outside the city walls. There is something about them that we believe you must see."

* * *

They had been left in an untidy tangled heap and all were naked.

When Oktar arrived with Yigit, his men were laying the bodies out. Akgun, his second in charge, came. He was trying not to look as if he was hurrying.

Yigit turned the first body over. It was a Hun; the man had been shot in the back. The arrow had been cut out … and the same for the second … and the third.

"Are these Armagan's men or are they some of the ones we lost on the journey?" Oktar asked.

"No, Great Noyan." Yigit pointed to a dead Skythoi. "I recognise this man from his tattoos. He was amongst the hundred we sent to Raqqa, I think you will find them all here. They were shot while trying to flee."

"Why not in an ambush?" Akgun asked.

"They were sent with fast horses but somewhere on the road they were pursued. Couriers do not stop and fight. They rely on the speed of their horses to shake off their pursuers. I think after a long pursuit, a force of new men on fresh horses took over the chase while their own horses were already exhausted."

"That's murder!" Oktar said in disgust.

Yigit nodded gravely. "We sent a hundred men with a message. I think our enemy has returned them with their own message. There is no escape, all roads are guarded."

"I will hold a meeting and I will hold it now!" Oktar shouted. "Do you hear me? Send word to all the noyans, the head cooks and chief quarter-masters. If we are cut off, I want a full report of what supplies we have and what we need."

* * *

"We have four weeks of food for the men on full rations," Yagmur, Oktar's third in command, was saying. "The fields and the crops will grow back, but it will take time. We haven't seen any herds nearby at all. There is probably a few individual animals scattered about, some wild game like gazelles and there would be fish in the lake above us, but it is not enough for our numbers. We can't very well send out small hunting parties with the Shantawi watching us."

"As far as food is concerned, I regret to tell you that the citizens of Karsh had been thorough, " Yigit added. " Great Noyan, the wadi was stripped clean and there was nothing in the houses and store rooms."

Oktar gave him a sour look, but there was worse news.

"We only have enough hand feed for the horses for ten days." Akgun grimaced. "The pasture and crops in Wadi Karsh have been ploughed in. The other land is so poor you would have to spread the horses out and even then the grazing would be sparse. It wouldn't be enough, and we couldn't stop the enemy from raiding our herd at will. I don't know what will happen when my lord Armagan arrives."

"How long will it take for the grass to grow back?"

"The grass seed will be in the soil. All we have to do is continue irrigating and we will have some grass in a few weeks and more than enough in much less than a couple of moons. We have almost three times the number of horses than we have of warriors. I suggest we kill and eat the old horses."

Kill horses because we can't feed them? The horses were owned by the warriors.

It would cause a revolt, if not panic amongst their men.

"We should wait for Armagan," Akgun suggested.

His arrival would give them more men but it might make their supply problems worse.

"Armagan is late," Oktar reminded them.

They all looked at each other with fear.

Maybe taking Karsh was the easy part.

* * *

Temur.

Temur led ten of his best men and Yigit with two hundred others riding fast, back to the false oasis. The rest of Temur's men would follow with the main party, a full Minghan led by Yagmur which was travelling more slowly with all the spare wagons they had.

Temur and his men had had very little sleep and were beyond all weariness but a day, even hours, might mean the difference between life and death for the stricken men in the heat.

"This man, can he be trusted to keep his word and not attack?" Yigit asked, trying to look in all directions at once as they trotted their horses in the shadow of a narrow dry wadi.

"I would stake my life on it." Then Temur smiled at the unintended irony.

"He was amongst you, how could you not have suspected him?"

"None of us did. He led well. He always gave the best of advice. He didn't lead us into disaster, Armagan did."

"Why would he act like that?"

"Who can say?" Temur shrugged. "I think he had many reasons, but I also think he knew when he wouldn't be listened to. It makes him very clever and very dangerous."

"He has insulted us," Yigit said, his face clouded with anger. "He will pay. The Shantawi and the citizens of Karsh will pay for what this man has done to us."

Temur didn't say anything.

* * *

The scene that greeted them looked like a battle field. Dead bodies lay strewn all over the oasis. Most had sought shade but were too weak to move when the sun shifted. In the terrible heat it had only taken something as simple as vomiting and diarrhoea to murder thousands of weakened and dehydrated men.

Of the ten thousand that set out with Armagan, they found less than a thousand able to stand and then only barely so; a few more might be able to be saved and there was half that number of horses.

Armagan was amongst the dead. It was just as well.

It would have been worse if their enemy hadn't told them how to make the water cleaner, but somehow this made them feel even angrier. The mood amongst the men had turned to fury ... and just a little fear.

Once they had rested, Yagmur sent most of the scouts back with the news to Oktar. He himself returned to the city with half of his men ten days later, travelling slowly, leading those weakened survivors well enough to travel. They didn't see any of the enemy.

As he escorted the pathetic few back he saw Oktar standing motionless on the wall, watching his return. He and the other noyans were summoned almost immediately.

"We must find these people of Karsh and have our revenge against them!" Oktar was pacing. "If we can find the people we also find their supplies and we can force the Shantawi to stand and fight."

It was the next day that Yigit brought him the news they had all waited for.

"There is no doubt, Lord. There is a path heading into the desert. It looks like many horses have gone that way, dragging palm leaves."

Covering their tracks!

"You rode with the man, what do you think?" Oktar asked Temur.

"He would hide it better."

"Then some of his men have made a mistake." Oktar smiled.

“Perhaps,” was all that Temur replied.

They left a thousand of their men, all their injured and the remnants of Armagan's men to defend Karsh. This left eight thousand mounted warriors.

Oktar rode in the front. They had no trouble following the trail. Without carts they made good time. It barely left time for scouting, but Oktar had decided to hit the enemy hard and fast.

It was not the usual way, but it the best plan he could think of.

They faced no resistance, they saw no one. The longer it went on, the more his men became uneasy and Oktar had a growing sense of unreality. It was in the afternoon when the main party finally sighted it.

Oktar watched his eyes bleak, as Yigit rode back alone to meet him.

It was a hill, massive and steep, rising out of the desert made of hard yellow rock and soil but clumps of rank grass and salt bush shaded it grey. In the foreground were a few oleander bushes.

High up were the foundations of what should have been an imposing fortress.

"Is this the place?" Oktar demanded when Yigit reached him.

"It is where we have been led," Yigit replied. "They started work on it and then they abandoned it."

Without a word Oktar spurred his horse, brushing past Yigit's and causing the animal to spook.

While Yigit was settling his animal which danced and pranced, Oktar rode hard across the plain to the fortress followed a few lengths behind by his bodyguard. Eventually Yigit turned, reluctantly, to follow at a slower place.

Some of the advanced guard had cautiously climbed the road to the top, weapons ready. Most had simply dismounted at the base and waited, searching for any shade, even shade cast by their own horses.

Oktar sat his horse, waiting at the base for Yigit. The other men were staying well away from him in case they became the target of his growing anger.

"This is a great spot for a fortress," he observed dryly.

Yigit shrugged. "It's where the tracks led."

"Then where is everybody, Yigit?" Oktar asked. "Didn't they have time to finish?"

"No, my Lord, this was abandoned a long time ago. Let me see what I can find." Yigit kicked his horse into a trot, away from Oktar, in an excuse to keep away from him.

Oktar turned his horse to climb the hill. It had the same haunted, eerie feel that he experienced arriving at Karsh. It was as if an abrupt catastrophe had overcome its builders.

The Shantawi had chosen an excellent place for a fortress. A compact mesa rising high up from the plain. It was easy to defend and well placed. Deep wells had been dug at the summit down to water below.

There were earth works established at the crown of the hill and the footings were neatly sunk for the inner wall.

Inside of where the wall would be pathways were well set out and some were even cobbled. There was a small agora, even what looked like a temple, several mud-brick buildings, four large store rooms and one that could be a large barracks, but it was all was empty, hollow.

It was clever, neat and well planned. And it was also complete madness.

No one built a fortress like this.

Perhaps they might build some accommodation and storage at the base camp, usually tents were enough. The first priority was always to erect a solid inner wall. When the initial wall was completed and secured by a gate, they could defend what they had and move their men inside to protect them. Only then did you do any building inside.

They would improve the fortifications as they went, building up the wall and then adding the outer wall and, finally, filling the space between the two with gravel and clay and mortar.

You didn't lay cobble stones or build temples and a market place before the first defensive wall was complete

And why wasn't it finished?

It was spacious enough for a large garrison and more, but there was no way you could fit the population of Karsh inside. Maybe that was it; it was decided it was too small. But surely they knew that before they even started.

The build-up of sand and dust suggested it was abandoned a long time ago.

They must have abandoned it not long after starting; but why?

Why go to all this trouble just to change their minds? And if they weren't going to finish it, why leave good rope, tools and winches all in position? There were even large stone blocks, and good timbers that were expensive to bring all the long way into the desert neatly stacked and shaded from the sun. Two of the town's catapults had only recently been brought here and they had simply been left at the base camp in pieces.

There was still token raiding and probing for weakness but the warriors that had dogged every step of his advance to Karsh had all but evaporated.

He struck his saddle horn angrily with the palm of his hand. "Where are you?" he asked softly, looking out over the land. "You need water and supplies; where are you?"

He had Karsh and he had the fortress. He would make Hakeem regret giving them up so easily.

"Yigit!" he called out to the man. "You will find these people, for me. Do you hear me? I don't care what you have to do. You will find them!"

* * *

Under pressure

Yigit was worried.

He had met with Temur and Yagmur to see if they came up with any ideas.

"Oktar is losing patience with me," he said, pacing back and forwards.

Temur was staring at the map. "If you are going to hide the population of a city, where would do it?"

"There is something obvious we are missing," Yagmur said, looking over Temur's shoulder. "That many people, anywhere with enough water would at least have a town or city there already. It would be settled and known. You simply can't miss something the size of what he would need. There is nothing like that anywhere. Could he have taken them to Mesopotamia?"

"The whole population?" Temur shook his head. "Walk them out of the desert into someone else's land and no one notices?

"Could he split them up across smaller oases? No! There are too many people. We know what happens if you try to put too many people on the one small source of water; Hakeem showed us that."

"We are missing something," Yagmur repeated softly to himself.

"There!" Temur said putting his finger on the map. "It was an ancient city or large town but it was built on low lying land. Too much irrigation brought salt to the surface of the water and more irrigation allowed the salt to dry in the soil and ruin it."

He sighed. "One of Yousef's, I mean Hakeem's, men told me about it and what you could do. Date palm tolerates some salt in the soil. You take good soil from barren land which has not been irrigated. It doesn't have salt. And you layer it on top of the soil of the oasis so you can plant vegetables and sew other crops.

"For drinking, the fresh water floats on top of the salt. You just have to regulate how much water you take and pipe in extra water from a spring somewhere else. It would be a fiendish amount of work but they could rebuild it."

"And they would be silly enough to tell us that?" Yigit was incredulous.

"With anyone else it is possible. With them ..." Temur shrugged. "But where else can we look?"

* * *

Yigit took his own zuut (hundred) and four others: five hundred men. It seemed foolish to risk a full zuut of their best scouts but Oktar was in no mood to be reasoned with.

Karsh would be watched, so they left in the direction of the fortress and halfway there they broke off and circled back around.

Edeco, his second in command, glanced meaningfully at the cloud of dust they were throwing up as they moved through a wide valley. Yigit gestured helplessly and checked the scouts riding flank again. Their scout's orders were to stay in sight at all times.

"This land seems empty," Edeco remarked, scanning the land.

"Should we hope it is, or should we hope it is not?" Yigit asked bitterly. "We lose either way."

"That is something we have little choice about," Edeco replied. "Wagon tracks!" he pointed.

The column halted while Yigit himself climbed off to inspect them. Several tracks headed in the direction they were going. There was even some old dried dung.

"How careless of them," Edeco observed dryly.

"Let's go on then," Yigit said as he straightened up and glanced automatically to his left flanking scout.

He saw nothing.

He quickly looked to the right; there was a riderless horse.

As Edeco sent some men to investigate he quietly murmured to Yigit, "I think we have found your Shantawi."

They tried sending more scouts in pairs. They lost those as well, and had not seen the enemy.

By the time they called a stop the light was fading, the sun gone except for a pink tinge in the west. A few stars showed themselves, the scattered clouds had become inky and the hills dark shapes.

"It is a warning," Edeco suggested, joining him by his fire. "We should go back and return with more men."

"Do you wish to explain that to Oktar?" Yigit said bitterly. "We have some tracks. We have lost some scouts. Maybe there are only a few dozen of them."

"If this is the right place then there will be more than a few dozen. What if we get ourselves killed?"

"Then Oktar will know we found the right place."

The first attack came soon after, while the men were cooking their evening meal.

Arrows out of the darkness! The 'pht' and 'thud' and screams and cries as they found targets.

All was confusion. Yigit screamed for them to put out their fires. It was over in moments and the attackers gone. The casualties were light but no one had much sleep for the rest of the night.

"I forgot what it was like, missing sleep," Edeco said, having a breakfast of bread softened by soup he had made from ground up borts (dried meat) with hot water added.

"We will have a rest in the middle of the day," Yigit told him.

"So, you are going on."

Before Yigit had a chance to reply men started shouting and running for weapons and their horses, kicking over their breakfast in their haste.

There was a growing thunder of galloping horses. Yigit looked up to see several thousands of the enemy galloping down on his five hundred men.

"It seems we have found where they have taken the missing town's people," Edeco yelled as he ran for his horse.

"Take half the men," Yigit yelled. "Perhaps one of us might live through this."

They left everything and grabbed for their horses, fear lending them speed.

The Shantawi tried to herd them into a narrow rocky valley but Edeco gave a shrill whistle and his men broke to the right. He glanced to see Yigit and his men narrowly escape the same trap. Not much further on a large group of Shantawi broke cover just in front and to the left of Yigit and angled to intercept them.

There was no way Edeco could help. The last he saw was a large crowd of Shantawi horsemen milling around where Yigit and his men had been.

They rode flat out and the Shantawi began to fall further and further back. By the time they reached Karsh his men and their horses were close to collapse.

 

 

Chapter 5: A Visit, Hakeem's Hidden Secrets

Jacinta hugged her father, her tears wetting his vest.

She was panting from having run from the stables. She had found him in his quarters with her mother and the King Leandros. He was still in travel-stained clothes; a maid was bringing bread, fruit, olives, cheese and a pot of tea.

"Father, what are you doing here? Have you won? Have you saved Karsh?" She paused breathlessly. "I have been so worried about you."

She hides it, Hakeem realised. Jacinta always looked and acted older. She was tall and strong and smart. It was just too easy to forget how young she really was.

He waited for the maid to leave before replying.

"Meli, we lost. The Hun took Karsh." He gave her a satisfied smile. "So there was little enough for me to do. I thought I might as well —"

"What? You lost?" Jacinta blurted out. "Father, can you slow down? Was there much fighting for Karsh?"

"Not much," Hakeem replied. "We left the gates open for them, I didn't want to cause them any inconvenience; well, not while they were taking the city, at least. That started afterwards."

"You just let them walk in?" Leandros said, incredulous. "What did they do to the population?"

"Well, not a lot really; you see, they can't find them," Hakeem explained. "If we left people in Karsh we would have had to leave some food behind, wouldn't we?"

Helios roared with laughter. "So they are in the middle of the desert with water but no food?"

"There is no food for their horses, and they cannot seem to get messages or supplies in or out," Hakeem explained. "That must be something to do with my tribesmen patrolling all the roads. But you're wrong about food for their men, Lord. There is plenty. Until they get tired of horse meat, that is."

"They're eating their war horses!" Helios crowed with delight. "Soon they'll be a cavalry without horses, stuck in the middle of the desert."

They all laughed and Elena kissed Hakeem fiercely.

"How many men did you lose?" Elena asked quietly.

"One hundred and twenty-seven men dead," Hakeem said, for a moment sobered. "They have nine thousand fighting men from the first army and one thousand and more left from the one I led. I had a very brave family helping me; Hypatos and his wife, Ruth, and their daughters."

"What, you led them?"

"Of course I did. I didn't want them getting lost, after all! Sadly, not many of those I led reached Karsh, but the desert did most of that."

"That was a very dangerous thing to do." Elena pushed Hakeem away to give him a stern look of reproach.

"I didn't give them my real name," Hakeem replied, offended. "I'm not stupid, you know."

"Where are the people of Karsh?" Leandros asked, still chuckling. "Surely you can't support that many people in the desert. Won't the enemy eventually find them?"

"They have disappeared," Hakeem said, looking very smug.

"From the face of the earth," Jacinta said automatically.

Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh Father, I'm sorry."

Hakeem coloured. "It's lucky my clever daughter is not one of my enemies, even if she has not learned to mind her speech."

Jacinta looked stricken but Hakeem laughed it off. "Don't worry, Meli, the secret is safe here. I doubt it can be much of a secret when this is over. How did you guess?"

"You told me about the hidden water and limestone caves under the desert and I heard you talking to the dwarf prince about Karsh."

"I am glad you are on our side, Jacinta." He chuckled. "They are under the ground and the enemy won't find where the people of Karsh are. Whatever the dwarves wish to be hidden remains hidden, and building underground is a thing they know well enough."

"Weren't you building a fortress?" Elena asked.

"I built the foundations. I hope the Hun have time to finish it before they leave."

Jacinta guessed there was something about the fortress. Her father glanced at her sharply. She tried to look innocent, clamping her jaw and firmly pressed her lips firmly together.

I wasn't going to say anything about the fortress, Father, honestly I wasn't!

A smile tugged at the corners of Hakeem's mouth.

"I just hope they don't do too much damage to your city," Leandros said.

"That would be unwise," Elena said, seeing the look her husband gave.

* * *

Leandros's spymaster

"Perhaps you should speak to your Lydian allies then," the spy muttered.

This night he was dressed in the desert clothes of one of Hakeem's men, complete with accented Greek. His keffiyeh concealed his face.

"Didn't we decide that King Alyattes's widow, Eidyia, would likely leave things be?" Hakeem asked. "After all, her son is near old enough to take over."

"Eidyia leaves much of the running of the kingdom to her brother Zethos who has effectively become the regent," the spy master told him. "You know the former king Alyattes appointed Memnon of Rhodes as stratēgos but now Zethos is building the army. He makes no secret of his intention to move against Parmenion."

"But, Aléxandros has hēgemonía of the League of Korinthos," Hakeem protested. "Doesn't Zethos realise what he will face if he attacks Parmenion?"

"You have to meet Zethos to understand."

"We should have gotten rid of Parmenion when we could." Leandros gave Hakeem a side glance.

"Perhaps you're right, Lord." Hakeem sighed. "It's just that I never thought Aléxandros would establish control so quickly. I had thought the Hun would be here before we would have to worry about a war with Aléxandros."

"I think the decision as whether to attack Parmenion or not will be taken from your hands," the spy said quietly.

"I will write to Eidyia asking her to reconsider," Leandros said heavily. "Perhaps all we have done by not attacking Parmenion is to give Aléxandros time to get organised."

* * *

Oktar

Oktar could hardly speak he was so angry.

Temur looked over the scattered ruins, his face bleak.

"I am sorry, my Lord. I had doubted it was here. Hakeem is too canny a foe to allow one of his men to make such a careless mistake, but after the attack on Yigit I thought this truly must be the place."

Oktar had taken much of his force in search of the old town. Again, in an experience that was becoming all too familiar, he was completely unopposed. It was not hard to find, there was an ancient road leading to it ... and it was just ruins, dry and dusty.

"The bastard is out there laughing at us." Oktar shouted. "It is time to end this!"

"What do you mean, Lord?"

Oktar gave a nasty smile. "I have finally worked out how to find the Shantawi. We will return now to Karsh and we will get ready. We will prepare the fortress in the desert, give it a wall and a gate and stock it with food and equipment. And then we will take our revenge. Their Warlord has made a mistake in giving me the city and his fortress. Soon it will be our turn to laugh at him."

 

 

Chapter 6: Sardeis, and a Young King

 

Jacinta walked in to find Elena, Hakeem and the maids packing some clothes.

"You have to go again?" Jacinta asked. "So soon?"

She wished she could hide her disappointment.

 

 

"I am sorry, daughter. King Alyattes died and it left his son Pelops as the king of Lydia. Pelops has almost reached eighteen but his mother's older brother is acting as regent." Hakeem grimaced. "Zethos sees himself as a great leader. He has built up the Lydoi army and employed mercenaries and now he is talking of attacking Parmenion."

"But —" Jacinta started.

"Exactly," Hakeem finished for her. "We have done well to keep Sardeis and the Bithynian Prince from attacking Parmenion till now. The peace with Parmenion and Aléxandros couldn't last forever, but this is the worst possible time. My Shantawi are tied up in the desert. I have a huge Hun army wandering around somewhere north of the Black Sea probably near the Danapr (Dnieper River). I expect they will move south at some time and I expect to have war in the Transkaukasos come next spring. I don't need them stirring Aléxandros up as well or I will have war on four fronts!"

"Five," Elena said mildly.

"I don't count Sicily." Hakeem waved irritably. "Syrakousai (Syracuse) decided to march on the Phoiníkē city, Zis. They can't come screaming to me if they find themselves waist deep in Nubian cavalry and Libyans soldiers."

He paused. ""How many wars am I expected to fight? I'm going to Sardeis with Karpos to try to talk them out of this insanity but I don't know how successful I will be."

"Can I come with Alba and Meliboea?"

Hakeem looked at his daughter in surprise.

Then he remembered Alba and Meliboea came from Sardeis.

"Of course." He smiled warmly. "It will make it a pleasant journey there and back, at least, even if the rest isn’t pleasant. When I get back, I won't be able to stay. I don't expect much to happen around Karsh yet but I can't be away from there too long. We'll need some fine clothes for you and the girls but warn them we will get an uncertain reception."

* * *

Karsh

After the wasted excursion to the empty ruin, life in the Hun city of Karsh settled into a routine of sorts.

They were all busy, getting ready. They could only manage one horse for every third warrior. The rest were being slaughtered. Men everywhere were smoking, drying and preserving the enormous supply of horsemeat. Oktar spat when he thought about it, a cavalry without horses. Somewhere out there, the Shantawi were laughing.

Not for much longer.

* * *

Journey to Sardeis

Hakeem and his party followed the coastal road south.

At Myrina, a pleasant and well-fortified harbour-town, they left the coast road, bypassing the Aeolian capital Kyme and headed south east to Larissa on the Hermos River, finally turning almost due east to Sardeis.

Hakeem, Karpos, Jacinta, Meliboea and Alba rode closely together. Hakeem was able to take some time to train the girls and Karpos taught them the history and politics of Sardeis.

"Sardeis, or 'Sfard' as you Lydoi call it, is old. If you don't know that, you will when we get there. It has been an important city for thousands of years."

He stopped speaking briefly as they crested a hill and all automatically scanned the road ahead for danger (despite this area being peaceful and their having scouts out in front).

"The first autumn rain hasn't come yet." Jacinta explained to her girls as they looked across the fields lying fallow. "The grape harvest is over though they are still picking olives. They haven't started ploughing and planting."

"Why not plant in spring?" Alba asked.

"You are supposed to be the Lydian, not me," Jacinta laughed. "Summer is too dry here.

"After the first of the autumn rains, they sow the grain. It grows a little over winter and then really takes off in early spring while there is still moisture in the soil before the summer drought. You harvest in spring, not plant."

The two Lydian girls looked at her in surprise.

"You forget I was a Gypsy; our family did farm work whenever we could get it."

Karpos resumed their history lesson.

"They say that there were humans here long before the Western Elves first came.

"Several hundred years ago the Lydoi became rich and strong again for a while, but between the Persikόs, the Greeks and the horse barbarians they have been in slow decline for almost a century."

It was close to the evening and they were less than a day's ride from Sardeis when Karpos took them on a detour slightly off the main road to show them one of the great sights of the Lydoi lands.

The sun was low and it was getting cold in the shadow of the trees. A fog was moving in from a nearby marsh as Karpos took them to a place that looked like stones scattered over the forest floor. Jacinta and the two girls jumped off to take a closer look.

"This doesn't look like much," Alba said.

"It's a ruin," Jacinta said. "See how the stones are arranged?" She pointed. "That was a wall but it is mostly buried with dirt and scrub." Jacinta pointed again. "Here are more. The stones are irregular but, despite that, this was a big place, a city, but very old hence the rougher stone work."

She brushed some soil away. "This is a big stone and it has hieroglyphics on it, I think. I can't see them properly in this light." She looked up at Karpos. "What is this place?"

"The Lydoi believe it was the fabled city of Hyde that was built by the original people of this land. No one knows for sure, and no one living can read their hieroglyphics. Look to your right."

There was a series of oddly regular hills, in rows upon rows floating above the fog, looking dark and forbidding in the failing light.

"These have been built by the old people," Karpos said. "They are called gorgan (tumuli). They are great burial mounds. No one but the Lydoi have them this big and here there are hundreds of them You are looking at a great necropolis."

"Those things are huge," Jacinta said. "How many people do each of them contain?"

"Most are a single grave, for a great king."

So many of them! If this was the graveyard of kings, it covered thousands of years. Karpos was right; Sardeis was old.

"Where are we going to camp?" Meliboea asked, sounding nervous.

Jacinta felt the hairs rising on the back of her neck, it was possible to imagine all sorts of things in the failing light.

"There is a small clean stream nearby. We will stop there." Karpos laughed. "I too don't want to camp too close to a graveyard and a dead city, no matter how old it is."

* * *

Sardeis lay literally at the feet of the north face of Mount Tmwolos. The city walls had been huge, many paces thick, but they were made of mud brick and had been patched. They were in desperate need of proper repair.

The Akropolis on the other hand stood on a steep rocky out-crop of the mountain and towered over the city below. Its walls were made of stone.

"The Akropolis is virtually impregnable," Hakeem told them as they drew close to the city. "The main city was looted by the Kimmerioi many years ago but they could not capture the fortress no matter how hard they tried."

As they approached the city they saw camp after camp of mercenaries, mainly Greeks.

Hakeem and Karpos looked at each other grimly as they rode past. Just to pay these men, Zethos would have to loot Bithynia.

They were met by a small contingent of the city guard which escorted them through a large gateway named after the Goddess Artemis and then on, finally up a steep zig-zag path to the Akropolis. As they got closer Jacinta could see that the Akropolis had been artificially terraced, to provide more room for building.

Inside the palace, Alba and Meliboea were given a small shared room adjoining Jacinta's. Some maids arranged a bath and some refreshments for the girls. It must have been assumed that they were Jacinta's 'lady's companions'.

It was just as well they were given adjoining rooms. The Lydian girls were absolutely terrified of having an audience with their former Queen.

"Don't worry," Jacinta advised. "It is likely to be brief and, you get to keep the dresses."

Three new dresses each and some casual clothes, just in case. They probably wouldn't need a third of what they had brought.

* * *

Hakeem and Karpos had barely time to refresh themselves before they were led to an audience with the new king and his uncle.

"Hakeem! Karpos!" Zethos's loud voice boomed out.

He leapt off his own throne and hurried to give them each a hug strong enough to make their bones crack. He was a large man, almost as big as Hakeem, but he was in his early fifties and good living had taken its toll on his waistline. He was also the sort of man whose normal speaking voice was only slightly short of a bellow.

"Let me introduce you to my nephew!" Zethos said loudly. "Our King Pelops, the son of my sister, Eidyia."

He grabbed their arms and dragged them towards to his nephew, a handsome and muscular young man. Zethos beamed with proprietary pride as he introduced him.

Hakeem was touched by the genuine affection that Zethos had for his nephew. Too often amongst the Greeks a regency was a prelude to murdering your young charge and assuming the throne yourself, almost as a matter of course.

Hakeem fell to his knees and Prince Karpos politely bowed.

"I am pleased to meet you, great Lords," Pelops said politely.

"Do you know Memnon?" Zethos seemed to shout.

Memnon was a grizzled veteran in his late forties. He had had his nose broken, maybe more than once, and had the cauliflower ears of a Greek boxer. He was built more like a drill sergeant than a stratēgos.

"Hakeem, tell Memnon how you have just given a large group of Hun a sound thrashing when they came to Karsh!"

A sound thrashing?

"A force of twenty thousand set out to capture Karsh," Hakeem said carefully. "We were lucky. They suffered serious misfortune."

"That's not what I heard!" Zethos roared with laughter. "I heard not more than eleven thousand made it to Karsh and they found nothing there for them. Did you lose many of your own?"

Well, there was nothing wrong with Lydian intelligence! How on earth did he know that? It was supposed to be a carefully held secret.

"One hundred and twenty-seven, Lord," Hakeem said.

Zethos sobered for a minute. "Even one is too many, but that is a great victory."

At that point Hakeem decided he really liked Zethos ... he just wished he wasn't such a fool.

"I also heard your wife and daughter's bodyguard made a mess of an army sent against them and they had to come back begging for help."

"They are a brave and clever people, my Lord, and good fighters. As friends they are invaluable," Hakeem returned stiffly.

Zethos showed no sign of hearing him. "I have an account of them from the famous monk Ambrosios. Let me show you."

He took out a papuros (paper) scroll from a white linen sleeve and with loving care carried it across to a table near his guests. Hakeem leaned over to read it with Karpos at his shoulder.

"The Huns are a savage race which dwelt at first in the swamps: a stunted, foul and puny tribe, scarcely human. They have no language save one which bears little resemblance to human speech." Karpos gasped at the sheer idiocy of it all. " ... They have, if I may call it so, a sort of shapeless lump, not a head, with pin-holes rather than eyes."

"Who is this monk?" Karpos asked.

"He says Huns came from swamps!" Hakeem read with outrage.

Puny? Cut their baby's face with a sword at birth? Hakeem read

For a moment he was speechless.

"Lord, some Hun men will cut themselves at the funeral of their fathers or some great chief," Karpos said. "They never cut their babies' faces. Binding babies' heads to make a cone shape, some of the Sarmatai do that, but they are Aryan not Hun."

Hakeem read a bit further ... bone tips to their spears and arrows? Clothes made from rat-skins that rotted off their bodies ...

He was at a loss.

"This man has never met a Hun," said Karpos in dismay.

"No, but he had a good source!" Zethos said enthusiastically. "I'll bet when you met them they were so starved that you didn't know whether you ought fight them or feed them!"

"My Lord, Zethos. This man is a writer of traveller's tales."

"Say what you like; neither you nor your wife had any trouble with them. Neither will we, eh?" Zethos pounded Hakeem firmly on the back.

Hakeem groaned inwardly. His trip was wasted. He wasn't going to convince Zethos of anything.

"Anyway," Zethos gestured dismissively, "the Hun are far away."

"A huge Hun army has crossed the Ra (Volga) and is in the Steppes north of the Black Sea somewhere near the Danapr (Dnieper River)," Karpos said quietly.

"Just so!" Zethos agreed. "No need to exaggerate their success against a handful of villages, and now they are wandering around some empty grasslands."

Karpos glanced at Hakeem: Bactria, Sogdiane, Xvairizem, the Ra river-valley and now the Krimean region a 'handful of villages'? 'Empty grasslands'?

But Zethos was continuing.

"Now, I have personally attracted a fine mercenary force to add to what Alyattes already had, and we have started to train our militia."

It is far, far too late. Hakeem felt a crushing sense of inevitability.

And it was far more likely the magical name of 'Memnon' that had attracted all those mercenaries, but he kept his opinion to himself.

"We outnumber Parmenion two and half to one and Prince Boteiras has his own men as well," Zethos continued loudly. "It is time to retake our territory."

Memnon risked a half smile.

That land hadn't been in Lydian hands for more than half a century.

"My Lord, as I said before, if we move on Parmenion it will bring Aléxandros here, and he will have a sizable force," Hakeem tried.

"We should have attacked earlier!" Zethos shouted. "We should never have allowed the Makedónes to get ready like we did. Hakeem, that was your fault! How on earth did you convince the old king with scary tales of the Hun?"

"They have come to my home and they will come here," Hakeem said quietly.

"They might come here," Zethos corrected. "Aléxandros will come, whether we act or not."

Hakeem nodded. It was true.

"Lord," Memnon said politely. "It was Hakeem that stopped Parmenion before."

"And he failed to follow up on his advantage!" Zethos yelled; it was not clear whether he was shouting angrily or this was his normal talking voice. "That was folly! Now, if you will excuse me for a short while. I was in the middle of making preparations."

With that he was gone.

"I don't think my uncle meant to give you any insult, Lord," Pelops said politely from his chair. "Please accept my apologies if he has. I take it you believe he underestimates the threat from the Huns?"

Hakeem looked at the young man in surprise. "Great King, your uncle is wrong about the Huns in almost every respect. That I managed to use the desert against them at Karsh means nothing. It is an old trick of the desert tribes.

"I had hoped we didn't have to face Aléxandros before the Huns but I admit it is now looking like that is too much to hope for. But don't underestimate him either. Clean out your towns and farms, deny him supplies. Whatever you do, don't fight him in the open."

"So you don't think we should try to take Bithynia off them?" Memnon asked.

"If you want to know exactly where Aléxandros is, just attack Parmenion," Hakeem said flatly. "But don't be surprised by the speed of his response. He is more dangerous than you can imagine. The Huns will wait till one side is vanquished and the victor is exhausted and then they will arrive to defeat both."

"I spent nine years fighting with Philippos and living at Pella," Memnon reminded Hakeem. "I know what Aléxandros can do. More importantly, I know how. I think I might just be able to surprise him. As soon as he comes here, he will have a massive uprising at home. The Huns don't have ships. They are more likely to trouble Aléxandros than us, and if so, they will be an advantage rather than a danger to us."

Hakeem could see Memnon's point of view. The Huns had shown no interest in ships, so far. He just wished it were all that simple.

He didn't think talking about prophecies would impress his Lydoi allies much.

"Will you support us?"

"Of course," Hakeem said. "Though we will not join you in folly."

* * *

'Brief' was a good description of the girls' meeting with the Queen. It seemed the Queen had little interest in meeting three young peasants, even if one was called Jacinta.

Mita, an aide to the Queen's chamberlain, was given the unwelcome task of showing the 'peasants' from Troia around.

He seemed at a loss.

"There are some noble women, lesser relatives of the Queen, who are doing embroidery and playing games of chance. Are you interested in joining them?" he asked Jacinta uncertainly.

About as much as I am in having all my teeth and fingernails pulled.

"Is there somewhere we can do some weapons practice?" She tried her most appealing smile.

"Most certainly not!" The chamberlain looked at her in horror.

Then they watched his face as he realised he would be stuck entertaining these young barbarians otherwise.

"Oh, all right, I'll see what I can do," he said stiffly.

Jacinta would have been happy enough to wander down to the lower city and seek out some the Greek mercenaries.

She thought it best not to mention this.

After changing, they found themselves led to the royal practice arena. No, no, they couldn't carry their own gear! They were young ladies, after all.

Jacinta thought of mentioning they were going there to exercise. She bit her tongue.

They arrived there to find the young king, Pelops, and three of his friends were already there. The young men paused to wipe their sweat on towels as they saw three girls standing around, looking uncertain.

"Who are those girls dressed like warriors?" Pelops asked his friends, speaking Lydian.

Alba moved up just behind Jacinta to translate.

"The darker one is the Warlord 's daughter. I hear they have hired a writer to make up silly tales about her," Marsyas, the biggest of the three, said confidently. "It amuses her father because he hasn't been able to sire a son."

Jacinta made a growling noise somewhere at the back of her throat.

"She is big for a girl not yet fifteen," Pelops said, giving her an appraising look. "A bit muscular, but not bad looking for all that."

"She may not be able to fight all that well but I wouldn't mind wrestling with her," Pheidias, the third boy, said laughing. "Just smile at her and let her rub your chest and I'll bet she'll quickly spread her ..."

Alba stopped speaking.

"What did he say?" Jacinta hissed.

"A blanket, he said you would spread a blanket for him."

That's enough of that!

Jacinta marched up determinedly to the boys. After introducing herself and her two companions she gave the boys her sweetest smile.

"We missed what I was supposed to quickly spread if the King would smile at me and let me rub his chest. Perhaps you could explain, Pheidias."

Pheidias had the decency to look uncomfortable. Pelops blushed and gave her a helpless gesture. He was really rather handsome ... for a spoilt rich boy.

"I'm afraid we are giving you a bad impression of us," he offered. "Is there any way we can make it up to you, perhaps a picnic or some other polite entertainment?"

"We had wished for somewhere to train."

"Perhaps you would agree to a contest?" Marsyas sneered. "I'm prepared to wager a silver talanton that none of you three can beat any of us in any form of weapons training. You don't even have to match the wager, you just have to win."

"A talanton!" Meliboea gasped.

"That's a bad idea," Jacinta said flatly. "Alba and Meliboea have just started training. You are hoplitai. We are light infantry, peltastēs, so we train at different skills with different weapons."

"A talanton!" Meliboea hissed urgently, tugging at Jacinta's tunic.

"I thought as much," Pheidias gave his two friends meaningful smiles.

Just then a small phalanx of servants arrived carrying gear for the three girls.

I'm going to regret this! Jacinta thought.

If my father catches me, I'll be in big trouble.

"I'm told the Lydians are famous for their archery," she said.

"We are the best anywhere in the world, everyone knows that." Marsyas said.

Well, well.

Jacinta gave the three boys her sweetest smile.

"Who is your best archer for distance and accuracy?"

The other two boys indicated their king.

Hakeem will be furious with me, and yet ...

"I accept." She smiled. "If I can beat my Lord Pelops we win, is that the deal?"

The other two boys burst into wide grins and hurried to set up a target with multiple coloured-bands surrounding the centre, while Pelops explained.

"You get three arrows each round and there are three rounds. I take it each of your arrows has your personal markings? Well, it doesn't really matter anyway because we take turns.

"The target has light colours so the arrows show up easily. The central gold circle is worth nine, the next one is red and worth seven, the green one is five, then three for the next and the outer circle is one. The target is set at 100 paces. I hope that is not too far?"

It was the most common distance Jacinta used for practising. She couldn't suppress a feral grin.

Pelops examined her arrows and then her bow and drew it. He had expected at the best a light bow but hers was surprising heavy. This was a serious weapon! He gave her a look of grudging respect and passed it back.

Pelops went first. Lydians used long infantry-style bows but they were recurved like Jacinta's short bow. Jacinta watched him sight every shot along the shaft and then adjust for height and wind. His first shot hit a seven and then he adjusted his aim.

After he had finished Pheidias called out "Hold!" while Marsyas and Alba went to check the score.

"Twenty-five!" Alba called back.

"Excellent shooting, my Lord," Pheidias remarked with relish.

And it was. A champion might hit the centre with half his shots.

Jacinta took the three arrows in her bow hand, between her fingers. She separated each arrow and pointed them downwards so they could be snatched, if need be, for rapid fire. It was how she routinely practised now. Pelops watched her, intrigued.

She looked down at the target and closed her eyes briefly, emptying her mind and imagining her draw, her stance, her tempo and her arms as a whole, exactly the same as in practice. She aimed with her body not along the arrow and then ... she shot with a relaxed yet rapid rhythm.

The only noise was the soft clunk of each arrow as she loaded it, the thud of the bowstring hitting the bow and the faint phtt! of the arrow.

"Hold!" Pheidias called.

"You're fast!" Pelops said in astonishment.

"Twenty-five," Marsyas called, his voice thick with disbelief.

Pelops took a shaky breath and wiped his hands on his pants before he took his next turn. It was getting warmer now with the sun higher in the heavens. His next shot hit the green. He scowled and shot red then gold.

"Hold! ... Twenty-one!"

Alba and Meliboea were standing there holding their breath. Jacinta closed her eyes again and tried to ignore her own rising anxiety. She really needed to compete more.

Hold on. She had fired a bow in battle, she didn't need to train for competitions!

She let fly.

"Hold!"... There was an argument between Alba and Marsyas. "Twenty-three!" Marsyas called out loudly. Alba had an angry scowl as she walked back. She later said one arrow fell between red and gold.

Pelops was looking anxious now. He fired green, then gold. He paused, studying the target and took a big breath: red. "Twenty-one."

Jacinta could feel her heart racing, her breath coming faster. She tried again to imagine herself at archery practice.

There was a pause, waiting for Marsyas. "Two golds and a red ... Twenty-five!" Alba called out on his behalf. "We win!"

"Rematch!" Pheidias called. "We want a rematch!"

I bet you do.

Marsyas looked stunned. Perhaps he was thinking about his talanton.

It serves you right!

"Great shooting," an unfamiliar voice called out behind her.

Jacinta spun to see her father. He was accompanied by Prince Karpos, an older Greek man who looked more like a boxer dressed as a warrior, and a large man in ornate armour. That must be Lord Zethos.

Oh no!

She hurried over and dropped into a warrior's salute. Alba and Meliboea ran to join her.

"My Lord Zethos, may I present my daughter, Jacinta, and two of our novices, Alba and Meliboea?" Hakeem said politely.

"You should watch my nephew Pelops shoot, Jacinta, he is a real champion."

Don't say it, don't say it! Jacinta was chanting under her breath.

"We were just having a competition and Lady Jacinta has just won a tidy sum on a wager," Pelops said.

I asked you not to say that.

"You must have been particularly lucky to win against Pelops," Zethos announced loudly. "I suppose you used a light bow with special arrows, eh? But I heard Pheidias call for a rematch."

"Jacinta won fairly," Pelops interrupted.

"I don't think a rematch is wise, sir," Jacinta explained. "If my Lord Pelops is the best bowman, I doubt Pheidias can beat me at that. I am trained for light infantry; I can do things they can't and they can do things I can't. What did he have in mind after all – combat?"

Greek boxing and wrestling? Too many rules, it was such a silly way to fight.

"Of course not!" Zethos shouted. "Fighting a girl." He laughed loudly.

"How about me?" Marsyas suggested with a nasty smile. "Wooden swords, no biting or gouging."

Jacinta looked at her father. To her surprise he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Were the Lydoi starting to irritate him too?

"Swords only; we use different shields and that would not be fair," Jacinta agreed.

(She hoped not having shields would give her an advantage. She had Drakon's training in elf sword and knife fighting.)

"Is there a wager?" Alba asked hopefully.

"Double if you win. Nothing if you lose," Marsyas suggested.

Jacinta looked to Alba and Meliboea who nodded their agreement.

"No kicks to testicles," Hakeem added.

Jacinta scowled at him. Whose side was he on? And whoever said 'testicles' anyway? Sheep have testicles; men and boys have balls.

"It's a bit one-sided, don't you think?" Zethos sounded doubtful as the combatants went to get ready.

"Not at all, Marsyas has been training longer." Karpos chuckled. "I'll back Jacinta, if you care for a side wager."

"I would bet on the girl too," Memnon suggested grinning broadly. "But I think I had better referee."

"I can't believe you're doing this," Pelops said as he helped Alba pad Jacinta out. "Marsyas is more than half as big again as you are and far stronger."

"That won't help him," Jacinta said, examining the wooden short-sword and checking it for balance. They had wrapped the point in linen but this bout would be dangerous. Wooden swords were designed for use with a shield where there was less chance of a direct hit.

In theory the combatants were supposed to avoid full force but she doubted Marsyas would comply with that. If he stabbed her with his full power she would be injured, possibly seriously.

She didn't intend to give him the chance.

"You don't practise much without shields, do you?" she asked hopefully.

"Not a lot, I suppose. You will be careful, won't you?"

Jacinta gave him a wide smile. "Why thank you, Pelops, I will."

The rules were simple: victory was three solid, clear strikes preferably with the point of the sword or if the opponent was injured and conceded. Marsyas was certainly big and strong but he looked awkward as he clutched the wooden practice sword as if unsure how to position his body.

No, they hadn't done a lot of practice without shields. Their weapons master must not expect nobles to be involved in street brawls.

What sort of silly place was this?

Marsyas began circling and feinting at her again and again. She let him. She wanted him to make the first move. She watched his eyes but they gave no indication. He suddenly lunged forward.

Hardly having to think about it, Jacinta automatically stepped to the side and spun her body, blocking his wrist with her left hand and jabbing him hard in the ribs as his body moved forward. Not too hard, she didn't really need to do him a serious injury.

"Blow to Jacinta!" Memnon called out.

"You are fast," Marsyas admitted, rubbing his ribs.

Jacinta didn't say anything just crouched, ready again.

Next Marsyas tried a hooking stab. Jacinta blocked it and stepped inside to stab his chest.

"Blow to Jacinta!" Memnon called.

Marsyas bent to adjust his sandal.

"You are doing well, Jacinta. Who taught you?" Pheidias called out.

Jacinta waved irritably at the distraction. Was he trying to break her concentration?

Marsyas quickly straightened up. His left hand seemed balled into a fist. Jacinta barely had time to wonder as he tried another hook shot and, as she moved forward, threw dust in her face. Jacinta had only a moment to blink and try desperately to move back.

She sensed rather than saw him stab at her with all his force and just managed to twist so the blow didn't catch her full on. It felt like a horse had kicked her in the ribs.

She bent over, rubbing her eyes and holding her ribs.

"Hold!" screamed Memnon in a fury.

He moved forward to examine Jacinta. She had got most of the dust out of her eyes but was still blinking and rubbing the last bits away with her tunic. She couldn't straighten up fully with the pain in her ribs: two were cracked, not fully broken, she knew.

Zethos was bellowing in outrage.

Memnon turned slowly to Marsyas with a glance that would melt iron.

"Nothing in the rules against it." The boy laughed, but he looked frightened.

"Do you take me for a fool, boy?" Memnon glared at him. "I heard your friend here distract her while you picked up that dirt and you deliberately hit her with full force while she was helpless. Is this how you Lydoi treat their guests now?"

"Just give me a minute," Jacinta gasped weakly. "Let him have his point."

Marsyas blushed deeply. "I accept the forfeit."

"No," Jacinta said through clenched teeth. "It's not over."

She wanted to hurt him badly, but how? Her ribs were too sore.

They started to circle again. Jacinta could see nothing but Marsyas and his sword. She was totally focused.

As he lunged for her again she blocked it and then threw herself forward and straight down as if she was trying to catch something running on the ground. She stabbed down at his foot with all her weight, both hands gripping the hilt and resting against her breast bone. It was a risky move; it exposed her back. It relied on causing him so much pain that he was unable to reply in the time it would take her to recover.

When she hit his foot, there was a satisfactory crunch; Marsyas collapsed, screaming.

Jacinta felt as if she had been stabbed hard again. Pain shot through her injured ribs. She rolled on her side, away from the boy, unable to breathe.

Memnon bent low over him with a nasty smile. "Win to Jacinta, boy!"

Jacinta felt herself gathered up in her father's arms.

"That was dangerous move, but in a real battle you would have had little choice after he wounded you so badly," Hakeem muttered.

Pelops pushed his way forward. "Jacinta, Marsyas is no friend of mine after something like this. Please accept my apology, you must let me make it up to you."

Jacinta waved acceptance as her father swept her away. He carried her all the way back to her quarters and laid her gently on her bed. Alba and Meliboea crowded in behind.

"I'm sorry, Jacinta," Hakeem said. "I didn't expect anything like that."

"I got him back." Jacinta's managed a grin, despite the pain. "I only wish you let me kick him in the balls ... ah, sorry, Father, testicles."

* * *

It didn't need a full completion of the desert fortress: an inner wall with crenulations, a proper gate, and a walkway inside the wall would be more than enough on that steep hill to make it very expensive for the Shantawi to try to re-take.

Grass was growing back across the wadi, short and sweet, but it could not yet be cut and stored.

Oktar had what remained of his mounted force based at the Wadi Karsh where they could graze their horses and he would transfer most of his unmounted force to the new fortress.

It was far from ideal, but couldn't be helped.

After that it would be time to make the 'invisible' Shantawi visible.

* * *

Sardeis

Jacinta went in search of Pelops. Her ribs were really sore and she would need a bodyguard when she visited Alba and Meliboea's father. Pelops said he owed her. Likely he would not like what she was going to ask of him, but she didn't much care anymore.

Outside his quarters the guard told her he was not to be interrupted, but when he heard her voice outside the door he called for her to be sent in. She had never seen his room and she gasped at all the gold-inlaid furniture, the ornate curtains and ceiling. A lot of it was old. The Lydian Kingdom had once been so wealthy it had inspired the legend of King Midas.

Pelops smiled as she came in. He was dressed in a simple chiton and was sitting relaxed, chatting with a beautiful-looking girl of a similar age to him. She was sitting at his feet and pouring something into a silver goblet beaded with condensation: chilled fruit juice or wine.

"I didn't … I wanted … I'm sorry," Jacinta said, turning crimson to see what she was interrupting.

"Oh, don't worry." Pelops laughed. "Phryne was just about to leave, weren't you, Phryne?"

Phryne bowed her pretty head demurely and stood up, gathering her kithara. Jacinta could see she was dressed in scanty see-through clothes. It was possible to see her naked body which was shaved. She had lustrous long black hair tied in ribbons and decorated with small white flowers.

"I have made you uncomfortable, Jacinta," Pelops said with a satisfied smile, his eyes twinkling. "Young women shouldn't visit a man's room without a chaperone."

You bastard!

"Are you a free woman?" She deliberately ignored the young king and turned her attention to the girl.

"I am," the girl said proudly and looked Jacinta in the eye to see if there was a challenge.

"You are very young to have bought your freedom, Phryne. It is a good thing." Jacinta smiled to show she really meant it, and the girl relaxed. It would have been rare indeed that a 'lady' was civil to her. "Yet your king wishes you to dress as a sex slave."

"This is how I was dressed when we first met and he liked it."

I'll bet he did.

She gave Jacinta a coy smile and lightly touched Jacinta's cheek with her fingertips.

"I can be anything you wish me to be, Lady."

Pelops gasped in shock. "I didn't know you worked as a hetairistriai (lady's female 'companion')."

Phryne had said it deliberately. She was clever.

"I don't." Phryne moved sensuously to get her cloak and smiled at him and then looked at Jacinta speculatively. "But she is nice, it might be fun."

"You know I get jealous of you with other customers."

A tiny whine had crept into his voice. He more than half means it. Jacinta realised.

"Make me an offer then." Phryne laughed prettily, "I might consider it."

This seemed to be familiar banter.

"Phryne, my name is Jacinta bint Hakeem from Troia. I had come to ask your king a favour that he had promised me, but I can come back later," with a chaperone!

"Can I and my attendants offer you an escort back to your home while I consider your offer? It is late and it is not safe in the lower town with the mercenaries camped there." She gave Pelops a glare as she took Phryne by the arm. "Am I right in suspecting your king had not thought of that?"

* * *

"Do not judge my king and lord too harshly," Phryne said as they walked back to her house. "I owe him everything. He could have bought me from my previous owners and not given me any money. There would have been nothing I could have done about it. I would have stayed a slave. When he is not being a spoilt pig, he can be quite nice." She giggled.

Jacinta laughed and took her hand. Phryne was a clever girl and she was pleasant company.

She did have an escort of sorts, a disreputable-looking old man with cudgel. Meliboea and Alba followed them a little behind, their bows strung and arrows fitted and Karpos had loaned her four of his men.

"He pays me well but doesn't own me. I think he prefers it that way. So many others in the palace tell him exactly what he wants to hear. I bought my freedom four moons ago. It cost me half a silver talanton. I had to borrow half of it."

Jacinta whistled to hear how much Phryne's owners sold her for. Half a silver talanton was three thousand drachmas! An unskilled slave would cost less than 250 drachma, Phryne said she had been a child when she was first sold, so a hundred at the most back then. Whoever had last bought her must have made a good profit.

Still, for what she had become maybe it was a fair price.

"I live simply now but when I pay off my debts, I will afford a better house and more servants."

She had a faraway look. Phryne had her dreams.

"How did you become a slave, if you don't mind talking about it?"

"Ah, now you have me to yourself, all you want to do is talk?" Phryne gave her a wink and laughed prettily. Jacinta laughed and winced, grabbing at her sore ribs.

"I am an Olynthian. Olinthos was once a great city. It managed to throw off the shackles of Athēnai when that city lost to the Spartiates. We became the head of our own league, but we lost this in our own war with Spartai and we never fully recovered after that.

"Our city lay on the Chalkidiki peninsula in what is now Makedonía. We were an obstacle to King Philippos, the one they call 'the Great'. He made a lot of money from sacking the nearby smaller cities and towns of the Chalkidiki and the silver mines he seized. He made an alliance with us but he never planned to honour it. It just gave him time to attack at the right moment.

"He bribed two of our leaders to open the gates for him when he came. So at the age of five I became a slave and he levelled our beautiful city to the ground. There is no one there now."

She must be nineteen.

"The lucky women became servants. The pretty ones became pornai (cheap prostitutes), the ones you see naked outside brothels or naked at men's symposia (drinking sessions).

"I was lucky. My first master had an old, sick, mother and he bought me to look after her and keep her company. When she died I think I cried more than when I lost my whole family. He sold me at eleven to three men. I was very frightened."

She saw Jacinta's expression.

"No, he was doing me a favour, really. I was always a good girl, he never had to beat me and I was pretty and I could sing and dance a bit.

"The men never touched me. I was their investment, you see. They had me taught by an old hetairai till I was sixteen. I learnt everything about how to please men: playing music, walking the right way, talking the right way, discussing plays and philosophy as well as ... well, you know the rest." She laughed again.

"At thirteen I became an entertainer while I was still in training. I first met Pelops when he was a fourteen-year-old prince." She smiled. "I was his first, and a year and a half ago he came looking for me again." She shrugged. "It won't last between us, at least I don't think it will, but after this, I will be sought after. I could get a wealthy patron but I don't think I want that. I think I will start my own brothel."

"Don't you resent it all?" Jacinta asked.

The elves and the desert Badawiyyūn didn't keep slaves but they had them in Troia and there were some foreign townsfolk in Karsh who had slaves.

"Why should I? My masters were nice to me and look at what I have now. Besides I like Pelops." Phryne laughed prettily again.

Jacinta thought about it.

It seemed so unfair. A group of soldiers decided a small child was property and, just like that, she was. And by law she would be severely punished if she tried to run away.

Then she had to pay a fortune just to buy her freedom back, something which had been stolen from her in the first place. And yet she had felt love of two old women and now had so many opportunities.

Jacinta glanced at the pretty girl walking beside her. She realised that you could have thrown Phryne on a trash heap. She would not only land on her feet, she would soon be owning the trash heap and improving it.

"Not all Olynthians have done so well."

"No, Lady," Phryne said. She looked grim for a moment. "Most did not."

After a pause, she sighed. "It is the will of the Gods, I suppose."

* * *

Jacinta was surprised two days later when she received a message that King Pelops wanted to talk to her urgently.

"Tell my Lord Pelops," she told the messenger, "that it would not be proper for me to come to his quarters, nor for he to come to mine ... not without a proper chaperone."

She and the girls settled back to wait.

Soon she could hear Pelops talking to the Lydian guards outside.

She called out loudly to him. "I'm sorry you can't come in, Great King. We do not have a chaperone and it wouldn't be proper."

Next minute Pelops and two guards entered.

"My Lord!" Jacinta's called out in a shrill voice. "What is the meaning of bursting into girls' quarters in the company of these rough soldiers?"

Alba and Meliboea scurried to place themselves between their mistress and this affront to her dignity.

"All right, Jacinta," Pelops said through clenched teeth. "You win. I was wrong to try to embarrass you ... er, I apologise."

Jacinta dismissed the soldiers with a nod.

Pelops began to pace. "I'm tortured by images of you and Phryne."

"And Alba and Meliboea together, she was amazing, wasn't she?" Jacinta looked to the girls who nodded their enthusiastic agreement.

Pelops had a look of anguish on his face. "What happened?"

"Why don't you ask Phryne?"

"Because she wouldn't tell me!"

"Do you really want all the details, are you sure?"

"No! Er, yes!" Pelops was in agony.

The three girls exchanged secret smiles.

"You must agree to do something for us first."

Then they would tell him, that despite all his fears, nothing at all had happened.

* * *

It was night time and the man opened the door a crack and peered out anxiously. Three girls in exquisite gowns waited just outside.

"How may I help you, great ladies?" the man asked in confusion, squinting at the magnificent armour and horses of the Kings Guards waiting further back, bearing torches.

"I am Jacinta of Troia, Aristeides," the girl in front told him. "I am the Warlord 's and the Queen of Elgard's daughter, but don't you recognise your own daughters, Alba and Meliboea?"

She stepped to one side to allow them to come forward.

Aristeides was struck dumb and tears came to his eyes. "Alba, Mel, is it really you? "

"Agne!" he called over his shoulder. "Come quickly, it's the girls. They are dressed like fine ladies and they are in important company."

Their mother, dressed in old clothes of the poor folk of Sardeis, pushed past her husband and then stood with her mouth open, not knowing what to do. She indicated with shock the richly clad man waiting further back in fine armour.

"That great lord, it can't be, can it?"

"He is your king," Jacinta agreed.

As her parents dropped to their knees, Alba shoved a heavy purse into her mother's hand.

When her mother looked inside, disbelief sounded in her voice. "It is full of silver; it is a fortune!"

"Our house is too poor for this great company, but you cannot stand on the threshold." Their father's voice sounded hoarse. "Will you come in?"

Alba shook her head. "We only returned to say goodbye. Please give our love to our family."

"Will we see you again?"

"That is not our wish." Tears came to Meliboea's eyes. She took a shuddering breath.

She couldn't keep her voice steady. "Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye, Father."

Their father coloured and looked awkward. Their mother half raised her hands as if about to reach out. Alba and Meliboea hesitated, and then they turned away.

As they were walking away, Alba turned to Jacinta. "I dreamed of something like this for a long, long, time. I thought about it day and night as we journeyed to Troia. We would return, we would have made a success of ourselves. I always thought I would scream at them and jeer at them."

She had tears in her eyes. "I have felt so angry for so long, but when I saw them there all I could feel was sadness. Sadness for Mel and me of course, but somehow sadness for them. Nothing can be done about it now; I cannot love them. I have to turn my back on that life forever."

She swung Jacinta around and hugged and kissed her and Meliboea joined them.

"Thank you, Jacinta, thank you for everything."

 

 

Chapter 7: Death of Aléxandros and Thēbai

It was towards the end of his visit that Hakeem got the message. He was breakfasting with Memnon and Karpos when a weary and travel-stained Shantawi messenger was shown in and dropped to kneel before him. As Hakeem started to read, it brought him to his feet.

"Karpos, please escort my daughter and her friends back with you. I have to go home," he crushed the parchment in his fist; the colour had drained from his face. "I must pay a day's visit to Lord Helios but after that I will leave in all haste for Karsh."

"What is it?" Karpos asked.

"The Hun are defiling our temples and our holy places. They are putting the villages to the torch. They are cutting and burning the date palm. We grow our palms not from seeds but from cuttings of our greatest palm trees. Many cannot be replaced."

Memnon stood to put his hand on Hakeem's shoulder. "It is a great price you pay."

"They will pay the greater."

Memnon looked into the cold eyes of the young man. "I thought you did not believe in revenge."

"My Shantawi certainly do." Hakeem smiled without humour. "But I, as the Warlord, need to send a message. No one must ever think to do such a thing to us again. I will let a handful live, but only to carry that message."

The other two men shuddered.

To prove a point, Hakeem had just condemned ten thousand men to death.

* * *

Aiolía

King Helios of Aiolía, Hakeem's mentor, had gone out to confer with one of his factors which left Hakeem sitting with Queen Nikoleta.

Nikoleta's youngest baby, Prince Diogenes (meaning 'born of Zeus') had been fed and was sleeping peacefully under the watchful eye of his nurse maids. Hakeem had managed to coax Elpida out from behind her mother with a 'peek a boo' game and now the two-year-old was comfortably installed on his lap enfolded in the big man's arms.

"I've never seen Elpida take to anyone so fast," Nikoleta said admiringly. "You have a rare gift with children."

She saw the look of pain cross Hakeem's face.

"It's the prophecy, isn't it? Elena will be last of her line, so she can't have children. She had a solution to that, didn't she?" Her eyes twinkled in amusement.

"Yes, me taking a second wife," Hakeem laughed. "I think everyone in the city must have heard my screams. My Lady, you look tired. Do you wish to go and rest? I think it would have been better to let more time pass before you fell pregnant again."

"Despite what you men think there is only one way to make absolutely sure of that." Nikoleta laughed. "My milk dried up. I had to get a wet nurse and before I knew it ..."

"Can I ask Elena or one of her elves to attend to you?"

"Please," Nikoleta whispered quietly; her eyes teared slightly.

Hakeem felt a surge of fear for her. Nikoleta was more worried than she was saying.

"I'll check you and the baby as soon as my Lord Helios returns."

"You can do that?"

Nikoleta must really be frightened.

"So many small things are different with this one. I can't talk to Helios. I fear something is wrong. Are you leaving tomorrow?"

Hakeem nodded.

"It's started, hasn't it?"

Hakeem searched in vain for something reassuring to say.

"Yes, it has. Our luck couldn't last I suppose."

They were interrupted by shouting in the corridor. A few moments later a breathless young soldier barged in.

"He's dead, Lord, he's dead!" He belatedly remembered to fall to his knees in salute. "Aléxandros is dead, Athēnai and Thēbai are taking up arms. They say it happened twelve days ago." He looked up excitedly and recalled the rest of the message. "My Lord Helios sends his compliments and wishes to meet you in the map room ... will we see some fighting, do you think?"

"What's your name, soldier, and how old are you?" Hakeem extended his arm to help him up.

"Dion, sir; I'm sixteen."

Was I ever like this?

"Thank you, Dion, tell my Lord Helios I will be there shortly. In answer to your question, yes, Dion … there will be war and much more." He clamped Dion on the shoulder. Dion looked greatly pleased and then hurried off.

"May the Gods help us," Nikoleta whispered.

"Aaah!" Hakeem felt like hitting something. "To lose Aléxandros now. We will be left fighting one another and the Hun will come right in the middle of it."

* * *

A desert fortress

As Temur and Edeco approached the fortress, they could tell something was far wrong.

Oktar made the fort ready and then he began to destroy the villages. It had brought the Shantawi. At first it was in small groups, hit and run, traps and ambushes. They still tried to conserve their men. Lack of numbers was their great weakness.

So Oktar began to fill in irrigation canals, tear up orchards and the enemy became more desperate, there were bigger clashes, but still they conserved their numbers.

So he began to destroy the date palm and now the city. After that he would break the dam and the aqueducts and would withdraw his infantry to the fortress.

He had given them no home to return to.

They would have to repair and rebuild. And to do that, they would have to take the fortress. Then he would be able to fight them on his own terms.

The only weakness of the plan was the need to graze their horses at the oasis but the Shantawi would have to same problem.

A quarter of his force was already waiting at the fortress and Temur and Edeco had been sent to tell them to get ready.

As Temur stared up at the newest Hun fortress with its solid mud brick and stone wall it seemed abandoned. There were no workers moving around, no soldiers patrolling the walls. There was no outcry or signal. Temur blew his horn, but there was no reply.

A column of smoke coming up from within drifted lazily into the sky; a bald iris flew above giving a lonely cry.

"Where is everyone?" Edeco whispered.

The hairs on Temur's head had begun to rise. The gates were open. There was supposed to be two and a half thousand men in there!

"Edeco, wait for me down here with most of the men," Temur said grimly. "If I am attacked and can't reach you, flee this place. That is an order. Don't hesitate, don't try to rescue me and for the sake of all the gods be wary of an ambush on your way back."

"How do you suppose they have sneaked up on over two and a half thousand men in a closed fortress? Do they have ghosts fighting for them now?" Edeco asked in fear.

Temur simply shook his head.

He took ten scouts under their leader an old wizened Hun called Yap, and then he turned his horse to climb the path to the fortress. He moved slowly, reluctantly, not because he feared it was a trap but because he knew what he would find.

Halfway up the slope, he suddenly realised how it had been done.

"Those bastards!" he shouted as he spurred his horse. "They have built a secret weakness in the foundations."

The barracks was a slaughter house; bodies were everywhere. Some were burnt beyond recognition. The great doors of the barracks were a charred remains, the wood still smoking. This hadn't happened too long ago. Temur wrinkled his nose against the odour.

"Yap!" he called. "How do you read this?"

"I don't know, Lord. Most of the men were asleep in the barracks when they struck, that is clear enough. This must have happened last night, but what happened to the guards?"

"Don't you see? They moved their bodies to confuse us." He pointed to the blood stains on the ground. "They have been watching us for a long time, for all I know they still are. They used a secret passage into the fortress through the foundations. The initial assault was in complete silence. They must have known where each guard was and probably when they did their rounds. They trapped most of the men in the barracks by fire."

"How did they make the barracks building burn like that?"

"I don't know," Temur said. "But they gave the men no chance. This is murder of the worst kind. Get Edeco to bring the rest of the men up. We need to get these bodies out of here and then we need to find all the secret passages even if we have to take the whole place apart brick by brick to do it.

"We no longer have Karsh."

* * *

The death of Aléxandros, West Makedonía twelve days earlier

Through a haze Aléxandros could see Hephaestion's handsome face frowning down at him. "What happened?"

He tried to move and a blinding headache threatened to split his head in two.

"You were leading a charge uphill and got struck by a rock."

"I thought you were in charge of my bodyguard."

"I still am, if you will have me, but it is hard to protect you when you are running in front of your hoplitai screaming like an idiot." Hephaestion bent over to kiss his lover on the lips.

Aléxandros grinned back ruefully.

Heraclides, the hipparchos of his Hetairoi (elite cavalry), poked his head over Hephaestion's shoulder. "He did more than well enough, Lord. When you fell, the enemy thought you were dead and thousands of them came screaming down from the heights, each wanting to be the first to claim your body. For a while we were hard pressed, but you know the men.

"I hear several of the enemy's men have already claimed the reward for recovering your body. By the Gods! I wonder whose body they are selling as yours. Some are standing as witnesses, saying Kleitos killed you in single combat."

"How do we fare?"

"We fared well for a while, but now bad. We drove them back to the fort but we are low on supplies, we have our own wounded. The Taylantioi have been sighted less than half a day's march away, hurrying to attack us."

It was not much more than three weeks ago that they had received the news that no less than three of the Illyroi petty kings (led by Kleitos) were moving to invade Makedonía.

Aléxandros with Laggaros, the leader of his Agrianes (a loyal tribe from Thráki), were just north of the Istros (Danube). They had made a forced march together all the way to the western side of Makedonía.

There they met the first tribe, the Autariatae, before the other Illyroi arrived and managed to defeat them in a bitter battle. Laggaros continued on to press the retreating Autariatae while Aléxandros took 10,000 of his own men further west to deal with the other two tribes.

He had arrived at the lake ('Megali Prespa') to find the fortress of Pelion and the surrounding heights held against him by Kleitos and his Dardanioi. The speed of the Makedónes allowed them to arrive in advance of the third tribe, the Taylantioi. They had travelled fast but perhaps not fast enough.

"We are too exposed here." Aléxandros tried to sit up. "We will have to retreat across the river."

"They are already saying you are dead, that will only prove it."

"Well, let them think what they want, we will use it against them. What are we facing?"

"Well there are a lot of them," Heraclides said. "But Kleitos is not his father, and the men he leads are not soldiers. Many are ill equipped and some are reluctant fighters. I think they were hoping for easy plunder, not a hard campaign."

"Then let us give them their plunder,"

"Not the wine!" Hephaestion protested in horror.

"Yes, the wine." Aléxandros started to laugh but his head hurt too much. "We will leave it and retreat across the river. When they chase us, we will turn and attack them. Once we have them away from their fort and the hill tops, we will have them,"

"It's good wine!" Hephaestion persisted. "Can't we keep one cart?"

It was ten oxen carts of fine wine captured from the Autariatae, perhaps to be used as currency.

Aléxandros tried not to laugh again, his head hurt too much. "We must look like we are fleeing. I will buy you more wine when we get back to Pella."

* * *

Jacinta and Akhilleus, Troia

For lunch they had rode up to the headland. It had a stunning view over the Hellespont and the Aigaio Pelagos (Aegean) and was one of her favourite spots. The weather had been turning cooler but today it was perfect: sunny with a light breeze blowing.

She wanted it to be nice for Akhilleus.

He had been better of late. He didn't press her anymore for more than she could give. Didn't he know she wanted to give him everything?

Akhilleus was taking up his first command, just east of Abydos and had only just started a few days of leave before-hand but even that was cut short. Jacinta was not long back from Sardeis but now the message had gone out.

Aléxandros was dead.

The Lydoi and Bithynians would attack Parmenion any day now. Leandros was rushing reinforcements into his forward bases in Mysia in preparation, and all leave was cancelled.

Akhilleus was leaving tomorrow.

She would normally be very conscious of her bodyguards sitting a discreet distance away. Today she simply didn't care.

She found he was watching her closely as she spread the woollen rug. She felt the heat go to her face. When she turned to get the basket of food and wine from Sheera, he caught her wrist. Her heart was racing. He must be able to feel it.

Without a word, he led her back to the rug. She obediently lay down for him, looking up at his handsome face. Her breath was coming fast, her heart was going faster and faster.

She was only aware of him, his strength, and his maleness as he leaned across her, supporting his weight. For a long time he just looked down at her, smiling.

"You are so beautiful."

She grinned back at him. And so are you!

He brought his head close till their lips were almost touching. She closed her eyes and strained up to meet him. Their kiss, when it came, was feather-soft. It left her lips, her whole body warm and tingling with anticipation.

She tried to strain up but he pinned her arms with his weight; the next kiss was a quick peck. She dropped back in helpless frustration as he chuckled at her.

Then he stooped to nuzzle her ear.

Her whole body arched up, filled with a warm burning feeling and tingling, especially her nipples and between her legs. He shifted his weight to stroke her face and her mouth hungrily searched for his lips.

They kissed for a long time. Her good hand was freed and drifted to the bulge in his groin.

"Jacinta!" He jerked up and rolled off her laughing. "Are you forgetting where we are and that we are watched? I don't want your father coming for me with that sword of his. I think we had better eat."

He stood and brought the basket to begin unpacking. Jacinta lay for a while, frustrated and then rolled up to leave him room.

"You brought wine?" Akhilleus looked at her enquiringly.

"Just a little won't hurt me today and we have water," Jacinta said, smiling, and gazed out from the cliff to the sea below.

There were plenty of fishing boats out and traders making their way to the harbour. Her mind turned to darker days. Twice, almost a thousand years apart, great enemy fleets had come to Troia.

"I suppose that this is a celebration," Akhilleus said.

This was his first real posting and he was so excited.

She did not feel like celebrating. It was goodbye and he was riding to war. She tried to keep her good mood for him. She didn't want him to see how sad and, well, how frightened she was.

Today many girls and women throughout the Greek world would be feeling like her. Had it always been like this when their men went to war? Would it always be? Would it ever be over?

Most men, especially the younger ones, would laugh at the women's tears. They would be excited. It would soon be over after all, and they would be returning victorious; of course, they would.

A few, a small few, would be quiet, sombre, thinking.

"Lochagos (captain) Eyripidhus fought with Phokion. I'm so lucky to get him." Akhilleus's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Zotikos says he chose me. I don't think so, but it will be great to have my own command."

Jacinta suppressed a shiver. She had a feeling that she wouldn't see Akhilleus again. Was it a premonition? Or was she just being silly?

"I'll come and visit you whenever I can," he was saying. "Will you wait for me, Jacinta?"

"Just don't keep me waiting too long, Troian."

"I will wait for you, Jacinta. As long as it takes, I will wait for you."

Her tears came at that and she tried to look away. Damn you, Akhilleus! She didn't want to cry on his last day. He turned her head till she was facing him and his hand wiped at her tears. She only wanted to cling to him and not let him go.

"I love you, Akhilleus," she whispered as he bent to kiss her again.

* * *

Retreat from the desert

The attacks during their retreat had been merciless, day and night, designed to wear them down until they could barely walk or defend themselves ... and then the slaughter began.

The Shantawi knew the road they had to take. They outfought their exhausted enemies with ridiculous ease. This time they didn't count the cost, they came in great numbers and they showed them no mercy.

There were so few of his men left now, a couple of hundred only. Temur was the only officer left alive. Up in front was a large band of Shantawi. One was holding a flag of truce. Temur went forward alone.

"Hello, my friend," Hakeem said quietly.

"I cannot be your friend."

Hakeem nodded.

"Coskun?"

Temur shook his head. "What under the sun did you expect?" he spat.

For an instant the expression on Hakeem's face became angry, frightening.

Temur's hand flew automatically to the grip on his sword, but Hakeem made no move ... and the moment passed.

"Is it finished then?" Temur asked.

"It is, if you wish it.

"Take those who are left far from here. Each of you we have marked, and the names you call to one another. Come here again, any of you, or to any lands we protect and you will die. This we have sworn."

Temur nodded his acceptance. "Let it be over then.

"I have lost far too many that I would call friend or cousin. If we meet you again, you and I, one of us will die. This I have also sworn." Temur turned his horse to go back.

Hakeem called to him. "Temur, I am sorry."

Temur turned back for a moment to look at him.

"I don't care."

And then he rode on.

* * *

The rebellion, the Athenian camp

"You said Aléxandros was dead!" Chares shouted angrily. "Not only is he alive, he will reach Thēbai before us!"

"This time we can beat him." Demosthenes looked frightened, but determined. "The Spartai will join us any day. We can catch Aléxandros between us on one side and the Thēbai on the other."

Chares spat in disgust. "The Makedóne garrison holds out inside Thēbai. Where is Parmenion and where are the Troians you promised us? Once again you overestimate us and underestimate our enemies."

"It's that fool Hakeem."

"You have called him a fool before, but look what happened when you goaded us to attack him. Phokion was right. You will destroy us all.

"Aléxandros has hēgemonía; if we attack him, we attack the greater part of the Hellas. It is one thing expelling a garrison from our cities once their king has died. It is quite another thing to go up against Aléxandros at the head of one of his armies. We will not escape judgement this time. The assembly will have us killed."

"But if we don't attack?"

"Sparte will hold back," Chares said flatly. "The Spartans hate Thēbai only slightly less than the Makedónes."

It was Thēbai that released their Heilotes (Helots, an enslaved people). Sparte was already in decline but it all but finished them as a force.

Demosthenes moaned in agony; Aléxandros was worse than his father!

"Kimon!" Chares called to his aide. "Tell my commanders that we will camp here. I want to send a message to the Spartiates!"

* * *

Aléxandros and Hephaestion

Aléxandros and Hephaestion stood on a hill overlooking Thēbai when the courier kneeled before them.

"My Lord, the Spartai are holding the Korinthiakós isthmos against incursions south but they are not marching to relieve Thēbai. The Athēnai have made camp a day away and seem to be digging in."

"They are waiting to see what happens!" Hephaestion laughed, incredulous. "Now they know you are alive, the rebellion is over. Thēbai will be forced to surrender."

Aléxandros looked out over the city. It was situated on gentle hills a little north of the Kithairon Mountains. It was famous for its springs on the hillside feeding the rivers at its base.

From where he stood he could see the outflow from one of its fountains falling to the river below. Near the wharves of the river port was an old squat Mykēnai tower long abandoned but still looking over the river. Close to it but inside the walls was a newer tower which doubled as a barracks.

From his vantage point, he could see four of the city's seven gates. The initial fortifications were large rough boulders unmortared, dating back to the Mykēnai. Over many centuries they had been added to and repaired. The men of the city could be seen manning the city walls and the palisades, ditches and mounds in front of them.

Inside the walls he could make out the houses and shops and the main agora with the city rising up to the temple of Apollōn in the background.

"We still hold their Akropolis," Hephaestion pointed out, rubbing his clean-shaven chin.

Overlooking it all, high up, was the Akropolis, the mighty fortress of Kadmeia. Flying proudly from its battlements Aléxandros's own flag, the many rayed sun. The Makedóne commander Philotas still held out with whatever was left of his original Makedóne garrison.

"I don't want them to surrender," Aléxandros said softly.

Hephaestion jerked around in surprise.

Aléxandros smiled sadly at his lover. "I have to end this."

Hephaestion looked like he had bitten something sour. And then he nodded, slowly and reluctantly.

He had seen Aléxandros's father do this maybe a dozen times. Aléxandros needed to make an example so people would fear him and, it would be Thēbai.

* * *

Thēbai

The Theban assembly was in an uproar. They had received the Makedóne demands.

Their leaders, Phoenix and Prothytes, were to be delivered to the Makedónes immediately. One man was to be surrendered for every one of the garrison that had fallen plus three hundred others. They had to surrender all weapons. The walls and fortifications of the city were to be dismantled and the fines and taxes would cripple them for years.

"He wants us to fight," Phoenix said quietly. "If it was just me, I would go."

After the disastrous defeat of the Athēnai and Thēbai at Chaerοneias, the punishment for Thēbai had been terrible. Philippos would not let them surrender along with the Athēnai. He completely slaughtered their elite troops, the Hieros Lokhos (the sacred band) and killed a great many of their men.

Afterwards he had built a monument to their courage, or perhaps it was as a warning. He had seemed to hold some sort of grudge form his time in the city, or maybe he saw Thēbai as his most dangerous opposition.

It seemed the son was going to be worse than the father.

"Can we win?" Lykos asked.

"We are outnumbered and Aléxandros has the better men, but they said we would not defeat the Spartai and we did."

"We will fight!" Lycos said grimly. "Any slave that agrees to fight for us is a free man. Take the women and children to the temples.

"I suppose he will spread lies, saying he offered generous terms."

"He has to win to do that."

This would be a fight to the finish, they knew that. They would receive no mercy.

* * *

Phoenix and Prothytes, leaders of the Thēbai

Phoenix and Prothytes stood in the barracks tower, looking out.

"What do you think?" Phoenix asked.

Prothytes didn't reply till he had finished studying the enemy.

"Aléxandros is taking his time, perhaps he wants to relish this moment but more likely he wants time for fear to work its damage amongst our men. If he thinks that, he doesn't know the Thēbai."

Aléxandros had his siege engines finally in place. It was a shame Prothytes didn't have the men and cavalry to do something about that ... or maybe more of his own siege engines.

He looked up at the fortress with the Makedóne barrier flying there. Even from here he could see the barriers they had erected to prevent a sortie from the Makedóne garrison. It was a shame they hadn't been able to surprise the garrison as they had planned.

"How long will it be now?"

"Not long," Prothytes said.

They left the tower to climb up to the walkway along the city walls just as the enemy began pounding the field fortifications protecting one of the lower gates. Newer city walls had deep trenches to protect them, but the walls of Thēbai were old.

"If we had the fortress, it would be better," Phoenix said.

"Not by much." If it came to taking refuge in the fortress all would be lost. It would deteriorate into a long siege and they could not win a long siege. Aléxandros would be reinforced and then there could only be one outcome.

Prothytes wanted Aléxandros to attack with the men he had. He planned to make the enemy bleed before they breeched the walls but he knew Aléxandros would not stop if he got that far. Prothytes would then would fight him inch by inch through the city. He hoped to get Aléxandros to overextend himself. If they won against him, then Sparte and Athēnai would join them.

Prothytes had withdrawn most of his men into the city for the bombardment, ready to run out when the enemy moved their troops closer. Those they left behind were well dug in. They could readily reinforce any point that seemed to be weakening.

It was maybe their one advantage.

The enemy archers moved closer and a horn sounded outside the city. There was no reply to the enemy's volley. His own archers were all up on the walls.

"Aléxandros will keep this up until we forget the assault will come," Phoenix murmured. "When we least expect it, he will send his men under the cover of the barrage and the Makedónes move fast."