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

Still, a fair bit of open ground for them to cover ... Prothytes strained to watch.

The enemy was moving their troops back and forwards behind their archers. It was designed to unnerve them ... and it was working.

Prothytes' runner stood ready down below; he wouldn’t use his trumpeter yet, better to keep the enemy guessing what he was doing. He would wait till the enemy was committed. His eyes ached from staring ...

No one had repeated the obvious joke about his friend Phoenix's name yet.

Could Thēbai rise from its ashes?

There! The enemy hoplitai were lined up; Aléxandros was going to commit his heavy infantry first. That was a pity. Most commanders didn't mind squandering their peltastae. It would have made it easier for them. Unfortunately Aléxandros knew that too.

Across the noise of shouting and screams of battle he heard the enemy piping.

Prothytes signalled his runner: Now! Hurry!

He held his breath till he saw his men streaming out of the foot gate into position. Shields high as the arrows rained down like a summer squall.

There was loud shouting and screams from his own men as the chanting of the Makedónes got louder; they were picking up speed.

His own archers did not need to be told, they began showering the enemy archers from their own position on top of the wall which gave them a range advantage. It was a gamble. He had exposed his own men to the ballistae and catapults (and archers) and they were taking casualties.

Unarmoured youth began to sling earthenware pots of oil over the wall. Then his archers showered the advancing men with fire arrows. A bit late, a great explosion of fire caught the rear of the enemy troops. The screams of the enemy caught by it could be heard all the way to the wall.

He signalled his trumpeter: Now!

A forest of sharpened stakes sprung up and the enemy began stumbling in the mud and potholes as they tried to scramble uphill. His own archers turned their attention to the enemy infantry just as the enemies' catapults and ballistae had fallen silent for fear hitting their own men.

The infantry charge had failed!

He was aware of Phoenix slapping him on the shoulder and laughing loudly.

"It's not over yet," he yelled. Not by a long way.

Damn. He leaned forward; Aléxandros was committing his reserve. There was a man in a golden helmet in the van, the King himself; he was impatient in case the Athēnai remembered their courage after all.

"Archers ..." Prothytes had begun to call, but then he gasped in horror. "Phoenix! Electra's gate! Someone is opening it!"

Phoenix spun and then he was flying down the stairs three at a time, screaming for men. Prothytes saw the elite Makedóne cavalry making a charge for the gate, probably led by Perdikkas himself. They must have circled around.

He cursed. The long preparations and the whole assault was a ruse.

A trumpet sounded from the enemy position and the Makedóne garrison high above the city issued forth just as the enemy cavalry bore down on Phoenix and the few men battling to regain the gate.

"Sound the retreat!" Prothytes screamed "And remember, we make this expensive for them, we go down fighting. He grabbed his own sword and his shield. It was up to individual commanders now. He led his small bodyguard racing to the barracks tower, where most of the archers would be holed up.

* * *

Thēbai

The Makedóne King was bent over, his helm was dinted and his spear lost.

He used his bloodied cavalry sword to lever himself up as he caught his breath. Their cavalry had held the gate. After that it became a fight between his elite units in formation and militia, scattered, and demoralised.

"They want to surrender," Perdikkas shouted as he rode up. "Phoenix is dead and they will give up Prothytes."

"Not yet!" Aléxandros panted. He took his helmet off to wipe his sweat with a cloth and grinned at his cavalry commander. "Not yet."

* * *

The ruins were still smoking. Bodies were scattered everywhere. They had taken 30,000 men, women and children to be sold as slaves. Seven thousand men would be taken to a nearby wood and hanged.

Thēbai was no more.

"You have your lesson," Hephaestion said, looking grimly over the ruins of the once great city.

A familiar woman's voice chattered in Aléxandros's mind.

"If it is such a good thing, then why do I feel so dirty?" he replied to her.

Hephaestion looked at him, a bit unsure.

He thought Aléxandros was talking to him.

 

 

Chapter 8: Granikos

Korinthos (Corinth)

The akropolis of Korinthos was on a great rocky mountain which towered over the city. Aléxandros' quarters gave him a good view of the city below.

He had travelled to here to call a meeting of the Korinthos Synedrion (the Corinthian League), to approve his destruction of Thēbai. The league had been set up by his father after the battle of Chaeronea, for 'mutual protection'.

Athēnai had used the same strategy almost a hundred years earlier when it set up the 'Delian League' to protect the members against the threat of invasion from the East.

The Athēnai then used it and its laws to progressively take over all the other members by stealth, and establish its empire. Philippos had simply borrowed the same tactic.

Aléxandros's presence in Korinthos was in many ways unnecessary.

All members of the league contributed to a common army on the basis of the size of their city, so technically the Makedóne garrison in Thēbai belonged to the League, not Aléxandros. Thēbai, by attacking it, had attacked the League.

Not only that, but Aléxandros was Stratēgos Autokrator of the League. He was able to act in an emergency in the interest of the league. Basically, in any way he saw fit.

Furthermore, the members of the League, including the representatives from Thēbai, had sworn an oath not only to the League but to Aléxandros personally as its leader. So, the people of Thēbai, in attacking him and the League, were doubly oath breakers.

It was no excuse that they believed Aléxandros dead. Or so the lawyers had argued.

It was legal fiction, of course. The Makedóne garrison in Thēbai was not there to protect the loyal citizens of Thēbai. It was an occupying force placed there by Philippos and it was Aléxandros's swift action that confirmed him as the head the League, not legal argument.

Thēbai's real crime was that it was unsuccessful.

If they had won, it would have all been argued differently but Aléxandros was not really here to get permission for what he had already done.

Nor was he here to hear the impassioned rhetoric of the Athenian orator that he had employed.

He hadn't come to refute the counter argument from the Theban delegation. There was none.

It was too good a site to remain abandoned forever but the Thēbai, that had stood for millennia, since the time of the Pelasgoí, the old Greeks. The Thēbai that was a major city in the time of the Mykēnai and was, for a while, the leading city of the Hellas. That Thēbai was no more.

No, he was here to make a point. It was the same point he had made when he had destroyed Thēbai and punished its citizens. Rebel against me and this will happen to you.

He was still in Korinthos when he got a message from Anatolē. He waited till the messenger left before passing the papuros (paper) scroll wordlessly to Admetos, the gigantic leader of the Makedóne peltastae.

"The Lydoi and Bithynians have attacked us in force."

Admetos leapt up and began pacing in agitation. "Parmenion is heavily outnumbered and is being beaten back. He has already lost Astakos. We have to do something!"

Hephaestion joined his huge friend in his outrage and also leapt to his feet. He looked across a little wildly to Aléxandros to find him sitting calmly, watching them in amusement.

"You aren't upset, are you?" Hephaestion asked, slowly subsiding.

"Me? No. The Greek cities of Anatolē are covered by the Korinthos Synedrion. It means I will have full backing of the League and can ask for troops and supplies from all its members to do what I was going to do anyway – invade Anatolē."

He gave his lover a satisfied smile. "And a few still say Parmenion is a better stratēgos than me. I will be able to rescue him and silence them forever."

He got up and walked over to clasp his friends on their shoulders.

"No, my friends, the Lydoi have given me a gift. Anyway, it is past time that I had a chance to match wits with Hakeem and pay him back for what he did to us in my father's time. It's a very good time with him tied up in the desert."

The more he thought about it, the wider his smile became.

* * *

 

"Hakeem!" Memnon called out excitedly as Hakeem rode up with his bodyguard.

Memnon was supervising men who were digging in. "I'm glad you're back."

"The battle for Karsh is over." Hakeem dismounted. "You still have most of your army at least." He watched with interest as the Lydian priestesses placed little sacrifices inside pots and buried them close to the field fortifications. Painted egg shells for Mother Kuvava (Cybele), the small replica of a labrys (double-headed axe) for Zeus, and three female newborn puppies, killed for Hekate.

This evening they would hold the main sacrifice, a bull to Zeus. They even got to eat most of the meat.

"We almost had them," Menon said, grinning at the memory. "We pushed them all the way back to Chalkedon and we had our siege engines ready to pound the walls. Just a little bit more time and we would have had control of the Bósporos."

"Except that Aléxandros arrived with fifty thousand men. How surprising of him," Hakeem replied dryly. "You did well in retreat."

"Thanks for your help. You arrived just in time. This is a good spot, don't you think?"

Memnon gestured along the bank of the Granikos where the Lydoi and their Greek mercenaries were digging in.

The Granikos River curved sharply here, so they were protected on three sides. The river was narrower but deeper and the bank was higher on their side making it virtually immune to direct charge across the river. They were just beside the main ford and could bring their archers to bear on anyone trying to sneak across.

Memnon had his skirmishers out along the river, backed up by reserves of light infantry so a forced crossing anywhere nearby would be expensive. It blocked Aléxandros's march on the Troad and prevented a detour to Sardeis because it would leave Memnon at his rear.

"Zethos is still angry with you for not letting the Troians go on the offensive," Memnon continued. "You should hear the latest. Here he comes now."

Zethos strode up. "Well, Hakeem? Are you ready to join us or must we do all the work?"

"My Lord, this is a good spot but you mustn't face Aléxandros in the field," Hakeem said. "Retreat to Sardeis and deny him any food from your farms. We can hold the main cities of Mysia and all of the Troad. You should do the same in Sardeis and Magnesia and the surrounding towns."

"I will not run anymore! And do you really expect me to burn my own villages? Will you join me here or not?" Zethos's tone was dangerous.

"I will not," Hakeem said flatly. "I have walls, as do you. I have no need to make field fortifications do the same thing. If I cannot convince you, at least move your camp back from the water's edge. You don't meet an enemy as he tries to cross a river. If you start to win, he simply stops coming. You should allow him to get half his force across and then attack. If you are winning it is harder for him to retreat or reinforce his troops. If you are losing he has only half his force to chase you with.

"And why is your cavalry in your camp? They are no use inside fortifications. Horses won't charge a sarissa spear hedge front on. If Aléxandros moves quickly enough with his hoplitai he might trap your cavalry here. They will have nowhere to go but over your own men."

Zethos turned a dangerous colour. "Did Memnon put you up to saying all this? I have decided to take control since he is losing."

Hakeem looked at him, open-mouthed. He thought he could do better? Memnon coloured but otherwise his face showed no expression.

"And I will lead the cavalry myself. Don't you dare to advise me if all you are going to do is run away. Now, if you won't help us, I will ask you to leave."

* * *

South of the Dariel pass

"Leonidas!" Katarina called out in fright.

She jumped off her horse and ran to the cliff face, her hands to her mouth.

"What are you doing? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Katarina had gone in search of Leonidas only to find him sitting on a rope swing, suspended over a precipice. He was inspecting the underside of an enormous pile of rock and earth hanging halfway down the cliff face. Up the top of the cliff was a huge slab, delicately balanced, waiting to be tipped over the edge.

What to her looked like a rather flimsy frame and pulley assembly supporting his rope was angled out so he could inspect underneath. If there was any miscalculation Leonidas would not only be forced to his death in the gorge far below, tons of rock and earth on top of him would ensure an instant burial.

"I thought you didn't like heights," she called down a little shrilly, her heart beating fast.

"I don't," he called back. "Especially from the back of one of your horses, but you really should see this. It's perfect. You can't tell it's a trap from below."

He signalled half a dozen burly Greeks. He was humming a patriotic Athenian song as they swung him out from under and hauled him up. Katarina didn't resume breathing until they had deposited him back on solid ground.

"You must see it ... oh, I forgot about your shoulder." He sounded disappointed.

"I would have liked you to see it," he added.

"See your rocks and dirt, Leonidas?" She asked. "Perhaps another time."

She reached out determinedly with her good arm and grabbed him for a kiss. Leonidas forgot all about his rocks and soil ... at least for a little while.

* * *

The Granikos River

The Lydian soldiers and their Greek mercenaries huddled in their wet camp for another cheerless morning.

Most of the Greeks and Lydoi could light a fire and keep it burning despite the continuous rain and chilling winds. The only problem was finding dry fuel in the wet.

The best way was finding wood under shelter or in hollows or strip the bark from wet wood or break it open to find dry wood inside. Then they only needed to shelter their fires as much as they could from the rain.

But after a few days with so many men camped nearby, there was no dry fuel to be found.

Memnon had had a cold breakfast and was making his rounds in his oiled leather overcoat. He met Pelops and Zethos chatting with some of the troops, keeping morale up.

Some of his irritation with Zethos melted away. He was not a bad man, really.

"My Lord Zethos," he called out. "Are you regretting our decision to meet these cursed Makedónes in the open yet?"

"A palace would be more comfortable." Zethos laughed back. "I hope they will come soon or we will all grow webbed feet, eh?"

As Memnon approached Zethos to give his report a mounted Makedóne scout broke cover across the river. He paused to carefully survey the Lydian encampment and then galloped back into the trees.

Not long after he was followed by another.

"Must have heard me, what?" Zethos joked. "It's about time!"

"I wonder why they would do that," Memnon muttered to Pelops.

"They are scouting us, of course," Zethos said, overhearing him.

"Uncle, I think Memnon means the scouts wanted us to see them."

"Here they come!" Zethos announced, his voice tight with emotion.

Several thousand enemy archers trotted into position.

"Get down!" Zethos shouted out to his men and called across to the archers. "Shoot before they can get into position!"

The Makedónes began by volleying arrows over the Lydian field fortifications, a deadly squall. Memnon had paused to observe them and was forced to scurry, his shield held high. He slipped and ended up sitting in the muddy water of a trench. At least he had managed to keep his shield up.

Their own archers were returning fire. It didn't last long. The Makedóne archers were too exposed and were greatly outnumbered. They were forced to withdraw.

"Ha! What did I tell you?" Zethos laughed in delight. "The first round to us."

Memnon stood dripping water and uselessly tried to brush mud from his sodden clothes.

Further back, in a nearby clearing, the Makedóne Hoplitai could be seen through the trees, forming up, and marching back and forward to the sounds of piping. Memnon studied them for a while and then nodded to himself and hurried back to talk to Zethos.

"This is a feint if I ever saw one," he whispered urgently. "Aléxandros will never cross here. He is going to attack somewhere else; just be ready for him."

"What are you talking about?" Zethos bellowed at him. "We are winning."

Pelops was motionless, looking thoughtful.

"Don't worry." Zethos came up behind his nephew and clasped him on the shoulder reassuringly. "They don't know what to do is all. We are too well dug in."

* * *

The Granikos River, the Lydian camp

A weary travel-stained scout trotted his horse through the camp before throwing himself off and kneeling in the mud at their feet.

His horse was lathered, its sides heaving.

"My Lords," he said breathlessly. "Aléxandros himself led all eight ilai (squadrons) of his hetairoi (elite companion cavalry) across the river. They concentrated on one spot and our skirmishers were scattered over a wide front. Lord Cotys tried to attack him but Aléxandros himself met him in single combat and killed him."

"Well tell them to regroup and attack, of course," Zethos shouted. "Find Lord Tursenos. Our men still outnumber the enemy. Tursenos can hold the river crossing for us and maybe he can get Aléxandros as well!"

The scout looked at him, dumbfounded. Memnon was for a moment speechless.

Pelops was the first to react.

"Uncle, if the men are scattered and have lost one leader and the other leader is missing, how can they be expected to rally? Even if it were possible, who would lead them?"

Zethos spun at the scout.

"You are a scout. Find Tursenos! Hurry, you fool, before more of the Makedónes cross."

The man reluctantly turned his exhausted horse and walked it wearily out of camp.

Memnon only held his temper with difficulty. "You just sent a man on an exhausted horse to find his way through over two thousand companion cavalry and however many of the Thessalonian cavalry that have followed them across by now."

He took a breath. "He is supposed to find one man on a battle field, someone we are not even sure is alive. We need to send the Greek peltastae, and we need to send them now. They can rally the other skirmishers; it is the only way we will have a chance."

Zethos turned a dangerous colour. "They still have to get their infantry across, and for that they have to cross here. This is the only shallow part anywhere nearby. There are plenty of men already who can deal with their cavalry."

Memnon looked at him for a while, disbelieving, and then turned his back and stormed off. Pelops remained with his uncle but he was looking very unhappy.

The morning wore on and the rain stopped; the Makedóne hoplitai formed up across the river just out of bow shot. Zethos finally saw it for what it was.

"There are only a thousand of them!" He was aghast.

They turned reluctantly to see another scout galloping up.

"Lords, the Makedónes have all their cavalry across now and they are hunting down our light skirmishers. They are crossing their Agrarians with small rafts."

The Agrarians were Aléxandros's elite force of Thráki peltastae.

Zethos cursed. He turned to Damianos. "Take ten thousand of the Greeks to reinforce Tursenos."

"The message will be old," Memnon whispered to Pelops as they watched the men trotting off. "It is already too late."

* * *

Memnon, the retreat

Memnon was sagging with fatigue when Hakeem and Helios finally found him. It was just on dusk and he was leading a long line of stumbling men retreating to Sardeis. He shook his head when they greeted him.

"We lost so many."

Helios put a steadying arm on the Greek mercenary.

Hakeem had hurried another two and a half thousand Shantawi tribesmen north to add to the fifteen hundred that were already in Anatolē. Helios had assembled four thousand of his own hoplitai on his border and had another two thousand more en-route. They were ready to reinforce the Lydian capital in case Granikos went wrong.

And it had, terribly.

"Curse Zethos! The only decent thing he did was to get himself killed," Memnon spat. "If only he had done that earlier, not lose half my army before doing it."

"What happened?" Helios asked gently.

"After Aléxandros surprised us at Chalkedon, Zethos insisted he take charge. But when it came down to it, he had no idea. All his experience was at the head of a large force chasing down a few marauding Kimmerioi.

"He had never commanded a real army in battle. His head was filled with some fantasy of making a glorious cavalry charge, scattering the enemy in all directions, but apart from that, he didn't know what to do.

"Aléxandros sent a smallish cavalry force across the river; it would have been a difficult crossing. Zethos should have immediately sent all the Greek peltastae to reinforce our skirmishers but he insisted Aléxandros would cross close to where we were, just because he wanted him to. Aléxandros accommodated him by making a feint.

"Zethos changed his mind when it was obvious what was happening, but he released the peltastae too late. The enemy was already across the river in force. It was the worst possible compromise between doing something and doing nothing. They couldn't stop any more from crossing and ended up outnumbered and cut off.

"Then, when the enemy hoplitai had crossed and arrived near our camp, he ordered me to defend the fortifications while he led his cavalry out. He had no clear idea of what to do with it. It should have been used earlier to rescue our peltastae.

"He led his cavalry all by itself against the Makedóne hoplitai, while the Makedóne units were fighting as a co-ordinated whole. With their Sarissa hedge keeping him in position, their own cavalry simply swung around and attacked him from the rear. It was a classic hammer and anvil manoeuvre, and he just allowed it to happen. What else did he think they were going to do? When he was being cut to pieces, I got a message requesting a charge with all the remaining infantry. We would have been scattered all over the field. I ignored it. It was too late anyway. And just as well I did. We might have been dug in but we were trapped. We had the river at our rear.

"There I was, with the rest of my mercenaries, the Lydoi infantry and archers. Aléxandros himself led the assault on us. He was well out in front, the young fool. I almost got him myself." Memnon shook his head in admiration and smiled. "If it wasn't for Kleitos o melas (Cleitus the Black) getting in the road, I would have had him.

"After that I don't know how we lasted till dark, we suffered assault after assault. For once, the speed of their advance was in our favour, their siege weapons were still following or we would have been done for. After dark, we managed to withdraw." He turned to Hakeem. "Without your Shantawi we never would have made it.

"I hear he didn't allow the Greek peltastae to surrender." Helios said.

"It's his new policy." Hakeem looked grim. "He calls them traitors."

"Well, he should know Greeks better than that," Helios cursed. "Those left want nothing more than the chance to fight him again. Is Pelops safe?"

"Yes, he is leading the few cavalry we have left to us, escorting some of the wounded." Memnon sighed heavily. "You know how young men think of war, until they see it. He could see his uncle was making a mess of things. I think he was close to telling me to take over then. He agreed that the remaining infantry couldn't charge out to rescue his uncle. But he loved his uncle and watched him die – let him die, I suppose.

"He's not the boy that rode out with us, not by a long way. But he still did all that could be asked of him and more on the retreat. He has made me stratēgos autokrator. I know it is late in the day to ask your advice but what do you suggest?"

"This time we don't meet Aléxandros in the open."

That got a tired smile.

"Aléxandros has us outnumbered but not by much if we drained our strong points. We are not going to do that," Hakeem said. "You may have been able to face him in the field, in a stand-up fight, but I can't. He is a better general than me and he has already hurt us badly. We can't risk that happening again, it would finish us. I need to find a way to hold him off long enough so I can start turning the tables on him.

"He can easily contain Boteiras now but still can't go after him." Hakeem continued. “Boteiras's losses have been light. Besides, Aléxandros knows I would love him to do something like that. I'd have him fighting on two fronts.

"If not Boteiras, Granikos puts him in striking distance to Kyzikos or Abydos. He won't attack Abydos until he has all of Mysia for the same reasons. So he will lay siege to Kyzikos; it is near the border of his holdings in Bithynia. We are well prepared for him there and he won't take Kyzikos but a siege there will cut us off from the hinterland and prevent some of our free movement, while we have no way to prevent his free movement or fight him on his own terms."

"Zethos tried that," Memnon said bitterly.

"After Kyzikos, he will lose some momentum but I think he will turn his attention to you, Magnesia, I think, or maybe even Sardeis itself. The lower city is still vulnerable. Either would be risky because his forces would be isolated from his base in Bithynia but he could find ways to supply them by plunder if he is able to achieve victory quickly.

"We must deny him a base in Lydia. I must gain some time."

"Do you want me to clear out the villages?"

"You won't have time. Dig in as best you can." Hakeem extended his hand. "And good luck."

"You just got here, Hakeem, are you going somewhere else?"

"Yes, I am. I am going to Makedonía."

"Do we have the men for that?"

Hakeem smiled at him tiredly. "I won't need many."

* * *

Hakeem was in a great hurry when he arrived in Troia.

All the adults in the palace seemed busy. Elena had only just left for Abydos to help with the Lydian casualties that had made it that far.

"We are losing, aren't we?" Jacinta asked when her father hurried in.

He nodded. "We have lost one major battle and a lot of men already. The Lydoi had reached Chalkedon but Aléxandros appeared out of nowhere with a large army and chased them back into Mysia and then he chewed them up badly.

"We have had to divert troops from elsewhere, which we could ill afford, just to reinforce Lydia."

"Zethos was a complete fool," Jacinta said bitterly.

"Well, he has paid the price for that, but he left us in a bad position. Now we are facing a very dangerous man at the head of the best standing army in the region. We can't win against him, he is too good, and we can't afford to be seriously weakened when the Hun come. Sophie has confirmed they are coming to Anatolē so I can't even afford to damage Aléxandros too much either, not that I think I can. So, while I remain here, I can't afford to lose and I can't afford to win."

"Can you draw it out into a stalemate?" Jacinta asked.

"Yes, I can, but I need time for that. Thanks to Zethos we have a serious problem with Lydia. If Aléxandros is smart enough to take the risk and go there immediately, that's a big army he has and the countryside isn't cleaned out of supplies. We can't stop him besieging Magnesia or even Sardeis itself.

"He may end up with a strong base and fifty thousand soldiers right in the middle of our territory."

"Oh."

"Oh indeed," Hakeem agreed. "I need to make sure Aléxandros doesn't have time to do anything worse to us than he already has. I must go to Makedonía. Aléxandros left ten thousand troops under Antipatros behind, but they can't be everywhere. I need to raid the estates of the Makedóne nobles and commanders and force Aléxandros to return to deal with me."

"That will be dangerous, father."

"Very," Hakeem agreed. "I will only have a small force. I don't know the countryside, and every peasant will be a possible spy or enemy and if Aléxandros comes, and he will, he will come quickly. I may end up playing a cat-and-mouse game in the claws of a very dangerous cat."

Jacinta threw her arms around her father and held him tight and kissed him. She didn't want him to see how worried she was. She just wished she could control her tears.

 

Chapter 9: Losing, and Makedonía

Aléxandros

"Are you sure of this?" Hephaestion asked. "It seems they can't stop us from moving deeper into Mysia and you want to leave for Lydia instead. Why not Kyzikos? It's close to Bithynia and it's the obvious move."

"It is obvious, so that is why we are not going there."

He had studied Hakeem. He expected empty towns stripped of supplies, only large centres occupied: well sited, well supplied and heavily fortified ... and more of his cursed skirmishers.

While Parmenion had warned Aléxandros about Hakeem's skirmishers he had not really believed how good they would be. Even a full Lokhos of infantry each wasn't enough to protect his supply trains. Overland, all he could move safely away from his main army was his prodromoi (light cavalry) and only then in large numbers.

"But, Lydia. You are splitting your forces in two."

"The Lydoi are in complete disarray. We have enough men to take Sardeis or at least the lower city, and better yet, we will be able to supply them. Once we have a good base in Lydia, we will control the heart of Anatolē. Then let me show you what I will do with Hakeem and his so-called alliance then."

* * *

Hakeem took five hundred Shantawi and their elf scouts.

Persos still saw himself as the leader of Hakeem's personal bodyguard. He would be coming ... whether Hakeem wanted him to or not. So Persos would lead the Shantawi with Mal'akhi as his second. It was more cavalry than Hakeem wanted to remove from the allies at this time and yet despite what he said to Memnon, he would like more.

A bigger force might not do him any good raiding country estates and would be harder to hide when the hunt was on, and yet he had a gut feeling he would need more. And, like most experienced commanders, he didn't like ignoring his gut feelings.

The solution was a very special group of men rushed from Abydos. He had three hundred and fifty of these special hoplitai under their commander Herodotos. The Athēnai still had a similar unit in their army but apart from that they were unique.

They fought as heavy infantry and they rode horses (in the classic Greek style: no saddle but with a layer of felt). They could, in a pinch, fight as Greek cavalry but they were essentially rapid response infantry. And they were incredibly tough.

They had arrived after the siege of Troia to join him. He was a bit puzzled at first: infantry on horses? But as soon as he tried them, he wished he had two or three times their number.

They were designed to be sent in when a small force was outnumbered or losing, or a very nasty hole in the defences had appeared. In other words, they were designed to be sent into very difficult situations.

And they were good: very good.

None of Hakeem's Shantawi could pass as locals, especially with their dialects.

Herodotos's hoplitai came closest. At one time the Chalkidiki peninsula and much of southern Makedónian coast was held by Greek maritime colonies which were progressively taken over by the Athēnai. So the Athenians could pass for locals, short of close scrutiny.

Hakeem's Shantawi were dressed like Greeks and his elves might pass for fair northerners if they disguised themselves. The Makedónian people are a great mixture of the original tribes and various invaders especially from the north. He just hoped the locals would be used to small groups of foreign troops travelling their roads.

 

From Troia they boarded cargo ships to travel to the eastern side of the base of the Chalkidiki peninsula, west of the old Eritrean colony of Ἠϊon.

Warships are designed to be rowed in combat and are fast and highly manoeuvrable. They are made of light wood. They can be beached by their crew during a landing and during storms.

Cargo ships on the other hand are designed for sailing, not rowing; they are deeper in the beam to allow them to sail closer into the wind. And they are much heavier. Loading and unloading a deep beamed ship is best in the deep water of a proper harbour with a floating dock to allow for tides. The ships had dinghies and three tenders from converted fishing boats but those would be reserved to ferry the heavy equipment.

Hakeem wondered how they planned to unload the rest when moored off an uninhabited section of coast.

He found out. Especially the part about using cranes to dump the horses into the water, and sending him and most of his men over the side.

It was pitch black, freezing, and there was far more swell than any of them cared for. Hakeem could swim but he wasn't a strong swimmer, none of the Shantawi were. Their men and horses were assisted with ropes and lots of wooden and cork floatation devices. It may have only been a short trip to the shore but it was certainly a memorable one.

It was fair to say the men were not happy. Nor were their horses, as they finally crawled and staggered up onto the beach in the frigid wind. The sailors were right though: they left them frozen, soggy and exhausted, but they didn't lose any of them.

They waited in the woods till dark before crossing the busy King's Highway. What was called the 'King's Highway' in Makedonía was a series of what had been separate roads connecting the wealthy southern Makedónian cities parallel to the Aegean Sea.

It stretched from Byzántion in the east back along the coast, finally detouring slightly north to Aigai (the old Makedóne capital) and from there it travelled over the mountains to the West.

Crossing the King's Highway was the most dangerous part of the trip as they were uncomfortably close to the city of Amphipolis. It went without incident and soon they were making good time following the Strymon River north and west.

They didn't plan to go too much further than fifty miles along the Strymon. They would then start raiding in the north of Makedonía and make their way back south, making it look like they had come from the north, so any local militia might waste their time trying to cut them off from an 'escape' north.

They were passing through a pleasant land: wide fertile river valleys surrounded on either side and ahead by mountains, hazy in the distance. In the valleys a lot of the forests had been cleared to make way for prosperous farms and there were lots of small lakes and marsh land, the larger waterways dotted with fishermen in their dinghies.

As they got further north into upper Makedonía the valleys became narrower and they had to cross many of the Strymon's tributaries. Most of the farmers were sowing for autumn.

That wasn't happening in Mysia and the Troad, Hakeem thought grimly. It would be hard next year in northern Anatolē without a spring harvest.

"You know you will have to kill many whose only sin is to defend their master's property," Persos said, breaking into Hakeem's thoughts.

"I will try not to kill too many," Hakeem said, watching the Makedónes at work. "This is not about right or wrong; it is war. It is a war I have to win at all costs. As soon as I came here, any that stand in my way with a weapon in their hands are soldiers, whether they know it or not."

* * *

Aléxandros had been only a day's march away from Lydian Magnesia when his mother told him Hakeem was in Makedonía. "Didn't you see him coming?"

"Hakeem is hidden from me." He sensed her hesitation and he smiled.

His mother did not like to admit there were limits to her power.

"There is something else." He felt her fear. "I have a sense of 'wrongness', something approaching from the East. It is coming ever closer and it is moving very fast."

"Well, I look forward to dealing with Hakeem before I deal with whatever that is, though I do wish he would stay in the one place long enough."

He called to his commanders. For this, they would travel fast. He would take most of cavalry. It would be what Hakeem would want him to do.

Sometimes, Hakeem, you have to be careful what you wish for.

* * *

Hakeem

Hakeem left the main column well out of sight and went forward with Persos and a hundred Shantawi. The villa they would raid first belonged to Eurybotas, one of Aléxandros’s senior generals and it became visible as they rounded a bend.

It was two storied, with the red terracotta roof tiles, rather than thatch, and had white plaster over the mud brick walls.

It was a country house of a rich lord, or at least it had been. Even in the distance, there should have been well-tended orchards, figs, grapes and olives. Workers should have been in the field planting barley and wheat. Instead, all but a small part of the fields were choked by weeds, and there was only a pitiful number of sheep. The house that they could see was neglected too and this was supposed to be the wealthy home of one of Aléxandros's most favoured stratēgoi!

"What happened to this place?" Persos asked, studying the villa.

Hakeem stared at it. "It seems Eurybotas has fallen from favour. Only one way to find out, I suppose."

He signalled four of his Shantawi scouts to go forward while he led a hundred men not far behind them. As they moved cautiously forward, they carefully scanned the house and the surrounds.

There was the main house, a kitchen/bath house and a barn/storage shed which were separate, facing an enclosed courtyard. The buildings had no external windows on the ground floor and a mud brick wall completed a defensive barrier of sorts but it was no more than four paces high.

The place seemed deserted.

The entrance was through a sturdy gate which lay open. It led to a short, covered carriage way which was flanked by the shed on one side and the kitchen/bathhouse on the other. The courtyard itself was open to the sky with a well, an overgrown garden and what looked like a wooden altar.

Inside the courtyard was the only new-looking part of the house – external wooden stairs to the upper floor and roof. The stairs were open to the elements and looked more like they belonged in a wooden fort rather than a grand house. They must have been a later, hasty, addition.

As they got closer, a huge warrior burst through the gate yelling at the top of his voice and brandishing a sword.

"Hold!" Hakeem screamed to his men, as he spurred his horse forward.

The man paused as he saw four mounted bowmen with war bows at full draw and a large group of mounted warriors rapidly approaching behind.

Two older women, dressed as servants and brandishing meat cleavers and an old man with a pitch fork had almost joined him but when they saw what was coming they stopped just inside the entrance.

"You! You, leave them alone!" A well-dressed, attractive woman rushed out past her servants. She had fire in her eyes.

"So they have sent more of you, do they want to kill me now?"

Hakeem held up his arm for peace and slid off his horse.

"Just some information, Lady," he explained. "We are raiders."

The lady looked him up and down and laughed.

"Well, you have certainly come to the wrong place."

"Then it is sorry I am to disturb you, Lady. Isn't this the villa of Eurybotas?"

"Eurybotas died three years ago.mt name is Lysandra. He left this place to me, but his family are trying to drive me off. Sampson was the leader of his bodyguard and came to protect me." She spoke with a Karian accent. A little boy ran out to join her and clutched to her dress; she yelled at him to go back but he ignored her.

"You were his mistress?"

"And what of it?" she demanded scowling at him.

"No offence meant, Lady. Is this his boy?" Hakeem added.

Several things happened at once.

The big warrior started to move towards Hakeem.

"You leave that boy alone," he growled.

His men raised their bows and pulled them back, ready to fire.

"Samson!" the Karian lady screamed.

"Hold!" Hakeem called out desperately.

The little boy darted out and thumped Hakeem in the thigh.

It hurt more than it should have been possible.

Hakeem looked down in disbelief to see a small knife sticking in his thigh. The little boy had run back to his mother and was hiding behind her. She turned to Hakeem, her pale face defiant, yet with unspoken pleading in her eyes.

Hakeem grimaced and pulled the knife out and wiped it on his chiton to look at it. It was a child's knife, but very sharp. One of his men came forward and squatted, binding his wound firmly. No one said anything, no one moved, till Hakeem's wound was dressed.

"As I said," Hakeem managed through gritted teeth. "I apologise for disturbing your peace, Lady. We will be on our way."

He limped over to drop the knife at her feet and turned to limp painfully back to his horse.

"Aren't you going to even search the house?" she blurted out before she could help herself.

"Lady, that would be a discourtesy," Hakeem said as he lifted his leg gingerly over his horse. "Besides the evidence is plain; I would not take from someone in your position."

With a nod to his men to follow, Hakeem turned his horse and rode off, leaving the villa and its rather perplexed occupants behind.

Persos laughed as they rode away. "So the great Hakeem bested by a ten-year-old boy! It seems our information is out of date. These damn Makedónes are busy killing one another when they aren't busy killing everyone else; where to now?"

"We head south. I feel a bit exposed on the road for some reason."

"Isn't the point to be seen?"

"Not by the local militia."

Hakeem screwed his face up against the pain as he brought his horse to a canter. They joined with the rest of the men and took a cross-road west. There was very little traffic and after a while Hakeem felt more and more uneasy. Any traffic they did see was going east but none seemed to be returning.

"Where is all the traffic on this cursed road?" Persos asked.

They stopped some travellers but no one knew anything. Hakeem had them turned back. He had a growing uneasy feeling about what might be happening in the east.

"Let's get off the road," Persos suggested and they all nodded their agreement. They made their way on a small path to a large hill near a river with some forest nearby. The summit was less than ten stremmata (hectares). Heavily weathered ditches showed it had once been a hill fort.

"We won't go south until we find out what's happening," Hakeem decided. "In the meantime we will fortify this and send out extra patrols."

"I'm glad we were off the road," Persos agreed, looking worried.

"I wish we had brought more men," Mal'akhi added, scanning the surrounds.

They all seemed to be picking up on a sense that something was far wrong, but what? While Herodotos got the men to set up camp and Mal'akhi led a group of scouts east, Hakeem waited, worrying and looking to the east.

One of their elf scouts came running swiftly from the north.

"A party is emerging from cover, my Lord, near the forest. It seems mainly women and children though."

Hakeem took his personal century to investigate.

It was maybe two hundred peasants, mainly women and young children. When they saw the tribesmen galloping to intercept them the women began screaming and clutching at their babies and children. A few tried to run back to the trees. At a sign from Hakeem, fifty of his men rode around to herd them back.

As the peasants saw grim horsemen circling them, led by the big bearded stranger, five old men hurried to the front. They spread out defensively as best they could and readied themselves. Between them they had four reeving hooks, a couple of short swords at their waists and one had a woodsman's axe.

Four young boys clutching knives walked uncertainly forward to stand beside them. The adults shouted at them to get back but they ignored them, looking frightened but resolute.

All their faces had that haunted look of those living in fear, tired and hungry.

Hakeem passed the reins of his horse, hopped down and limped closer.

"Who's in charge here?" Hakeem demanded, speaking slowly and clearly. His Greek was Aeolic but they should be able to make sense of it.

Gayanes, their leader, stepped forward, eyeing the formidable stranger up and down.

"You speak Greek! My name is Gayanes. Are you with the Turks or are you with us?"

"Turks?"

It was as if an icy hand clasped at Hakeem's heart.

"No, my name is Yousef, kyrie. I am a mercenary captain. Some I lead are Greeks and some are my countrymen. What are you all doing out here and what is all this about Turks?"

Gayanes let out a great sigh of relief. "He's one of ours!" he yelled out. Hakeem saw them all relaxing; some women sat down. Others started to cry with relief.

"You haven't heard then, Yousef? The Hun appeared out of nowhere. They are moving fast, killing and looting."

Hakeem had to get back to Anatolē and fast!

As he was absorbing this dreadful news, a woman, he later found was named Aerope, walked up close and threw a clod of earth at him. He batted it aside.

"Where were you when they came for my babies?" she screamed at him. "My boys, they hacked them to death in front of me. I begged them to kill me too but they just laughed at me. They left me lying on the ground beside my little boys. You were supposed to protect us; where were you then? My husband had stayed on the farm when the others went to the wars but the militia came. They forced him to go with them and we had nobody left."

Gayanes caught his eye and shook his head.

The woman's husband was dead.

Another woman came and joined her. "Your militia came and took the few men we had." She stared angrily at Hakeem. "Even my son, he was only a boy. They took all our food, they gave us tokens!" She angrily threw a handful of bone tokens at Hakeem. "Our children are hungry, but do you care?"

"This woman who doesn't wait till the men finish speaking is called Thetima," Gayanes muttered sourly. He glanced with pity at the other woman. "And this is Aerope."

Hakeem had a vision of Aerope being held screaming while her children had their limbs hacked off in front of her. He closed his eyes as the horror of it flooded through him. How could a mother ever forget something like that? What manner of men would do such things?

"Lady, words cannot express how sorry I am."

"It is not your fault." Aerope turned partly away, slumped in on herself. The fight had gone out of her. "They said we'd be all right."

Thetima gathered her in her arms.

"We can give you all the supplies we can spare, and stay with you tonight, but after that we must head south to the Chalkidiki," Hakeem told Gayanes. "You can come with us if you wish."

The anguish of these people would be echoed throughout Makedonía. But this was not his fight.

"Their main army is on the King's Road," Gayanes said. "They'll be between you and the coast. We were headed west to Aigai. "

The King's Road had seemed quiet. Hakeem and his men were cut off.

"The ones we fled was a group of a few hundred," Gayanes added. "We didn't expect them this far north."

"There will be several of those, part of a larger group," Hakeem said slowly. "They go in groups of tens, hundreds and thousands, so I think they sent at least a thousand north, maybe two. They like to split up into smaller groups that keep in contact with each other. They attack at multiple points to give maximum terror and confusion and to test your defences ... unfortunately they have found them lacking."

One of Hakeem's elf scouts came at the run. "My lord, we saw a party of horsemen in the far distance, cutting across to the north. I don't believe they saw us."

Hakeem started to give rapid orders to his men.

Gayanes grabbed his arm. "That man, he isn't human! You must be Shantawi, you are our enemy."

"The Hun is the enemy of both of us," Hakeem said, desperate to convince him. "You have my word; we won't hurt you. If you wish we will feed you and protect you, until we both decide what to do. But for that you need to come to my camp."

"How many were there?" Persos was asking the scout.

"I don't know for certain, Lord," the scout reported. "We saw half a dozen, scouts I think."

"We just came from the north!" Hakeem gasped.

He turned to look at Persos. "Lysandra!" they said in unison.

* * *

Lysandra

The only warning they got was the growing thunder of horses' hoofs. Sampson went sprinting to bar the gate.

"Is that them coming back?" Lysandra asked.

"I wish it were, Lady," Sampson said grimly, snatching his shield. "A large raiding party, big, and coming fast. Quickly, hide under the altar!"

Outside the gate there were screams of triumph and shouts in some incomprehensible language. Almost immediately there was the clink of grapple hooks as ropes and climbing ladders snaked over the walls followed by the sounds of smashing tiles and men climbing.

The altar to Athena was a wooden statue raised by a heavy box, open at the back, covered by a cloth. "Hurry, Lady, these men aren't here to talk!" Argaeos, her gardener, lifted it to allow her and Kaunios inside.

Aerope and Phila gave her a goat's skin water bag and a large loaf of bread. Then the servants shoved it back, hard against the wall.

Lysandra could see through a small crack as Argaeos and Samson shepherded the two women quickly towards the well mouth. It was wide enough to climb down inside for maintenance and deep enough to be in shadow, but it wouldn't stand up to a determined search.

They were given no time. Phila screamed as an arrow struck her leg. Samson raised his shield to try to protect them as the others dragged her towards the kitchen. Lysandra had to muffle a cry from Kaunios as men started to drop from the roof into the courtyard.

There was a great crash and a cloud of dust flew into the air. They were disposing of the mud brick walls by simply throwing great metal hooks over them attached to teams of horses. The speed and co-ordination alone were terrifying.

They stood back from Samson who stood blocking the entrance to the kitchen while the others helped Phila inside. Two men came forward to throw javelins hard at him. He deflected one but the other stuck in his shield dragging it down. With a yell he dropped the shield and stepped back, slamming the door.

But one of the archers was waiting. Samson cried out in pain and rage as an arrow hit him in the chest. He managed to get the door closed but it would do him no good. Almost immediately, the raiders began chopping at it with axes and someone was bringing a two-man battering ram.

One of their weapons was speed.

Lysandra closed her eyes and hugged Kaunios to her at the sound of chopping and smashing. The raiders were getting angry that there was not enough to find. Then there was the sound of the kitchen door splintering and a loud smash, men's cries and women screaming, cut short.

They were over everything, like an army of ants.

One was climbing down the well in search of hidden treasure. One of them grabbed the statue of Athena and hacked it into pieces. She knew what was coming next. When they flipped the box over she surged up, hindered by the cloth but ready to protect Kaunios. Something hit her on her head and darkness claimed her.

* * *

Hakeem

The sun was setting behind them as he slowed Nadir to a working canter, raising his 'seat' till he only lightly touched his horse's back on the down beat. His eyes darted frantically back and forward as he rode. Hurrying was an excellent way to ride into an ambush.

As they topped the final rise, they could see the villa was burning. There were two hundred or more Hun milling around.

"We are too late," Persos cried in despair.

* * *

Lysandra

Lysandra woke to terror.

She was being stripped naked, men held her as others hammered stakes into the ground. She screamed and struggled frantically but there were four men holding her. There was not enough plunder in the house so they were going to take it out on her.

After that she would die.

The sun was setting on the last day of her life.

There was the smell of smoke. They had stripped the out-building of their doors and used the furniture to start the main house burning. Not far away they had dragged Samson into the courtyard and dumped his body. She saw one of the men kick it several times. He had an arrow in his chest, and was covered in blood. He was still breathing, but only barely.

And then as she finally saw him. Kaunios, her beautiful little boy, dead, one side of his face caked with blood. She closed her eyes against the tears.

* * *

Hakeem

"We may be too late for Lysandra and the others that lived here, but we are in time for these men," Hakeem called out, his voice cold as he took four arrows from his quiver and arranged them carefully in his left hand. "Let us only pray that amongst these are the ones that have murdered Aerope's children."

"They outnumber us at least two to one. What are your orders, Lord?" Persos asked.

Hakeem's smile was without humour. "Don't worry about that. Most are on foot and crowded in. They have left ladders and removed walls to make it easy for us. You take your half, kill all the men outside but don't be too long if you want any left when you join me."

Hakeem passed a string of complicated hand signals to his men and then he was away.

Persikόs grinned to himself as he kicked his own horse and signalled to the men he would lead. "Why did I think he was going to say something like that?"

The light was failing and the fire spoilt the Huns' night vision. It was several moments before the enemy saw them and a few more before they understood what was happening.

By then the Shantawi were upon them.

* * *

Lysandra

Lysandra lay stretched out helplessly. Her arms were pulled so tight her shoulders burned in agony. Her hands were numb as the cruel leather straps cut into her wrists. The Hun leader stood over her, naked to the waist, his manhood standing proud and erect.

His men were crowded around to watch and take their turn.

Before he started, the surrounding Hun suddenly boiled over into confused activity. Their leader grabbed his sword from the ground, not worrying about his pants, and began shouting orders.

There was a lot of shouting, screaming and men barging back and forwards. One of the men kicked Lysandra hard in the head in the milling confusion. She lay there too dazed to even wonder.

* * *

Persos quickly dealt with the guards and the few Hun outside. While a few of his men herded the horses off, he turned to join the attack on the trapped enemy.

They were jammed together, outlined by the flames while the Shantawi were in the growing darkness. It was hard to miss and crowded and jostling, the enemy were hampered from shooting back.

Several of Hakeem's men were on the roof. Others were trying to force their way through the entrance and many had dismounted where the walls had been pulled down and were firing rapidly into the panicked crowd.

The villa was well alight; the shed and the kitchen had no doors remaining, so there was little cover for the Hun. As the crowd thinned to men crouching low behind the large heaps of wounded and slain, Persos could see Lysandra tied naked and bleeding on the ground. Samson and her son were lying dead nearby.

It was then he heard the bloodcurdling cry of the berserker as Hakeem jumped his horse over the wall straight into the centre of the remaining enemy.

All who could, raced to follow their leader.

* * *

The Hun turned back to Lysandra, hatred in his eyes. He moved closer, his sword ready. She kicked her heels in the dirt, trying to escape, trying to get away. He dropped the sword and fell to his knees at her feet as if changing his mind. She expected him to climb onto her, then, but he waited, kneeling.

Then he coughed and slowly toppled forward, falling across her. She could see an arrow poking out of his back.

A great war horse barged through the remainder of the men, almost trampling her. The huge figure on it wasn't human. It gave out a terrible animal scream of rage. It was snarling, drooling, covered with blood and spittle, wielding a sword with impossible speed and power.

* * *

"Easy, Hakeem!" Persos called. "Easy! They're all dead."

Lysandra had been released and was dressed in bloodstained Hun clothing. She was pressed back against a wall watching the man-thing in terror. It paused, shook its head to clear its confusion and then it saw Kaunios's body.

"Daimôn! You'll not get his soul." She tried to throw herself at it, but was caught almost in mid-air by one of Hakeem's men. She struggled desperately and bit the hand of the man that held her and stomped as hard as she could with her bare foot.

He didn't even notice. He was watching as the bloody and ragged monster of a man bowed his head in prayer. Kaunios sucked a breath and his eyes fluttered.

"Momma!" he murmured weakly.

Lysandra felt herself released and she fell on her knees and scrambled across to him.

"Are you really my son?" she asked; tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was trembling. "My son was dead!"

A moment later Samson called to her; he looked pale and weak, and one of the men was stitching up his chest where he lay. He was drenched with blood.

"You were dead!" Lysandra screamed. "Both of you were dead. Is this daimôn bringing back the dead to fight us?"

"Not dead, just close enough." Samson had to be helped to sit up. "It is their leader. He has the power of healing. He is a good man, Lysandra, I felt it."

Ten of Hakeem's men were dead but almost forty had been injured, some seriously. It took a long time for him to go around and heal that number and it was late at night when he had finished.

The others had made sure the Huns were dead and stripped them of anything of value. They had all carried plunder of one form or another; there was spare food, cattle, horses and carts.

"We will be easy to track, Lord," Persos complained.

Hakeem nodded unhappily. "We had better leave soon. There is not much night left."

Lysandra found herself helped up onto a spare horse and her son passed up to her. "Can you handle a battle bow?" The man called Persos asked.

"Only a hunting bow and not all that well," she admitted.

"Here, have one of these then," he said as he fixed the gorytos to her saddle. "Shoot only if they are very close. Otherwise, leave the fighting to us. The Hun don't wear armour. If you find one that does, shoot his horse."

"I don't know if I can do that." She shuddered.

"Would you rather be caught again?" he snapped at her.

Then he gave her a kinder smile, realising part of her reaction was shock rather than just silly squeamishness. "Don't worry. Yousef is very good at what he does. We all are."

"His name is Hakeem," Lysandra murmured automatically.

"You are mistaken, Lady. His name is Yousef."

"I'm not a fool and I know the name Hakeem. What will you do to me if I tell others who he really is?"

"Nothing," a strong voice sounded near her horse.

"Consider this though; amongst the Makedónes you have few friends, woman of Karia."

She looked down at his face. He had cleaned himself up and combed his hair and beard. She realised how handsome he was. "Are you my friend, Hakeem?"

"I would like to be." He gave her a friendly grin and patted her horse.

"Mummy, he wants to be called Yousef." Kaunios woke to say.

"Ah, well." Hakeem laughed. "If it is not my little friend who keeps stabbing me in the leg."

"I'm sorry," Kaunios said. "I didn't know."

Hakeem laughed and moved closer to reach up and ruffle his hair.

"I only let very special friends stab me. Can we be special friends, Kaunios? No more stabbing though."

Kaunios smiled broadly, nodding. Lysandra shook her head. It was possibly the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

Just then Samson rode up grinning from ear to ear admiring a new weapon. "This is a good sword, Yousef."

"I thought you would like it." Hakeem smiled. "Oh, I have a gift for your Lady, too."

He tried to pass a purse across to Lysandra; it was very heavy. "It was their chief's."

"Hak... Yousef! I can't take this!"

"Of course, you can! This is from the man who destroyed your home, killed your servants and tried to rape and kill you." He tossed it to Samson who caught it and stored it in his robe with great care.

Lysandra shook her head. "You have the strangest idea of pillaging, Yousef. You're supposed to steal from the helpless and avoid anyone who can fight back."

"I will try to be better the next time, Lysandra." Hakeem laughed. "I think we had better go."

It was first light by the time they reached the camp. Lysandra was completely exhausted and nodding in her saddle. One of Hakeem's men had relieved her of Kaunios not long into the ride. Samson had collapsed and had to be placed into one of the Hun's stolen carts. Hakeem assured her it was only exhaustion, something to do with the healing.

"He is a mighty man. I've never met anyone so tough," Hakeem assured her.

When they reached the camp, Lysandra was surprised to find women and children there. "Yousef, do you take your women and children to war?"

"No," Hakeem said stiffly. "These are under my protection."

Lysandra felt like laughing out loud. Some inept raiding party Hakeem led. Now he was stuck protecting those he had come to rob.

She, Kaunios and Sampson were given a rough lean-to. There were a few coals in a small fire near the entrance and some sage nearby (the autumn rains brought mosquitoes).

She barely had time to check her two charges were covered and drop some green sage on the fire before she threw herself down to fall into a deep sleep.

She had dreams of flames, and being chased. She jerked awake in fright. It was only early morning and images of those she had lost flashed before her. Filled with an aching sadness, she cried softly into the blanket so as not to wake the others.

* * *

Hakeem and Persos only took time to eat and clean up before they led three hundred of the Shantawi and a half dozen of the elves out scouting. They left the rest of the men under Herodotos to guard and fortify the camp.

It had been a cool night and the fog bank stood taller than a man. Hakeem planned, over the next few days, to make a full sweep of the countryside. If there were any more Hun out there, he wanted to find them with his mobile fighting force, rather than have them find his camp of refugees.

He looked grim and worried. Persos rode beside him in silence for a while. "Our problems seem to be multiplying," he eventually observed dryly.

"You mean that before this all we had was a war I was losing and we were waiting for Aléxandros to return here so he could kill us all." Hakeem gave a humourless smile. "Now I am cut off by what will be a huge Hun army. They may be hunting me already. They have likely reached Anatolē. And we are praying Aléxandros will come as quickly as possible even though he may still kill us. Not to mention that we have women and children and old men to protect. They will slow us to a crawl and leave a trail a five-year-old child could follow. Have I left anything out?"

He turned to Persos. "They will need somewhere safe, probably the mountains. And they will need supplies and animals if they are to survive winter."

"You could say this is not your problem," Persos added. "You could say that if these people send their warriors to invade other people's land, they deserve all they get and more."

"And could you say that, Persos?" Hakeem looked at his friend in amusement.

"No, I suppose I cannot." Persos sighed. "Before I met you my life was a lot simpler."

"Let's get on with this, then." Hakeem seemed cheered.

His good mood didn't last.

"Smoke to the east, Lord," Arnkaell, their head scout, said. "Not much, whatever it is, it has burnt down."

Hakeem nodded wordlessly. He had just noticed it.

He glanced at Persos who looked very grim.

Now they were to face the full horror of what was happening to these people.

* * *

Lysandra

She fell asleep, crying, and woke later, poorly rested and drained.

Samson was cheerfully eating a late breakfast of bread and cheese. She left him to watch over Kaunios who was sleeping while she went to explore the camp. She had to admit Hakeem's men ran a good camp. The Greek soldiers had set up a communal kitchen and the food was plentiful.

They had designated a section downstream where the women could bathe in the river. So she found herself walking down to that. It was guarded by women volunteers close up surrounded by a ring of grim-looking soldiers facing outwards.

The water was chilly but Lysandra stayed and bathed and washed her clothes thoroughly despite all that. She had no change of clothes so she had to wear her wet clothes in the autumn chill, but it was worth it. There was even soap and a woman called Thetima passed her a towel as she climbed out.

"So are you the Lysandra?" Thetima asked her after they introduced each other.

Lysandra looked at her in confusion.

Now what did that mean?

* * *

Dafina, the northern Makedónian forest

The twins had stopped crying. Dafina had promised to tell them another of her stories if they were good.

She was seven after all, she was their big sister. Her father had said that she had to look after her mother and the twins while he was away. Dafina was worried about them, but she was more worried about her mother.

Dafina's mother's name was Andromede which meant 'strong friend'. She had always been strong and sure. She always knew everything and she always knew what to do. But lately she was heavy with her next child and tired all the time.

And now she was frightened.

She tried not to let her children see. But Dafina could see. Dafina hadn't seen her mother cry but tears had streaked the dirt on her face.

They had come and taken their father to the wars, even though he didn't want to go. Since that day her mother seemed to have to work all the time.

Winter was coming.

Luckily her mother knew everything about the forest. She knew the names of all the plants, the birds and the animals, and their habits. She knew where all the useful trees and shrubs grew. She knew when they would give their nuts and fruit: conkers, hazel nuts, carya, diospyros, oak, dog wood, mulberries, black berries and wild fig.

She knew about mushrooms, edible bark and tubers, wild wheat and barley, and how to collect wild honey.

She knew all about herbs. She knew how to make medicines, oils and roots and powders and all about their use in healing. She knew how to call on the Great Mother Goddess and Darron, the God of Healing, and she knew many of the lesser Gods and Goddesses and when to call on them.

She also knew some of the echedorides (nymphs) of the forest.

There were nymphs for the sea and rivers and springs, even in the mountains and valleys and small grottoes. But her mother mainly taught Dafina about the dryades, the nymphs of the trees.

The new Greeks thought the nymphs were human-like: beautiful young women who fell in love with human heroes or who got chased by satyrs. Her mother laughed when she told Dafina this and Dafina laughed too. Why would the new Greeks think a tree-spirit would look like a beautiful girl? Her mother said it was because they couldn't see them or feel them.

The great trees, like the great old beech tree, all had dryades called 'hamadryades' – tree-souls. They were so much a part of the tree that if the tree died, they died too. Some were more aware than others, some of them were very old and wise, some were friendly enough though most would trust very few humans, and they could cause you trouble if they didn't like you.

Dafina's people were of the old people of Makedonía, and her mother was one of their wise women. Just like her own mother before her, she was a woman of the forest who had not forgotten the old ways and the old knowledge.

When Dafina grew up she would join with them and she would be a wise woman too.

When she thought of her grandmother and what had happened to her a small tear ran down her cheek. She wiped it away and quickly smothered the thought. It wouldn't do any good to let her brothers see her cry; they were already frightened enough already.

They had been gathering beech nuts in the wood. They had left early while the fog was still all around and the chill was in the air. The boys had been sleepy and grumbled and walked slowly at first, but Dafina took one in each hand and told them a story about a fox and a crow. This cheered them and they walked better.

It had been even colder inside the forest, but by the time they reached the great old beech tree the sun was up. Last year, the great old beech tree had dropped enough burs for them to fill a large bucket of seed and much more, but it had been a whole day of gruelling work for her mother and father because the nuts were so small.

This year they didn't have their father, but Dafina was a big girl now so she would help her mother. She could get the seeds out of the burs and clean them but she was too slow. She didn't have her mother's strong fingers. So, she would use her gloves to collect burs in a basket so her mother didn't have to bend so much.

When they reached the great old beech tree her mother lay for a while and sung to it. She then put some of its seeds into her special pouch and she told the tree where she would plant them. They were good spots for a beech, she had said. She thanked the tree for its bounty and asked it to be generous next year.

Dafina watched everything her mother did and tried to copy it. Her mother hummed a tune while she worked, so Dafina sang one of her childish songs while she worked too. It made her mother laugh, which was good because her mother didn't laugh much lately.

The twin boys were supposed to help but they got bored, of course. They wandered away a little to play with sticks and then they played a chasing game. Then they were hungry and wanted to eat. Then they were tired and started to argue and whinge.

Boys were like that.

But they weren't like that now. Now they were scared and quiet.

Dafina had noticed a change in the air and the trees, something she hadn't felt before. She looked to her mother. Her mother looked pale and frightened. She stood, the remaining burs falling from her lap to the ground, unnoticed.

"We have to go home," she said, sounding scared. "We have to go quickly."

They had all hurried back. A short way from their village, her mother made them hide while she crept forward.

Dafina and her brothers could hear men with strange voices shouting and horses and people screaming and there was the smell of smoke in the air. She and the boys were very frightened. When their mother came back to them, she looked drawn. She had been crying. She wouldn't tell them what was happening, but Dafina knew bad men had come.

"We will have to go to the old man who lives down the river. We have to warn him and maybe he can help us," her mother said.

"Why do we have to go there?" Dafina asked, "I'm scared of him. He's old and he makes scarecrows that wave their arms in the wind."

"Well," her mother said, smiling, "you don't have to worry about that, do you? Unless of course, you are really a young crow in the disguise of a little girl."

Not far from his house they had to leave the cover of the forest and walk past his field and the old man's scarecrow of cane and ropes. It moved and bent and waved its arms.

Dafina held her brothers' hands tightly and walked closer to her mother.

She had forgotten about the rocks. They stood far taller than a tall man, made from huge boulders covered with moss and lichen. The slab on top was bigger than the floor of the chief's house in the village. It was tilted at an angle which made Dafina think the whole thing had fallen over; but her mother had said it was supposed to look like that.

Her mother said it was the grave of a queen of the old people called Mnemosyne. She had lived a long time ago. She was both a queen and a great wise woman which was a very special thing to be, and her people loved her very much.

It seemed impossible that even an army of men and an army of horses could move such great rocks. Her mother said it was a secret the Old People knew that people now had forgotten.

Her mother sometimes came and talked and sang at the grave, but Dafina was more than a little scared of the old queen and her mossy grave. Her mother didn't stop now. She was in too much of a hurry.

They were not far past the rocks when her mother whimpered. There was a large group of horsemen riding back from the old man's farm. They were dark like the old people, but they had strange clothing and their faces were different, flatter, with cruel expressions, and thin beards.

When they saw them, their leader gave a great whoop of joy. They turned towards them but they seemed to be in no hurry; they were on horses, after all.

There was a smaller group, dressed the same but coming from a different way and they were a long way back. They burst out of the trees riding hard, as if the Erinyes (Furies) themselves were after them, as her father would say.

The ones in front waved to them and the leader of the others gave a cheerful wave back as they tried to catch up. "Not wanting to miss the fun," her mother muttered bitterly as she looked wildly around for somewhere to hide. The only place was the rocks.

Her mother started to run towards them; it made the cruel-looking men laugh and jeer at the slow and awkward way she ran due to the baby inside her. Dafina was frightened of the men and frightened of the rocks. She forgot she was a big girl and started to cry just like her brothers.

"Dafina!" Her mother shook her. "I want you to run and hide with the boys in the great stones. Don't come out for anything. These are very bad men. Don't even come out if they are hurting me. You must remember that. They have killed everyone in the village so if they catch you and the boys, they will kill you too.

"You must look after your brothers. Don't forget the bark you can eat but you must boil it, keep to the old forest and use that old cave for shelter. Try to be brave and always thank the trees and the animals for what they give, and always try to give something back."

"But why do these people hate us so much?" Dafina asked tearfully. "Have we done something bad to them?"

"They are just bad men!" Her mother was crying now as she hugged her and pushed her towards the rocks. "Dafina remember, whatever happens, I love you and the boys."

"What about you?" Dafina stifled her sobbing and wiped her tears. She tried to be a big girl but it was so hard. Was her mother going to leave her too? "Aren't you coming with us?"

"Just do as you are told!" her mother snapped and then softened. "Meli, I can't fit in there; please go, do it for me."

Her mother turned to face the first group of bad men, pulling a sling from her pocket and adding a special stone from her pouch. Dafina had seen her bring down rabbits with it and a fox that had come for their chickens.

Her brothers were crying and frightened but there was a narrow passage in the rocks, just wide enough for them to squeeze through. Dafina had never seen it before even though she had looked right inside when her mother was with her.

It led to a small hidden room. It was cold, the walls damp with moisture. It was filled with strange shadows which seemed to move around and she could hear faint whisperings.

She told the boys to stay and climbed up on top of the rocks to see what was happening. She felt bad leaving them; but they had stopped crying which surprised her. She was surprised they let her leave them in such a cold and damp place.

The bad men with the flat faces were very close now and had slowed their horses. They hadn't even bothered to draw their weapons. They laughed to see a pregnant woman whirling a sling over her head. Her mother was young and very beautiful even though she was pregnant. Surely these men wouldn't want to hurt her.

The second smaller group were coming very fast, but they were spread out and had turned to ride a little to one side, parallel with their countrymen, but not joining with them.

They had bows drawn and arrows fitted. They seemed to be blurred in a very strange way. She could feel a faint humming coming from the rock under her feet.

Dafina took her own small sling and one of the small pebbles she used for practice. She would help her mother. Her mother let her sling go and her rock hit the leader. He was knocked back but stayed on his horse. Blood started streaming from his forehead.

It would have killed a fox but it didn't kill the bad man.

With a shout of fury his men grabbed for their weapons, but just then the second group began to fire at them. They were very quick. The first lot of bad men were falling down everywhere. They whirled around in confusion to fight back but it was too late for them and then it was over.

Why were the bad men with flat faces fighting amongst themselves?

The second group of bad men got off their horses as the humming under her feet stopped. They and their horses shifted somehow; they looked different now. They had proper beards; they didn't have flat faces but their clothes were still the same.

Then something truly horrible happened! Several of them went around cutting the throats of any of the wounded that lay on the ground.

Their leader was a big man with a layer of clothes too small for him on top of Greek clothes underneath. He smiled at her mother as he started to limp towards her.

"Lady, are you hurt? Ouch!" he cried out in surprise as a small rock hit him.

"You leave my mother alone!" Dafina screamed, but when he looked up at her, she took fright and ducked back in the rocks to hide.

The man bent over laughing.

He could hardly straighten up.

"As I meant to say," he managed between laughing, "my name is Yousef. We are mercenaries and are hunting Hun. I am sorry if our disguises frightened you and your children. I can't believe the Huns were fooled, even when we got so close to them, but it made our job easy.

"Please rest and we will bring a wagon to help you. Later we will take you back to our camp. Are the three children yours, including the small dangerous one?"

Her mother at first couldn't talk. All she could do was cry and laugh in a very odd sort of way.

Eventually she calmed down enough and called for them to come out. Dafina came and hid behind her mother, eyeing the big man warily.

"Thank the Goddess!" her mother gasped through tears of relief as she introduced herself and her children. "Are you taking us with you? What about one of the villages nearby?"

The big man looked at her strangely.

"I'm sorry, Lady. The Hun always scout thoroughly before they attack. When they come, they come very fast and seem to come from all directions at once."

"But there are five other villages just a day's walk from my home!"

"I'm sorry, Lady. I really am. None were fortified. We have been burying people all morning. You are the only ones we have found alive so far. Once we have finished hunting the Huns, we will come back and look properly."

* * *

It was late afternoon when Hakeem rode in with his men. Their faces were set like stone.

They came slowly, escorting several wagons piled high with all sorts of supplies. One wagon had a pregnant woman and three children on a pile of straw. It was one reason that they were travelling so slowly. The children were asleep and the woman looked close to collapse.

Lysandra hurried over to help. Hakeem flashed her a smile of gratitude and relief and tossed her a warm coat he had brought for her.

After the evening meal, Kaunios and Samson couldn't stay awake; Hakeem had said it was a side effect of the healing. Lysandra felt exhausted too but just couldn't sleep.

She walked aimlessly through the camp till she found herself near the command tent. Hakeem was outside with his senior commanders conferring with some old men from the village. No one stopped her so, after hesitating for a while, she joined them by the fire. Hakeem looked up but continued talking.

"There are only small numbers of Hun nearby, they tend to split up into raiding parties and come together when they face opposition or to raid a village. Their armies are only limited by problems of supply and forage. I'd say they brought sixty thousand or so to Makedonía and about that many to Anatolē."

"You killed some, will that mean they will come back in larger numbers?" one of the men asked.

"Perhaps." Hakeem let that sink in. "But none escaped." His expression was cold. "They will notice they are missing some men, but they will expect that, at least at first. We are too far north to be of real interest to them. I think it will take some time before they realise the missing men are dead and it is all happening in one area. In the meantime we are safer to kill as many as we can; better that than be spied out in our camp here.

"Besides, I find it is something I wish to do, but all I can do is like a grain of sand on a beach. We need Aléxandros."

"Where is he?" Lysandra asked. She expected the men to be irritated that a woman would speak at their council but they showed no sign of that.

"He is in Mysia, or worse, on his way to Lydia." Hakeem sighed. "He needs to get the news and turn his army around. He could not even reach the Bósporos in less than three weeks, even for Aléxandros. I fear there will be a Hun army waiting for him there. He will have to fight his way through that to get here. And these Hun are good, very good.

"I fear he cannot do that, but all we can do is pray. If Aléxandros doesn't defeat them they will send more."

He let that soak in.

"More of them?" Gayanes said in horror.

"I'm afraid so."

It was like a nightmare.

"How many do you have?"

"As you can see," Hakeem replied, "Herodotos here has three hundred and fifty mounted hoplitai and I have five hundred of my tribesmen and a dozen elves. All are professional warriors. I would offer my help to the garrison at Aigai but I doubt we would find welcome there."

Lysandra snorted, and then blushed deeply and apologised when the men looked at her.

She imagined Hakeem knocking on the door of the old Makedóne capital and offering his services to the soldiers garrisoned there.

"Hello, I am your enemy, I was wondering if you would let me and my armed men into your secure fortress."

"Even if we were enemies once, we must work together now!" Gayanes said firmly.

"I pray Aléxandros and Antipatros see it that way. We need to join together and have a lot of luck if we are to survive this."

Then Hakeem changed the topic. "We will need to stay here for a several days, at least to get supplies. I would be grateful for volunteers to help with the camp and for scavenging. I will do my best to clean the nearby region of enemy but scavenging will still be dangerous work. And we need to be ready to move at a moment's notice. We will meet tomorrow night and discuss our situation again."

When the men left to their tasks, Hakeem stood up and looked over the camp, deep in thought. He looked very weary. Lysandra came up behind him.

"I don't know what to do," he said without turning around. "The mountainous country north of Aigai will be safe even if the very worst happens to this country, but it is so far away and you will need supplies and herd animals for the winter. If we stay too long here, we might get caught."

"Hakeem," Lysandra said. "This is not your problem."

A toddler came walking unsteadily nearby and held his arms up. Hakeem automatically picked him up and settled him on his hip. He bent his head close to the boy to kiss and tickle his neck. The boy laughed and tried to poke Hakeem in the eyes and explore his mouth with his fingers and pull at his beard. The boy's mother came rushing up, full of apologies and Hakeem, laughing, passed her baby back.

"Do you really think I can leave all these here to be murdered?"

"I suppose not." Lysandra laughed softly. "It's a completely crazy situation, but you make it sound so simple."

"For me, it is, at least that part of it. I am a paladin. For some reason my God wishes for me to be here, I just have to have faith." Hakeem smiled as he watched the mother sit down with her baby and then quickly averted his gaze when she began to breastfeed.

"I just don't know how I am going to keep you all alive." He sighed deeply. "Lysandra, will you walk with me?"

They walked side by side in silence for a while but it seemed to help him relax. They came upon a group of women standing around engaged in desultory talk. Hakeem recognized Thetima.

"Lady, is it possible the women can help us?" he asked politely.

"We are not used to being asked." Thetima snorted in surprise and anger. "We expect to be used or worse!"

Hakeem said nothing and waited.

Thetima sighed. "I'm sorry, Yousef. My husband's dead and I've no news of my boys."

"I'm sorry, Thetima."

Thetima realised he meant it.

"What can we do?" she asked with a sigh.

"You will find my men very used to keeping a clean camp. If any trouble you, let me, Persos, Mal'akhi or Herodotos know. It is something I will not tolerate.

"I need help organising your fellow refugees and seeing to your needs. Oh, and something else." He tried one of his more appealing smiles. "If I have to eat another bowl of army stew, I'll vomit!"

Thetima and the other women laughed.

"Is that all?" one of the other women asked. "Your cooks are terrible! Yes, I think we can help."

"If everyone agrees, I would like to appoint Thetima here in charge of the women. Thetima, you will report to me, Persos, Mal'akhi or Herodotos. If you could work out what needs to be done and who can do it just clear it with one of my senior commanders. Anything you need, now or to last you through winter, get someone who can write to draw up a list.

"We will be sending out foragers in the areas we have cleaned of enemy. Do any of you know how to milk cows or goats?"

A few of the women and a couple of the older girls gladly put up their hands.

"We will need milk for the children. I will assign Idra to help you." He signalled a man over.

As they moved on, Hakeem murmured to Lysandra, "They have lost so much and are almost mad with grief. It is better to give them something to do and besides," he admitted, "I really do need their help, I can't organise this all myself. Idra has a good heart but he is not the smartest man I have. He really should be a herder or farmer, not a soldier. It won't hurt him to learn how to milk a cow."

* * *

Idra, Despoina and milking

It was early and Despoina was showing Idra how to milk a cow.

Most farmers had sheep or goats to milk, only rich farmers had cows. They had named their only cow 'Iris', after the rainbow, though she looked like a thoroughly normal brown cow. Her month-old calf they called 'Io' after the famous cow of Greek myth.

"You tie the back legs so she doesn't walk or kick while you're milking her. You feed her some grain or hay, something she likes so it's a treat," Despoina instructed. "Then all you need a stool, a bucket and your hands. A stool because it takes half the turn of a glass to milk a cow."

She got him to sit in position. "You massage the udder at first to let the milk down. That's what her calf does when she butts it with her head. After that, you can start." She got him to pinch the teat with his thumb. "You pinch the teat with your thumb and fingers near the top so the milk doesn't go from the teat back into the udder. Then you gently roll your other fingers from top to the bottom, squeezing the milk out as you go. No, don't pull the teat down! ... That's it!

"Idra! Don't look at me that way!" Despoina complained.

"Why not? You are very beautiful," Idra said, smiling up at her.

Despoina was one of the women from the village. She was almost certainly a widow, many of them would be. She melted a bit, dimpling and shaking her head.

"You're not so smart are you, Idra? I have a son."

"He's a fine, strong boy. You must be very proud of him."

"You're completely hopeless, Idra." Despoina had to laugh; she hadn't laughed for a long time. "You had better let me finish the milking."

They both looked up when Hakeem led three hundred men riding out of the camp. The men's faces were very grim. They watched them until they had gotten out of sight.

* * *

Hakeem returned later in the afternoon with several wagonloads of supplies, two cartloads packed with refugees and a small herd of goats. He looked positively cheerful as he strode through the camp. Lysandra wondered if it was his encounter with the enemy or the refugees or both.

When Lysandra found him, he was cuddling a baby, rocking it gently and cooing to it. He was so obviously enjoying the baby and the baby was loving it too.

"Well, well!" Lysandra came up to Hakeem laughing. "Here is the great Warlord of all Anatolē and beyond. Will you look at you?"

"Shh! People don't know who I am. And I only just got this baby to stop crying." He rubbed his beard on the baby's neck and snuffled it behind the ear; it started laughing.

"I cheated a little, he had colic," he admitted. "You need to look the baby in the eyes and smile at them, show them they are loved." He pulled a face and the baby squealed in delight.

Lysandra sat on a tree stump and watched the big tribesman. "If you believe no one knows who you are, you're dreaming, Hakeem. You know how people gossip."

"Some of the monks I grew up with loved to gossip but I never joined in." He thought back. "I had an unusual childhood."

"I can believe that," Lysandra said, laughing again.

Just then the mother of the baby came up. "Thank you so much Hak… er, Yousef. You really have a rare gift with babies and young children. They all seem to take to you so quickly." She paused. "Was he any trouble?"

"No, Lady, he is a good baby. I think he had wind." The lady beamed at him, grateful, as she took her baby back.

Nadir went past, being led by one of the women, with a row of laughing children on his back and several more running excitedly behind. The one in front was waving a stick back and forwards in the air.

"I'm Hakeem!" he shouted proudly.

Lysandra and Hakeem stared at each other for a moment, battling to keep straight faces. They finally broke down into laughter.

"See what I mean? And don't blame me for that."

She paused. "Hakeem, why did you come for me?"

Hakeem sighed. "I thought if Aléxandros heard I was raping and pillaging here, he would come back to track me down."

Lysandra laughed. "I don't think you have that in you, Hakeem."

"I was going to raid some wealthy villas. I suspected if I stole from his commanders, they would want to make a hurried return."

"You made a poor choice with me." Lysandra smiled; her eyes were twinkling. "But that's not what I meant. That night, you came back."

"We were in the area," Hakeem said, gesturing vaguely.

"Liar; they say that when you heard about the Hun raiding you rode out as if you were racing the north wind. You must have galloped all the way."

"Cantered," Hakeem corrected automatically. "You can't gallop a horse for very long, but we Shantawi can travel fast when we want to."

"And you wanted to?" She turned to Hakeem with tears in her eyes. "You came back for me, Hakeem. You saved my life. You saved the lives of Kaunios and Samson. Thank you, Hakeem."

"You're welcome, Lysandra," Hakeem said, smiling at her. They moved closer. Lysandra lifted her face and held her breath.

Hakeem coughed and coloured. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take advantage of you."

He turned to go.

"Not so fast!" Lysandra called him back, frustrated and irritated.

Hakeem turned back, looking perplexed.

"That night something happened. You turned into something like an animal. I couldn't see properly but I heard."

Hakeem bowed his head and turned a deep colour. "Have you ever heard of the berserker rage? It has only happened a few times when someone I cared about was threatened. I'm sorry to have scared you."

"Hakeem?" Lysandra seemed breathless and her eyes were searching his face. "Was I someone you cared about?"

"Lysandra." Hakeem seemed at a loss. "When I first saw you, you were so brave. Things were so hard for you. I just found it hard to get you out of my mind."

She reached up suddenly and grabbed his face, kissing him determinedly on the lips.

Hakeem looked at her with an expression born of confusion and panic. His mouth opened and closed and no words came out. Just then one of the men approached with yet another problem and, with a look of relief, he was gone.

Aspasia, one of the women from the village, drifted up to Lysandra. "Did I just see what I thought I saw?"

Lysandra sighed.

"Don't worry," Aspasia confided. "You're just doing what a lot of us would like to do."

"It's no use," she said. "I think he is in love with his wife."

* * *

It was that same night and Hakeem had just completed a round of the sentries. All seemed settled and he was considering turning in himself.

"Hakeem?" She was a small, slender shadow in the darkness.

"Aerope?" Hakeem remembered her name.

She moved forward into the light. She was so young but grief had aged her terribly.

"I don't really understand how, but I hear you are some sort of priest of Apollōn as well as a warrior; can I talk to you?"

"Of course."

"We worshipped Zeus, my husband and I. We gave what we could afford at the temple and we always honoured his feast days." Her voice caught, unsteady for a moment. "He is the most powerful of all the Gods. Why did he let my boys die, Hakeem?" She paused, unable for a moment to go on. "Did I displease him? Was it another god that did it? If so, why did Zeus permit it? Why are the gods so cruel, Hakeem?"

"I don't know why something so terrible could be allowed," Hakeem said gently. "What I do know is that when you die, they will be there for you, waiting, both of your boys."

"My husband is there with them, isn't he?"

"Yes, I believe he is, Aerope."

"Then I'm glad," she said. "I j-just wish they hadn't ..."

He moved forward and she found herself enfolded like a child in his arms. She cried into his chest. His own tears wetted her hair.

* * *

By the time the messenger reached Aléxandros he was a day's journey from Chalkedon hurrying back to deal with Hakeem. He stared at the message for a long time.

"Bad news?" Hephaestion asked.

"Yes, a truly massive force of Hun attacked the Scythians and Sarmatai (West Scythians)." He stood up and walked to the entrance of his tent. "My mother said that there was a darkness in the east that was concealing her vision."

"Hakeem was right all along," Hephaestion said.

"Yes, he was." Aléxandros was pale, clutching the message in his hands. "King Pairisades of the Krimea was forced to surrender and they have taken Olbia, Tyras, Phanagoreia and the other cities of the northern Black Sea, more or less intact. It gave them enough men to garrison them against a counter attack and still send a massive force south."

Hephaestion gasped. "They are headed for our homes? How many?"

"Several times what we have, and they have already been sighted north of the Istros (Danube). It has given them a navy, a small one but a match for what the elves have. They are getting it ready to sail."

He saw Hephaestion's expression. "No, the Hun are a land-based army but they will use the ships for transport. I suspect they will send half their men here and the other half to our homes."

"They plan to cross the Bósporos."

"Amongst other things, yes, I think they do. If they contain me here, they can take Makedonía from me." He turned quickly to a nearby aide. "Send for Kleitos o melas (Cleitus the Black) and his hipparchoi; hurry, man, and tell them it's urgent."

As the aide hurried away, Aléxandros turned to his friend.

"I will get Kleitos and his cavalry to reinforce Parmenion here. He can assist in withdrawing all our men into the main cities and evacuating as many of the small towns we can. We will take the rest of the men home. This message is old. The Hun travel even faster than we do. We will have to hurry if we are to cross the Bósporos. If they get there before us, all is lost.

"Pray that when we get home, we still have homes to go to."

* * *

Hakeem, Northern Makedonía

Thetima was surprised not only to be summoned with the other women's leaders to the men's nightly meetings but also to be listened to and thanked. It made the women want to work harder, if that were possible.

It also made her realise how precarious their position was. There were not enough men to defend them against a large force; they needed more supplies but how long could they stay where they were?

And when they finally left, they would be moving slowly. If they made for Aigai which was the original plan, they would have a long way to go, crossing a whole country patrolled by their enemies.

* * *

Time to leave

It was early in the afternoon of the seventh day that Hakeem knew it was time to leave. He still wished for more supplies but they had as much as they could take.

He also had several small herds and they had chickens, geese and ducks which could ride in cages on wagons. He hadn't gone out of his way to find refugees, but they were coming down the nearby road in increasing numbers. Not all stopped with them but they now had over two thousand mainly old men, women and children.

They had also gained seven hundred additional warriors, mostly militia: young boys and men well past their prime. All poorly equipped and the boys hardly trained.

He set some of his Greeks to drill them and appointed leaders from within their own ranks. Even using all the weapons they had scrounged, only four hundred of these were anywhere near to fully equipped. To have asked them to face the Hun was a form of murder. And yet they still had fight left in them. The Makedónes were certainly a tough people.

There were no more Huns in the local region but wider afield there were plenty of signs where they had been: farms and towns burnt, people murdered and harrowing stories. Outside the walled forts and cities, there had been no effective resistance.

All adults were invited to the final meeting but only the leaders were encouraged to talk.

"I would like more supplies, of course, but we have all we can carry." Hakeem kept fiddling with the hilt of his sword as he paced back and forwards. "I don't think we can push our luck any longer."

"All we seem to be getting is more mouths to feed," Kyrillos muttered.

Hakeem had appointed him as commander of the militia. He was a nobleman's son and had been an anthypolochagos (junior lieutenant), one of the few professional Makedóne soldiers they had.

"I don't regret it," Hakeem said. "But we can't take anymore."

"We have to leave then," said Galena, a lady from parts north and one of the newer arrivals. "But where can we go?"

"South to Thermae," Kyrillos suggested.

"The army has not been able to mount effective resistance," Hakeem reminded him. "It is under strength and most garrisons are trapped in their fortresses. Neapolis, Amphipolis, Thermae, Pella and finally Aigai are all heavily fortified. Even a modest garrison can hold them, though not forever.

"South is the wealthiest part of your country and that is where the main enemy force is likely to be." Hakeem paused. "If you wanted to go directly south from here you would need to join the King's Highway and head west to get to Thermae. I think you will find the Hun patrolling along that way."

Most at the meeting looked desperate and frightened. How could Makedonía under Philippos's son come to this?

"I will take all who will follow me through the northern mountains pass to Western Makedonía and then the lesser roads to the surrounds of Aigai near Mount Pieria," Hakeem said. "You can survive in those mountains, even if the worst befalls your country. I suggest everyone makes Aigai. There is a good garrison there." Hakeem sat back and waited.

"We are your enemies," said Galena, voicing what many were thinking. "Don't tell me you wouldn't leave here if you could."

"I will not leave you till you are safe in the mountains," Hakeem said. "But I won't lie to you. I worry constantly about my family and friends in Anatolē. Being so far away is an agony for me, but we have been long preparing for this day.

"The Hun will find no food in our lands. Our people will stay in our walled cities, fortresses and refuges. Others will prowl the hills and the forests and come at them at night. It doesn't rely on orders from the top. Everyone from the highest commander to the lowest peasant knows what to do."

"Everyone here is grateful for what you have done for us, Lord Hakeem, but with the greatest respect, officially you are our enemy." Kyrillos leaned forward. "It is my duty and the duty of all that I lead to report to the nearest garrison. The closest fortress is Sirae (Serres) in central Makedonía but there are too many Hun between us and there. I will take any refugees that will follow me and go south to Thermae. "

"You ungrateful pup!" Gayanes coloured. "He is trying to save our people. You should help him, not leave him to it at your very first chance."

"How can you talk to Hakeem like that?" Thetima also faced the young man in outrage.

Hakeem raised his hand for silence.

"Kyrillos is right," he said softly. "If he stayed with me, he and the other leaders of his militia could be charged with treason. Kyrillos, I suggest you at least follow me through the mountain pass to the west before turning south. The main road south from there leads straight to Thermae. It is better than chancing the King's Highway, though I still fear even that road will be held against you."

"If so, we will head for Pella."

If you get the chance.

"You will find the gates of the fortresses closed to refugees," Gayanes said heavily.

"Our soldiers would never do such a thing," Kyrillos stated, folding his arms.

You have never been in a fortress under siege, have you, Kyrillos? Hakeem thought.

Instead, he said, "If you agree, I will take the herds with me to Aigai but otherwise you can have an equal share of our provisions."

"That's fair." Kyrillos considered. "I'm headed for the city. Livestock would only slow me down."

Hakeem felt guilty allowing people to follow Kyrillos, but what could he do? It was true, it wasn't his country.

"You will find Aigai a fine fortress," Kyrillos told Hakeem, trying to be more conciliatory. "It is halfway up the mountain and protected on three sides by a deep gorge formed by the head-waters of one of the tributaries of the Aliakmon River.

"It is almost impregnable. The Pieria region of Makedonía is named for one of the ancient tribes and many of them still live there. They believe their Gods live in the mountains. There are many holy sites around Aigai, theirs and ours."

"It is agreed then," Hakeem concluded. "We will head west through the pass together and then we will head our separate ways. Your people need to defeat these Huns decisively now or they will send more and more till you eventually succumb."

"For that we need Aléxandros," Kyrillos said.

"Pray then that by some miracle he comes, and comes soon," Hakeem muttered.

"What will happen to you when Aléxandros comes?" Lysandra asked.

"If we continue to fight each other, it is over for both of us. I just hope he sees that."

* * *

Aléxandros

"You want me to kill a man who spills his blood to protect my people?" Aléxandros shouted to the voice in his head.

He didn't care who overheard him.

"Do you want to rule an empire or not?" Olympias's voice was urgent. "If you kill him, Anatolē will be yours."

Her ability to talk directly into the mind of her son, not whisper as she had to do with his father, was not always an advantage. With her voice more obvious, he could resist her far better than his father ever could.

She didn't know it then, but Aléxandros was staring over the garrison town of Philippi, once named 'Krinides' after its clear spring water. The populace had renamed it to curry favour with his father. Or at least Aléxandros was staring over what remained of the town that was named after his father. And he was in no mood to hear from his mother, not now and especially not about this.

He had led his swiftest cavalry while the rest of his army hurried close behind. He had fallen on the Hun besieging the port city of Neapolis from behind, as the garrison released a sortie to meet him. They had beaten the Hun decisively and freed Neapolis. But he was too late for the small town of Philippi.

Now the town that bore his father's name was a smoking ruin, dotted with the bodies of those who had stayed and those who had tried to protect them.

* * *

That evening when she found Hakeem alone looking out into the darkness of the night, Lysandra said it again. "Hakeem, we are your enemies."

"War is the enemy."

"You love her. Your wife, you love her, don't you?"

The question took Hakeem by surprise.

"I'm a woman, I can tell," Lysandra said in a soft voice. "I wondered at first if it was an arranged marriage; you and the Elf Queen."

"Nothing like that." Hakeem laughed at the thought. "When we met, she thought I was a dekadarchos (file leader) and yet she loved me. When I first laid eyes on Elena, I loved her. I will always love her. Our love is like mountain stream rushing to the sea; nothing can stand in its way." Hakeem's eyes teared. "Our love is written in a prophecy older than a thousand years. It is written in the stars."

"Hakeem, that is so romantic. How did you meet them, both Elena and Jacinta?"

Hakeem laughed, colouring. "If I told you, you'd think I ride around all the time rescuing people."

"Somehow I'm not surprised." Lysandra smiled, looking across at him in the darkness. "You miss her, don't you?"

Hakeem sighed. "Yes, and I am almost mad with worry for her and Jacinta and all my family and friends."

"If they are your family, I think they can take care of themselves."

Hakeem nodded. They had before. Lysandra and Hakeem didn't know it then, but something far worse was going to happen, not only in Makedonía but also in Mysia.

And it would happen very soon.

 

 

Chapter 10: Aigai

Lysandra was astonished that so many refugees elected to follow Kyrillos.

Hakeem was barely left with five hundred refugees, mainly the ones who had been with him the longest. The later arrivals trusted Kyrillos simply because he was Makedónian. It meant they took the bulk of the supplies that Hakeem and the early refugees had so painstakingly scavenged.

"Fools," Gayanes said bitterly as they watched them depart.

"You don't think the gates will be opened for refugees, do you?" Lysandra asked.

"No, Lady, they won't. If they reach Thermae, Kyrillos and his men will be ordered to enter while the refugees are asked to wait outside; except that the gates will never open for them but I don't think they will get that far."

So they went on, some of the refugees that remained with Hakeem could ride a horse, some tended to their small herds, any that couldn't walk that far followed in the wagons.

Lysandra, Sampson and Gayanes rode just behind Hakeem and his senior officers, Lysandra was on one of the Hun ponies and Sampson with Kaunios in his lap rode a large Thessalonian horse.

* * *

Jacinta

"When you do your main punch you must use your whole body," Jacinta was saying. "It's a bit like throwing a javelin, you use your whole body."

She hit the leather target nailed to the square post so hard that the noise echoed through the room. "Some of the smaller punches rely heavily on the strength of your arm muscles alone, but you need to be able to land really hard blows if you want to incapacitate a big man." She demonstrated. "It is only skill and focus at the point of impact that allows a woman to hit harder than she should be able to."

"I was wondering how you can hit so hard," Alba said thoughtfully.

Jacinta moved around to stand in front of her and put her hand against Alba's right shoulder.

"Now push me, just with your shoulder." She let Alba strain to do it.

"You see? All those muscles you used from your toes up? Just imagine all those muscles carrying your arm and fist forward. The leg and body muscles are far stronger than your arm. It is true of many other blows. When they come together at the exact moment of impact it gives you your maximum power.

"You can defend yourself; you can unbalance and confuse your opponent with lighter strikes but your punches won't take the fight out of him unless you can hit them in a weak spot or you can bring all your power to bear exactly at the point of impact. It means total focus of both mind and body. You will be facing an opponent who can hurt you badly if he connects. You need to finish the fight as quickly as you can."

* * *

Hakeem, and luck running out

It was a week later that Hakeem's luck ran out.

Lysandra was riding close to the leaders – Hakeem, Persos, Samson and Herodotos – when an elf scout came running as if he was flying across the meadow. As he got closer, the man's sides were heaving and he could only talk in gasps.

"The enemy are coming, Lord. They are a long way off at the moment but we must get ready."

"How many?" Herodotos asked.

"I don't know yet, more than us. I think it is the main raiding party, maybe two thousand."

A highly mobile and well-armed force headed their way and they were caught out in the open with refugees to protect.

"I could do with Kyrillos now," Hakeem cursed.

The road was dusty here in the shadow of the mountains, and they were travelling slowly. "We are leaving a trail a blind man could follow."

They didn't have enough men to fight, they couldn't hide and they couldn't run. Lysandra looked at Hakeem's face and she read despair.

"Hakeem, I'll tell the women and children not to make too much noise and not to stir up the dust," she offered.

"Lysandra!" Hakeem's head jerked up; his face was alight with wonder.

"That's it! Why didn't I see it? You are brilliant!"

He turned to Herodotos. "You heard the lady. Make as much noise as you can, make as big a dust cloud as possible and make sure their scouts do not get close enough to see what is really is going on."

He began shouting to his men in Aramaic. The Shantawi formed up at the rear and began to trot their horses purposefully in the direction of the enemy.

Herodotos was shouting out orders. Cut branches! Drag them behind horses! Lash them to carts! Ride horses back and forwards to confuse the tracks of cattle and other beasts. Some were proclaiming Lysandra's brilliance.

Samson laughed at her expression before rushing off to help.

"That's not what I said," she whispered.

* * *

Hala, the leader of the Hun raiders, looked at his chief scout. A large force was making its way in secret to Pella. It was savagely guarded. His scouts could get nowhere near it.

Was it Aléxandros returning? Perhaps Aléxandros had only brought a fraction of his strength. Perhaps he had divided his forces. In any case it was still too many for him to attack

Hala and his men would follow, but at a safe distance. When they reached the King's Highway, he would summon reinforcements.

And when he had enough, he would attack.

* * *

Olympias

It was dark, and something had woken Olympias. As she got out of the bed, Antipatros murmured in his sleep.

She felt led into the ante chamber where in the silver light of the moon a familiar figure stood waiting. "How did you get in here?" she hissed.

"I am not here, my daughter," Antea replied with a serenity born of the ages. "I can do more than whisper in men's minds. You should be grateful to me. I have concealed your son's army from the far-sight of his enemies. He approaches as if he has sprouted wings, only stopping to kill any enemy in his path."

"Say what you have to say, and leave."

"The enemy hunts Hakeem, his life is in peril." She saw Olympias look. "He must not die." Olympias opened her mouth to protest but she silenced her. "Do you remember the last time, daughter, that you didn't listen to me? I know it haunts you still."

"I do not wish to hear this!"

"Your weakness allowed our shared enemy power over you. You did his bidding by killing Philippos, thinking it was your own will. A great battle is upon us, not the trivial spats you concern yourself with. For the moment the aims of the Hun and our main enemy are the same. You have already met him and I will name him for you. It is Æloðulf."

Olympias gasped in terror. She realised just how close to death she was when she had faced him at Ápeiros.

"You became a queen, but the kingdom you hungered for is about to become a wasteland. Both your son and your lover will lie dead and rotting by the roadside. You will be forgotten by history. To prevent this, some things must happen.

"Firstly, the Hun must be defeated here and in Anatolē in such a way that they will not come again. Otherwise, they will keep coming, in wave after wave.

"Secondly Hakeem must live to defend Elgard. Æloðulf must never gain control over the elves."

"The elves?" Olympias almost shouted. The elves hated Æloðulf with a passion. It was hard to believe he could rule them even if they were totally crushed. Why would he even want to try?

Then she knew.

The shock of it caused her hands to fly to her mouth; she couldn't breathe.

"He knows what has cursed the elves," she said it in horror. "If he gets control of them ..."

It was unspeakable. "This cannot be allowed!"

"Now you see. And it is worse than you can possibly imagine. Æloðulf's pupil, Gansükh, is training others to raise daimôns."

"We will have to face daimôns?"

"If Elgard falls, we will all be facing daimôns. This will be far worse than the time of the Aryan. It is the Illvættir war all over again and who is left to fight that now? A terrible contagion is about to spread across the world. I look for its ending but my vision fails me.

"The time is later than you think. Your son must make for Aigai with all speed. When he is near, the garrison and all the men you can manage must make a sortie. It is the only thing that will distract the main army from pursuing Hakeem and it might, just might, save his life."

Olympias wanted to ask something, but Antea was gone.

She made her way, trembling, to lean on the window and look out in the moonlight. She stood there motionless and freezing. Finally, dawn woke Antipatros and he came looking for her.

* * *

Flight towards Aigai

The weather had turned cold and wet.

They had moved from a land of wide spaces to one of rolling plains with tilled fields interspersed by large shady forests of elm, beech, oak, maple and wild cherry trees. There was an abundance of springs, gorges, streams and rivulets. The farms were prosperous with cattle, sheep, goats, chickens, ducks, the barking of dogs and the clamour of geese.

The Pella Mountains move closer and grew bigger, sometimes the peaks floating like islands above any low-lying clouds.

They reached the foothills without any further incidents or signs of the enemy. It seemed that the Hun were not raiding this deeply into Makedonía. There were less mud-brick houses most were of wood now. Roofs were of turf or hatch, sometimes made of shingle.

Many of these people of the mountains had their own village militia. They saw themselves as apart from the royal court in Pella and, in many ways, they were. They were made up mainly of the older races like the Paeonians, some Thracians and some Illyrians.

Most of the villagers were wary of the large party of refugees but a few, anxious about the approaching troubles, would have welcomed a well-armed and well-supplied group.

They still moved on. What they were looking for was higher and more secure.

They had finally crossed the King's Road near the end of it, not too far from Aigai. The land here became rocky and uneven and the slopes steeper. They were close enough now and began actively scouting for a suitable site. It was the third day after crossing the King's Highway that an elf scout ran up with bad news.

There was smoke in the distance.

Hakeem and the others stared hard at the horizon but could not be sure of anything in the gathering haze of the afternoon.

"Alfarin, tell us what you see."

"Smoke, my Lord, three great fires far away and hard to see. One of them is the village we passed just over a day ago. I pray for its people, and for the others."

"So the Hun are a day behind us. They may not be after us and this raiding will slow them down."

"No, my Lord." The elf's face was expressionless as he studied the horizon. "They are burning these villages all at once, not one by one as they move back and forward as a raiding party would.

"It is a great force, spread wide. The smoke we see shows us their rear. The advance guard will be well in front and moving quickly. I think it is us they hunt. We managed to convince them earlier that we are a large army moving in the direction of Aigai. They have waited till they have the numbers they thought they needed and now they move to deal with us. It is the Hun way of fighting a war."

So, Hakeem's great plan to appear like a large army looked like it was about to blow up in his face. He summoned his leaders to tell them the latest news. If they had thought two thousand Hun was too many, now they had half the Huns in Makedonía or more headed their way.

"We don't have much time. They might be on us any minute. Herodotos, take your men and the elves. Get the refugees to that forest." He indicated a forest starting two thirds of the way up the next hill. There was a narrow winding path leading up to it.

"If you can't get the animals or the wagons up quickly enough, just leave them. The Huns won't be able to get you in the forest."

Herodotos hesitated, looking at the wagons following. They had brought these supplies all this way. Would they have to abandon them now?

"Leave now!" Hakeem shouted. "My men will cover your withdrawal."

Herodotos paused only to hug Hakeem and then he started to drive the refugees towards the forest. The women scooped up their children and made speed born out of panic, but for the many on foot running up the hill was going to be maddeningly slow.

Hakeem and his men waited, watching and worrying.

* * *

Herodotos waited a third of the way up the next hill.

It was like a nightmare.

Above him, most of the refugees on horses were already inside the forest and the first of the faster ones on foot were not far from the trees. But the main group were bent over and toiling slowly up the winding trail. They were spent after their initial panic had used up their energy.

It had rained and the path was now churned up by the horses. The refugees were slipping and falling in the mud as they laboured up the hill. Behind these were the heavier wagons only now starting their twisting climb. The livestock were spread all over.

As he watched in anguish, the elf next to him hissed, "I can hear many horses, Lord, coming fast. I think they have circled around to keep us from the forest "

The Hun must have sent an advance party.

"Leave the cattle!" he screamed out.

Their herders tried waving and yelling, to stampede them up the hill.

"Leave them, curse you!" he called. "And leave those wagons; no, don't try to grab anything or release the animals. Leave it any longer and you are dead men."

Herodotos heard the sound of galloping horses from below but it was Hakeem leading his men to meet the enemy. They spread out on the higher ground, fitted arrows and waited while their leader addressed them.

"Men of the Shantawi!" Hakeem cried out.

His back was to the rapidly approaching enemy.

"These Hun would kill these women and children who have become our friends. Let us now teach them what it means when people are under the protection of Shantawi!" His men cheered as he spun Nadir to face the approaching enemy. He drew four arrows, and nocked one ready in his bow.

"We will fire in groups of one hundred!" he called. "Individual targets at the front but counting from right to the left. After the first arrow, choose your own target."

This was difficult to co-ordinate, the Shantawi quickly whispered amongst each other as they claimed targets. Hakeem drew his great bow and waited, seeming to hold it for a long time.

"Now!"

Those in the front of the Huns died as they galloped. The ones in the rear crashed into them, but not as much as Hakeem had hoped for. The horsemen at the back turned smoothly on both sides and rode on.

The Shantawi had the advantage. The horses of the Hun were already tiring and few horsemen can shoot accurately uphill, especially while they swerve at a gallop over the uneven ground. The stationary Shantawi could use rapid fire, often firing three and sometimes four arrows to their one.

The Hun were dying rapidly and soon it was over. One of the Hun at the rear gave a cry and the remaining Hun wheeled rapidly and retreated, shooting as they galloped away. They left over five hundred dead or injured on the hillside.

The Shantawi had fifty of their own dead and almost a hundred wounded, some seriously. Mal'akhi was dead.

The wounded who could not sit a horse were loaded into the wagons and fifty men were sent to take them to safety. It gave Hakeem three hundred left. He set a hundred of his men to kill any of the enemy survivors and remove weapons and plunder.

But the attack had slowed them so the main army could catch up.

And there they were! Across on the other hillside.

There was still a valley in between. The last of the refugees were over halfway to safety. The drivers of the carts had defied orders and they were winding their way ponderously up hill. Most of the sheep, goats and cattle were placidly grazing. The animals didn't yet know they would be part of a victory feast once the Hun had killed their former owners.

Hakeem frowned as he looked above to Herodotos. He had taken his men higher, closer to the entrance to the forest. His men were still mounted but they were lining up. They were facing south as the refugees inched their way past them.

There must be another force of Hun that Hakeem couldn't see.

He gave a shrill whistle and signalled to the two hundred he had, to ride up to meet Herodotos. The hundred who were killing the enemy wounded were to stop and catch up.

He prayed to Apollōn that this new group of Hun he was facing was smaller. But, as the enemy came into sight, he realised there were maybe a thousand, riding hard, and far closer than he had hoped.

Herodotos had three hundred of his hoplitai with him and a few local militia, but not all the refugees and wagons had reached the forest.

Just then, the new enemy turned and headed for Hakeem's wounded in the carts!

Hakeem signalled for a charge uphill to meet them. They outnumbered him five to one; Shantawi and Hun would both be galloping over the uneven ground and now the Hun would be shooting downhill.

Hakeem and Persos looked at each other and they exchanged a special smile.

At a shout, his Shantawi risked a volley. Just then Herodotos's men hit the enemy from the rear. The Greeks were using shields and javelins. With the surprise attack from the rear the odds began switching in their favour. The Hun switched to shooting the horses from under the Greeks but it didn't stop them.

Hakeem, with just the few men, turned to attack two hundred Hun who had broken off to attack the refugees.

He was distracted for a moment by the sound of more horsemen arriving. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a nearby Hun drawing his bow back and then something hit him hard in the chest.

* * *

Dying

He could not get enough air. Each breath was a torment. Darkness was closing in on him. Was it night already or was his vision failing?

He could feel Nadir straining under him and over rocky ground. The horse must be climbing. Every movement was an agony as it jostled the arrow in his chest.

"Hakeem, we need you!"

"I know Elena, but it is so hard."

"Do you remember telling me your love was as strong as a mountain stream flowing?"

"Did I tell you that? How are you even here?"

Elena told him they needed to pull the arrow out and stitch him, but he knew she wasn't here. Jacinta had said something about something hurting, and then someone else held him down while Jacinta jumped hard on his chest and twisted the arrow as if to give him more pain. Then she stabbed him with a knife.

Jacinta wouldn't do that. She wouldn't hurt him like that. And she wasn't there.

He was on something soft. He couldn't find his horse.

"Nadir!" his voice croaked. "Nadir, I'm dying!"

"Hakeem, don't die!" said Jacinta in a small child's voice.

"I can't help it, Jacinta. Look after your mother."

Jacinta looked down at him. "He thinks I'm Jacinta."

It had started to rain then, gently at first, dripping softly on his face. Elena said something else then, but it sounded very faint.

The rain continued, large drops, salty on his lips.

In the distance he heard people crying.

* * *

Anatolē under siege

Once the Makedóne swarmed over the countryside, the local commanders would be completely cut off (except the coastal regions). They had been thoroughly briefed on the plan and they were expected to act on their own, without orders from the top.

Hakeem had gone to Makedonía to entice Aléxandros back there and he had succeeded more than they could have possibly hoped. Aléxandros left quickly and the rest of his army rapidly withdrew.

Autumn is the time for ploughing, and planting: wheat, barley and vegetables. If they had no spring harvest, it would be a desperate year. They knew the Huns were coming but they thought they had time.

And so they sent all the peasants they could spare, mainly women, and then they called for volunteers to help with a late planting.

They went in large organised teams with horses and bullocks, hoes and the traditional wooden "scratch" ploughs. All over Mysia and the Troad there were large teams working frantically from dawn to dusk in a mad rush, not bothering at all with who owned what land.

It was a brave, heroic effort by the women of Mysia and the Troad.

It came at the same time as the news that Hakeem had fallen, and unfortunately it set the scene for an even greater disaster. The Hun arrived almost on the heels of Aléxandros, and they moved with appalling speed.

So instead of the peasants and villagers hidden in the forests and hills or billeted in the well-supplied cities, fortresses and hold fasts, they were scattered all over the countryside at a time when communications were in a shambles.

The larger villages and towns had been fortified, some only with wooden palisade walls but more had stone or earthworks with solid high gates and wooden towers.

Almost all the peasants, including women, were armed, mostly with heavy bows. And they well knew how to use them but they still needed warning or they would be caught working in the open fields.

Elena had made a desperate dash to the heart of Mysia barely a handful of stadia from where the Hun were last seen. She wanted to help with an evacuation, but it was hopeless.

The enemy was coming too fast. There were too many small villages and it would take far too long. So all she could do was to warn them but even then she couldn't do it quickly enough.

She was in one such small village in Mysia and she knew she would have to abandon these women in front of her. The enemy were almost upon them.

She stood on a small platform looking out over them; there were over a thousand of them, all of them were women, their faces young and old. They were all armed with hunting bows, as heavy as they could manage, and were well supplied by arrows. They stood there gripping their bows bravely, standing there to wish her goodbye and good luck.

She would never see them again. They were doomed, and they knew it.

It may be just a small village but it had been well fortified. It had proper walls with mud-brick and rammed-earth on the outside, greater than twice the height of a man and three paces across. It was surrounded by a deep trench. There was a high solid gate protected by a wooden tower.

The people of this village loved their homes and they had worked hard. It had been hoped that the fortifications wouldn't be needed, but now they were.

Elena stood there dressed for war, silvery chain-mail of a noble elf, with sword and knife and bow. She held her silvery helm in her hands, adorned as it was by a stylised dragon on the crown.

As she looked over the faces of these brave women, she realised it would take a miracle if not many more thousands, or more probably tens of thousands, would die as well. Then a thought came to her, and she smiled. Some of the women watching her wondered at that. Was the Elf Queen so indifferent to their fate to find it amusing?

She took a deep breath.

"Women of Mysia, even though I am a queen of the elves, I would call each of you dear to me. The people of this land have opened their hearts to me and I find I love you."

The women were silent, waiting for what she was going to say next.

"This is a day that we have long dreaded and long prepared for. I had hoped to help in your rescue but our enemy is too close for that."

A young leader of the women whom she had found out was Eumeleia (Melody) looked her straight in the eyes. "Does that mean we are to die here?"

"Yes, it does. These Hun are showing no mercy. They are travelling fast and have not been bothering with prisoners. Fight them and you will have a clean death. If they catch you alive or if you surrender they will rape you, many of them together, and after that they will still kill you."

Eumeleia stood resolute, clutching her bow, a quiver over her shoulder, but her grip tightened till her knuckles whitened. She looked around at some of the other women and nodded.

A girl towards the back yelled out, "I don't want to die," and then she began to sob.

Some of the older women took her and comforted her.

She is too young for this, Elena thought.

"What is your name?" Elena called out across the heads of the waiting women.

"Her name is Klytaimestra, Queen."

"Klytaimestra," Elena called out in a clear voice. "Men are coming here. They want to kill you and your cousins and your friends. They want to burn your village and kill your animals. They want to kill your grandparents, your parents, your uncles and aunts, your brothers and sisters and your sweetheart if you have one. They want to take what little you people have. Now what do you want to do about that?"

Klytaimestra stood up and gripped her bow. "I want to kill them!" she screamed.

"Klytaimestra, you will do well enough." Elena gave her a gentle smile.

"There are many tens of thousands of your sisters and countrymen out there and unless a way is found to slow the enemy, they will get no warning and they will be caught in the open. We need to stop them here."

The women were silent, looking to one another.

"For that reason, I will stay."

"My Lady, you cannot!" one of the women cried out, appalled. "You are a queen!"

There was a growing murmur of dissent.

Elena held up her hand.

"As a queen," she said, "I would and I will give my life for my people, if I am called to do so. I name you now my people and I find I am so called.

"With me here, the enemy won't surround this place with a few of their men and gallop on. They will first try to negotiate my surrender, and when they finally come they will come cautiously and try to capture me. You have me and you have my elves. All we have to do is to fight till the very end and kill as many as we can.

"We will die, but we will buy time so that so many of our sisters can live. We will teach these Hun just what they face." She looked up and her voice rang out. "You have taken up bows to protect your homes and those you love. You are now the fighting women of Mysia, what do you say?"

Klytaimestra started the chant and the others took it up till it was deafening.

"'Lena! 'Lena! 'Lena!"

As the women chanted, tears came to the Queen's eyes but she raised her bow and, smiling through her tears, she turned slowly so she could salute each and every one of them.

"Thank you, everyone. Now we get ready."

She turned to her maid.

"Eudokia—"

Eudokia said nothing. She merely stood up tall, lifting her own bow and placing her quiver over her shoulder.

"Thank you," Elena repeated.

She turned to Drakon. "Unfurl my standard and get our men to help them prepare for a siege."

* * *

They watched from the tower guarding the gates as the enemy flooded in and cut off their final escape. High above the village the crimson dragon flashed in the wind. The Hun would be delighted to know they had trapped the Elf Queen.

Her only regret was that she couldn't say goodbye to her family. But she was an elf. They would know she loved them. She had been told Hakeem had fallen. Perhaps he already waited for her beyond this place. Sophie had predicted she would die at Elgard, but it seemed that that would not be so.

As Elena watched the dust of the approaching enemy from one of the roofs, she turned to Drakon. "I didn't ask, Drakon. I didn't ask you and the men."

Drakon laughed at that. "You think you needed to?"

"I suppose you think me foolish," she said.

"My Queen!" his voice caught. "Anything else would be wrong. You were ever destined to be the greatest of all our queens."

Elena's eyes teared to hear that. "We have agreed: no ransom, no bargains. Our human allies know my views but they are not elves. You must promise that they will not catch me."

Drakon nodded solemnly. "Stay back till the very end, and then you must come forward to lead us. We will follow you anywhere, even into death."

"You don't mind dying for humans?"

"I never thought I would feel proud to do that very thing! No, my Queen, I am content. I pray I can serve you in the next life as well.

"In the meantime, let us teach these Hun what just a few of us can do. I wish to sing a last song. There won't be time later. You will know the words."

Drakon raised his voice, pure and sweet. The Queen smiled and her eyes teared again as the emotion washed over her. It felt like her heart was taking flight as she joined him. Bit by bit the other elves paused in their work and joined in, their voices lifting into the air. The women and their enemies outside paused in wonder to listen.

It was a song of love, and sacred Troia, and the mother Goddess, long ago.

 

Chapter 11: Emptiness

Jacinta was in a dark pit. Deep inside her it felt as if she was falling endlessly.

Why had she come here? The room was dark and empty.

This was where she used to come. When she needed their love, she came here. They were here no more. Her parents were dead. Now it was only filled with pale memories. Like ghosts mocking her.

She felt she was drowning in desperate aching loneliness. She hunched forward in pain.

There she heard a girl's voice outside. "We should look in her parents' room."

No one must see me like this! Sticking to the shadows she fled to Seléne's room.

As she entered, she let out a moan. Seléne was in Elgard. It was just another cold and empty room. Next to the curtain she curled up on the floor, alone in the darkness. Her Gypsy family, and now this! Her life was over. Why did her lungs still breathe?

King Leandros had called for her. She was at the hospital, helping and she had run. The war was going badly. One minute the Makedónes were attacking, the Allies were losing and then they were gone. Their peasants rushed to the villages. There would be time for the autumn planting. And yet the Hun had arrived like a tidal wave, moving far too quickly.

There were brave men and women riding to take the news to the villages and everywhere there was chaos. So many would be trapped outside the strong points; so many would die.

Refugees and wounded had already started to come in to the capital by ship.

In the throne room there was a line of grim people waiting to see their lord: advisers, nobles and captains, many with desperate tales and pleas for help.

Jacinta was ushered to the front of the line. Something big then, was it about her father? He had been trying to save Makedóne refugees and had been shot in the chest. They had found his horse. The Makedónes were said to be searching for his body.

Her heart was racing, her breath coming quickly with hope, but when Leandros looked up and saw her, he didn't smile. A look of pain passed over his face.

He looked old, and tired.

Numb, she stumbled forward and dropped into a warrior's salute.

Leandros made a dismissive gesture and waved for her to sit by his side. Jacinta shook her head. It felt like there was a great weight pressing on her chest.

"May I stand, great Lord? You have bad news. Is it about my father?"

Leandros's face twisted in anguish. "No, Jacinta, there is no easy way to say this, I'm sorry."

"My mother?" Her voice, even to her, sounded small and lost.

"She was trying to help with the evacuation of the villages. The area was being overrun. She deliberately stayed. It delayed the enemy and saved so many, maybe tens of thousands." For a moment, he paused, unable to say it. "The village was completely destroyed."

Jacinta felt dizzy, drifting, nothing was real.

She felt a surge of anger: anger at her mother, anger at her father. But how could she be angry with them? She loved them, and now they were gone. How could she feel anything but pride at what they had done? Yet it was so hard!

"Thank you," she managed.

"Will you be all right?"

"I have to be." She looked around. "There are so many others."

"And worse is coming," Leandros said tiredly. "Your mother may not be dead. If they recognised who she was which I think likely, they will try to capture her for ransom and I will pay it. She won't want us to, but I don't care. I will pay."

Her mother! Her father! Drakon! Alfarr! All of them dead.

It felt like a great spear had been driven through her heart. But she mustn't think that way. Her father, her mother might still be alive.

"Jacinta?" It was just a shadow in the darkness: Eirene.

She hoped they would not see her huddled on the floor.

"Jacinta!" It was Alba.

Alba moved across to where Jacinta was hiding and sat down next to her.

Eirene took the other side.

"Thaïs! I should have told her!" Jacinta said. "I-I ... just ..."

"Meliboea and Zoe are with her," Eirene said quietly.

"Thank Apollōn," she gasped through her tears. "I'm all right," she said. "I really am."

"You're all right," Eirene said, taking her in her arms. "That is why you are sitting here in the dark."

"There are s-so many others ... the hospital, I should ..."

Then she burst into tears. Eirene sat rocking her and hugging her fiercely as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. "Oh Jacinta; you don't have to be strong all the time."

* * *

The Hun camp, Anatolē

"Perhaps Mòdú Chányú will not believe you fail in all tasks," Æloðulf smiled unpleasantly.

The western horde had split up. Alypbi the right Tuqi wang took his own men on to Makedonía leaving Heduohan, one of the Mòdú's nephews, to lead an equal number of men from a subject tribe into Anatolē.

Mòdú Chányú had not bothered to inform his junior commanders about Æloðulf's fall from grace, but of course he was supposed to be dead, so he had taken the opportunity to join Heduohan for his Anatolē campaign. He wanted to see how their enemies organised their defences and what weapons they used.

So far, there was no evidence of magic.

The Anatolē campaign had started well; the Hun had caught the defenders on the wrong foot, but it had all changed dramatically when the Elf Queen made her stand in one small village.

Now they had to fight for every inch of country.

"I have the confidence of my uncle, the Chányú," Heduohan informed him coldly. "Everyone knows the filthy piece of desert dung has been using magic against me."

"Indeed he has," Æloðulf laughed. "The type that converts women into warriors. Soon your great warriors will be defeated by an army consisting of children, women and old men!"

"So where is the help you promised? Where is your daimôn?"

"I will use my daimôn only when it is needed. Now tell me how you caught her!"

"The Elf Queen was a fool. She stayed with her bodyguard just to help some worthless village. Why would a queen do that? They weren't even elves. And who would have known that such a small group could do so much damage to us? We had to lay siege to the damn place. It took four full days. A small shitty village but it was built like a fort!"

"You lost a lot of men?" Æloðulf asked.

"Between dead or wounded almost two minghan (two thousand). Everyone in the village was armed. Everywhere there were traps. But it was worth it. We burnt the village and killed most there as well as two hundred elves. And now we have their queen!"

"So two minghan in exchange for one dirty village and it was worth it." Æloðulf shook his head in amusement. "I think you are facing something new in your experience: peasants who fight back. But she is a queen. You must treat her like royalty."

"Who are you to tell me what to do? Whatever I want I take, and whatever I take is mine. I will keep her alive. The rest depends on how well she pleases me. I will teach her what it's like to be owned by me. If the desert snake ever gets his wife back, he will no longer want what I have made of her."

"Bring the bitch here!" he commanded one of his men.

Æloðulf smiled. He didn't really care how the elf was treated. But to see the great Elf Queen humbled by these filthy barbarians would prove a pleasant diversion.

A small group of captives were brought in: one elf, seven human women and a girl maybe thirteen years or older. Elena was the only one bound, her hands behind her back. She had received a nasty scalp wound to her left temple. Her face was bruised and dirty and her hair on one side was matted with blood. Her clothes were dirty and ripped.

But she would have been unmistakeable even if she did not have the features of an elf. She held her head high and walked a little in front of the others. She had the mark of majesty and breeding stretching back thousands of years.

"Unbind her!" Heduohan demanded. "Surely you can cow one unarmed woman?"

"No, Lord," Tutek, who was second to Heduohan, said.

He gestured to one of his men to cut the Queen free. "The Queen kept fighting; we had to knock her out. We lost three men capturing her alone.

"She is quite a woman, Lord. My men have named her Asena! Even the peasant women with her fought like lionesses to protect her. They fought to the death, every one of them; only after we caught the Queen did these ones surrender."

Many of the men present murmured approval.

Heduohan frowned in irritation. To call the elf 'Asena' (the great she-wolf of legend) was to give her too much honour.

"So it is I who must tame this wild animal? I will show her who she is dealing with."

Elena was slowly massaging her wrists after her bonds were cut. She stared levelly at Heduohan and then turned to Æloðulf and spoke in ancient elvish.

"Are these the dogs you run with now, Æloðulf? Are there more of your kind left?"

Æloðulf was shocked. She not only knew what he was but she knew who he was!

He hadn't heard the language she spoke for thousands of years. It took him a minute: his ancient name meant 'elf-wolf' and she had called the Hun dogs, he chuckled, despite himself.

"Speak Greek, not that dead language! I am the only one left, but that is all that is needed."

"Perhaps," she said simply. "I'm sure you will want to ask me where the book is hidden but even if I knew, which I don't, it would do you no good. The Svartálfar found the power of the Gods but they never shared their secrets with you, did they? That must have been ... disappointing."

She paused and smiled again, as if savouring the moment. "A power guards the book beyond even your comprehension. It allowed a mere girl to destroy your daimôn. You didn't know it could be done, did you? I promise that one day we will surprise you again by destroying you, hunter of elves."

Æloðulf ignored a sharp look from Heduohan. He felt a wondrous thrill. This was the Elf Queen of Prophecy. She was so beautiful. She should be terrified of him and yet it was she who made him taste fear. She made him feel feelings he hadn't felt for so long. In this moment he felt more alive than he had for thousands of years.

He bowed deeply and smiled at her. "We will see."

She turned to Heduohan, effectively dismissing him.

"And this must be the one who orders the killing of women and children: the Lord Heduohan, nephew of the mighty Mòdú Chányú and leader of many tumen (armies of ten thousand)."

"Bow, bitch!" Heduohan growled.

"Gladly, if that please you." Elena bowed deeply.

But she continued to watch him with a half-smile as some of the men translated her words.

"You will wait on me and my men like a serving maid. You are now my slave," Heduohan demanded.

"Yes, Lord, if that pleases you." Elena bowed assent again, still with her half-smile.

Heduohan was disappointed. He had hoped to provoke her to outrage to show her how powerless she was before him. Not only did she keep her temper, she had given him no cause to lose his own. His men were watching her with admiration.

"So you think you are clever, elf. I say you are a fool. We caught you easily. Why did you not escape while you could?"

"Not easily," Elena replied simply. "But why did I not escape when I could? Do you not know, Lord? We have to feed our people so we asked our women to sow the fields in the time we thought we had. But your men were magnificent! They moved faster than any of us thought could be possible. You lead great warriors." She looked around the room smiling at the men; some murmured their approval.

"You caught us by surprise and someone had to delay you. The delay saved tens of thousands. And if you didn't bring reinforcements with such speed we still might have escaped.

"But now we know what you can do. You will not find it as easy as you have. You will pay for every inch of our soil with your blood."

"You would do better than to boast in front of me, elf," Heduohan warned. "You knew more were coming. You still had your horses. There was time in which you could have gotten away."

She looked around again, looking slowly back and forth at his men and commanders. She made eye contact with each and every one before replying. When she replied she addressed her reply to them, not Heduohan.

"Do you not know, Lord? I knew well what I did. I could have gotten away but the others whom I now call my people were on foot. If any of your men here were trapped, even the humblest, would you not ride into danger to help them? Would you ride off and leave them behind? Surely you would risk death to save your men? For you are their brave leader, are you not?

"But I see from your expression you do not understand such things. I would rather die with my brave people than leave them. We call this honour, not foolishness."

There were loud murmurs of appreciation amongst the listening men. Many were smiling and nodding. And it was true. Heduohan would never do such a thing. They did not like him much; he was not of their tribe.

Heduohan was getting angry, but tried to gain control.

"All your men and allies will surrender their arms now we have captured you."

"That will not happen; this has been long decided and the orders are firm," Elena replied. "They also have my example. A royal elf is a servant as much as a ruler. My life is not worth the lives of many. Perhaps you can get gold for me, but whatever we give you, we will simply take back."

Heduohan drew his knife and shouted angrily back at her, "So you bandy words with me, bitch. Take care, or I will cut your throat now! Let me show how I will deal with you.

"Men!" he shouted. "Take those others and give them to the common soldiers for their pleasure. Bind any that give you trouble."

None of the men moved, they looked ill at ease and glanced at Tutek.

Heduohan bellowed with rage. "You heard me!" He gestured at Elena with his knife. "The elf, bring her to my bed tonight. Bind her till she learns her place. Now take them away!"

No one moved.

Elena fixed Heduohan with a level stare and walked slowly towards him, moving with inhuman grace. Her half smile had returned. The room fell silent.

"No, Lady! Not for us!" Eudokia, her maid cried out.

Wordlessly Elena stopped in front of Heduohan, hands on her hips as she looked him up and down, smiling. It was a challenge. Heduohan held his knife steady, pointing at her.

She moved forward and grabbed the tip of his knife and turned her head and brushed her hair aside, exposing the pulse at the right side of her neck. She continued to smile as she put the knife point against the artery.

She turned the blade till it was horizontal, the edge facing her throat. He let her, wanting to see what she was going to do. She was giving him an invitation to cut her throat. The men were silent, watching.

Heduohan knew that he would win this game.

He smiled back and kept the knife rock steady, even when a tiny drop of her blood ran down her neck. Unbeknownst to him, behind the cover of her hands she had shifted the point slightly to the inside of the artery. She looked straight into his eyes, smiling. She was still challenging him! He smiled back confidently; there was nothing she could do.

But he was not ready for what happened next. There were cries of horror when Elena, holding the blade in her hands, jerked it across her throat.

Heduohan dropped the blade and backed away in horror, slicing the elf's thumb in his haste. The knife cluttered at his feet.

"Are you mad?" He shrieked, appalled.

Elena stood there smiling at him. The blood was now pouring in a steady stream down her throat. It soaked into her shirt and started to drip onto the floor.

She squeezed her thumb to make it bleed more and tasted the blood as if considering.

"Know this. My life is more important to you than it is to me," she said clearly and levelly, gesturing with her bloody hand. "Even if you bind me you cannot prevent me, an elf, from taking my life. None will believe you have not murdered me, not even your uncle.

"I will bow to you, if that pleases you. I will serve you, if it gives you pleasure. There is no shame for me when I do this for my people."

"Lady, staunch your wound!" Heduohan cried, horrified.

"Not yet, Lord. I fought like a warrior, the ladies with me fought like warriors. You cannot deny this, and yet you seek to dishonour us. You would even send a girl-child to be defiled. Must I, a woman, teach you honour? You either let us live with honour or die with honour. That is your own warrior code.

"I will die for my people, I will bleed for my people, I will make myself a slave for my people. But do not mistake this for weakness. I am not afraid of you, so do not threaten me or those under my care. If you want to keep us alive, treat us honourably.

"Now I will go back to the tent where you have kept us, to staunch my wound."

Elena turned and walked, her head high like a queen, dripping blood as she went. The other women followed quickly.

The Hun rose as one man.

The noise was deafening. They were shouting out, "YI! Yi! Yi!"

There was a tumult of clapping, stomping, shouting and laughing in glee.

The Elf Queen showed herself a true hero! This was a lady who was worthy of honour amongst them and more. This was a great warrior Queen, one they themselves could follow! The noise showed little sign of subsiding. The confrontation of Heduohan and the great Elf Queen would long be remembered.

"Well, you certainly showed her who she deals with." Æloðulf was laughing over the shouting and cheering of the men. "That lady, I must have her for myself!" he added feelingly. "She will be my mate and bear me children."

He had never felt this way about a woman before. But then, he had never seen anything like Elena, great Queen of the Eastern Elves.

She would hate him, of course. He didn't care. He knew how to control her. She had said it herself. She would do anything to protect her people.

It would be better this way; her soft touch would help him rule. He would listen to her and give her great honour in his court. It would do until he found out what had happened to the elves and managed to reverse it. He would have to kill her husband of course, but that shouldn't be a problem.

Heduohan was shocked at what had happened to him. She had caused him to lose face so totally and so quickly! It may already be too late.

"Kill her!" he demanded. The men just looked at him in contempt.

He was a dead man.

The Bitch had killed him, and she had done it so easily.

He struggled to get his sword free from its scabbard. Tutek grabbed him from behind and contemptuously threw his sword aside. The men were looking at him in disgust. He scrambled for his knife slippery with her blood.

He would kill her. It would be his last act.

"You will not!" Æloðulf screamed loudly in his head.

Heduohan scrambled to get up. Then he felt hands made of steel and ice grip his throat. He spun to look at Æloðulf but he was standing back from him looking amused. There was no one close by.

"Is something wrong, Heduohan? You really should stop underestimating people; firstly, Hakeem and his preparations, then his wife and now me."

Heduohan struggled desperately to break the hold but his hands simply waved uselessly through the empty air. His chest heaved for the air that would not come and the room began to darken. He fell, struggling, rolling around helplessly. Æloðulf was smiling down at him.

Æloðulf raised his voice in Turkic.

"The Queen is right, this man has no honour. He went to kill her when she was unarmed. Now he grovels on the ground like the coward he is."

Tutek looked down at him, laughing. "He has no honour and will die without honour! But he should be happy. We will give him a good funeral!" He sang out to the men. "What do you say?"

The men shouted back, laughing and cheering loudly, "Yes, we will give him a good funeral!"

The women escorted Elena quickly to their quarters.

Eudokia had torn the hem of her skirt and was using the cloth to staunch the bleeding.

They had to partly carry her. She was shaking so violently, crying a little and could hardly walk.

"I hope I never have to do that again!" she said panting.

"The wound looks worse than it is. I am a healer; I knew what I was doing."

In truth she had realised just how dangerous what she had done was. A slight miscalculation and she would have killed herself.

"I've lost a lot of blood. I'll need one of you to stitch it for me. "

"Lady, you terrified us. I almost fainted myself," Eumeleia gasped, pressing a fresh cloth over the Queen's wound. "Can you elves really kill yourself if you are bound?"

"Of course not, how could we do such a thing?" Elena replied shakily, laughing through her tears. "Ouch, Eumeleia, it is stinging! Let's get this cleaned and stitched. I still have some of my powder. Sorry if I flinch and moan. I've used up all my courage, I'm afraid. I've none left at all."

"Tutek would have treated us well I think, but he was getting orders from Heduohan," Eudokia said.

"They are all bloodthirsty monsters," Eumeleia said feelingly.

"War is the enemy," Elena said. "Soldiers do bad things in war but how many men have a real choice whether to fight or not? These men were starving and if they didn't fight for Mòdú Chányú they would have had to fight against him: him and his hordes."

"Would you just let them kill us, then?"

Elena laughed. "As to that, you already know the answer, but I do not hate them."

And I am beginning to sound like Hakeem!

"The Hun are warlike, true. They have little choice in the places they live, but they have their code of honour, they are brave and make loyal friends." She added, "Can you hear those men cheering? If someone doesn't come to kill us soon, we have won good treatment."

Elena was about to find out just how well she had done.

The cheering and laughing in the main tent just kept getting louder. It went on for a long time. After a while, there was a polite call from outside. Elena had had her neck wound dressed and her hair washed and gently towelled dry. Some of it was still faintly stained pink. One of the ladies had combed it for her, being careful of her wounds.

"Great Queen of the Elves, may we enter?"

Well, that sounded hopeful.

She got the other women to stand behind her. She remained on the chair.

In truth she was too faint and shaky to stand. Then she called for the man to come in. It was Tutek himself. Where was Heduohan?

He had two others with him, one bearing a cup. Tutek opened his two palms to her, one held a small sharp knife. The three bowed deeply.

She didn't know if she was supposed to take it or what she was supposed to do.

Then Tutek straightened up. "Queen, we have killed the nephew of Mòdú Chányú and Æloðulf has left our camp. You were right, Heduohan was no true man. He and all that tribe are cruel, unnatural men. We told him we wanted to strengthen our tribe but he ordered us to kill women; perfectly good women." He spat on the floor. "Who can imagine such a thing?"

"Such a waste," Elena managed.

"It is unnatural!" Tutek agreed in an open demonstration of feeling, unusual for a Hun. "They said there was no time to take women and children, but we are mainly young men a long way from our home.

"They didn't want us to grow stronger. They were only interested in conquering lands for themselves. They wanted gold," He spat again "What is the use of that? We will give Heduohan a good funeral but it won't be enough for the Mòdú. Our truce with him is broken. But we are men and we must live like men.

"We have heard your husband is a great fighter. Meeting his wife, we know it must be so; even women fight like wolves for you. If you will have us, we will follow you, great queen of great warriors."

"Tutek, you do me a great honour." Elena almost burst out into tears, she felt so overcome. "I said I admired you and I meant it. I cannot say that following me will be safe, but I will gladly take your people as my own."

"And we, Asena, will be yours." Tutek's face was beaming with joy.

Keeping eye contact with her, he drew the blade along his inner forearm, cutting deeply into his flesh. He offered his arm, bleeding, to Elena.

Elena felt deeply humbled.

She unwrapped her thumb and squeezed it till it started to bleed again and then carefully pressed it to his wound. As she looked up again and their eyes met, she felt such a powerful surge of affection for these people. These people who would fight the Mòdú for love of her.

"There is one other thing, my Queen," Tutek said. "These are my two most senior commanders: neither speaks Greek. Eslan here," he indicated the one holding a golden cup, "has a special gift for you. It is an unprecedented honour and he would lose much face if you refuse. You have lost a lot of blood. This is mare's blood from his favourite horse; don't worry, it doesn't really hurt the horse."

Elena felt like crying, but she clamped down on her feelings with iron control. She growled a warning to those behind her.

"None of you must show even the slightest frown."

She gave Eslan a smile Hakeem told her that men found dazzling.

"Eslan," she said in halting Turkic. "I honour your gift."

Then Elena did a thing that she would have thought she would never be able to do. She drank slowly and steadily from the cup, watching Eslan from over the rim, and then returned it with a small amount left for him.

Eslan solemnly drank the rest and his leathery brown face broke into a grin of extreme pleasure. He bobbed his head enthusiastically. Elena, the queen of the elves, had captured his heart. She just hoped he didn't bring her any more mares' blood.

"And none of you," Elena warned her companions, "ever mention this!"

There were too many strange stories about elves already.

 

 

Chapter 12: Elena Waits

Hakeem saw Lysandra's face through a haze. Samson appeared over her shoulder.

He could barely talk to them. "They shot me."

"The arrow sticking out of your chest told us that already, Hakeem." It was the deep voice of Samson. "I had to hold you while Andromede cut it out. It was very difficult; it was deep and it was stuck."

"Water." His throat was so dry.

He felt the strong man lifted him and held him up. Shooting agony through his chest felt like the arrow had struck him anew. Lysandra would only allow him frustratingly small sips.

"You lost much blood," Samson said. "You Shantawi carry more blood than usual men if I am to judge."

Samson then gave him a look of mock disgust as he lowered him down. "But just look at you! I was shot in the chest and I was back riding the same day. You Shantawi make too much fuss over a single arrow; what sort of men are you?"

Hakeem felt like punching him, but couldn't seem to get his arms to work. Consciousness was escaping him. There was something important. He had to remember it.

"Lysandra, Samson loves you! He doesn't say it, but he loves you and he loves Kaunios."

"I know that, just make sure you live or I won't invite you to our wedding," she said.

Hakeem was drifting away. He wondered if he died how he could be a guest at a wedding.

* * *

Elena waits

It was six weeks since Hakeem had disappeared.

Elena stood on her balcony, like she did every evening, looking out to sea and singing softly. Leandros came quietly to join her.

"I am told Dengizich and his tribe have finally sworn allegiance to Tutek," he said. "Tutek gave the old man a place of honour in his Ordu (command tent) and took his grandsons as his own. They were mostly single men. Even with all the single women from the Bosimi they still need a lot more women, do you have any ideas as what to do about that?"

"With a war still coming? Single women shouldn't be a problem." Elena said bitterly. Then she smiled. "I could have simply ordered Dengizich to obey Tutek. Jacinta and Tutek told me not to."

"Tutek will make a good leader," Leandros said. "Now we have enough men to protect Kappadokia against anything but a massed attack. The threat to Anatolē seems to be over."

But it has lost us Hakeem.

"Elena, why don't you try to get some rest?" he added gently. "It has been six weeks and his horse has been returned to us."

"He is alive," Elena said gently. "I would know if he were not."

"You can't know that and it hurts us to see you pining."

Elena smiled softly. "I do not pine, I call."

"But we have received no news and so many were buried in an open grave."

"I am an elf. I will wait and I will call my love home to me."

* * *

Jacinta was less sure that her father was coming back, but the certainty her mother had allowed her to keep hope.

The loss of so many: Hakeem, Drakon and Alfarr hung like a dark cloud over their small group of Amazónes. Thaïs was the worst. It twisted their hearts to see her. She had lost her smile, she hardly slept. She lost weight and looked sad all the time.

* * *

Hakeem made it to the chair and plonked down, grey and exhausted.

"I never learnt to heal myself. Jacinta can, but I never needed to. I heal fast, but this is taking far too long."

"No need to be cranky with yourself," Lysander observed tartly. "Andromede said you shouldn't be alive."

"Being sick is so inconvenient." Hakeem chuckled and had to hold his chest with pain as he laughed. "How did you find me?"

Lysander sniffed. "We looked, of course. A lot of us went out and looked."

"You shouldn't have done that. It was too dangerous."

"We can take you back and dump you in a ditch if you like."