Desert God. Wilbur Smith

precious stones.

      ‘Take those from the prisoners also,’ I instructed Dilbar. I picked out two of the more exceptional pieces of jewellery from the pile and slipped them into my leather pouch. Like most women my two princesses do so love pretty and shiny trinkets.

      I turned my attention to the captured slaves, who stood stolidly in their chains. I saw at once that although they were a mixed bag, which included Libyans, Hurrians and Sumerians, the majority were Egyptians. In all probability they had been captured by the Hyksos and handed over to the Cretans to help them build the fort. I picked out one of them, who had an intelligent face and who seemed not yet to have succumbed to despair.

      ‘Take that one into the next chamber,’ I ordered Dilbar, and he grabbed the Egyptian and dragged him into the antechamber of the fort. There I told him to leave us. When he had gone, I stared at the slave in silence for a while. His attitude was one of resignation but I saw the defiance in his eyes that he was trying to conceal.

      Good! I thought. He is still a man.

      At last I spoke to him softly in our own sweet language. ‘You are an Egyptian.’ He started and I saw he had understood me. ‘What regiment?’ I asked him but he shrugged, feigning incomprehension. He looked down at his own feet.

      ‘Look at me!’ I ordered him and I removed my bronze helmet and unwound the silken cloth that covered the lower half of my face. ‘Look at me!’ I repeated.

      He lifted his head and started with surprise.

      ‘Who am I?’ I asked.

      ‘You are Taita. I saw you at Luxor in the Temple of Hathor when I was a child. My father told me you were one of the greatest living Egyptians,’ he whispered in awe, and then he threw himself at my feet. I was moved by this show of veneration, but I kept my voice stern.

      ‘Yes, soldier. I am Taita. Who are you?’

      ‘I am Rohim of the Twenty-sixth Charioteers. I was captured by the Hyksos swine five years ago.’

      ‘Will you return with me to our very Egypt?’ I asked, and he smiled. There was a tooth missing in his upper jaw, and his face was bruised. He had been beaten but he was still an Egyptian warrior and his reply was firm.

      ‘I am your man to the death!’

      ‘Where did the Cretans store the chests that they forced you to unload from the ship yesterday?’

      ‘In the strong room at the bottom of the stairwell, but the door is locked.’

      ‘Who has the key?’

      ‘The fat one with the green sash. He is the master of slaves.’

      I had seen the man he described kneeling with the other prisoners. ‘Does he also have the keys to your chains, Rohim? You will need them, for you are a free man again.’ He grinned at the thought.

      ‘He keeps all the keys on a chain around his waist. He hides them under his sash.’

      I learned from Rohim that over eighty of the slaves in the fort were captured Egyptian archers and charioteers. When we unchained them they worked with gusto to carry the silver chests back from the fort and stack them in the hold of Zaras’ trireme.

      While this transfer of silver chests was taking place Rohim led me to the armoury. When we broke open the door, I was delighted to see the array of uniforms, armour and weapons that were stored there.

      I ordered all this equipment to be taken to the ships and packed in the main rowing deck where it could be easily reached when we needed it.

      Finally we locked all the captured Cretans into their own slave barracks, and we boarded the three waiting triremes.

      I had divided our available men equally between the three ships, so all the rowing benches carried their full complements. At my orders the slaves still chained in the lower decks had been given a meal of hard bread, dried fish and beer that we had found in the store-rooms of the fort. It was pathetic to watch them cramming the food into their mouths with calloused hands blackened with filth and their own dried excrement. They gulped down the beer we gave them until their shrunken bellies could hold no more. Some of them vomited it back into the bilges between their bare feet. But the food and friendly treatment had revived them. I knew they would serve me well.

      As the dawn was glimmering in the eastern sky we were ready to sail. I took my place in the bows of the leading trireme beside Zaras with the Hyksos helmet crammed down on my head and my nose and mouth covered with the silken scarf.

      Zaras called the order to cast off, and the drum on each rowing deck sounded the stroke. The long oars dipped and pulled and rose again to the tempo of the drums. I passed the order to the men on the steering-oar, and we turned into the main channel of the river. The two other triremes turned in succession behind us. In line astern we headed boldly southwards for the Hyksos capital and two hundred leagues of enemy-held river.

      The smoke from the boats that were still burning drifted in a dense bank across the river, from time to time blanketing the Cretan camp on the far side. But when a gust of the northerly wind parted the curtain of smoke I saw that my own crews were not the only ones who had been taken by surprise when I headed south.

      The troops from the Cretan camp who had survived the destruction of the pontoon bridge were drawn up on the open river-bank in full battle array. The officers commanding them had chosen a point where the navigable channel ran close to the bank. The ranks of their archers were lining the edge of the water, as close as they could get to the channel. They were prepared for us to attempt to run the gauntlet towards the north to reach the open sea. Their bows were strung and every one of them had an arrow nocked and ready to draw.

      Four of their senior officers, those with the tallest plumes in their helmets and the most decorations glittering on their breasts and shoulders, were mounted. They sat their horses behind the formations of archers, preparing to direct the arrows of their men at us as we passed on our way down to the Middle Sea.

      Their astonishment was apparent as they watched us make the turn into the southern branch of the channel and begin to sail away from them. For a short while none of them reacted. Only when the trireme commanded by Dilbar followed our ship into the turn did they start to move. Then when Akemi, whose ship was bringing up the rear of our squadron, followed us around the voices of the Cretan officers shouting orders became frantic. They carried clearly to me across the water, and I laughed as I watched them spurring their horses back along the river-bank in a futile attempt to head us off.

      The Cretan archers broke their perfectly ordered ranks and in an untidy rabble ran after their officers, but as we began remorselessly to pull away from all of them they stopped. They lifted their bows and sent volley after volley of arrows arching after us on a high trajectory. However, these all fell pitifully short and plopped into the wake of Akemi’s ship.

      The mounted officers refused to abandon the chase. They flogged their mounts and drove them down the towpath to try and catch up with our flotilla. When gradually they came level with Akemi’s trireme they drew their swords. They stood in the stirrups shouting abuse and wild challenges across the water at Akemi’s men.

      Akemi had my strict orders not to shoot arrows at the Minoans. Although they would have made an easy target for his archers on the upper deck of his trireme, he and his crew ignored them. This seemed to infuriate the Minoans. They galloped up the towpath, passing first Akemi’s ship and then that of Dilbar. At last they came level with where I stood in the leading ship.

      On my orders our men made no attempt to conceal themselves. The quartet of Cretan officers was able to examine our authentic Hyksos uniforms and accoutrements from a distance of a mere hundred paces as they pounded along the towpath keeping pace with our ship.

      By this time they had pursued us for well over three leagues, and their horses were beginning to tire rapidly. When the onshore breeze from the Middle Sea began to rise in volume, driving us southwards, we pulled away from them steadily. The towpath deteriorated into swamp. The hooves of the horses threw up clods of black mud and the struggling animals sank to their