Traitor or Hero
The Babylonian host marched on and came in safety to the borders of
Egypt, the mightiest host perhaps that ever had invaded the Land of
Nile. There it encamped, protected in front by water, to rest and
prepare before it attacked Apepi encamped with all his strength some
three leagues away around the forts that he had built. The captains of
the Shepherds, riding out, saw with their own eyes how terrible and
numberless, how well-ordered also, was the army of the King of Kings
with its horsemen, its chariots, its camelry, its footmen, and its
archers that seemed to stretch for miles; no Eastern mob but
disciplined and trained to war. They saw and trembled, and returning,
made report to Apepi at his Council.
“Let Pharaoh hearken!” they said. “For every man we muster, the
Babylonians have two under the command of the Prince Abeshu who is
reported to be a great general, though some say that he was once a
priest and a magician. The spies tell also that with them marches the
Princess Nefra, daughter of Kheperra, she who slipped through
Pharaoh’s fingers and is affianced to Pharaoh’s son, who also slipped
through his fingers and, if he lives, is hidden we know not where,
unless he, too, be with the Babylonians. It is impossible that Pharaoh
can stand against such a host as this, which will overrun the land
like locusts and devour us like corn.”
Apepi heard and rage took hold of him, so that he gnawed at his beard.
Suddenly he turned to Anath, the old Vizier, saying:
“You have heard what these cravens say. Now do you give me your
counsel, you who are cunning as a jackal that has often escaped the
trap. What shall I do?”
Anath turned aside and spoke with certain other of his fellow
councillors. Then he came and bowed before Apepi and said:
“Life! Blood! Strength! O Pharaoh! Such wisdom as the gods have given
us bids us urge Pharaoh, as do the diviners who have consulted with
their spirits, not to join battle but to make peace with Babylon
before it is too late.”
“Is it so?” asked Apepi. “What terms then can I offer to the King of
Babylon, who comes to seize Egypt and add it to his empire?”
“We think, Pharaoh,” answered Anath, “that Ditanah does not desire to
take Egypt. We have heard from those who serve Pharaoh in secret at
Babylon, that Ditanah is bewitched by Nefra the Beautiful. It seems
that when those wizards of the Dawn, through help of their magic arts,
escaped to Babylon, they took with them the body of the Queen Rima,
the widow of King Kheperra. The tale runs that the coffin of Queen
Rima was opened before the King of Kings, and that at the bidding of
the Princess Nefra and of the head wizards of the Dawn, the body of
Rima or the ghost of Rima spoke to Ditanah who begat it, bidding him
to attack Egypt or bear the curse of the dead. It bade him also to
give Nefra in marriage, not to his grandson and heir, Mir-bel, but to
the son of your Majesty, the Prince Khian, to whom she became
affianced yonder by the pyramids, and to send a great army to avenge
the death of her husband, Kheperra, and her own wrongs by casting your
Majesty from the throne and setting the Princess Nefra and the Prince
Khian in your place. Moreover, the royal Rima, or her spirit, said to
Ditanah, King of Kings, that if he neglected to do her bidding, he and
his country should be everlastingly accursed, but if he obeyed, her
blessings should come upon them. Therefore because of the words of
dead Rima, his daughter, and because of the spells laid upon him by
the Princess Nefra and the wizards of the Dawn, Ditanah has sent this
army against your Majesty to fulfil the commands of Rima upon you and
upon the people of the Shepherds.”
“What then must I do to turn aside the wrath of this Babylonian?”
asked Apepi of the Vizier, glaring at him.
“That which the King of Kings demands, or so it seems, O Pharaoh--wed
the Prince Khian, if he still lives and can be found, to the royal
Nefra and give up to them the Crowns of the Upper and the Lower
Lands.”
“Is this your counsel, Vizier?”
“Who am I and who are we that we should dare to show a path to be
trodden by the feet of Pharaoh?” asked Anath, cringing before his
master. “Yet, if he takes another and these captains are right,
perchance soon there will be a new Pharaoh, and if the Prince Khian be
dead, as some believe, the People of the Shepherds will be driven from
the Nile back into the desert whence they came centuries ago--and the
King of Kings, or the Princess Nefra under him, will rule Egypt.”
Now Apepi leapt to his feet roaring with rage and with the wand-like
sceptre that he carried smote Anath on the head so hard that the blood
came and the Vizier fell to his knees.
“Dog!” he cried, “speak more such words and you shall die a traitor’s
death beneath the whips. Long have I suspected that you were in the
pay of Babylon and now I grow sure of it. So I am to surrender my
throne and take Ditanah for my lord, and should he still live, give
the woman whom I had chosen for my wife to be the queen of the son who
has betrayed me. First will I see Egypt devoured by fire and sword and
perish with her. Out of my sight, you white-hearted cur!”
Anath waited for no more. Yet when he turned at the doorway to make
the customary obeisance, though Apepi could not see it in the shadow,
there was a very evil look upon his face.
“Struck!” he murmured to himself. “I the great officer, I, the Vizier,
struck before the Council and the servants! Well, if Apepi has a staff
I have a sword. Now come on, Babylon! I must to my work. Oh! Khian,
where are you?”
Apepi, the Pharaoh of the North, dismissed his councillors and his
generals and sat in the chamber of the fort that he had built,
brooding and alone. Although often he was possessed by that devil of
rage who sleeps so lightly in the breasts of tyrants, also by other
passions, he was a far-seeing statesman and a good general, having
inherited from his forefathers the gifts by help of which they had
conquered Egypt. Thus he knew that Anath, the old Vizier, the clearest
and most cunning thinker in the land, was right when he told him that
he could not stand against all the strength of Babylon, drilled and
martialled as never it had been before, and marching under the
guidance of those wizards of the Dawn who had escaped him, leaving
behind them their high priest to lay upon him ere he died the curse of
the oath-breaker and the seeker of innocent blood. Yet for telling him
this truth he had offered public insult to Anath, smiting him as he
would a slave, such insult as the old noble and officer in whose
veins, it was said, ran the pure blood of Egypt, never would forget.
Would it not be better, then, to follow the blow on the head with a
thrust to the heart and to have done with Anath? Nay, it was not safe;
he was too powerful, he had too many in his pay. They might rise
against him, now when all complained at being forced into a war they
hated; they might destroy him as they believed he had destroyed his
son, Prince Khian, whom they loved. He must send for Anath and crave
pardon for what he had done when beside himself with rage and doubt,
promising him great atonement and more honours, and biding his time to
balance their account.
Yet could he accept this Anath’s counsel, and to save his life and the
shattering of the Shepherds’ power, bow his neck beneath the yoke of
Babylon? What did it mean? That he must abandon his throne and in
favour of Khian if he still lived, of Khian, who had stolen from him
the woman upon whose beauty he had set his heart, and sent her to call
up the Babylonian hordes against him, his king and father. Or if Khian
were dead, then this Nefra, Queen of the South and indeed of all Egypt
by right of blood, would take that throne as the vassal of Babylon and
doubtless wed its heir. Therefore what could he gain by surrender? One
thing only--to live on in exile as a private man, eating out his heart
with memories of the glory of the past and watching the Egyptians and
their great ally stamp upon the Shepherd race.
It was not to be borne. If he must fall, it should be fighting as his
forefathers would have done. How could he succeed against so mighty a
foe? Not in a set battle; there they would overwhelm him, or if he
kept to the walls of his forts, surround them and sweep on to capture
Egypt. Yet generalship and craft might still give him victory. He had
it; he would send all his best horsemen, twenty thousand or more of
them of the old fighting Shepherd blood, to make a circuit in the
desert and fall upon the rear of the Babylonians as they advanced to
give battle, which doubtless according to their custom they would do
while it was still dark, in order that they might attack in the
uncertain light of dawn. By some such unexpected thrust their array
might be confused and broken, so that he would have to deal not with
an army, but with a mob. At least since no other offered, the plan
should be tried.
The five thousand despatched by Tau came safely to the stronghold in
the hills, and reported themselves and their mission to the captain of
the outpost, and to his wounded guest whom all knew to be the Prince
Khian, though none called him by that name. Khian heard their tale and
grew faint with joy when he learned that the great army of Babylon was
near to him and that with it, safe and sound, was Nefra his beloved,
as a writing in her own hand told him. Sad and heavy had been his long
confinement in this place, crippled as he was, but now at length the
night of fear and waiting had passed away and there in front of him
burned the dawn of joy.
Until the following morning the five thousand rested themselves and
their horses; then, taking with them the garrison of the outpost who
were glad enough to bid it good-bye, they started to rejoin the
Babylonian army that they had planned to meet at a certain spot on the
frontier of Egypt. In the centre of their array, in a chariot because
he could not ride, went Khian, followed by Temu in another chariot
because he would not ride, having sworn an oath, unless Fate forced
him, never to mount another horse.
So they passed on safely across the desert, for Apepi’s skirmishers
who had hemmed them in for so long had vanished away. They could not
travel fast because of the soldiers of the garrison who must march on
foot; indeed their progress was so slow that Khian, who was on fire to
rejoin Nefra, wished to gallop on to the Babylonian army escorted only
by a few horsemen. But this the officer in command of the five
thousand would not suffer, having been strictly charged by Tau, who
foresaw that such a thing might happen, to keep him who was called the
Scribe Rasa safe in the heart of his force. In vain did Khian plead.
Those, said the officer, were his orders and he must obey them.
On the third afternoon of their march, they learned from desert men
that they drew near to the Babylonian host which was encamped over
against the forts that Apepi had built. As it was still too far away
to be reached that night and those on foot were very weary, its
general halted the five thousand to eat and rest at a place where
there was water, giving orders that the force was to march again at
midnight by the light of the setting moon, which, if all went well,
should bring them to the army shortly after dawn.
This plan was carried out. At midnight they broke camp and went
forward through the hot desert air by the light of the half moon. When
they had marched for about two hours Temu caused his chariot to be
brought alongside that of Khian, and though the Prince was somewhat
silent, talked on to him after his fashion, for none guessed that on
the farther side of a certain rise of ground the five and twenty
thousand horsemen whom Apepi had despatched to fall upon the flank of
the Babylonians were creeping towards them purposing to attack the
camp of the great army at the first break of dawn. Why should it be
guessed, seeing that outposts rode ahead of them to give warning of
any danger? How could they know that those outposts had been
surrounded and captured or killed, when as they thought they were
riding into the fringe of the host of Babylon, thus giving the
Shepherds warning of the approach of foes?
“Brother,” said Temu, “during all this while you have been very
impatient, complaining of your wound which will get quite well in
time, though it may leave you stiff-legged and lame for life,
complaining because you were kept yonder in the hills, instead of
thanking the gods that you ever reached them safely by help of those
rough-tongued but courageous Arab brethren who gave themselves
fanciful names, for which faults as your elder in our Order I have
often reproved you, saying that like myself you should have faith. Now
you see the end of it, namely, that faith has triumphed as it always
does. Within an hour or two we shall reach the mighty host of Babylon
and make obeisance to Tau, the Prophet of the Dawn. All our troubles
are ended, or rather all your troubles, since because of faith _I_
never doubted but that they would melt away----”
At this moment Temu himself melted away, for a javelin or an arrow
pierced his charioteer through the heart so that the man fell dead on
to the flanks of the horses, causing them to start forward at full
gallop in their fright, and charging through the ranks to vanish at
speed into the desert, while Temu clung to the chariot rail and
grasped wildly at the reins. The horses were good horses, being indeed
two of those that had borne them on their gallop from the water to the
hills, now fat and strong again. They rushed on up the rise; they came
among the Shepherd troops where the line was thin, they broke through
it unharmed, being scarcely seen in the dim light before they were
gone. They galloped on across the sands, smelling other horses ahead
of them, or perchance it was water that they smelt. At least they
rushed on while Temu, flung to the bottom of the chariot, dragged at
the reins in vain. That is, he dragged once or twice, then let them
be, muttering:
“Faith! Have faith! These accursed beasts must go where Fate drives
them, and I see no more soldiers.”
Presently, however, he saw plenty, for now the chariot, heedless of
the challenges of the sentries, was rushing down the central avenue of
the Babylonian camp. At length the feet of one of the horses became
entangled in the ropes of a tent, so that it fell, bringing down its
companion with it, and Temu rolled on to the ground in front of a
general who was giving orders to some officer.
“Who is this?” asked the General testily, “and what does that chariot
here? Take it away.”
Then Temu, knowing the voice, sat up and said:
“O Holy Prophet, as I understand that you are now that Roy is dead, O
Father Tau, that is, if a Prophet and Father of the Dawn can be clad
in armour which is against all the rules, I am Temu, a priest of your
Brotherhood, as you may remember, for it was you who sent me on a
certain business to the Court of Apepi, King of the North, since which
time I have suffered many things.”
“I remember you, Brother,” said Tau. “But whence come you in this
chariot, and why?”
“I do not know, Prophet. One moment I was talking to him who is called
the Scribe Rasa, with whom I have shared many adventures, but who, I
think, has another name, and the next my charioteer pitched forward
with a missile through his breast, and those mad brutes of horses on
which he fell were dragging me away whither I knew not. All I know is
that we passed through a host clad in such armour as the Shepherds
use, for the moonlight shone upon it and upon Apepi’s banners, which I
knew well, for I saw enough of them at Tanis. Then the horses,
directed of Heaven, came on here. And that is all the story.”
“The Scribe Rasa!” exclaimed a woman’s voice, that of Nefra who,
seeing the fall of the horses, had come from her tent, accompanied by
Ru, to learn its cause. “Where did you leave the Scribe Rasa, Priest?”
“Cease from questions, Niece,” broke in Tau. “Can you not understand
that the force we sent some days ago to rescue a certain garrison has
been ambushed and that by some accident this brother has escaped to
bring us tidings. Or perchance,” he added, as a thought struck him,
“Apepi’s army has moved from its defences to attack us from the south
presently when the sun rises.”
Then he gave certain orders. Trumpets blew, captains ran up, men by
the thousand, still yawning, took their appointed places; all the
awakened camp burst into active martial life.
Meanwhile, not so very far away, a desperate battle raged. The five
and twenty thousand of the Shepherds, attackers who thought themselves
attacked, hurled themselves upon the five thousand Babylonians who had
marched into their midst. The Babylonians, being alert and well
officered, strove to cut a path through the Shepherds, aye, and did
so, slowly, losing many men as they struggled forward. Squadrons
rushed on them, dimly seen in the moonlight, and were beaten back.
There was charge and countercharge. Horses screamed, men fell and
groaned out their lives.
The moon grew dark, but still the battle went on in the twilight that
precedes the dawn, when it was difficult to distinguish friend from
foe. The light of day began to gather and by it the captain of the
Babylonians saw that he could advance no more. Nor could he fly, for
the cloud of Apepi’s Horse was all about him. Therefore he made a
square of those who remained to him, perhaps two thousand or more
sound men and many wounded, and gave orders that none must surrender,
since this was a fight to the death for the honour of Babylon.
When Apepi’s captains in the gathering light perceived with how small
a body they had to do, they were dismayed who thought that all this
while they had been attacking the flank of the Babylonian host in the
darkness. And now the dawn had come and their opportunity was gone;
they had failed in their mission and how could they face Apepi with
such a tale? In the fighting they had seized prisoners, some of them
wounded. Those men they questioned. Under threat of death by torment,
or with beatings, from some of these they drew the truth that this was
but a force of Babylonian skirmishers sent to relieve an outpost which
they were bringing back with them to the army.
“Who, then, is the man that sits in a chariot among the horsemen?”
asked Apepi’s captain.
The prisoners answered that they did not know, whereon he ordered them
to be flogged a while, and then repeated his question. Thus he learned
that this lord in the chariot was none other than Khian the Prince
whom he himself had been ordered to capture when he was escaping from
Egypt, for though the prisoners gave only the name of Rasa the Scribe,
well he knew that Rasa and Khian were the same man.
Then that captain saw light in the midst of a great darkness. He had
failed, it was true; he had not fallen upon the flank of the army of
Babylon at this hour of dawn, or thrown it into confusion and panic,
as he had hoped to do, but instead had become engaged with a petty
force of which the destruction would help Apepi not at all. But now he
learned that with that force was one whose capture would mean as much,
or more, to Apepi as a great slaughter of the Babylonians. Instantly
he made up his mind; he would not try to attack the army of the great
King; it was too late. No, he would destroy these horsemen and take
the Prince Khian, living or dead, as an offering to Apepi, hoping thus
to assuage his wrath.
Instantly he gave orders and the attack began. Being mounted, neither
side had bows and now javelins were few. Therefore the fray must be
fought out with swords. The Babylonians had picketed their horses in
the centre of the square or given them to the wounded there to hold,
turning themselves into foot-soldiers. Moreover, by command of their
general, with hands and stones and cooking vessels they were heaping
the desert sands into a bank which, with two thousand men or more
labouring at it for their lives, rose as though by magic, for the sand
was soft and easy to handle. At this bank the Shepherds charged from
every side. But the Babylonian square, set on the crest of a desert
sand wave, was small, for its general had drawn up his men three deep,
each line standing behind the other. Therefore only a few of the
clouds of Apepi’s horsemen could come at them at once, and at these
the Babylonians stabbed with their swords, or cut at the horses’ legs
as they scrambled up the sand slopes, laming them, or causing them to
scream in agony and rush away.
Soon Apepi’s captain saw that victory would be slow, which fitted his
plans but ill. Every moment he was in fear lest the outposts of the
great army should discover what was passing not so very far away and
send out a mighty force to destroy him. He feared also that the
wounded man in the chariot whom he guessed to be the Prince Khian
might be killed in the fighting, whereas he desired to take him living
to Apepi. Lastly he feared that even if he were not attacked, soon he
and his horsemen would be cut off from Egypt and driven back into the
desert, to perish there of thirst and hunger. Therefore, ceasing from
his onslaught, he sent officers under a flag of truce to the
Babylonian general, charged to deliver this message:
“Your case is desperate since I outnumber you ten to one. Surrender
and in the name of Apepi I promise you your lives. Fight on and I will
destroy you all.”
The Babylonian heard, but being a crafty man, would give no immediate
answer, for he, too, hoped that news of their plight would reach the
great army either through messengers whom he had despatched when they
were first attacked, or otherwise. Therefore desiring to gain time he
replied that he must take counsel with his officers and presently
would let their mind be known. He went to the centre of the square and
coming to Khian, told him all.
“Now what shall we do?” he asked. “If we continue the fight, we must
soon be overwhelmed. Yet surrender we cannot for the honour of
Babylon; indeed, first will I fall upon my sword.”
“It seems that you have answered your own question, General,” replied
Khian, smiling. “Yet here is my poor counsel. Offer to give me up, for
you know well who I am and it is I whom they seek. I think that if you
do this, that captain will let the rest of you go free.”
Now even in his sore strait that general laughed aloud, saying:
“Have you bethought you, Prince, for since you have declared yourself
I call you what you are, how I should be greeted by the Prince Abeshu,
also named the Lord Tau, who commands the army of the Great King, and
by a certain lady who marches with that army, if I return to tell them
such a tale? Rather would I die, Prince, with honour upon the field,
than shamed before all the host of Babylon. No, I have another plan. I
will parley with these Shepherds as one who bargains, asking for the
promise of safety in writing, and while I do so all must creep to
their horses, taking the lightly wounded behind them and leaving the
rest to fate. Then suddenly we will charge upon the Shepherds and, now
that we have light, cut our way through or perish.”
“So be it,” said Khian, but in his heart were thoughts that his lips
did not utter. He knew that such a charge made by weary men upon
wearied horses could not succeed; that if it were attempted all who
remained alive of the Babylonian horsemen would perish, together with
those on foot, among them his hosts of the mountain garrison, and that
the wounded would be slaughtered where they lay. He was sure also that
what the Shepherd captain wanted was himself, not the lives of more
Babylonian horsemen, whose slaying or escape could make no difference
to the issue of the war, and that if he could secure that great prize,
he would turn and ride for Egypt. Therefore certainly it was laid upon
him to offer up himself as a sacrifice. He shivered at the thought,
knowing that this meant death, perhaps death by torture, at the hands
of Apepi, and what was worse, that never more after all that he had
suffered could he hope to look upon the face of Nefra beneath the sun.
Oh! he must choose, and choose at once.
Khian cast down his eyes and with all his soul prayed to that Spirit
whom he had learned to worship, that he might find guidance in his
agony. Lo! it seemed to come. It seemed as though there amidst the
stamp and neighs of horses, the groans of the wounded, the orders of
officers who, having received the General’s word, already were making
preparation for that last wild rush for life, he heard the quiet,
well-remembered voice of Roy, saying:
“My son, follow after duty, even down the road of sacrifice, and leave
the rest to God.”
Khian hesitated no longer. He was alone in the chariot, for its driver
had descended to give the horses the last of the forage they carried
with them and a sup of water that remained, and stood at a distance
watching them finish their food as best they could, for the bits in
their mouths hampered them. He seized the reins, he smote the
stallions with the whip, and the beasts sprang forward.
Now they had come to the low bank of sand and were scrambling over it,
dragging the light war chariot after them. Some fifty paces away and
as many perhaps from the first of Apepi’s horsemen stood the General
of the Babylonians and one officer talking to the Captain of the
Shepherds, also accompanied by one officer, a man whom he knew well
enough for they had served together in the Syrian wars. They had
turned and did not see him coming or hear the chariot wheels on the
soft sand. Apepi’s captain had grown angry and cried in a loud voice:
“Hear my last offer. Give up to me the Prince Khian who is with you,
and you and your soldiers may go free. Refuse, and I will kill you
every one and take him, living or dead, to his father, Apepi the
Pharaoh. Answer. I speak no more.”
“_I_ will answer,” said Khian from the chariot, whereon they turned in
amaze and stared. “I am the Prince Khian, and you, Friend, know me
well. I, too, know you for a man of honour and accept your promise to
let these Babylonians go their way unharmed, taking their wounded with
them, and in payment I surrender myself to you. Is it sworn?”
“It is sworn, Prince,” said the Captain, saluting. “Yet remember that
Apepi is very wrath with your Highness,” he added slowly, as though in
warning.
“I remember,” answered Khian. Then he turned to the Babylonian
General, who all this while had stood like one transfixed, and said:
“Say to the Lord Tau and to the Lady of Egypt that I have gone where
my duty calls me and that if it be decreed that we should meet no
more, I trust that they will not think ill of me, seeing that what
seems false often is the truth and that sometimes ill deeds are done
for good ends. For the rest, let them judge as they will of me, who
follow my own light.”
“Lord,” exclaimed the General like one who wakes from sleep, “surely
you do not desert us for the Shepherds?”
“Am I not a Shepherd?” asked Khian, smiling strangely. “Farewell,
Friend. Good fortune go with you and your company, no drop of whose
blood shall be shed for me.”
Then he called to the horses and they went forward while the General
wrung his hands and muttered the names of strange Babylonian gods.
“I do not understand your Highness,” said Apepi’s captain as he walked
by the chariot back towards his horsemen, “which is not strange, since
always you were different from other men, and I am wondering whether
those Babylonians will write you down as a traitor or as a hero.
Meanwhile, I who know you to be honest, ask your promise that even if
you see opportunity you will not escape to them lest I should be
forced to kill you.”
“It is yours, Friend. Henceforth, like a certain Temu, I walk by
faith, though whither faith has led him this day I do not know, who
last saw him vanishing into the heart of your host.”
“Mad!” muttered the Captain. “Still if he has lost his wits, he will
keep his word, and that may save my head.”