Shield of the Sun, Part 4

A  serialisation

Part Four

With the sounds of the battle horns and the thunder of the enemy shields in their ears they took their positions to the fore. A murmur rippled through the lines as the nearest men noted the standard shield borne by the Pharaoh. Hanno expected there to be trouble, once the rumour of the shield of the sun’s loss was confirmed, but nothing happened and the army stood firm. Though to be honest he couldn’t but wonder how long they would stay firm if anything happened to Tutimaios during the battle ahead.

The Aamu streamed down from the ridge like a dark flood and lined up twenty deep at the other side of the valley.

They were outnumbered and stretched, to match the enemy front, but the battle lines were drawn and they must commit or flee. The enemy archers moved forward loosing volley after volley and as they found the range, men began to fall despite their raised shields. Tutimaios retaliate by sending in his own archers and as the air darkened with arrows men began to fall on the other side.  All too soon the rain of arrows lessened and dwindled as the archers ran out of arrows. As the archers moved back, the Aamu began their advance

The pharaoh waited until he judged they were close enough, before giving the signal for the slingers on the flanks to open up. Instantly the air was filled with the whirring sound of the slings, followed by a zipping buzzing like a million angry bees, as the pellets shot across to crack skulls and shatter bones.  The Aamu slowed and staggered as many in their front line fell, but came on; the slingers had done their what they could; now it was time for the main battle to commence.

Tutimaios raised his battleaxe, then swept it down. There was a roar as the thirty thousand gave voice and Hanno raced forward shoulder to shoulder with his lifelong friend. Leading from the fore they crashed into the centre of the enemy frontline and began to hack their way forward.

At this point of the battle there was no finesse, just a melee of densely packed men, each being forced into the other by the weight of the men behind. Armed with battleaxes they hacked and slashed at each other, aiming to maim as much as to kill.

Tutimaios drove his axe into the neck of an opponent, twisting it free he reversed the weapon and cut down the man that took his place. A bearded warrior stabbed at him with a sword, he sidestepped, rammed his shield into the man’s face, slashed his legs as he fell and moved on to the next opponent.  At his side Hanno dodged an overhead blow that could have split him in two and chopped into his assailants side. Ripping his axe upwards he took the next man in the throat. A glancing blow struck his elbow, numbing his arm and causing the axe to drop from his nerveless fingers. He stooped and caught it up with his other hand, but the weight of the press from behind caused him to stumble and he lost sight of Tutimaios.

Gripping the axe in his left hand he straightened, blocked a blow with the shaft, and split open the belly of the man, with the axe head. Then as he parried another blow he spotted Tutimaios, he had forced his way forward a little too quickly and he and a handful of men were hard pressed on three sides by the enemy. Desperately Hanno fought his way forwards as the men surrounding the pharaoh were cut down one by one and cried out as the twin blows struck his friend. He was too late; Tutimaios had taken an axe in the back and a blow to his head that had dashed him to the ground.

With a dozen men at his back he reached his friend and while the men forced the Aamu back, he went down on one knee. Tutimaios was dying. He lay on one side, in the dust stirred up by the fighting men with eyes open. The axe was still buried in his back and the blood from his crushed skull pooled the ground before seeping into the barren ground. Hanno reached out and touched his friend’s arm. The eyes, swimming with pain, stared back at him and Tutimaios croaked a few words, Hanno leaned closer, ‘Win the day for me.’

‘I’ll do my best,’ he replied, but even as he spoke he knew that his friend had gone. 

   Grabbing some men, he ordered them to cover the body of Tutimaios and carry him from the battle zone. Then he continued the fight hoping that if he could hold the army together and force the centre, Ayi and Utmas would hold the flanks. And for a while it worked; with Hanno to the fore and the two generals protecting his flanks, the army forged forward, forcing the enemy lines to bend and they had almost succeeded in breaking through when the Aamu came up with something new and terrifying, something they’d not used in the previous battles, they brought on their devil machines.

Twin pillars of dust appeared one at each end of the valley, raced towards the flanks and from the base of these pillars the evil machines burst forth. Each wheeled machine carrying two men and drawn by a pair wild-eyed smoke-snorting apparitions, burst into the army from the sides. Steered by an armoured clad warrior, the biting, snapping beasts charge into the fighting men and those that weren’t flung clear were trampled under, while the second warrior hung onto the wildly bucking chariot and dealt death at either side.

Seemingly without number the dreaded machines came on and tore in amongst them. While the centre fought on, the flanks were crumbling. Already disheartened by word of the pharaoh’s death, this new threat totally demoralised the men. They’d never seen a horse or a chariot before and this manifestation from the underworld filled them with terror. As the chariots flew into and amongst them they scattered, which allowed the chariots more room to manoeuvre and the resultant carnage caused some to break and run. At first it was only one or two, but soon the trickle became a rout, which left the men in the front line, who were unable to disengage, to their fate.