Beyond the low ridge to the east, the night sky glowed red from the reflected light of ten thousand campfires, and the raucous sounds of the multitude disturbed the peace of the night, as the Aamu, danced, drank and celebrated victory over the forces of the Sun God Tutimaios.
Two thousand cubits to the west on the lower plain, lay the horror of broken bodies that was the main battlefield. Here in the cold valley there was no light, but the starlight, and in the darkness there was movement as the scavengers fed on the thousands of dead that lay thickly along the front line. Behind the line, the bodies of the fleeing army struck down from behind, by the chariot borne enemy and their snorting, red-eyed horses, lay scattered like chaff on the blood stained ground.
In the centre of the line where the bodies were piled the highest, a jackal skittered, then slunk away as a corpse slid from the pile and the body beneath it began to move. There was a low groan then silence and the body ceased to move. A few minutes later the groan came again and the body moved again then rolled to one side, to reveal the blood soaked upper half of a man.
Earlier when Hanno had recovered consciousness it had been stifling hot and the pressure of the bodies above him had made it difficult to breath. With thoughts of suffocation uppermost in his mind he’d begun to ease his way out from under the pile. Suddenly he had frozen, had he heard something? Yes, there it was again, voices, he could hear voices, the voices came nearer and he was about to call out, then he realised who it was and what they were doing. The soldiers of the Aamu were robbing the dead of any valuables and collecting hands for the count. – It was standard practice to cut a hand from each of the enemy dead, it enabled the victors to keep score – if they’d found him it would have meant instant death.
He lay trying to breath and not gag, as the heat of the afternoon sun ripened the bodies and intensified the sickening stench. He could hear them, moving and looting the bodies above him and he was prepared for the worst, but for some reason they were ordered away and moved on.
After that he must have passed out again, for he dreamt of his childhood friends. Of himself as small tearful child suddenly finding himself bereft of his family and all alone in a strange new world. Of Abbados and his easy winning smile, the joker, the comic and the palace clown, who befriended and accepted him with an open friendliness that was easy to return. Of skinny, aloof Tutimaios, frowning as they were introduced, as if unsure of this newcomer who had come to live amongst them. Despite this cool reception he soon warmed to the future Pharaoh as he realised that the serious expression Tutimaios showed to the world hid a warm and generous heart. He could picture them now all shrieking as they playing some childish game in the palace garden and he smiled. Then the smile and the dream faded as he awoke to the horror of reality.
Having removed the bodies that covered his upper half, he rested, gathering the strength to free the rest of his body. He tried twisting and pulling, but his legs were trapped deep inside the pile. Thanking the gods that his head hadn't been at that end, he sat up and pulled the bodies one by one from around him. Once the pressure was off, he dragged himself clear and collapsed onto the stinking, blood soaked, ground. As he lay there he mourned the loss of Tutimaios and General Ayi - for he knew that The General must surely have perished too - and his mind drifted back to the day that as young boys they had first met The General.
