The Dragon of the Ishtar Gate

XIV – The Pestilential Plain

King Akol, who ruled the southern Nubae from his thatched-hut palace in Tenupsis, proved friendly although possessed of a voracious appetite for gifts. He sold the travelers food, rented them women, and gave them advice.

They could not follow the river farther south, he said, because of the swamp that spread for many leagues in every direction. As the rains were now at their height, the river overflowed and flooded the plain, making it impassable. Nor was it practicable to go up the stream by boat, because the river lost itself in many channels, often blocked by floating masses of weed. Moreover, one would need the help of the fierce and hostile Syrbotae, who lived in the swamp.

Therefore one had to make a wide swing away from the Astasobas, around the swamp, returning to the river farther south. Somewhere in the misty distances of the unknown southland, Akol understood, lay the town of Boron, capital of the Alabi.

So Bessas' company darned their garments, sharpened their blades, tested their harness straps, laid in food, and prepared to march once more.

As the camels and mules were being loaded, Shaykh Zayd plucked at Bessas' sleeve. "The blacks come!"

"Plague!" Bessas ran to the edge of the stockade and peered over. Several furlongs off on the grassy plain, an irregular dark mass flickered and pulsated, flowing ever closer. Bessas blew his whistle. "Stand to arms!"

By the time the Anderae came within bowshot, the loaded camels had been unloaded. Every man, grasping a spear, was mounted on horse, mule, or camel. As the Anderae neared, looking ghostly with their hides smeared with cow-dung ash, they shouted and screamed in a frenzy of belligerence. Bessas asked:

"What say they?"

"They say we shall not go," replied Merqetek. "They will slay us and take all our nice things: our weapons, our ornaments, and our women. Their rain maker has given them a charm that protects them from our weapons."

"Follow me in column!" cried Bessas. He spurred at a canter out the gate. When the last camel cleared the gate, he commanded:

"By the left flank, turn!"

As a result of the differences in mounts and languages, and the lack of practice, the maneuver was raggedly carried out. Bessas pulled back to a walk while he bellowed curses and commands at his straggling troop. At last they were gotten into some sort of line.

"We are vastly outnumbered!" wailed an Arab. "What can twelve men do against hundreds?"

"By Mithra, you whoresons shall see!" said Bessas. "Many they may be, but they have never faced a mounted charge. Forward, walk! ... Canter! ... Charge! And Verethraghna aid us!"

His heart beating painfully, Myron charged with the rest, sighting on the foe over the point of his spear. The Anderae were scattered loosely about the plain. They ran towards the stockade, shaking their crude weapons and screaming war cries.

As the handful of mounted men bore down upon them, many of them threw spears. But these horn-tipped weapons had no great penetrating power. Most of them either missed or glanced harmlessly off leathern corselets.

When the mounts of their foes loomed over them, most of the Anderae broke and scattered. Of the few who struck or thrust at the mounted men, most were speared or ridden down. Bessas' horse Vayu, eyes rolling and teeth bared, assailed any foe who strove to stand before him, snorting and trampling like a four-legged demon.

Myron's horse knocked over one Andera. Myron, with a small prayer to Ares, couched his spear towards the ash-smeared chest of another black giant, who threw himself forward with upraised club. The club struck the horse's off shoulder with a thump, causing the animal to shy and almost unseat his rider. But Myron's spearhead went home. As the Andera fell, he dragged down the spearhead; the weapon was twisted out of Myron's grasp. Myron tugged out his bronze-headed mace and looked for another foe.

The Anderae were running in all directions, colliding and falling over one another in their haste. A widening gap formed in the center of their array as the troop galloped through. Here and there a man shrieked as the point of a spear found his back. Before he could come within reach of another antagonist, Myron had ridden completely through the hostile host. He drew rein.

Between him and the stockade the mass of Negroes still milled, split by the charge into two separate crowds. Some were running away, some were hopping and screaming defiance, some were shouting advice to the others, and some were stolidly standing about as if wondering what to do next. They seemed to have no organization whatever.

"Form your line!" roared Bessas.

He led them in another charge. The Anderae scattered even faster than before. From the outer parts of their host, men began to stream away across the plain.

"Another charge; form your line!"

Myron pulled up beside Bessas, whose spear ran blood a yard back from the tip. "They are breaking; why kill more of them?"

"We must harry them from the field, lest they rally. Forward, walk! ..."

Myron rode with the rest. With his mace he smote a black woolly head that bobbed into sight near his right knee.

Then there were no more Anderae within reach. The tribesmen were streaming away in all directions, bounding through the grass on their long legs almost as fast as a horse's canter. A score lay about the field, half hidden by the grass.

"Line up!" said Bessas.

He inspected his men. There were a few minor wounds on man and beast from the horn-headed spears. The Bactrian gave gruff directions for binding each wound and handed out praise and blame for actions during the fight. He scrutinized Kothar's unstained spear and shouted:

"Damn you for a sniveling coward! I saw you hold back your beast, so that you- never got within striking distance! I ought to flog you!"

"Whatever my lord wishes," said Kothar with a shrug. "I have never pretended to be a warrior."

"É!" shouted Myron, pointing.

A group of Anderae were coming out of the stockade. Four of them dragged the women by the arms, while the other three were laden with plunder.

Myron spurred towards the plunderers. The sound of hooves and the clank of equipment told him that others followed.

As Myron came closer, the blacks looked around. Some began to run with their loot. Then, seeing how fast their foes were nearing them, they dropped the things to run faster.

One of the two dragging Phyllis released her arm while the other seized her from behind and held her fast. The man who had released her swung his club up to dash out the girl's brains.

Myron could not possibly reach the struggling group in time. He had no missile weapon available. To throw the mace would be useless, as he might hit Phyllis. His bow case was strapped to his saddle behind him; but he had never learnt to shoot from horseback, and he had no time to dismount.

Just as the club began to fall, the club wielder staggered as a feathered shaft sprouted from his flank. While the man reeled, dropping his bludgeon, the other released Phyllis and ran.

In an instant it was over. Seven more long ash-gray naked corpses cumbered the savanna.

Bessas, who had loosed the shot that saved Phyllis, rode up and leaped to the ground. The girl rushed upon him and embraced him. He seemed embarrassed, saying:

"There, there; give credit to old Myron, who first saw your plight and led the charge. The rest of you, back to the stockade and take up your loading again. We must be out of here within the hour!"

Then he stood for a little while, looking down at the bodies. Myron said: "I should call it an execution rather than a battle."

"Aye; I would never ask promotion for slaughtering naked and almost unarmed men. It is a pity in a way.

With modern weapons and civilized discipline, methinks these Anderae would make magnificent mercenaries. Could I but ..." He broke off. "Myron, where's your spear? Well, go back and fetch it. By the bones of Rustam, must I remind you to bring your head with you? Let's be on our way, my bullies!"

The next month was the most terrible that Myron had ever experienced. Leaving the river a few leagues south of Tenupsis, they struck southeastward, trying to skirt the edges of the gigantic swamp of which Akol had warned them. This, however, was not easy, for the entire land was flooded, ankle to calf deep, and the swamp sent out tendrils and outliers for many leagues. League upon league they splashed through stagnant surface water. The watery plain, covered with long, brown, dead grass, stretched as far as eye could cast. Only rarely a low flat-topped ridge or hummock, crowned with trees and termite hills, raised itself above the morass. The elevations were not dry either, as the leaden skies poured rain incessantly upon the land.

From time to time they had to avoid a patch of swamp. Many leagues they wasted, blundering among the bogs and starting marsh, buck with grotesquely long, pointed hooves. Although Merqetek claimed to have been through this land before, he had not learnt his way. He was therefore useless as a guide, though still valuable as an interpreter.

Bessas said: "By the claws of the Corpse Fiend, this damnable country reminds me of the swamps of the Upper Oxus, near Zariaspa. They are good for marsh demons and venomous serpents but for nought else."

On the elevations they often found a village, with a group of naked, club-hefting villagers glowering at them. Sometimes they had to retreat to avoid attack, as they were now in no condition for battle.

They never knew how they would be received. Sometimes the villagers were implacably hostile. Sometimes they were suspicious but willing to live and let live. Sometimes they were friendly. One never could tell in advance.

Because the sun and the stars were hidden most of the time, the travelers often found themselves headed in the wrong direction. When the rain let up, biting flies appeared in swarms. One striped devil with an orange body and black and white wings bore a proboscis over half the length of its body, standing out before it like a lance. A man attacked by it leaped and yelled as though stuck with a hot needle.

Food and water were not yet problems, as Bessas sometimes shot a game animal: a bounding tiang, a droop-eared roan antelope, or a burly waterbuck. For these hunts he borrowed one of the others' bows, not wishing to expose his precious Parthian war bow to the wet and risk having its laminations come unglued.

But the dampness and the attacks of insects began to tell. A camel died, and then a horse, and then another camel. The Arab who had been ailing weakened until he could hardly sit a camel. Then one night he, too, died. They mourned him, for of all the Arabs in the company he had been the most likable.

Skhâ, his taste for travel sated, wept for his distant home. Shimri glared, grimaced, twitched, and often muttered to himself.

Instead of letting up as Akol had promised, the rain became heavier. It rusted their weapons despite all the oiling and polishing they did. It got into their food and spoilt it. It got into some of the salt they had brought to trade and melted it together into solid blocks. It got into Myron's precious notes and made most of them illegible. At this, the Milesian burst into tears.

Bessas put an arm around Myron's shoulders and said: "Cheer up, old man. When we reach a dry clime, you can rewrite them from memory."

Myron gulped. "Never can I remember all those native names for plant:; and beasts!"

The ordeal brought out the best in Bessas. He was gentle with the weak, stern with the slack, and hearty with the willing. He was the first to leap to any difficult task. He drove his men, but he drove himself twice as hard. When they were utterly downhearted, he cheered with boisterous songs and crude jokes. Myron remarked:

"You are a greater man than I suspected, my boy. You seem to have learnt that there is more to leadership than hitting people over the head. Now, could I but persuade you to give serious thought to the nature of man and the universe—"

Bessas wagged a finger: "Flattery will gain you nought, teacher! I know you would fain make me over into a philosopher like yourself, but that were like teaching a horse to play the harp. A man of action I have always been; a man of action I shall always be."

"Well, Cyrus and Darius didn't get the name of 'great' solely by bashing in the skulls of miscreants, so why should you expect to?"

"Who said I wanted to be Cyrus or Darius? I enjoy life too much as Bessas of Zariaspa to wish to change."

Myron said: "Let me see if I cannot express your meaning by one of your Persian quatrains." He struggled with his muse for a few ush, then recited:

Bessas guffawed, slapping his thighs. "You're an able versifier, even in Persiaaa. But I think I can top you."

On and on they slopped, with the south wind blowing the rain in their faces. The beasts of burden sickened and died, one by one, until all the company were walking. Bessas wept bitterly when his charger, Vayu, perished like the others.

Their shoes rotted faster than Shimri could cobble them; their threadbare garments fell into holes faster than Phyllis and Salimat could patch and darn them. Soon they were tramping through the long grass in rags and tatters. They tried to make garments of antelope skins but, lacking means for properly tanning the hides, they found them slimy when wet and stiff as armor when dry. And the hides stank as they rotted.

They came to a river. While they disputed as to whether it was the Upper Nile, a hunting party of Shaikaru came upon them. The naked black giants proved friendly. They explained that this was but an eastern branch of the Astasobas; Boron, which they sought, lay on the larger, western branch. To reach it they had to cross the stream before them and ascend a smaller tributary to its source. The hunters not only pointed the way but went with them for several days to set them on the proper path.

On the last day of Ululu they were ascending this tributary. Rain came less often; new green grass sprouted vigorously among the brown stems of yesteryear, which often rose as high as a man. The land was less depressingly flat and featureless. Here and there from the higher ground arose a huge baobab tree, with a thick squat tublike elephant-colored trunk and long slender sparsely-leaved antlerlike branches. Sometimes, in rain or bad light, they were thrown into panic by mistaking a hillock for one of the elephant-eating serpents of which Yehosha had warned them.

They saw clumps of giraffes and great herds of antelopes. They passed a herd of elephants, moving slowly on vast columnar legs like rheumatic old men and stuffing themselves with everything green in reach of their trunks.

In the bright steamy sunshine the animals were mouse-colored on their backs and black on their lower parts. The elephants, a bowshot away, paid the travelers no heed until a puff of breeze carried human scent to their trunks and sent them lumbering off with squeals of alarm.

In beasts of burden, the company was now down to one horse, two mules, and three camels. Everybody walked and some carried loads on their backs as well. Much gear that Bessas judged not essential had been abandoned. Myron said:

"Puerma said something in Meroê about domestic animals' dying of a sickness in this region. We should have paid him closer attention at the time."

Kothar, brooding on supernatural influences, explained: "My familiars tell me that the gods of our homeland do not reign here. The gods of this land are dark, cruel, and dangerous. They are angry with us because we, not knowing their language and rites, do not worship them."

Bessas snorted: "If the local gods are any bloodthirstier than those Phoenician Baals, I want nought to do with them."

During a noon halt, a scream from behind a thicket made Myron whirl. For an instant he wondered if this were the cry of an animal, or of one of the party attacked by an animal. He dashed around the thicket.

Skhâ and an Arab were holding Phyllis down on her back, while another Arab was preparing to ravish her.

Myron tore out his sword and plunged towards the group. Sensing his approach, the two who held the girl released her and sprang to their feet. Skhâ drew his sword—a short blade like Myron's—and the Arabs their daggers.

"Abuse my slave, will you!" panted Myron, rushing at Skhâ.

"If you want trouble, grandpa, you shall have it!" said Skhâ, his round face red. Sidestepping Myron's rush, he spoke to the Arabs: "Slay him quickly, brothers, or he will have the big chief down upon us!"

Skhâ parried one slash from Myron while the Arabs closed in from side and rear. Myron realized that they could easily destroy him by attacking from different directions, unless he kept whirling and dancing to keep them off. He, who had attacked so boldly, was now on the defensive. Lacking his buckler, he drew his dagger with his left hand. Phyllis had disappeared.

"Old fool, making such a fuss over a mere slave!" panted Skhâ, lunging.

Myron, beginning to breathe hard, stumbled back against the thicket. Here, in the shelter of its thorny branches, they at least could not come at him from behind. None of the three was very aggressive in pushing home an attack, though they all kept urging one another on:

"Close in, Labid!" "Cut off his sword hand, Skhâ!" "Stab him in the leg to bring him down, Amr!" "Go on, fight, you two! He is old and weak!"

Amr got close enough to prick Myron in the left forearm, though Myron lightly wounded the Arab's shoulder as the latter jerked back.

It occurred to Myron that he had not shouted for help. Perhaps he had been too busy to think of it, or perhaps self-esteem had stilled his tongue. Now he raised his voice:

"Help! I am beset!"

Bessas' heavy footsteps sounded as the giant Bactrian rounded the thicket, sword in hand. Phyllis followed in her scanty rags. Taking a long stride, Bessas hit Labid on the side of the head with the Hat of his sword. The Arab fell sprawling into the grass, then scrambled up and fled with Amr.

Skhâ, whirling to face Bessas, whipped up his sword for a backhanded slash. "Von, too, eh?" he snarled, and swung, gripping the string of amulets round his neck with his left hand.

Bessas took a step back, out of the range of the short sword. As the force of Skhâ's swing spun him around, Bessas' long blade shot out like a striking serpent and slid between the Karian's ribs.

Skhâ fell to hands and knees, then flat, coughing bloody froth. He blinked, rolled his eyes, and tried to speak. But his last choked-out words were in his native Karian, which none understood.

Bessas stared briefly down at the body, wiped his blade, and turned to the panting Myron. "What in the name of Ahriman is all this?"

Myron explained; Bessas nodded, saying: "What shall we do with those rogues?" He pointed to the two fugitive Arabs, hovering on the horizon. "Shall we saddle up and ride them down? Had I a proper rope I could catch them for flogging, for I used to have some skill with the lariat."

Myron said: "Arabs are fierce feudists. If you flog one, the others will think it their tribal duty to stab you. Call upon Zayd to order them back and flog them instead."

"O subtle one! So shall it be."

When Amr and Labid were persuaded to return and take their punishment, they volubly explained that the whole attempted rape had been Skhâ's idea. The Karian had complained that his lusts were driving him mad, and nothing serious would befall them if they indulged their cravings on a slave.

"This," said Kothar darkly, "is but the first part of the serpent goddess' revenge, for our participation in the raid on Siptah's tomb. You shall see."

After Skhâ had been buried, Bessas walked somberly over the plain with Myron, slashing at weeds with a stick.

"As if my lusts were not doing the same to me," said the Bactrian, casting a burning glance back to where Salimat busied herself with camp chores. "But I have sense enough to know that my choice is either to seize her and break up the expedition in a brawl, or contain myself in patience. You need not worry; you can always have your cow-eyed Macedonian wench."

Myron tossed his head in a negative. "Middle age has its compensations, my boy. I have been so exhausted during the last month that I couldn't raise a stand if Aphrodite herself appeared before me. Perhaps it is just as well; a pregnant woman were no asset to our expedition."

"You have a point. Some folk in such a case would simply cut the woman's throat, but I think it wrong to use the poor little creatures so." Bessas slashed at a flower. "I blame myself for Skhâ's death. Had I taken time to think, I should have disarmed him and had him flogged with the others. Then he would still have been useful to us; for he was not a bad lad, despite his everlasting clack. But my lifelong habit has been, when a man assails me with steel, to slay him as expeditiously as I can."

"You couldn't help it. If you had stopped to think, I should have been dead, and what would Xerxes have done for his report?"