Titans of War Read online

  Praise for

  ‘A thundering good read is virtually the only way of describing Wilbur Smith’s books’

  IRISH TIMES

  ‘Wilbur Smith . . . writes as forcefully as his tough characters act’

  EVENING STANDARD

  ‘Wilbur Smith has arguably the best sense of place of any adventure writer since John Buchan’

  THE GUARDIAN

  ‘Wilbur Smith is one of those benchmarks against whom others are compared’

  THE TIMES

  ‘Best Historical Novelist – I say Wilbur Smith, with his swashbuckling novels of Africa. The bodices rip and the blood flows. You can get lost in Wilbur Smith and misplace all of August’

  STEPHEN KING

  ‘Action is the name of Wilbur Smith’s game and he is the master’

  WASHINGTON POST

  ‘A master storyteller’

  SUNDAY TIMES

  ‘Smith will take you on an exciting, taut and thrilling journey you will never forget’

  THE SUN

  ‘No one does adventure quite like Smith’

  DAILY MIRROR

  ‘With Wilbur Smith the action is never further than the turn of a page’

  THE INDEPENDENT

  ‘When it comes to writing the adventure novel, Wilbur Smith is the master; a 21st century H. Rider Haggard’

  VANITY FAIR

  For my love

  MOKHINISO

  Spirits of Genghis Khan and Omar Khayyam reincarnated in a moon as lucent as a perfect pearl

  Contents

  Praise for Wilbur Smith

  Dedication

  Maps

  Egypt

  About the Author

  Also by Wilbur Smith

  The Story Continues

  Readers’ Club

  Copyright

  EGYPT

  T

  he two men crept along the edge of the moonlit barley field. Sweat trickled down their taut bare backs. Fingers were tightened around the hilts of bronze swords and their eyes darted. Along the horizon a red glow wavered from the blazing farms littering the lush Nile Valley, and a warm desert wind whipped sheets of smoke across the stars. The men choked on the reek of burning, their ears ringing with the cries of the dying which shredded the stillness like the howls of wild cats. This was grim work, but they were ready.

  They were a mismatched pair. Piay was tall and muscular with a strong jawline, high cheekbones and dark eyes that turned the heads of the women who served the Pharaoh. Hannu, his assistant, walked with a limp. He was squat, with a thatch of black hair covering his body, and a jagged scar carved down his left cheek to an unkempt black beard. As he looked around, he glowered with eyes like hot coals.

  ‘Go much further and you will not return,’ Hannu grunted as they halted to search the way ahead. ‘The Hyksos swarm across this land like rats at harvest time.’

  ‘Courage, my friend,’ said Piay. ‘Faint hearts will not drive these invaders back to their distant home.’

  Hannu snorted. ‘Courage. If that was all it took, we would have been victorious fifty years gone, when they first came here. See how courage helps when you’ve got one of their beasts thundering towards you and a crescent sword hacking off the heads of your friends.’

  Piay jabbed a finger. ‘We have a job to do.’

  ‘Aye. But not at the cost of our necks. “Get as close as you can,” Taita said.’

  ‘And we can get closer! I will not return to my master empty-handed.’

  Piay glanced back at the six soldiers who had been sent to accompany them on this spying mission. They were young, their blades wavering in their hands as they crouched, waiting for an order. So many of the experienced soldiers had been killed in the fighting that they were recruiting boys who a short while ago had been working in their fathers’ fields.

  Piay peered into the dark ahead. What were the barbarians planning to do next? That was the question he needed to answer.

  This interminable war had been rolling back and forth along the valley of Mother Nile for nigh on half a century. The barbarians had superior numbers – what appeared to be an endless supply of the best fighting men in the world. They had the greater weapons – those cruel swords and bows that were three times as powerful as any in Egyptian hands. Most importantly, they had those damnable beasts that so terrified Hannu – the horses, powerful and well trained, able to pull gleaming chariots from which each warrior could loose a hundred arrows as they advanced.

  Many had lost hope that Egypt would ever be free. But not his master. Taita the Wise, the Pharaoh’s mage and counsellor, insisted that a moment would come when they could drive the Hyksos out once and for all. They had to watch and wait. Taita had sent his agents out time and again to learn the valuable information that would turn the tide of battle. And every time, those spies had failed.

  Piay felt his chest harden. Not him. He was the best of them all. He would succeed. He glanced at the white kilt he wore, embroidered with the yellow orb of Ra’s fiery chariot. It was his most prized possession, a present from Taita on the day he had finished his studies, and each time he had worn it, he had experienced good fortune. This was his moment. Glory awaited him.

  ‘You asked me to tell you if your confidence swelled your head to the point where it might burst,’ Hannu cautioned. ‘It is happening now.’

  A terrible scream tore through the night and Hannu stiffened. Piay flinched. His soldiers’ faces were as bloodless as if they had seen the dead return from their tombs.

  Piay would not show fear. These men depended on him to lead them into this blood-soaked territory. The Hyksos had advanced again, reclaiming land they had been driven from only two years before. They were showing no mercy to anyone they encountered. To save themselves, the farmers would follow the orders of their new masters. They always did.

  Hannu’s gaze skittered across the dark fields. He wasn’t scared, Piay knew – he was never afraid. The instincts he’d honed in battle during his former life as a soldier were coming to the fore.

  Piay remembered stumbling across Hannu begging on a dusty street in Thebes. His ruined leg, hacked in some battle, meant he could no longer be a member of the elite Blue Crocodile Guards. Many thought he was useless, with no future. But Piay had seen something in this fierce little man that day, in his incisive stare and his contempt for well-educated strangers. He was also knowledgeable and wise, two things that an even wiser man valued. Piay had hired him as an assistant, an occasional advisor, servant and diplomat.

  Hannu took it upon himself to keep Piay’s feet upon the ground.

  ‘I admit I sometimes let my confidence get the better of me,’ said Piay.

  ‘And your mouth.’

  Piay tightened his lips. ‘I am a spy of great renown, foremost in all skills—’

  ‘Except humility.’

  ‘. . . trained in the arts of war and peace, by the great Taita himself, but I defer to your knowledge of blood-soaked battlefields and the smell of defeat.’

  Hannu narrowed his eyes.

  ‘We will continue with caution. And at the first sign of trouble we will retreat. Is that fair?’

  Hannu grunted again. His assent wasn’t convincing.

  Piay raised his hand and snapped his fingers forward. Away they went, deeper into enemy territory.

  L

  aughter split the air across the swaying crops. Piay could smell the heavy musk of the barbarians’ beasts. The horse had once been unknown in Egypt, so he had been told. But that was long before he had been born.

  Taita had told him the story of when the Hyksos had first swept like a storm upon the backs of their mounts. Taita had witnessed this fearsome sight himself, so he said, and if that were true then Taita must have bee
n blessed by the gods, for he looked barely older than Piay.

  Piay heard the beasts snort and stamp their hooves. They were close but not close enough.

  They’d known of these strange barbarian people from the distant east, the Hyksos, for many years, Taita had said. They came from a mountainous land and had once been farmers until they learned the way of the crescent sword and the bow. When their small bands had started to move into the Sinai and along the fringes of the Nile, the Hyksos had been considered little more than an irritant, raiding caravans and turquoise mines and isolated settlements.

  In those days, who could have guessed they had designs upon Egypt itself?

  But their king had been planning for a long time. Reports reached Thebes of a vast army bearing down upon this civilised land. The Red Pretender, that false pharaoh in the Lower Kingdom, with all his forces, had been crushed as if he were nothing. And then the Hyksos had turned their attention to the south, to the Upper Kingdom.

  The Hyksos wanted it all.

  In Thebes, the Pharaoh heard these tales of blood and destruction from the north and dug deep into his coffers to repel any invasion. New galleys were built and the army was marched along the banks of the Nile to destroy these arrogant intruders. Even after hearing what had been wrought upon the Red Pretender, the Pharaoh still drank deeply of the heady brew of the myth of Egyptian supremacy.

  Taita had trembled when he recounted how the great Egyptian army had been routed in just one day, and his master was not a man given to displays of emotion. Galleys sank in flames and the Hyksos drove the remnants of the once proud force south, harrying them at every opportunity. It had turned from battle to mere sport.

  Since that day, Egypt had known endless war and bloodshed and death. Fifty years of it. After Thebes had fallen for the first time, Taita had fled south with the current Pharaoh. The great king had only been a boy then. After a stay in the lands beyond the cataracts, Taita had returned with renewed vigour to drive the enemy out of the City of a Hundred Gates and back towards the Lower Kingdom. But the Hyksos never relented, pressing ever onwards, recapturing land lost only to lose it again. And under Taita’s guidance the brave resistance had continued. But over time the Egyptian army became diminished, the chance of reclaiming the land of their birth beginning to fade like the morning mist.

  Now they had reached a time of desperation.

  Smoke swept across the fields from the farmstead blazing nearby, the roar of the flames combining with the laughter of whoever was gathered out of sight.

  Piay pushed the flat of his hand down and the men behind dropped lower. He slipped forwards below the level of the swaying barley, sensing Hannu at his back.

  The laughter was louder, and he could hear the guttural notes of that strange barbarian tongue.

  On the edge of an irrigation channel, Piay dropped to his belly and slid forwards like a serpent. The steady heartbeat of the shadoof rolled out as the water wheel turned, plunging the bucket on the pole into the water, then swinging it back up with the counterweight.

  Ahead, the flames of a campfire rose towards the stars. A constellation of sparks drifted on the night breeze. Around the burning sods of animal dung and straw, six barbarians lounged in their leather caps and breastplates, gnawing on what looked like strips of cured meat. Their crescent-shaped swords were sheathed, their bows set aside. They were not expecting any attack. Why would they? They were masters here.

  One of the barbarians picked through a pile of swords, amulets and rings – booty taken from dead Egyptian soldiers.

  Piay blinked away tears as the smoke stung his eyes, and when his vision cleared he glimpsed another figure on the edge of the circle of wavering amber light. This man was hunched over, but when he raised his head the dancing flames picked out blood caking the edge of his mouth and his left eye. Bruises mottled his skin. An Egyptian soldier, a captive, beaten for information on what remained of the fleeing force.

  Piay felt anger simmer in his breast. One of the barbarians heaved himself up and sauntered over to the captive. Squatting beside the bloodied man, the Hyksos warrior grunted something in the captive’s ear. It must have been in the Egyptian tongue, for the soldier shook his head. The Hyksos warrior cuffed the brave Egyptian round the ears and laughed as he returned to the fire. The others chuckled and fell back to their conversation.

  Piay studied the group, looking for any signs of weakness. His attention settled on one he sensed was the leader of the band. The captain sat apart from the others and rarely joined in with their chatter. His back was as straight as a rod, his chin held high. Above his black bristles, his skin was scarred with the marks of the pox. His eyes moved slowly and sullenly across the dark countryside beyond the firelight. Piay felt a power rolling off him like the rippling waves of heat that rose from the baked desert sands.

  This was a dangerous man, he was sure. He would be the greatest threat.

  Piay steeled himself. Here was a situation that would bring him all the glory of which he had ever dreamed. The band was small. The element of surprise would allow them to counter any superior battle skills these seasoned warriors might possess. This was a fight they could win easily. They could not leave an Egyptian in the hands of such barbarians. Who knew what terrible things he would be forced to endure before they took his life?

  What secrets had the captive overheard? Piay could bring back valuable information. Perhaps even to turn the tide of battle.

  Piay beckoned his men to crawl up behind him. Their faces were taut, their eyes widened. They were anxious, but they would obey his orders to the last.

  Hannu came up beside him and whispered, ‘Now’s not the time for an attack, we’ve not scouted the surrounding land.’

  ‘We don’t have the time,’ Piay breathed. ‘We act now. The longer we wait, the more chance we might be discovered. And then we would be slaughtered.’

  Piay knew he had brought them to the point of no return. He could almost hear Taita’s praise ringing in his ears.

  Piay noticed the captain had taken himself further away. He was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the circle of firelight, looking up at the stars with his lips moving as if he was praying. He dipped into a leather pouch that hung at his waist.

  Piay levelled his left hand to signal for his men to wait.

  The captain unfurled his fingers to reveal a handful of small flowers. The petals were dark and Piay shivered when he recognised their distinct shape. The blue lotus. He had heard it called the Dream Flower, sacred to Ra, for it rose from the waters of the Nile at first light and disappeared as the sun fell. The priests of the temples had drunk it in a brew from the days of antiquity, for it allowed them to contact the gods themselves. Some said it transported the Ka to the afterlife to learn secret knowledge before returning to the land of men. Others, that it filled those who consumed it with supernatural powers.

  ‘Wait,’ Piay whispered. ‘The blue lotus will suck their leader into dreams and visions. Then our advantage will be greater still.’

  The other barbarians laughed and chewed and tossed more sods on to the fire, sending golden sparks cascading towards the heavens. The captive’s head nodded on to his chest. For him all hope was gone – he had resigned himself to death.

  The captain let his eyes drift to the stars, and the full moon, and gradually his lids weighed down.

  Easing up his sword, Piay pushed himself onto his haunches and uttered ‘Now.’

  The Egyptian band surged forwards. Blood-curdling screeches rang out across the lush fields.

  Piay bounded ahead. He was strong and fast, and the memories flooded through him of all those lessons with a sword from when he had been barely old enough to lift one: sweating under a hot sun, parrying and thrusting and moving with the grace of a temple dancer until all of it became second nature. He told everyone he was the best swordsman in all Egypt. Few argued.

  By the time he could feel the bloom from the heat of the campfire, the barbarians were on their feet and
fumbling to draw their curved blades. Except the captain, who remained cross-legged, drifting in whatever netherworld the blue lotus had imprisoned him.

  Piay darted in front of the first Hyksos warrior. As his opponent swung his weapon to hack, Piay rammed his blade through flesh and bone to the heart. He wrenched his sword free and spun to confront the next opponent.

  But all the other Hyksos warriors were engaged. Hannu swung his weapon with the strength of a man twice his size. One Egyptian soldier reeled from a deep gash on his upper arm, but he would survive.

  Piay leaped to the captive. The man looked up with wide eyes, scarcely believing what he was seeing.

  ‘You came for me,’ he croaked.

  ‘Remember to tell your friends who it was that saved your life. My name is Piay.’

  ‘Piay.’

  His name sounded from behind him in little more than an exhalation, almost lost beneath the hissing of the fire. He turned and saw the captain’s eyes begin to focus as he dragged himself out of his trance.

  Piay sawed at the strips of hide that bound the captive’s wrists. He pulled the man to his feet.

  ‘Away,’ Piay said. ‘We will guide you home when we are done here.’

  ‘Piay.’ The captain’s voice was stronger now.

  Piay moved round. Levelling his sword, he said, ‘You have been defeated by better men. You can keep your life if you flee. Tell the others like you that Egypt will never be vanquished.’

  The captain eased himself up to his full height, a head taller than Piay, without a hint of bewilderment from the blue lotuses he had consumed. A grey fire seemed to flicker in his eyes. The captain’s unkempt black hair was bound with strips of hide on which hung small bones that clacked together in a macabre music of death every time he moved his head. He drew his lips into a wolfish grin.

  Piay had seen many Hyksos in his time, but none like this. He saw the swirls of intricate tattoos along the captain’s arms, symbols which seemed to tell a story.

  ‘I see you,’ the captain breathed. ‘Your god Anubis stands at your shoulder.’