Up on the hill, Bekka sat on a stone and stared down at the dead and dying below. Another of his men, skilled in the ways of the healer, knelt on the ground beside him. He finished bandaging his leader’s wounds with the damp shreds of Bekka’s own tunic.
Bekka’s horse had been killed beneath him by a flung lance, and the plunge into the chilled water had stunned him. Or some horse had kicked him in the head. Only the courage of one of his clan brothers had saved him. The man had dragged his dazed commander onto the back of his horse, turned around, and raced for safety.
Both of them had taken wounds in the flight. Bekka, clinging to the man’s back, had taken two arrows, one in the left arm, and a glancing shaft that had ripped a gash in his right thigh. He forced the pain from his thoughts.
“Get me a horse, a good one.” Bekka pushed himself to his feet. His head hurt, either from the fall into the water or the rage in his heart. The growl in his voice made his men jump to find him a suitable mount. This fight might be over, but Bekka still had work to do. His right leg hurt more than the wound in his arm, and he accepted the help of two of his men in climbing on the strange and skittish stallion.
He settled onto the animal’s back with a sigh, and sat there a few moments, to calm his new mount. When the horse settled down, he took a moment to make sure both his knife and sword slid freely in their scabbards.
A glance around showed the extent of the disaster. Men sat on the ground, staring at nothing, weapons dumped beside them. Many of his fighters had taken wounds. Others appeared stunned at their defeat. Some hung their heads, unwilling to speak, embarrassed by the shame of their failure. Bekka had no idea how many warriors had fallen, even those from his own clan. That, too, could wait.
“Kushi, come with me,” Bekka ordered. “You are now a leader of forty.”
His newly promoted subcommander had his own bloody bandage across his chest, but he seemed fit enough. Kushi swung up onto his horse, hiding any pain that he might feel.
Bekka guided his horse across the top of the hill, then down about thirty paces to the place where Chulum’s clan had gathered to lick their wounds and count their dead and missing. Bekka picked his way through the dismounted men, ignoring their grunts of pain as they tended to their injuries.
Chulum had survived the battle, damn the luck, though he now wore a bloody bandage wrapped around his forehead, and a second one around his left hand. Chulum, too, had found a new horse, and he remained astride as he listened to the reports of his men.
The wounded Serpent Clan warriors ignored Bekka’s approach. Those still fit to fight glanced at him with little interest. The shock of defeat weighed heavily on their hearts. Chulum’s men had led the way and taken the brunt of the losses, but Bekka didn’t concern himself about that.
Chulum saw Bekka’s approach, and his right hand moved closer to the hilt of his sword.
Bekka ignored the gesture. He slowed his horse and stopped it beside that of Chulum, facing him, their right knees almost touching. Bekka stared at the leader of the Serpent Clan.
“Your men should have taken their flank,” Chulum said, breaking the silence with an angry shout. “We were almost across. If you had. .”
Bekka kicked his horse’s right flank, at the same time easing up on the halter. The horse, as well trained as any Alur Meriki mount, moved toward the right, pushing against Chulum’s mount and forcing it to take a step backward. At the same time, Bekka’s right hand flashed down, not for his sword, but for his knife. Before the startled Chulum could recover control of his horse or draw his sword, Bekka had lunged forward, extending his arm to its fullest, and thrust the knife deep into Chulum’s right side.
Not a killing blow, but Bekka kicked a second time at his horse, and once again the animal responded, this time shoving Chulum’s mount with enough force to stagger the animal. The sudden lurch tipped Chulum from his horse, and he fell heavily onto the hard ground, Bekka’s knife still protruding from his side.
Bekka slid his good leg over the neck of his horse and dropped to the ground, ignoring the sharp pain that lanced up his injured leg and made him clench his teeth. Bekka’s sword slid from its scabbard, as Chulum struggled to his knees and fumbled for his sword, blood already staining his right side. With a quick move, Bekka raised his weapon and struck, striking Chulum in the shoulder blade. The blow knocked Chulum back to the ground and wrenched a cry of pain from his lips.
“You disobeyed the order of your commander!” Bekka put all the force of his body into the shout. He wanted to make sure everyone heard his words. The warriors all around him had gone silent, though he heard the faint rasp of bows against shafts. At least a handful of Chulum’s warriors had drawn their weapons. Only one had to let loose and Bekka would be dead.
Caught up in his own rage, Bekka didn’t care. “You disobeyed my order to wait for Thutmose-sin.” Again the words bellowed across the hilltop. “Because of your stupidity, many of your men and mine are dead, slaughtered for nothing. And the dirt eaters are now laughing at all of us.”
Bekka raised up his sword again, this time using both hands. The blood streaked blade swung down, and this time it landed exactly where Bekka aimed. The thick bronze cut deep into Chulum’s neck, nearly slicing through and unleashing a burst of bloody spray that pulsed for a few moments before Chulum’s heart ceased beating.
“Men of the Serpent Clan,” Bekka shouted, whirling the sword around to include all the warriors, “you will obey my orders!”
“Put down your weapons,” Kushi bellowed, following Bekka’s lead. He, too, had drawn his sword. “Obey your new clan leader.”
The Serpent warriors exchanged glances. Chulum’s leadership had garnered him few friends. One by one, the warriors lowered their weapons, letting bows go slack or half-drawn swords slide back into their sheaths.
Bekka knelt down, ignoring the pain in his leg, and cleaned his sword on Chulum’s tunic. Now was not the time to show weakness. When he finished wiping the blade, Bekka jerked his knife from Chulum’s side, and cleaned that, too. Then Bekka straightened up, returned his weapons to their scabbards, and turned to face the warriors.
“You will obey my orders until Thutmose-sin decides what to do with you.” He extended his right arm and swept it around, encompassing all of Chulum’s men. “Any one of you who disobeys a command from me or Kushi, or from any of my commanders, will be handed over to Thutmose-sin for judgment. Do you understand?”
They did. If Chulum had indeed disobeyed the Sarum’s orders, he deserved his death. If not, the Alur Meriki High Council would sort it out. When clan leaders fought, the common warrior preferred to stay out of it. Meanwhile, no warrior wanted to face Thutmose-sin’s fury, especially not after this defeat.
Bekka surveyed the sullen warriors one more time, as if searching for any sign of disobedience. He saw only sullen looks, and no one met his gaze. “Good. Kushi, take charge of these men. Count the dead and wounded, and report back to me.”
It took all his strength and he had to grit his teeth, but Bekka managed to swing himself back onto his horse, refusing to let the pain from his wounds show on his face or in his movements.
He had survived another battle. Now all he had to worry about was the same danger he’s just used to threaten the Serpent Clan. Thutmose-sin’s anger might soon be directed first and foremost at Bekka.
8
Bone weary, the men trudged along, over, and through the foothills. Just after midmorning, Eskkar and his men crested the last hilly obstacle between them and the Khenmet. He had hoped to reach the stream yesterday before dark, but the men carried too much weight on their shoulders.