He grabbed Wahir’s arm and headed down. He spotted Said standing next to Alessandra, who was using her telescope to decide for herself whether to panic or not. Once she’d seen enough, she headed straight for the stand of horses, shouting as she went. Said was left to wait.
‘Master, it’s the Ethiopians.’
‘Is that good or bad?’
‘How should I know? Trust our luck to get caught up in a war.’
Benzamir and Wahir jumped the last stretch and landed in a heap at Said’s feet. By the time he’d helped them up, the camp was in uproar. The black-clad diggers were frantically trying to save what they could, using the men who hadn’t deserted at the first cry. There was a bloody riot beginning at one of the slavers’ compounds, and the local traders from Misr had vanished back towards the river.
‘The ferry?’ suggested Wahir.
‘It won’t do any good. The Ethiopian commander’s sent a small force down the far bank to cut off any escape. We’re going to have to head the other way.’
‘Into the desert? That’s madness,’ said Said. The approaching chariots were rumbling like distant thunder.
‘I’m not going to see if I can face down an entire army, not even for you two. Come on.’ Benzamir headed for the smallest of the three pyramids and called back. ‘Seriously, hurry. Whatever it is they’re after, I don’t want to have to either fight or answer awkward questions.’
They ran, and Benzamir aimed them directly at the approaching charioteers.
‘What are we doing?’
‘Broken ground to the north. Chariots are going to have to go to the river first. They’ll turn before they get to us.’
‘How do you know all this?’ panted Said. ‘You’ve never been here before.’
‘The advantages of satellite photography, my friend. Head for that hill. There’s a ruin on top – we can hide there.’ Benzamir pushed Said onwards and took Wahir’s hand. ‘This isn’t the time for dawdling.’
The valley they headed into was dry, but full of tough, thorny bushes that had to be avoided. The dust cloud was now almost above them, and the noise was incredible. There were individual cries of men and horses above the relentless rumble of wheels.
‘Up,’ urged Benzamir. ‘You can rest when you’re dead.’
Wahir was too exhausted even to complain. Eventually they made it to a low stone wall on the crest of the hill. Said threw himself over the top, and Benzamir tipped Wahir after him.
A horse whinnied close by, and they all ducked down.
‘Can’t you use your magic to make us invisible?’ Said rolled onto his back and started to pick the thorns out of his legs.
‘Yes, I could, but it’d take too long to explain why I can’t right now. Keeping out of sight is much easier.’ Benzamir risked a look. The whole of the Nile valley in front of him was swarming with chariots chasing individuals on foot and forcing them to surrender. When they stood and fought, they were cut down without hesitation, trampled by the horses or run through by spears.
Some of the diggers were getting away, but only by leaving all their merchandise behind. Those who had stayed to pack up were encircled and rounded up. The ferrymen had deserted their fares: nor could they land on the Misr side. They were stuck midstream, and useless to anyone.
Benzamir sat down behind the wall and pressed his back to the crumbling stone. ‘I can safely say the Ethiopians knew precisely what they were doing. They weren’t after the men as such, more the goods. If it hadn’t been for Wahir, we’d have been caught.’
Wahir hauled air in and out of his lungs and took the compliment as his due.
‘What do we do now, master?’
‘We wait, Said. We wait here until nightfall, when I can get us back into the city. We’ve water, and we can find some shade. Though if that horse doesn’t shut up, it’s going to attract all sorts of unwelcome attention.’
The horse down below their ruined temple was neighing and grunting. Now that the chariots had mostly slowed their thunderous charge, it was all too obvious.
‘It could be hurt, master,’ said Said.
‘In which case I’ll have to go and put an end to it. Great.’ Benzamir put his hand out. ‘Borrow your sword?’
Said slid it out of its scabbard and Benzamir secreted it under the folds of his kaftan. ‘Don’t be seen, master.’
‘I’ll do my best.’ He lay across the top of the wall, rolled off, and was gone.
Benzamir longed for his adaptive armour; anyone he came upon would have had to fall over him before spotting him. The paradox was that it was too obviously different to wear.
Instead he kept low, using what cover he could. The air was still stirred up by the passage of the chariots, everything surrounded in an ochre haze. The Ethiopians had nearly finished with the diggers, and he wondered how Selah had got on.
The horse noises were intermittent, but they came from the same place every time. Benzamir presumed Said was right about the animal being injured: he couldn’t heal it so it would be a kindness to put it out of its misery. He slunk lower into the valley until he could spot the chestnut head tossing this way and that behind a stand of thorns.
He managed to get upwind of the beast and took a good look at it. It seemed at first sight to be unharmed, but its reins were caught in the sharp branches of a bush. He crept closer, and the horse turned to see him, breaking out in a fresh wave of sweat. It shook its head violently from side to side, trying to free itself, and only managed to scratch its muzzle in the struggle. It made even more noise, and Benzamir had to dance past flying hooves and nipping teeth to get hold of the reins.
‘Quiet, you stupid animal,’ he said firmly, ‘or I’ll silence you myself.’ He cut the reins with his eating knife, and the ungrateful horse bolted away out towards the Ethiopians, over a body lying in the dirt.
He recognized the pattern on the headscarf. Alessandra was more or less out in the open, and he’d be dangerously exposed if he even tried to see if she was dead or alive. There was no question of him trying to reach her; it was a matter of waiting for the right moment.
Then it was too late. A chariot wheeled by, and the spearman patted the driver on the back and pointed. The soldier jumped off, the metal plates of his armour glittering, and started towards both Alessandra and Benzamir.
Benzamir froze, and watched breathlessly as the soldier tapped the body with the haft of his spear. He smiled and called back to the chariot as he saw the shape move. Then he took a step back and poked her with more force.
Alessandra stirred and looked up. The Ethiopian saw that she was not only a woman, but a Ewer. He urged her to get up, but it was clear that she had no idea which way was up, let alone how much trouble she was in.
‘This is going to end badly, no matter what I do,’ muttered Benzamir. He rose from his hiding place, sword in hand, and said in his best Amharic: ‘Put her down. You don’t know where she’s been.’
His intention was clear, even if his words were obscure. The soldier immediately took a defensive stance and shouted for help. Benzamir came at him at a run. The spear was levelled at his belly, and at the last moment he slid under the iron point, his feet connecting with the Ethiopian’s shins.
He curved his body round his sword blade, tumbled out of the fall and swung hard and fast. Metal met wood, and the spear shaft splintered and shivered out of the man’s hands.
The soldier hesitated before lunging at Benzamir with both hands outstretched. He spun aside, moved his body behind and kicked out again. Sprawled in the dust, the Ethiopian never saw the double-handed clubbing blow descending on the back of his helmet.
Benzamir jumped up, and the chariot driver turned his long knife in a nervous circle. Then he turned and ran for the horses, Benzamir dogging his footsteps. He caught him, lifted him and threw him. The knife spiralled away. The Ethiopian aimed a fist at Benzamir’s face. He didn’t even bother to dodge it, just crowded forward and jabbed his forearm hard across the man’s windpipe.