Bronze Summer (47 page)

‘Yes, you must wait,’ Kilushepa said. ‘It is how a siege must be withstood, and believe me, I have witnessed several, and studied many more from history.’ She waved a hand. ‘If you are improvising your defences, well, so is Qirum improvising his assaults. All this is as novel to him as it is to you. Let him waste warriors and wood on his ridiculous siege engines.

‘Meanwhile you people are safe, here in your Wall. I have seen it for myself. You have fresh water, from the streams that flow to the Wall. You are cut off from the country, but you have your ingenious harbours on the Wall’s ocean face; your fishing fleets come and go with impunity. You have tribute brought to you from the lands all along the northern coast, from the World River estuary to Albia – why, I believe there are even boats plying from Kirike’s Land. Meanwhile your people in the country have simply faded away into the marshes and forests, the wild land where Qirum’s troops cannot follow. They are safe too. You may be growing tired of the taste of fish – frankly, so am I, and I only just arrived. But that’s a small price to pay for survival.
You are safe.
Sit in your Wall. Wait it out.’

Milaqa thought she was hugely impressive. But since her return to Northland, and Milaqa had shadowed her closely ever since to aid with translations, the Tawananna had not asked about the fate of the child she had borne and left behind here. Not once, not a word. Any more than she had asked after the fate of her son in Hattusa.

‘But,’ Noli said, stressing her words with blows of fist into palm, ‘
for
–
how
–
long
? Kilushepa, you have seen the flooding at the base of the Wall. The Beavers tell me that they have no record of a full year when they have been able to perform
no
significant maintenance on the Wall and its systems. In the end the flooding will eat away at the growstone. And out in the country the drainage and diversion systems are either neglected or purposefully wrecked – purposefully,
we wrecked some of them ourselves
, to make the land difficult for Qirum! How long do you believe the siege will last – years? There may not be a Northland left to recover by the end of it.’

Teel murmured, ‘Come, Noli. The Wall has lasted hundreds of generations. It is not likely to fail tomorrow.’

Raka said, ‘And we have our fallbacks. The wheels, the manually driven pumps.’

‘ ‘‘Manually,’’ ’ Noli said with disgust. ‘
That’s
a milkwater word for what’s going on in those chambers. Trojan prisoners strapped to the wheels and whipped into the work by Hatti thugs!’

Milaqa was shocked. She’d believed the official story that the wheels were manned by volunteers.

‘It is necessary,’ Raka said unhappily.

Noli snapped, ‘Necessary! To keep slaves? Northland has never kept slaves, not since Ana’s time.’

‘They are not slaves—’

‘Slaves, I insist, who we beat and work to death. This is hypocrisy, Annids! Lies we tell ourselves, and our people. This may destroy Northland more thoroughly than any flooded lowland or blocked dyke.’

Deri said, ‘But, respectfully, what choice is there? If you are advocating going out to meet Qirum in open battle – I have seen his troops. I have fought them. I would not recommend it.’ He nodded at Kilushepa. ‘Even with your fine troops at my side, queen, and I mean no disrespect.’

Kilushepa said evenly, ‘I agree with you completely. It is easy to lose patience – but if you lose that, you lose everything. This is in fact the mistake that Qirum’s own people made at Troy, when that city was besieged by the Greeks. If only they had kept their patience they could be starving the Greeks out even now, still safe and rich and strong. Instead of which—’

There was a commotion in the corridor outside. People turned to look, and Milaqa peered to see over their cloaked shoulders, in the dim light of the flickering oil lamps.

Tibo stood there, panting, uncertain. ‘There is a man,’ he said. ‘He says he sailed from Kirike’s Land. He had a cargo of their dried fish . . .’

‘Yes, boy,’ Raka snapped. ‘What of it?’

‘He was attacked. His ship.
Attacked on the Northern Ocean
.’ He looked around, searching for Deri. ‘Father – it’s Adhao.’ A neighbour of Vala’s and Medoc’s on Kirike’s Land, before the fire mountain. ‘May I bring him in?’

Soaked by seawater, his tunic drenched in blood, Adhao had to be carried in by Tibo and the other men. He was badly wounded, a deep gouge in his belly. A priest hovered at his side, helplessly pressing moss into the wound as he was carried.

Muwa, watching, murmured to his queen, ‘That’s the mark of a sea pike.’

Raka frowned at Milaqa’s translation. ‘A what?’

‘A spear. Fifteen paces long. Bound at the joints with iron bands . . . A weapon, lady, used when one ship attacks another. As the Greek galleys have for centuries assaulted ships along our own coasts.’

‘It’s true,’ Adhao said, gasping, his Kirike’s Land accent thick. ‘They came at us, big ships with painted eyes. We could not fight back. We did not know how. All of us died – all save me, and they did
this
to me before dumping me in the harbour on the Wall. They said I was to serve as a message.’

Deri sucked his teeth. ‘Then they have found a way to get their ships to the seaward face of the Wall. They must have sailed all the way around Albia, to the west and north. Quite a feat, for sailors from the gentle waters of the Middle Sea.’

Raka asked, ‘What does this mean?’

Kilushepa said, ‘It means Qirum has worked out how reliant you have become on supplies from the northern sea. And it means that he has found a way to cut off that supply, or impede it at least, by blockading it with his ships.’

Noli drew herself to her full height. ‘And do you still say we should do nothing, Tawananna?’

‘Yes,’ Kilushepa said sharply. ‘Even with this setback, you have reserves. Perhaps we can find a way to fight back. Greek galleys on your northern seas must be vulnerable. Yes, I still counsel patience.’

But Noli pointed at poor Adhao, who writhed with the pain as the priest tried to treat him. ‘Patience, until Qirum does to all of us what he has done to this man? Patience, while that monster from the barbaric east raises generation after generation of his cattle-folk warriors, right here in Northland? Patience, until the Wall itself crumbles and we are all lost, and our land, and even the memory of it, erased by the sea? I will not have it.’ She glared around at the Annids. ‘Will you? And you, and you?’

She was greeted by a swelling growl of approval.

And, before long, the decision became clear. Northland would fight.

‘Yes,’ he said grimly. ‘Just as Qirum, or his wily
basileis
, probably intended when they sent us this “message”. For an open fight will suit them better than it suits us, believe me.

‘Maybe this day was inevitable, however. There’s much they couldn’t talk about in an open session. Such as the rebellion of the Districts, or the threat of it. Qirum, wily little brute that he is, has been making moon eyes at the leaders in the Market, the Manufactory – even the Scambles, it’s said. Not everybody in this great linear city of ours cares much for the Annids, who tax remotely and hand down their laws, and ask for young men and women to come lie down and die for Etxelur, while scarcely ever bothering to show a face beyond the Scambles. If even a few Districts broke away and threw in their lot with him—’

‘Once Qirum was inside the Wall—’

‘All would be lost. So maybe we have to act now while we still can. And – ah, Deri.’ He touched his brother’s arm as he passed.

Deri paused and looked at him. ‘Any bright ideas?’ he asked blackly.

The moment was tense. Though they had always tried to keep it from her, Milaqa had often glimpsed the rivalry between them, these brothers so different, the sturdy fisherman, the wily politician.

Teel sighed. ‘I don’t want this any more than you do. But if we must fight, let us fight to win. Let’s put our heads together, brother, for once. We must speed up the training for a start. Use more Hatti veterans to train more Northlanders. And we should call in favours, from Albia, Gaira, the World River.’

Deri nodded. ‘And we must put pressure on the iron-makers. What a bunch of fusspots they are! We must make them understand that a dozen flawed arrowheads are better than a single perfect specimen.’

Teel glanced at Milaqa. ‘Though we give battle, we must continue to
think
. For I continue to believe that it is through intelligence we will ultimately prevail.’

She wondered what he meant by this latest oblique remark; Milaqa had been used by Teel more than once.

Adhao cried out again. The Annids clustered around him, and Raka called for the priests with their medicine kits.

As it turned out they had only months to make their preparations. Before the end of the latest summer without the sun, the third since the fire mountain, the Trojan brought his army to the Wall.

58

The Third Year After the Fire Mountain: Late Summer

Despite the urgings of his
basileis
to strike before dawn, Qirum was prepared to wait until the sun was risen before responding. He had laid siege to the Wall for half a year already, it had been months since his spies had reported the Annids were preparing for battle, and there was plenty of the campaigning season left to get this done. Waiting a few more hours would do no harm.

The day was well advanced when Qirum at last emerged from his tent and walked out into the field, before his lines, alone. Qirum wore no armour, nor did he carry weapons or a shield. He wanted the men to see him, and his enemies, if they could peer that far. He caused a stir among the men as he walked along the lines, and there were ragged cheers from the still-loose formations.

The land was flat to the horizon. The dew was heavy in the marshy grass; his boots left footprints in the soft earth. The sky was a milky blue, the sun pale, but at least you could see the sun this morning. The dew would soon burn off, but the day would never get overwhelmingly hot, for it never did here. A good day for fighting, then. In the air he saw a bird of prey, a kestrel perhaps, eerily stationary above the ground, watching some hapless prey. And at his feet there was a patch of some ragged pink-headed flower about which butterflies and bees fluttered. He wished the busy creatures well; soon this little stage of life would be trampled and blood-soaked. He breathed deeply of the fresh, slightly chill air. This was not home, and never would be, and yet it had its riches, in its own way, on such a day as this.

In the north the Wall was a faint bone-pale line. Before it he saw the enemy lines, a mass of men in the mist, with smoke from their fires rising into the still air.

He turned to survey his army. Facing the enemy, they were drawn up in units of fifty or a hundred each, in three rough blocks: Protis and his Greeks in the centre, with Qirum’s own Trojans to the left and the Spider with his mostly Hatti exiles to the right. The men were strapping on armour if they had it, sharpening blades with whetstones they would dump before the charge, boasting and joshing, gathering their energies – summoning up the will to fight. Behind the main blocks there were units of archers and slingers, and further back the charioteers were readying their vehicles, harnessing up the horses. The animals skittered and neighed.

And as the King walked before his men the songs began. The Trojans thumped spears on shields and chanted battle cries. The Anatolians sang hymns to their Storm God; Qirum recognised one mournful lament, a soldier’s prayer to be buried at home beside his mother. The Greeks were different; they preferred to stay silent, watchful, ready – ominous. Qirum briefly wondered how it would have been for the generation before his in Troy to have faced a siege by thousands upon thousands of such silent, competent warriors.

He could hear similar music wafting across the field from the Northlander lines. He recognised more doleful Hatti elegies – hymns to the Sun Goddess of Arinna, perhaps. They had all come so far from home, he thought, to kill and be killed on this distant plain.

The Spider walked out to him, laden with the King’s armour, which he set respectfully on the ground. Qirum put on his breastplate, and shields for his shoulders and thighs, and shin guards, and shaped pieces for his forearms, tying each leather strap tight. The Spider was already fully armoured himself, with sword and spear at his back, his helmet under his arm. As Qirum dressed the Spider sniffed the air, peered around with his one good eye, stepped forward and dug his heel into the ground. ‘This bog will cut up.’

‘The same for both sides.’ Qirum glanced towards the enemy. ‘Just as the scouts said, they advanced across the river they call the Milk to face us. They seem to have sought no advantage from the terrain, as I would have done. But then, I would never have sallied out from the Wall and its defences.’

The Spider shrugged. ‘There’s no high ground advantage to be had on this tabletop of a country. Do you want to speak to the men?’