Desert God (46 page)

We started out before sunrise; as soon as it was light enough to descry the rough path. Waaga was a skilful horseman so he was able to keep pace with me. He knew every twist and turn, and every fork in the track. He rode at my right heel, directed me with animal grunts and hand signals.

To begin with we cut obliquely across the lower slopes of Mount Ida, heading to pass to the east of the highest peak, which was still covered with snow even so late in the summer. At this altitude the mature forest trees had been decimated to provide fuel for the forges and furnaces of the factories. The destruction saddened me. The axe-men had left not a single tree standing.

At last we reached the virgin forests at higher altitude and we rode in amongst the magnificent trunks of trees that had stood tall since the time when the gods were young. The upper branches entwined high over our heads, shading the aisles between them with a cool cathedral hush. The hoof-beats of our horses were muffled by the thick banks of green moss. The only sounds were the cries of the birds and small animals. We watered our horses at the streams that ran clear and clean as the mountain air and icy cold from the snow melt.

We paused in a clearing in the forest on the shoulder of the mountain to watch Helios, the god of the sun, thrust his golden head above the eastern horizon.

This was holy ground: where Cronus, the father of all the gods, had been born and his sons and daughters after him. I could sense their presence and smell their perfume in the sweet air and the forest loams. It was an eerie sensation to be so closely in touch with the immortals. Perhaps my heightened sensitivity was due to the kindred blood coursing in my own veins, of which Inana had first made me aware. Then I reminded myself sternly that Inana was almost certainly only a creature of my dreams, and that I was the victim of my own idle superstition. It irked me that her image returned to me so persistently.

I determined to put Inana firmly out of my mind, and as I made the decision I heard the echo of her indulgent laughter. Dream or goddess, I knew she was close and my brave resolution crumbled.

I turned my horse down the steep slope, towards the port of Krimad nestled against the rocky southern shore of Crete. It was still two hours short of noon. We had made excellent time.

Even at a distance of twenty leagues I fancied I could make out the bare masts of my Sumerian ships huddling in the harbour. When I turned in the saddle and looked back over the way we had come I saw the volcano in which the god Cronus was imprisoned. It dominated the watery northern horizon. A placid stream of creamy-coloured smoke trailed from its twin peaks. I smiled. The god was in an affable mood.

Waaga had taken advantage of this brief pause in our journey to dismount and squat behind the nearest tree. The mere fact that he had done so was an indication that before being taken in slavery he must have been a person of breeding and manners. Only the lowest and commonest classes of men and women spray their water while standing.

Suddenly Waaga leaped to his feet, letting the skirt of his chiton drop around his knees as he pointed at the earth close to where he had been squatting, uttering incoherent snorts and grunts. He was so perturbed that I dismounted and hurried to his side to investigate the cause of his concern.

The soft earth at the base of the tree was so churned and broken that it took me a few moments to pick out the great cloven hoof prints impressed in the dirt. They were many times larger than those left by the milk cows on my own estate at Mechir on the banks of the Nile.

I went down on my knees to measure one of these prints against the full span of my right hand with my fingers and thumb spread to their utmost. My single hand was not large enough. I was forced to spread both my hands over one of the hoof prints to cover it completely.

‘In the name of Seth the Malign, what monstrosity left these tracks?’ I blurted out my amazement at Waaga. I could make no sense at all of his response. He repeated the same sound in a rising inflexion while hugging himself and shivering in a parody of fear. Then he turned and ran back to his mount and scrambled up into the saddle. He gestured to me to mount up, and at the same time he darted fearful glances into the forest surrounding us. His agitation was infectious and I jumped on to the back of my own horse and urged it forward.

I was trying to find a rational explanation for these gigantic hoof prints. Their size seemed to be fantasy rather than reality – until I remembered the massive skulls and horns of the aurochs that I had seen amongst the hunting trophies of King Nimrod in Babylon. However, the remote Zagros Mountains to the far north-east of the Euphrates River where he had obtained them were half a world away from this tiny, densely populated island.

It seemed highly unlikely that there were wild aurochs still surviving in these lovely forests; unless they were protected by decree of the Supreme Minos. Perhaps he had declared these monstrous creatures royal game as the heraldic symbol of the Minoan nation, and the creature sacred to the god Cronus. The silver mask that the Minos wore gave some credence to that possibility. However, I doubted the wisdom of trying to discuss this with even Toran. He had already warned me not to pry too deeply into the affairs of the Minoan ruler.

I glanced around at Waaga. He was still highly agitated. He was sweating and his lower lip was quivering. He swivelled back and forth in the saddle, darting anxious glances into the undergrowth on either side of the path. He was beginning to annoy me. Even if there were wild aurochs still surviving in these mountains his extravagant behaviour was unwarranted.

Notwithstanding its large size the aurochs was essentially a cow, and cows are placid animals. I was about to take Waaga sharply to task when suddenly he screamed. Coming from his mangled throat and mouth the sound was so unexpected that I was startled and distracted.

His horse shied into mine so violently that if my reaction had not been instantaneous I would have been thrown from the saddle. I recovered my seat and snarled at him. But he was gibbering with terror and pointing into the undergrowth above the path that we were following.

‘Calm yourself, idiot!’ I yelled at him and then I broke off as I picked out the massive dark shape looming in the thicket above us. At first glance I had thought it was part of the rock formation of the mountain itself. But then it moved and the image jumped into sharp focus.

This was veritably a living animal.

My horse stood sixteen hands tall at the withers, but I found myself forced to lean back in the saddle and
look up
into the eyes of this creature. Those eyes were enormous. They fixed upon mine in a dark and infernal stare. The creature’s huge bell-shaped ears were pricked forward, harkening to Waaga’s cries. Its back was humped like that of a camel. Its horns were spread wide as the span of both my outstretched arms. They were thick and sharp-pointed as the tusks of an elephant that I had seen in Pharaoh’s palace in Thebes.

This was no placid cud-chewing cow. I registered my amazement with a shout that matched Waaga’s for volume.

The creature lowered its head, presenting us with those murderously pointed horns, and at the same time it pawed the ground with its front hooves, throwing clods of soft forest loam over its back. Then it launched itself down the slope like an avalanche, crashing through the undergrowth, its eyes still fixed on me.

I was trapped on the narrow pathway, with no escape route and no space in which to turn or manoeuvre. Nor did I have time to draw my sword or string my bow.

Waaga’s steed panicked and tried to bolt for safety, and it carried its rider full into the path of the aurochs’ charge. But even in face of looming death the little man managed an incredible act of courage. His woollen chlamys was rolled into a ball and strapped to the pommel of his saddle. He ripped it free and with a snap of his wrist spread it like a banner. Then he whipped it over the head of the bull. I will never know if it had been his intention, but the cloak hooked in the lowered horns and wrapped around the bull’s head, blindfolding the beast completely.

Even having lost sight of the horse and rider, the bull hooked instinctively at them with its massive rack of horn. I saw the point of one horn enter Waaga’s chest below his right armpit, and transfix him completely. It emerged from the opposite side of his body, bursting out through his rib cage.

The bull tossed its head and Waaga’s body was hurled high in the air. Still blinded, the bull hooked again and this time he struck the horse, knocking it to its knees.

By now the bull was completely disorientated. It blundered around in the shrubbery, crashing into the tree trunks, trying to rid itself of the cloak which was still wrapped around its head and horns.

Waaga had won me a precious moment of respite in which to kick my feet out of the carved wooden stirrups and drop from the saddle to the ground. My bow was already in my hand and I restrung it in a single movement.

The quiver was still tied to my saddle but I always carried two loose arrows tucked into my belt for just such a situation as this. I nocked one of these and drew, holding for moment against the immense strain of the recurved ash stock.

The bull must have heard or scented me. It switched its great body around, facing towards me. It was still swinging its head from side to side, trying either to place me or throw off the chlamys that was still tangled around its horns. I waited until this movement opened his right shoulder and exposed the front of his chest. Then I released. It was such short range that the arrow generated immense speed and penetration. It disappeared completely into the bull’s chest cavity, leaving only a small external wound from which a spurt of bright heart blood pumped.

My second arrow struck a finger higher but on the same line. The bull staggered back on to its hindquarters before wheeling away and crashing blindly into the undergrowth. I listened to it tearing down the steep slope of the mountain. Moments later it went down. I heard its carcass strike the ground with a weighty thump. Then I heard it thrashing about in the bushes, its back legs kicking out spasmodically. At the end it let out a mournful death bellow that echoed off the cliffs.

It took me only a moment to gather my wits and still my shaking hands. Then I went first to where Waaga was lying. At a glance I saw that he had been gutted like a fresh-caught tuna. Blood spurted from the gaping wound, but even as I knelt beside him the flow shrivelled away. His eyes were fixed wide open but the pupils had turned up into his skull, and his mouth had fallen open. He was beyond any help that I could afford him.

His horse was down beside him. The poor beast had been gored in the throat. Through the pierced windpipe the air bubbled from its lungs. In addition I could see that its right foreleg was broken; jagged shards of the cannon bone protruded through the skin. I stood over it and drew my sword. I chopped down between its ears into the brain, killing it instantly.

The string of remounts was still anchored to the saddle of Waaga’s dead horse. I led them to the nearest tree and hitched them to it. Then I went to find my own mount and string. They had not gone far and I found them grazing in the nearest clearing in the forest. I led them back to where I had left the others and hitched them to the same tree.

When all was secured, I slipped and slithered down the slope to where the aurochs lay. I circled the mighty carcass, marvelling once more at its size. Now I understood the terror that had overwhelmed Waaga. This was one of the most ferocious animals I had ever imagined. It had attacked us without the slightest provocation.

I could also fully understand why King Nimrod boasted of one hundred kills of this beast, and why the Minoans had chosen it as the heraldic symbol of their nation.

I knelt deferentially beside the carcass, respectful of such a formidable opponent and aware of how near to death it had taken me. I unwrapped Waaga’s blood-stained chlamys from the horns, folded it and tucked it under my arm. Then I stood back and saluted the dead bull with a clenched fist before I turned away. It had been an adversary worthy of my arrows.

I climbed back to where the corpse of brave Waaga lay and I wiped the blood from his face and rolled him in his own chlamys. Then I slung him over my shoulder and climbed to the fork of one of the forest trees and wedged him into it; high enough above the ground to keep the carrion-eaters off him until I could arrange for his proper burial.

I sat beside him in the tree and said a short prayer, entrusting him to the care of his particular god, whoever that might be. Then I clambered down to earth again.

A
s my feet touched the ground it shuddered under me so violently that I almost lost my balance. I grabbed at the trunk of the tree to steady myself. The tree was being wildly agitated; its branches were whipping and waving. As I looked up leaves and twigs showered down into my face. I thought that Waaga’s body might be dislodged by the disturbance, but I had wedged it firmly.

Around me the entire forest was being shaken violently. The mountain itself was dancing. There was a rumbling roar and I looked around at the peak of Mount Ida just as a great slab of the granite cliff broke away and came down sliding and tumbling into the valley.

The horses were panicking. They were rearing and shaking their heads as they fought their halters, trying to break free of their tethers. I staggered across to them over the quaking ground. I gentled them and spoke to them soothingly. I have a special way with horses as I do with most birds and animals and I managed to calm them and induce them to lie flat on the ground, preventing them from bolting or falling to injure themselves.

Then I looked back into the north, over the harbour of Knossos and across the open sea to the twin volcanic peaks of Mount Cronus.

The god was furious. He was fighting to be free of the chains with which his son Zeus had bound him. His roars were deafening even at this distance. Smoke, steam and fire billowed from the vents in his mountain dungeon, blotting out the northern horizon. I could see rocks as large as the buildings of the city that he was hurling into the sky.