Am Mur Gorm

by nogthenog

Slioch is sent on a dangerous mission and has to resort to ancient Celtic tactics

Tahmouress was everything I imagined him to be.

Tall, finely chiselled features, smooth olive complexion, muscular, regal bearing, immaculately dressed

Everything I wasn't.

His sweet perfume wafted into my nostrils as he walked passed me on his way out of Alexander's tent. I felt sick and my heart was racing.

Alexander leant back in his chair and expansively waved at the departing Tahmouress.

"Good man, Tahmouress," he said knowingly. Alexander had regained some of his old fire now that Aornos was taken and he was plotting the next stage of his conquests – the invasion of India.

I couldn't speak. My stomach was churning. I swallowed hard and clamped my mouth shut to avoid being sick.

"His father is an important prince on the supply route up to the Hindu Kush." Alexander paused for effect.

"We need to keep the old man on our side, so look after Tahmouress."

I winced. It was like he'd slid a dagger between my ribs.

Alexander didn't notice my reaction. His focus was on the map on the small table in front of him. He leant forward and jabbed a finger at a spot on the parchment map.

"The scouts tell me that there's a river crossing at a small village high in the mountains."

Alexander leant back again in his chair and smiled at me,

"The scouts tell me that the river crossing is in a narrow pass that is a bit like Thermopylae. And we know what happened there."

I managed a grunt, but could still not speak. Small clouds of dust were blown in under the sides of the tent by the gusting winds outside. A storm was gathering somewhere in the high mountains.

"A vast invasion force was stopped once by a few brave men in a narrow pass. It isn't going to happen to my invasion like it did to Xerxes."

Alexander pursed his lips and glared at me, his old passion flashing across his eyes. That was the thing that everyone always noticed about Alexander – his eyes. It wasn't just that they were different colours. It was the fire and passion that burned so brightly in them with a fierce intensity that could demolish any and all opposition.

It always made me think of an old saying in Britain.

''Briseann au duchais tri schule an chat''.

''Breeding will break out in the eyes of a cat''

"No, my lord," I managed to mumble. I still wanted to be sick and my head was spinning.

"I don't want any of the Assakenians, Aspasioi or Guraeans in these hills to threaten my rear while I press on down the Indus valley." He nodded at the silver ribbon far below us that snaked its way down an ever-widening valley towards Alexander's next target – India.

"Spies tell me that the Assakenians are rallying forces high up in remote valleys deep in the high hills. They plan to cross the pass at Embolina at attack Aornos as we move down the Indus valley. We have to hold Aornos as our forward base as we march into India."

Alexander pointed at me.

"I want you, Slioch, to go Embolina as quickly as you can and secure the bridge for me. Kill anyone who tries to cross it." Alexander was his old determined, decisive self.

Alexander frowned. "Any resistance should be crushed without mercy."

Alexander could be implacable when anyone or anything got in his way.

"Take Tahmouress with you and make sure you bring him back safe. He's damn important to me."

Alexander flashed me one of his irresistible smiles. He could sense something was wrong.

He paused and gave me a thoughtful look.

"Give me your oath that you'll look after him and bring him back safe. He's very important to me."

I could do nothing else but give him our most sacred oath. He'd only ever demanded it of me when he really needed me to deliver for him.

I swallowed hard.

"My lord Alexander. We will keep faith with you until the sky falls upon us and crushes us. Until the earth opens up and swallows us. Until the seas arise and overwhelm us. Until it is the end for us all. Yet it is only the beginning…and fear has no place here."

Every word I uttered felt like the flesh was being torn from my bones.

Much as I tried to hide my feelings, Alexander could see all was not well in my heart. He shrugged, guessing that I wasn't too pleased at the prospect of a forced march into the remoter valleys of these hostile mountains.

"By the time you get back, Anahita and Roxanna will be here to bid us farewell before we invade India."

I didn't even know that they were coming.

The pain was now like he was twisting the dagger between my ribs.

I couldn't wait to leave now.

Embolina was a small collection of flat roofed stone huts nestling in the one narrow defile in a long broad valley.

We'd been marching along the valley for two days and nights. All the way along it, towering grey mountains flanked the mountain pass on either side, snow still on their peaks. The rough valley floor was bare brown earth with the odd patch of brown grass dotted between grey boulders. The brown was a strange brown – almost orange at times. Never could work out how it got that colour.

There was no way through these massive mountains apart from this valley. At the end of the pass lay India, next on Alexander's list of conquests.

The one possible obstacle lay directly ahead of us.

At Embolina, two huge jagged ridges broke off the mountains on either side of the valley and almost met in the middle. There was only a narrow gap between them. The river that meandered down the valley, squeezed by the rocks, became a rushing, roaring torrent in a deep, steep sided gully.

You couldn't cross the river except by the wooden bridge.

You couldn't climb the steep jagged ridges either side of the rock-strewn passage.

It was the perfect place to thwart an invading army.

The setting sun dropping below the mountain crests cast sombre shadows over the barren brown hinterland behind us. All was deserted about us. The villagers had fled at news of our approach. The pastures were empty.

Normally the local sheep that looked more like goats would be grazing on the sparse brown grass, but the flocks had all been hidden high up in secret valleys in the mountains. Alexander's vanguard was paving the way for the main army and the locals didn't want to be around when the larger force arrived.

My troops were a few hundred paces down the track behind me. Small clouds of dust rose from the track as their feet pounded the ground in time to the relentless beat produced by the drummer boys. The troops were hard, hard Macedonian men. I pushed them to march fast from dawn to dusk, with minimal rest stops. The drummer boys' arms were weary with the effort of producing the never-ending beat, driving them on incessantly.

I felt that we were in a race against an unknown and unseen foe and I wasn't willing to come second. Well, that's what I told myself but truth be told, I didn't want to be in Aornos when Anahita arrived from Bactra.

A big black horse stopped next to me. I looked up at its rider. It was Tahmouress. He was sitting easily astride the powerful animal as it pawed at the hard stony ground.

I silently cursed him as I had been doing all day.

I was fucking useless on a horse and so I walked everywhere. His easy mastery of his prancing mount was just another way in which he was superior to me. My shortcomings were paraded in front of every time I looked at him.

I'd had a sour taste in my mouth ever since we'd left Aornos.

I had to face it – Anahita would be better off with him.

Alexander didn't need me any more.

It was time I left.

Time I went home to the damp, cold hills at the northern most edge of the world.

"No sign of any enemy scouts," Tahmouress said cheerily as he stared down the track at the village. "We've beaten them to it."

It was another of his fucking annoying habits – he was unfailingly polite and pleasant. I'd been as grumpy as fuck all the way from Aornos. Sulky would be a better description of how I'd behaved.

He'd pretended not to notice and he'd never once mentioned Anahita. He was cultured, sensitive and intelligent. I was a dull thug in comparison.

I had grudgingly come to respect him.

I turned by head, paused and spat. It was one of my father's first types of spit. I shrugged and shook my head.

Partly it was my sour mood at his presence, and partly I'd got a nagging feeling that the wheel of fate was turning against me. I'd had a good life so far, but no-one, not even Alexander, could outrun fate for forever.

I could sense that something bad was out there in the mountains, waiting for me. Maybe my journey through this world would end here, in these cold, high hills?

Even Aristander, the perpetual optimist, had started to see bad omens and signs in these forbidding mountains.

I walked on, brooding in silence, leaving Tahmouress behind.

After watching me walk on, Tahmouress sighed and nudged his horse forward. The drummer boys had not paused their efforts to drive the men forward while we spoke. The infantrymen behind him had not stopped their relentless pace as they responded to the urgent, incessant drumming. The troops were almost upon him so he encouraged his horse into a brisk walk and set off down the rough track towards the village in pursuit of me.

Embolina was a small trading post at a narrowing of the valley. Steep sided cliffs rose sharply from the valley floor and merged into the lofty crags of the high mountains.

The river sped up at the narrowing of the valley and had cut a narrow, deep path down through the valley floor. Muddy brown water raced between the high walls of the riverbank, churning and boiling over boulders the size of ox carts.

The river gorge was impassable.

The only way across the raging torrent at the bottom of the deep ravine was a sturdy wooden bridge.

I gazed across the bridge and down the valley. I could see that the valley straightened and widened ahead like it was behind us until it disappeared into a curtain of rock walls and tall mountains.

The shadows were lengthening quickly. Time to make camp for the night.

The dawn was cold. It never got warm in these harsh, forbidding mountains.

The far horizon was slowly flooding with light, the sun still not yet fully chasing the night away. Overhead stars twinkled at me in the clear pale sky. Beneath me the river roared as it crashed along its boulder-strewn bed. I was standing on the bridge, staring down the valley.

I'd had to get up and out - I couldn't stay in our tent any longer. All night long, I'd been staring at Tahmouress asleep in his bed, imaging Anahita next to him, his hands all over her firm young body, her lips pressed eagerly to his.

It made me think of the night Alexander went to visit the famous whores in the temple of Aphrodite at Akrocorinth. We were only youths at the time and he let me go to the temple with him and his Companions. Alexander treated me to one of the cheaper whores – a pretty little thing from Thessaly called Annis.

I grunted. What a night I had with young Annis! I'd never experienced anyone like her! Until I met Anahita, that was.

I was going to miss Anahita's sweet young body!

I thought about slitting Tahmouress' throat while he slept.

I wanted to, but then I kept imaging how Anahita would take his death and it was like a knife wound in my stomach. And then there was Alexander. He needed Tahmouress to achieve his Indian dreams. Besides, I might be a cold-blooded killer but I was a warrior – I only killed people in battle. I wasn't a cowardly murderer.

I'd wrestled with these thoughts all night and now the dawn was coming, I had to get out. My mood was even sourer than yesterday.

I had another reason to stand on the bridge and peer down the valley. Years of fighting with Alexander had taught me a few tricks.

Something caught my eye down the valley. I squinted into the half-light and focused on the far gloom.

I saw it again.

The brief twinkling of camp fires a long, long way down the valley. Soon the dawn would be bright enough to hide their lights, but it was just dark enough to make them out.

I turned on my heel and walked to the camp. I found Milon, a Greek captain who had served all through the campaigns in Bactria and Sogdia. He was already awake and organising his men. He was a tough, experienced fighter. His red cloak marked him out as a Spartan. They wore red to hide the blood in a fight if they got wounded.

Spartans were no friends of Alexander, but like all tribes, they had a few renegades who'd follow anyone for a fight.

When it came to fighting, the Spartans were like the Britons – always game for a ruck. I'd even heard that some Britons had been fighting with the Spartans in a war back in Greece.

I glanced around and, in the half-light of the breaking dawn; I saw a couple more red cloaks.

I liked the Spartans.

"No retreat. No surrender."

That was their motto.

I'd need Milon and his Spartans this day.

"Milon," I ordered. "Find your fastest runner and send him now to my lord Alexander. We've got company and need reinforcements quickly."

Milon nodded grimly and barked orders into the half-light.

I turned and looked down the valley. My early morning vigil had probably gained us half a day or more.

Now we had to prepare and wait for whoever was coming.

I stood on the narrow wooden bridge, the rushing brown water beneath its lofty span roaring down the narrow gorge.

This was a good place to defend.

The high hills cramped the valley at this point. There was a tight turn around a high steep cliff that meant that the final approach to the bridge was a narrow, track tight against it base. On the other side of the track was the precipitous river cliff, with the raging torrent boiling over the huge boulders in the riverbed far below.

The enemy might have a lot of men but the terrain meant that they could only bring a fairly small part of their army to bear on us at any time. The high steep rock cliff would shelter us from their archers too.

We might, just might, be able to hold them back for long enough for Alexander to send us reinforcements. If we fought well. And were lucky.

I was trying to work out how long I thought we might be able to hold the bridge. In the pit of my stomach, I felt sick. We'd need three risings and fallings of the moon before Alexander could get here with more infantry. Chances of holding out that long were slim.

I heard footsteps on the wooden bridge. I turned and saw Milon approaching, his red cloak flapping in the mountain breeze. I nodded to him and turned back to looking down the narrow valley. The dust clouds raised by marching feet were getting closer.

Milon strode purposely along the bridge and stood by my side. He too stared down the valley.

We stood in silence for a few moments; the only sound in the still of the pre-dawn the muddy brown water of the racing stream below crashing over the huge boulders strewn in its bed.

"What's the plan, Slioch," said Milon, his deep voice sounding as powerful as his body looked.

I smiled to myself.

Spartan's only called other Spartan's by name. They were arrogant fuckers – if you weren't a Spartan, you weren't a proper warrior and so didn't deserve the respect of a name.

Funny thing was, they liked me. I didn't know why. Maybe it was because I was like them – a killer without conscience or remorse who'd fight no matter what the odds, no matter who the opponent was.

I turned to Milon and grinned.

"Am Mur Gorm," I said.

It was a long time since I'd uttered anything in my Celtic tongue. It had a certain lyrical, mystical feel to it, especially in the still quietness of the mountains. It felt good after all that guttural Greek I'd been speaking since I was a boy.

The damp hill fog was slowly clearing to reveal the valley below the ramparts of the hill fort.

"Fuck," exclaimed Lughaidh. "There are a lot of them."

Ael spat in the direction of the Picts in the valley below. It was a short spit from the front of his month, delivered with some force.

Lughaidh grunted at Ael's tacit agreement to his statement. He looked along the line of men to his left. They were naked, intricate blue woad patterns covering their bodies. The Celtic tribes always fought naked – it showed that you had no fear of being wounded by your foes.

There were five lines of men, one behind the other. Lughaidh and the other druids had dreamt up this battle formation. Ael hoped it would work and made a silent prayer to Cocidius, the god of war.

The Picts had been getting stronger over the past few years. Their raiding parties had been getting bigger and bigger. With bigger bands of warriors, they'd developed a new way of making war on the battlefield. They'd rush at you all together, screaming and rattling their swords against their shields.

It was a terrifying sight and if that didn't make you run, when you took the charge, your line would be shattered, then you'd be overwhelmed by superior numbers and slaughtered. Ael had seen it happen and he shuddered at the thought that it could happen today.

Lughaidh and the other druids had seen many bands of brave Carvetii warriors broken by the marauding Picts as they tried to defend their villages. They'd prayed to the gods by the sacred stones, night after night.

The gods had answered their prayers.

The druids had drilled the warriors from dawn to dusk. The warriors lined up in five rows. Five was the magic number of Camulus, god of fighting. It was a good number.

The druids' idea was that if the front row crumpled under the initial onslaught from the Picts, the next row would hold them, and then next and so on.

Each man in the front row would hold his shield up against his opponent, and as the Pict to his right raised his sword arm, the warrior would lunge forward and stab the Pict's unprotected side.

The druids called it Am Mur Gorm. The blue rampart.

It would take iron discipline from the warriors for the plan to work. If anyone faltered, the line would break and the Picts would pour through and butcher everyone.

Ael grimaced. He hoped it would work. The gods would decide.

Through the mists, Lughaidh noticed that the Picts were moving up the hill and closing the ground between them and the waiting Carvetii. The Picts started their heathen chanting.

Lughaidh began the ancient battle hymn of his tribe. He roared out the tales of battles past, of heroes and warriors, of Picts slain, their wives and daughters made the playthings of the Carvetii warriors.

The men all around Lughaidh joined in the singing. The hillside echoed to their song. Ael's heart soared, his blood lust rose. His heart was pounding. His mouth was dry. His shield felt heavy in his left hand. His knuckles of his right hand were white; he was gripping his sword hilt so tightly.

The Picts were close now. He could smell their putrid stench from fifty paces away. The moment of impact would be soon and Ael was in the front row of Am Mur Gorm.

Would it hold?

He swallowed hard and muttered a swift prayer to Camulus. He was only halfway through it when the deafening sound of the clash of shields and swords made his ears ring as the Pictish charge crashed into the shield wall with sickening force.

Milon gripped his sword hilt tightly and peered through the narrow eye slits of his helmet. He could just see the path as it twisted around the steep ridge that jutted out abruptly into the valley and then swung around to approach the bridge. He could hear the enemy approaching, gravel on the path crunching under their sandals.

His blood was pounding in his ears, sounding like a drum beat within the confines of his tightly fitting helmet. His breathing was shortening and he could feel the sweat trickling down the nape of his neck.

It was always the same when a fight was about to start.

The enemy scouts had already appeared around the ridge some time ago and had quickly withdrawn.

Milon's eyes darted back to the bridge. He could see Slioch standing in the middle of the bridge, motionless like a statue. Slioch was naked except for the strange blue patterns that he had painted all over his body.

Milon pondered the strange blue-painted figure in front of him. The men in the army spoke of Slioch with respect. He was a fearsome fighter but more importantly for the men under his command, he never risked their lives unnecessarily. He was clever on a battlefield too. If he fought a battle, then you knew you were going to win it.

Milon had never heard of anything like Am Mur Gorm but the more he thought of it, the more he could see it working. In a narrow defile like this, it would be a tough defensive formation to breakdown. Milon grinned to himself – fucking clever idea!

The first ranks of the enemy infantry came around the foot of the ridge and Milon tensed. Slioch did not move, he noticed.

A few men approached the bridge at a measured pace. I watched them cautiously for any signs of trickery. Years of fighting with Alexander had taught me to trust no one.

I'd seen the olive branches that the enemy were waving over their heads. It was a peace party – they wanted to talk. Always a good sign – they weren't that confident. Maybe they were just a scouting party and there weren't that many of them?

They were small men, their skin darker than the people of these high hills. Their leader grinned at me, his flashing white teeth in sharp contrast to his brown face.

He proffered the branch and I noticed it wasn't from an olive tree. That wasn't surprising because I hadn't seen a tree, never mind and an olive tree, since we left the plains of Samarkand. My mistrust increased.

I barked a command and a battle-hardened foot soldier came out of the ranks and offered the brown man a cup of chai, the hot salty tea of these parts, and a piece of flat bread. It was a traditional way in these mountains of greeting a visitor.

The man took the cup and sipped the hot steaming tea. I noticed that his eyes were darting here and there, eagerly scanning our defensive line.

He grinned again. "Thank you, Greek," he said in the local tongue of the mountain peoples, but with a strange accent. It sounded almost like he was singing.

"I'm not a Greek," I said, puffing my chest out. "I am a Briton from the mountains at the northern edge of the world."

I could see a puzzled look flit across his face.

"But you fight for the Greeks?" he said with a questioning tone?

"I fight for my lord Alexander, conqueror of the Great King Darius and shahanshah of the world." I paused.

"And I slaughter all those who oppose him."

He blinked.

I guessed that these tough mountain people had little experience of fighting pitched battles, especially against men who had been fighting on and off for the last ten summers and who rarely tasted defeat. It was a frightening prospect, no matter how great a warrior you were.

He puffed his chest out.

"If you step aside, Briton, you may return to your lord." He paused. "Alive."

I looked past him and then snorted contemptuously. " You are going to need more men to take this bridge. Come back when you have a bigger army."

He bristled at the insult and his hand grasped and then ungrasped his sword handle quickly. He was tempted to attack but he respected the fact that he had come under the universal sign of peace.

"Make peace with your gods, Briton," he snarled. "You will see them soon enough." He turned on his heel, waved angrily at his retinue and stalked off the bridge and back down the path.

I watched him walk away and eventually disappear behind the rocky spur. I turned and collected my helmet, shield and sword from the battle-scarred warrior who had brought the chai and bread. I jammed the helmet on my head and took my place in the front row of the shield wall.

I didn't care if I lived or crossed the river Styx this day. This world held nothing for me now.

I had a feeling that we wouldn't have to wait too long for the enemy attack. The sun was already past its zenith and heading towards the western horizon. The enemy would want to take the bridge before nightfall and camp in the village overnight.

I wasn't wrong.

There was a terrible screaming and shouting from somewhere behind the rocky spur. Then heavily armed warriors came boiling around the corner of the rock outcrop and charged straight at us.

As I expected, the narrow bridge meant that only a handful of the enemy foot soldiers could attack our shield wall at any one time. Even so the front rank of the charging enemy soldiers crashed into our shield wall with sickening force.

We strained with all our might to hold them. Muscles bulging, sweat pouring from our faces, breath straining from crushed chests. It seemed to last an eternity, as fights always did. But in reality holding the charge was over in the blink of an eye.

Am Mur Gorm had held.

As an instinctive reaction we started stabbing, hacking and slicing with our swords, just as I'd planned.

Men screamed in pain as our blades wrought havoc and death on their unprotected bodies. Men fell. More men appeared to replace them and we just kept hacking them down.

Blood was drenching the wood beneath my feet. Dead and dying men clogged the bridge, hampering the attackers in their desperate bid to get near our shield wall.

I was mad with blood lust. All my anger and bitterness at Alexander, Tahmouress and Anahita poured out in a ferocious assault on any unfortunate Assakenian, Aspasioi or Guraean who came within reach of my murderous blade. Over and over again, I stabbed and hacked at anyone I could see through the thin eye slits of my claustrophobic helmet.

Suddenly the enemy broke off their attack and retreated back across the bridge and behind the rock buttress.

Silence fell over our ranks.

My helmet magnified the sound of my blood pounding in my ears and my laboured breathing. My arms ached from holding the shield and wielding my sword.

I turned and grinned at the soldier next to me. It was Milon. He grunted and grinned back.

Am Mur Gorm had held.

For now.

"Quick!" I shouted to the men around me. Pointing the pile of dead and dying men in front of the shield wall, urgency in my voice, I commanded them to build a low wall from the corpses.

"It'll slow down the next attack," I explained breathlessly as I dragged a blood soaked corpse into position.

The men, tired as they were, dropped their weapons and began pulling and pushing the dead and wounded of the enemy into a small wall. It wasn't much, but it would break the next charge.

I guessed that the enemy would regroup and have another assault with fresh troops pretty soon. They'd hope to wear us down with a series of assaults and break through us through sheer exhaustion.

I'd forgotten about Tahmouress.

I put him in the third rank of the shield wall. Close enough to see some action but far enough back to avoid serious trouble.

I looked around. I couldn't see him anywhere.

"Fuck!" I thought. "Please great Alator and Albiorix don't let him be dead."

Then I saw him getting up off the floor. He looked shaken and gave me a vacant stare.

"Milon!" I roared. "Reform the shield wall! Rear ranks to the front!"

Even though the initial fight had been short, I knew I had to give the men time to recover. We could be trying to hold the enemy off for a long time yet.

We'd been lucky – only a few cuts and nicks amongst the troops. No men down, thankfully.

The shield wall quickly reformed and I placed myself in the centre of the front rank again.

I was still careless of if I lived or died. The anger, bitterness and resentment were still with me and I wanted to hurt someone to soothe my pain. I wanted the enemy to reappear so that I could sate my anger on them.

I soon had my wish granted.

We had no sooner reformed the shield wall than the enemy came screaming around the rock spur and hurled themselves against our shields. The dead and dying that they had left in the last attack blunted their assault and their front ranks stumbled as they smashed into us.

It took a Herculean effort of straining, pushing, stabbing, hacking at the crush of enemy men trying to break through us. I loudly screamed every Celtic oath and insult I could remember at any enemy who appeared in front of me before striking them down.

My lungs felt like they were bursting and my throat was raw from shouting when suddenly the enemy broke and fled from our deadly swords.

Am Mur Gorm had held again.

Dying and screaming men lay strewn in front of us. The earth under our feet was wet with blood. The bridge ahead of us looked like a charnel house.

The shadows were growing long in the narrow mountain defile. Nights dropped in quickly in these high valleys. Soon it would be dark. The enemy would probably have one more attempt at breaking us before nightfall.

The butcher's bill on our side was a bit heavier this time. I could see two men in the front rank were badly wounded.

"Milon!" I shouted, "Get the wounded out of here and bring the rear ranks forward! Reform the shield wall!"

Milon barked at a couple of soldiers and they began to help the wounded out of the battle line.

I heard a groan behind me. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

"Fuck!"

It was Tahmouress. He'd got a spear sticking out of his shoulder. His face was contorted with main. His arm was covered in blood.

I grabbed the nearest soldier. "Get that spear out of him!" I ordered him. "Bind the wound, get him on his horse and get back to Aornos as quick as you can."

The soldier pursed his lips, gave me a curt nod and moved towards Tahmouress.

The shield wall was reformed. I moved to take my place in the front rank. I felt a hand on my arm.

"Slioch, you have done enough." It was Milon.

The anger, humiliation and bitterness that had built up inside of me over Anahita and Tahmouress had gone. Slaked by the blood letting in the shield wall, now I just wanted to hold this bridge for my lord Alexander and protect his flank.

I brushed Milon's hand away and went to stand in the centre of the front rank.

"One more effort boys!" I shouted, "Then they'll give up for the night!"

Our small band of warriors cheered and banged their sword hilts against their shields. The din echoed around the high mountain cliffs crowding around us before dying slowly down. It seemed me that what happened to the sound could be what was going to happen to us.

I made a silent prayer to the god of the mountains, Zeus and any Persian gods I could remember.

We turned to face across the bridge and braced ourselves for the next assault.

As we waited, I heard the sounds of horse hoof-beats behind us. I glanced over my shoulder. Tahmouress was slumped over his horse's neck. He looked back towards the bridge, pain etched on his face. Our eyes met. We held our gaze and seemed to exchange some unspoken message. He gave me a salute with his bloodied arm. I nodded back, and then turned to face the enemy across the bridge.

They took longer to come this time.

It was a short, desperate attempt to push us off the bridge before nightfall.

Am Mur Gorm held, but we took casualties this time. We were getting tired and the enemy were wearing us down. Darkness was falling fast.

I guessed that they would probably not try again in the dark. Nobody liked night attacks. Too hazardous, even when they were well planned. Fatal when they weren't. But we had to be ready, just in case.

It was a long cold night. All night small groups of men took it in turns to rest and sleep fitfully for a few hours, before standing guard in the front rank in the dark stillness of the black night.

Through the long empty hours of the chill darkness, we kept up this pattern of fretful sleep followed by apprehensive watchfulness.

I was in the front rank when, through tired eyes, I saw the first rays of dawn pierce the eastern sky. I gripped my sword handle. "Won't be long now," I thought. "They are sure to come soon."

After the fighting yesterday and the arduous night, I was not confident that Am Mur Gorm could hold. The next big assault could finish us.

I prayed to Camalus that he might lend us his sword this day. Should I fall, I gave him thanks for all the times that he had helped my sword arm move swift and true.

I made my peace with Arawn too. I had I feeling that without Camalus's help in the coming fight, I would be making a trip to see Arawn in the Underworld.

There was a commotion somewhere in the dark. Every fibre of my being tensed braced for the impending clash of shields.

Then I realised that the sound bouncing around the inside of my helmet was coming from behind me, not in front of me.

I turned my head and peered into the gloom through the narrow eye slits of my helmet.

Horsemen appeared in the narrow define. Companions!

The tiredness in my body and mind ebbed out of my body. Reinforcements would see us beat off the enemy!

"Get out of the way!" bellowed the leader rider. It was Hephaistion.

We swiftly cleared the bridge and the riders thundered across. There were hundreds of them. I'd no idea how many men the enemy had, but they would not resist a charge out of the dawn from the battle hardened Companions. I'd seen too many armies crushed by the ferocity of the Companions as they launched themselves and their massive horses at the enemy lines.

The light was growing stronger, but we could not see the battle going on around the headland. We could hear it though– the cries of alarm as the enemy sighted the horseman careering towards them, the clash of steel, and the howls of the dead and dying.

"Fuck me, you're lucky to be alive!" Hephaistion was kneeling, washing the blood and dust from his face by the side of the well in Embolina. "There were fucking hundreds of them!"

He always did exaggerate.

I shrugged my shoulders.

Hephaistion gave me a knowing look. He hesitated by my indifference annoyed him.

"You're lucky to be alive because Alexander used you as bait."

He could see I looked shocked and he took pleasure in my discomfort. Hephaistion paused to torture myself with unpleasant possibilities.

"From his spies, Alexander knew that the Assakenians, Aspasioi and Guraean refugees from the siege of Aornos were gathering forces in the hills to hit us from the rear when we marched into India." Hephaistion was relishing telling his tale.

He stood up from the well, water dripping from his finely chiselled jaw. He airily waved his left arm at the snow-capped mountains around us.

"Trouble was, though, his spies lost track of them in these remote valleys, so Alexander decided to flush them out by offering them some bait." He paused and grinned. "You."

Hephaistion dropped his arm and brushed the excess water off his handsome face. Years of war and drink were taking their toll, though. He was no longer the Adonis that he was when he was younger.

"We were following you at enough of a distance to you draw them in, delay them and then we'd pounce and finish them off."

He gave me a sly grin.

"The best part of the plan was that they'd overwhelm you and kill you. Then Tahmouress could take Anahita and Alexander would have a powerfully ally protecting his rear as he pushed on into India."

I was stunned. I swayed on my feet as my breathing quickened and my pulse raced. I felt faint.

Alexander wanted me dead! Anahita probably too, so that she would be free to marry Tahmouress.

"Your runner found us a bit too soon – you were still alive when we got there!" He smiled sarcastically.

I could hardly hear what Hephaistion was saying. My mind was a whirl.

I swallowed hard.

"I am Alexander's man. I am his to do with as he wills." My voice was cracked and croaking.

I turned on my heel and walked unsteadily away.

Alexander took Anahita by the arm and guided her between the stone columns that surrounded a small courtyard. They crossed the open space and entered an archway that led onto a stone flagged terrace. It reminded her of the viewing terrace where she had first brazenly spoken to Slioch.

"I have someone here that I know you will be keen to see," Alexander said knowingly. There was a self-satisfied smugness about his self-assurance.

Anahita gave Alexander a shy glance and a smile flitted across her pretty lips. She would go along with Alexander's little game, but she was eager to see her Slioch again.

Alexander guided her to a large tapestry hanging from a tall pole. He drew the tapestry back to reveal Tahmouress lying on a couch.

He saw the look of disappointment on Anahita's face. He quickly glanced at Tahmouress and saw hesitation and embarrassment.

Alexander scowled and scrutinised Anahita closely. He saw no emotion there. He was annoyed. Maybe he'd been wrong.

Anahita bowed stiffly and Tahmouress attempted to rise from the couch that he was laying on, despite his injury.

She raised her hand to stop him. "Please sire, remain where you are. I can see that you are injured." Her tone was polite, but lacking in warmth.

Tahmouress grimaced and leant back onto his couch. "Thank you, Lady Anahita," he responded through gritted teeth.

He shot a quick glance at Alexander before continuing. "It is but a scratch."

Alexander's face brightened. "Tell my lady Anahita about the battle."

Tahmouress forced a smile. "Great King Alexander, you flatter me. For you, it would have been no more than a skirmish."

He told the tale of a shield wall in a narrow defile, high in a remote valley. A tale of a naked man painted in blue in the front line to receive charge after charge from the enemy.

The march back to Aornos was miserable. I felt betrayed by the two people in this world that I loved the most.

I was even more morose and glum on the way back to Aornos than I had been on the march out. But this time I was not full of hatred, bitterness and anger. That had gone. Now I was filled with dread at meeting Alexander and Anahita and an overwhelming feeling of despair.

Charon would have been more cheerful as he ferried the dead across the river Styx than I was as we walked back along the mountain tracks towards Aornos.

I left my troops under the pretext of making a short detour to visit a shrine to give thanks for our victory. Truth was, I wanted to wait until it was nearly dark before I arrived at Aornos. That way, maybe I could get in and out without meeting either Anahita or Alexander.

I found the shrine and gave thanks to an unknown mountain god of the Black Pagans of the Hindu Kush. Whoever he was, he'd helped us hold off the enemy and fulfil Alexander's plan.

When I had finished my prayer of gratitude, I sat by the side of the small shrine, listening to the soft trickle of a nearby stream, and gathering my thoughts.

I didn't blame either of them.

I was Alexander's man. Always had been; always would be. I'd die for him whenever he asked me to.

Anahita was well beyond my wildest dreams. I could never hope to hold on to a woman of her quality.

I decided. It was time for me to leave this world of Greeks and Persians. It was time go home to my land of mists and magical circles of stone.

I roused myself from my thoughts and looked up to sky. The sun was moving lower in the sky. If I left now, I would arrive in Aornos at about dusk. If I could get in unnoticed, then I could collect some treasure, food and weapons and leave unseen.

It would be a few days before anyone missed me. Even then, with all of Alexander's preparations to invade India, they might not notice that I had not returned. Even if they did notice, they'd probably just assume that wolves, bears or bandits had attacked me. By then I'd be days away, safely walking on some little used track in a remote valley – I'd make sure I avoided all the main routes.

My mind was full of such plans as I walked back to Aornos. I was so absorbed that I hardly noticed the journey. It was almost dark when I reached the pickets guarding the first line of the defences.

I spoke briefly with them and carried on walking deeper into camp. Even though it getting darker, everywhere was hustle and bustle as the army readied itself to march into India.

The blacksmiths were pounding at their anvils, sending sparks flying into the gloom as base metal because swords and spears. Women were scurrying around, loading food, clothing and blankets into carts. Children darted through the camp, carrying important messages.

The camp was a hive of activity. A lone man entering and leaving the camp would not be noticed.

I threaded my way through the throng to a dark, narrow alleyway near the foot of the main palace. I dived into the security of the gloom of the alleyway and stealthily made my way to a cramped cottage near its far end. This where I had hidden my belongings before Alexander had sent me into the mountains.

I reached the building and could see weak light leaking out of the windows into the dark passageway. I reached out to flimsy wooden door and knocked it hard. I could hear movement inside.

The door slowly opened just a fraction. I could dimly make out an eye peering through the crack. The door creaked open.

"Master!" exclaimed Damasos. He wasn't exactly my servant or slave, more a kind of adjutant.

"Quiet!" I hissed and I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. I held my finger up to my lips.

Damasos nodded that he understood.

"You haven't seen me, right?"

Damasos nodded again. I'd picked him up as a fresh Macedonian recruit after the Sogdian Rock and the longer he spent near Alexander and his Persians, he more he was getting used to subterfuge and intrigue.

"My stuff still here?" I asked in a low voice.

He jerked his head towards a room at the back of the building. I understood. I moved past him and entered the small chamber. It was gloomy in there. Blankets laid out on the floor indicated that it was the sleeping quarters. Some leather packs stacked in the corner were my belongings. I just need to grab a few things and then leave the camp whilst it was still busy with evening activity.

I undid the straps on the packs and began rummaging through their contents, searching for things I needed to take with me. I heard the door creak on its hinges. My right hand flew to my sword hilt and I silently drew my blade from its scabbard.

I heard low voices and then a slender hooded figure appeared in the doorway. They threw the hood back and there stood Anahita. She was even more beautiful than the last time I saw her. But she was no longer mine. I felt the sharp stab of jealousy, like Tahmouress had stabbed me in the heart.

Anahita looked at the sword in my right hand and the leather bags in my left hand. She arched her eyebrow, fire flashing in her eyes.

"Going somewhere?" she asked, her pent up anger barely concealed.

"I….I," I stammered before eventually shrugging my shoulders and looking at the floor in pain and embarrassment.

I grimaced. "Tahmouress…" my voice tailed off. Just saying his name was like having someone rip my heart from my body.

I tried to stand up straight and sound firm. "Best I go," I announced.

Anahita glared at me. "Oh yes," she replied with distain in her voice. "Tahmouress."

Her petite nostrils flared as she paused, drew breath and continued. "He is a fine man."

She saw me wince and I thought a smile danced across the corners of her lips.

She stepped towards me and continued, "He told Alexander all about your bravery at the bridge."

She paused again as she got closer to me. "He was full of admiration for your reckless bravado and has pledged his support to Alexander."

She was standing in front of me now, as stunning beautiful as any woman that ever lived. Her curly black hair framed her finely boned face and her dark eyes glittered with fire and passion.

Anahita tossed her head, her long tresses swishing over her cloak. She fixed me with an intense stare. Then she punched me in the belly with all her might.

Winded, I bent down and she grabbed my hair. She pressed her face close to my left ear.

"Do anything foolish like that again, and I will kill you myself." She paused, her warm breath in my ear.

"Tahmouress is nothing to me and never was." There was biting scorn in her voice.

Anahita softened her tone. "I carry your child and my place is by your side."