Chariot Charge Page 2

  ‘What did you say, BB?’

  ‘I said, I’ll get onto looking for that tomb right now.’

  ‘Good work, BB. And I’ll get onto fixing the Exit Beam.’

  ‘Excellent example of a Hittite war chariot,’ said Skin. ‘Notice the swords projecting from the wheels. A most effective addition.’

  Napoleon could hear the swishing of the swords as they spun their deadly circles.

  He was running parallel to the city wall, searching for an alcove or a hole, anywhere to hide from the chariot.

  ‘SKIN! What do I do?’

  ‘One suggestion is . . .’

  Napoleon didn’t hear the rest. Peering behind him while running as fast as he could, he tripped on a rock and went headfirst into the desert gravel, tumbling over and over.

  His head aching, he glanced up from the ground to see the chariot bearing down him on.

  Any moment now he would be sliced and diced!

  Then he noticed a crack at the base of the city wall. It was no more than forty centimetres high, and maybe a metre and a half long. But that was enough, Napoleon reckoned, if he held his breath and pulled in his tummy.

  He rolled sideways and squeezed under the crack just as the chariot thundered past. The tip of one spinning sword passed within millimetres of his face.

  ‘That’s what I call a close shave,’ he said.

  He was safe . . . for the moment.

  Napoleon was pressed to the ground, his arms pinned beside him.

  The air was hot and stale.

  A spider ran over his hand and a scorpion scuttled past his face.

  He shuddered. He didn’t like small spaces. Or creatures starting with ‘S’. They made him shiver and shake.

  ‘Heart is racing dangerously, BB,’ said Skin. ‘Breathe in. And out. Try to think calm thoughts.’

  ‘I’ll be calmer when I can get out of here, Skin,’ said Napoleon. ‘Do you think it’s safe to leave yet?’

  ‘No. You must go further under the wall, out of their reach.’

  Napoleon gulped. ‘Are you sure there’s no other way?’

  ‘Level of certainty one hundred per cent. My Sonic Beam indicates that the crack widens.’

  Skin was right. It was a tight squeeze at first; Napoleon had to wriggle and squirm. But just when he thought he couldn’t go any further, the ground fell away steeply beneath him, and he tumbled into a deep cavern.

  Now he was in total darkness.

  ‘I suppose the Night Eyes were damaged in the explosion?’

  ‘Affirmative. However, they are still operating in Safety Mode. That will give limited vision. Activating now.’

  The darkness faded to a deep soupy grey. Napoleon peered into it and slowly realised that he was sitting next to … a grinning skull.

  ‘AAAHHH!’

  He jumped up and screamed, knocking into another skeleton.

  It rattled into a heap on the ground.

  He was surrounded by skeletons.

  Some sat in dusty chairs, others lay on stone slabs.

  ‘Area identified as Hittite burial chamber,’ said Skin.

  ‘So it’s full of really dead people!’ said Napoleon. ‘Get me out of here.’

  ‘Assessing exit situation now.’

  Skin scanned the chamber with his Sonic Beam. Nothing showed up on the first and second passes, and Skin gave out a long line of negative beeps. But at the end of the third sweep, Napoleon heard the positive hum that meant something had been found.

  ‘Possible exit passage, Sector K8.’

  Napoleon stared through a grid pattern and quickly located that sector. He identified what looked like a door cut into the stone wall.

  He fumbled slowly through the dark, bumping into more skeletons.

  ‘Whoops, sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m just leaving.’

  Finally, the door was in front of him. A long skeleton was hanging from it, a bony right hand held out in a kind of gruesome greeting.

  He reached out and grasped the skeleton’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Bony,’ he said.

  The skull’s jaw fell open in an ugly laugh, a swarm of bats flew out, and . . .

  Napoleon dropped through the floor.

  He fell onto a stone slide that was steep and smooth.

  He shot through a leather flap, and bounced across a marble floor, stopping at the foot of a statue that was part-man, part-lion, part-eagle and all angry.

  It glowered down at Napoleon.

  ‘You are in the temple of Zimurg, a little known but most feared Hittite god,’ said Skin. ‘And you are not alone.’

  A tall, thin boy stepped from behind a curtain. He was dressed in a silver caftan and golden sandals, and was wearing a golden cone-shaped cap on his head.

  ‘I thought I heard something,’ he said, staring at Napoleon. Skin translated the

  boy’s words from Hittite. ‘You should have been here ages ago.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Napoleon. ‘I got delayed. There was a chariot jam outside the city.’ His words came out in Hittite, but they were slow and broken; Skin seemed to be having trouble.

  ‘You don’t speak very well,’ said the boy. ‘But otherwise you’ll do for the job, I suppose.’

  ‘The job?’ Napoleon looked confused.

  ‘Didn’t they tell you what you’d be doing?’ said the boy.

  ‘Probably,’ said Napoleon,‘but I’ve forgotten. Could you tell me again, please?’

  The boy sighed. ‘Why do they always send me the stupid ones? You’ll be training for the position of Temple Boy. I’m the Supreme Receiver of Oracles and I’ll be in charge of you. My name is Haprall, but you can call me Master Haprall. Do you think you can keep that much in your head?’

  ‘I’ll try, Hap – sorry, Master Haprall. When do I start this, er, job.’

  ‘Right now. Is there any reason why you can’t?’

  ‘I really wanted to watch the battle.’

  ‘Everyone in Kadesh will watch the battle. It’s our duty as good Hittites. That’s where I was heading when you dropped in.’

  He kicked Napoleon.

  ‘Up you get, boy! The battle will be over before we get there at the speed you

  move. It won’t take long for our great King Muwatalli to beat that puff ed up pharaoh.’

  Haprall marched off in long strides. Napoleon hurried after him.

  ‘What is your name?’ said Haprall. ‘You will, of course, just be “boy” to me. But I need your name for the records.’

  ‘Skin, I need a Hittite name,’ Napoleon said through the thought channel. ‘Quickly.’

  Skin’s nano-computers buzzed. But they were not working as fast as usual either.

  ‘I said your name, boy. What is it? Or have you forgotten that as well?’

  ‘Ikbresh,’ Napoleon blurted out at last.

  ‘Really?’ Haprall stopped and turned around. ‘Ikbresh! He smiled. ‘That’s perfect!’

  ‘It is?’ said Napoleon.

  ‘You must know that Ikbresh means battle in Hittite,’ said the boy. ‘And that’s a good omen. You are here to bring us luck in our battle against the pharaoh. And I know what I’ll call you – Battle Boy!’

  He slapped Napoleon on the back. ‘I smell victory. Come, Battle Boy. Let us watch this fight to end all fights!’

  Haprall led Napoleon to the top of the city walls. From there they could see right over the battlefield, down to the River Orontes.

  The battle had started. Thousands of chariots were racing back and forth, clashing and smashing in a fury of wood, leather, metal and horseflesh.

  The walls of Kadesh were crowded with citizens. They were yelling and cheering because the Hittites were winning.

  ‘The pharaoh has fallen for the king’s trap!’ Haprall shouted.

  ‘The Hittite king, Muwatalli, hid most of his chariots,’ explained Skin, ‘so Ramses thought he would have an easy victory. Muwatalli has sprung his trap and Ramses is now in trouble.’

  ‘Luck is on our side, too,�
�� Haprall boasted loudly. ‘The gods have sent us a new temple boy whose name means “battle”.’ He pushed Napoleon forward for all to see.

  The High Priest of the Temple was most pleased to hear this. ‘It is a good sign,’ he said. ‘And look, the pharaoh’s men are running away already.’

  It was true. Many of the Egyptians were fleeing, chased by the Hittites. As for Ramses, he was surrounded by hundreds of enemy chariots, unable to move.

  ‘Victory will soon be ours,’ cried the citizens of Kadesh.

  But Ramses was fighting hard. He saw an escape route, pulled his chariot around and raced away.

  ‘Run like a frightened dog!’ the High Priest yelled.

  The crowd cheered with him.

  ‘Watch closely, BB,’ said Skin. ‘Ramses is about to play his trick.’

  Napoleon saw the Egyptian chariots scattering in all directions.

  The Hittites had to split their forces to chase them.

  ‘The Egyptian chariots are much lighter and faster,’ Skin explained. ‘They have only two men on board, not three, and they can easily out-manoeuvre the heavier Hittite machines.’

  The Egyptian chariots let the Hittites almost catch them, but then they turned sharply and wheeled around so that now they were chasing the Hittites.

  The crowd roared in disbelief.

  ‘And the Egyptians have new weapons as well,’ Skin added. ‘Ramses has equipped his army with new bows and arrows, better battleaxes, and a long curved sword called the khopesh. It is a deadly weapon. And, look! There is the mighty pharaoh himself.’

  Ramses rode into view beneath the walls of Kadesh. He was dressed in golden armour with a blue cloak that flowed behind like giant wings. His chariot was bright blue.

  The people of Kadesh booed and hissed. But Ramses slashed his sword in the air, called to his men and charged into battle.

  They followed at once, and this time their force was so great that it pushed the Hittites back to the river.

  ‘The gods have deserted us,’ said the High Priest, turning to Napoleon. ‘An ill wind circles our great empire. The gods must be appeased.’

  Napoleon trembled. The priest was giving him the evil eye. ‘I know,’ Napoleon

  said. ‘Let’s all shout out “SORRY” really loudly. Then the gods will know it wasn’t us.’

  ‘There is only one way to satisfy the gods,’ said the High Priest, narrowing his eyes. ‘Yes, I see now. That is why they have sent us one whose name means battle – to sacrifice for victory!’

  He moved towards Napoleon.

  ‘No, I don’t think that’s right,’ said Napoleon. ‘My mum says there are always two sides to every story. The gods didn’t send me. Honest. I’m here by accident.’

  ‘There is no such thing as accident,’ the priest said. ‘The gods control everything, and they are hungry.’

  He drew his dagger and grabbed at Napoleon. But Haprall stepped in his path.

  ‘Most High and Mighty One. I implore you. The boy brings luck, not misfortune.’

  ‘Out of my way, Oracle Boy!’ The High Priest pressed his dagger against Haprall’s throat. ‘Or the gods will have two sacrifices.’

  The High Priest tightened his grip on the dagger. ‘Look before you!’ he shouted to the crowd. ‘Is this a scene of victory?’

  Everyone on the city walls stared in horror. Hittite chariots were overturned in the river, twisted and buckled. Hittite soldiers were fleeing, some on foot, others trying to swim.

  ‘It’s the end!’ someone cried.

  ‘No. WAIT!’ cried another voice.

  A horde of Hittite chariots suddenly poured onto the battlefield and attacked the Egyptians with a burst of fury.

  ‘The Hittite king kept them hidden,’ said Skin. ‘Brilliant military tactics. I estimate approximately one thousand chariots.’

  ‘King Muwatalli has outsmarted the pharaoh!’ the people of Kadesh cheered.

  ‘Yes!’ Haprall shouted, the priest’s dagger pressing hard on his throat. ‘And Battle Boy’s luck has not deserted us.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Napoleon added, his eyes pleading with the priest. ‘I’m lucky, lucky, lucky. You won’t need any sacrifices now.’

  The High Priest lowered his dagger.

  ‘You’d better hope your luck remains. The gods never forget.’

  Napoleon heaved a sigh of relief, and moved away with Haprall.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said when they were alone. ‘You saved my life.’

  ‘The High Priest is a bloodthirsty devil,’ said Haprall. ‘He loves a sacrifice more than anything. But come. There is still a battle to win.’

  The day was long and the battle furious.

  Soldiers from both sides charged in their chariots until they could charge no more.

  By mid-afternoon, the battlefield was covered in bodies and broken chariots.

  The two kings faced each, both proud and defiant.

  But there could be only one victor.

  Ramses surveyed his tired troops. He knew they could not withstand another chariot charge from the Hittites.

  He called off his forces, gathered them together, and rode from the battlefield.

  The exhausted Hittites watched them leave.

  King Muwatalli rode around the outside of Kadesh calling to his people. ‘Ramses came to destroy our great city. But we sent him off like a dog with his tail between his legs. Victory is ours!’

  ‘Technically, that is incorrect,’ said Skin. ‘Neither side won this battle. It is what they call a stalemate.’

  But the people of Kadesh didn’t care. They hugged and laughed and danced in the streets.

  Haprall cheered louder than anyone, and held up Napoleon for all to see. ‘I said he would bring luck to us.’

  He did five somersaults in a row, kissed a whole bunch of girls, and danced down the street with an old woman.

  ‘This is the happiest day of my life. We have beaten the pharaoh. We are free.’

  But then suddenly a deep gong boomed across the city.

  The gong’s sad sound froze the smile on every face.

  ‘One of our great lords has perished in the battle,’ said Haprall. ‘But who? Who has died?’

  ‘Prince Terrepas,’ someone moaned, and cries of despair swept through the city.

  ‘One of our greatest princes,’ said Haprall, tears streaming down his face. ‘The king’s son.’ He wiped his tears. ‘The time for joy is over. We must prepare to send this great warrior to the Land of Darkness.’

  The people of Kadesh were in mourning.

  They wept. They beat their chests and tore out their hair. They stood in the street, heads hung low, waiting for the funeral procession that would take Prince Terrepas to his tomb.

  At the royal palace, King Muwatalli and his queen were dressed in black robes. So too were the lords and ladies, all carrying gifts for the prince to take to his tomb.

  The body of Terrepas was in a jewel-encrusted casket laid out on a silver carriage. It was hitched to a golden chariot pulled by two pure black horses, the prince’s favourite steeds. They would take him on his final journey to the Land of Darkness.

  Napoleon stared in awe at the treasure heaped around the prince.

  ‘It’s true,’ he whispered to Skin. ‘All the riches. The golden chariot, the jewelled casket, it’s all here.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Skin. ‘And none of it has been seen since the burial.’

  ‘We’ll soon change that.’ Professor Perdu was back, her voice much clearer than before. ‘As long as you stay with the funeral procession, BB005, and record the co-ordinates of the tomb.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Prof. But what about the Exit Beam? Is it fixed yet?’

  ‘Almost. I’m working as fast as I can.’

  Napoleon glanced around at all the mourners. He’d be glad to get away from this miserable place.

  Haprall was crying like everyone else. His head was shaved.

  ‘He was the best of princes,’ said Haprall. ‘A
lways so kind to me. I will miss him dearly.’

  Napoleon saw the High Priest, too. He was in charge of the funeral procession.

  ‘Don’t worry, Haprall,’ the priest said with a sneer. ‘I have arranged for you to stay with Prince Terrepas. You and your new friend.’

  ‘How can we stay with the prince?’ said Napoleon. ‘He’s going to his tomb.’

  ‘Yes,’ said the High Priest, his mouth twisted cruelly. ‘And so are you.’

  ‘What?’ Napoleon backed away.

  ‘Don’t be afraid, Battle Boy,’ said Haprall. We are the Chosen Ones. It is a great honour. We will journey with Prince Terrepas to the Land of Darkness.’

  Napoleon shook his head. ‘No thanks. I like it right here in the Land of Lightness.’

  ‘You have earned this honour,’ said the High Priest. He held up a razor. ‘Shave your head and you’ll be ready for the journey.’ He lunged at Napoleon.

  ‘I’m too young to shave!’ shouted Napoleon, leaping out of the priest’s way.

  Several temple workers grabbed at him, but he sprang onto a pedestal and then climbed higher onto a shelf. The workers climbed after him.

  ‘Where’s that Exit Beam, Skin? I need it now like never before.’

  ‘Exit Beam being prepared,’ said Skin. ‘Warning, however: Strength of beam is low, quality inferior. Omega Phase not fully engaged.’

  Napoleon didn’t even hear the warning, the High Priest was shouting so loudly.

  ‘Seize him, you fools!’

  Two temple workers had climbed onto the shelf on either side of Napoleon and were edging towards him. The High Priest waited below. ‘Don’t be foolish, boy,’ he said. ‘This is your fate.’

  That was when the Exit Beam appeared. It flickered at first and then shone brightly, right next to the High Priest. With the two temple workers only metres from Napoleon, he grinned down at the priest.

  ‘Catch me if you can,’ he said and dived from the shelf into the beam.

  The High Priest stumbled out of the way and stared in amazement as Napoleon plummeted towards him and then vanished into thin air.