“Yes, O King,” I said. “You can defeat Chedorlaomer…if your Sacred Band can cut through to him and the other kings and kill them during the battle. That will throw their host into a panic. They’ve fought long and hard, and have probably counted their collected riches. Perhaps they’ll be afraid that if they lose, they’ll lose those riches. I also suspect they march more slowly with the trains of captives and heavily laden wagons of loot. I suspect their martial vigor may have waned by now.”

  Bera nodded. “You’re shrewd, Damon, and have obviously thought this through. My scouts have told me the men of the East march slowly. That had given me time to enlist Amorites to our cause, strengthening our chances.”

  I nodded.

  “The Amorites aren’t giants, even though there will be giants fighting in our train…” Bera shook his head, leaning toward me. “I’ve gathered a host and kept our men strong and supple. Now is the time as Chedorlaomer slow-marches for the Vale of Siddim, now as he thinks himself victorious and that his plan has succeeded. All this fighting has wearied him and his men. What’s more, Chedorlaomer has faced barbarians and desert riffraff. Now, he’s about to face civilized men trained in the arts of war. I’ll lead this host from a great chariot such as they use in Ur and the other cities of distant Sumer.”

  I waited, knowing he built up to something.

  “I want you there, Damon. I want you beside me to tell me anything I might have missed.”

  I’d been fearing that, yet I considered the offer. Could those of Sodom fight half as well as the king boasted? I’d seen the men. They had the arrogance to try. If I refused the request, what would happen to me? I know what Bera had told Lot earlier. I wasn’t certain shrewd, cunning Bera would keep his word, though.

  I put on a brave front, grinning. “It would be an honor to march with you and see this great battle. I can point out to you what I know.”

  “Good.” Bera sat back. “Tomorrow we’ll go out to find Chedorlaomer. Tomorrow, you’ll see that I was wise to lead my city in rebellion. We’ll gain great riches from what Chedorlaomer has gathered for us. You will take part in that.”

  “Let it be so,” I said firmly.

  Bera clapped his hands and thrust up from the throne. The king wasn’t only fat but big, a tall man. Despite his gargantuan bulk, he came down the steps with easy grace. That shocked and surprised me. Hugely fat he might be, but he also possessed great strength. Could it rival the strength of the Minotaur? Did he perhaps have the blood of the giants in his veins?

  Bera thrust a huge arm at me and clasped my dagger arm in the grip of a warrior. His fingers closed upon my wrist in a crushing grip.

  I strove and applied my own considerable strength.

  Bera grinned and increased his powerful grip.

  I cried out, “Enough sire! You’re powerful, I admit it.”

  He continued to grip, forcing me down on one knee and then the other. He loomed above me.

  “Do you think I’m weak?” he roared.

  “No, sire,” I gasped.

  He flung me down so I fell onto the tiled floor.

  “That is what happens to those who look upon Sodom wrongly. Be careful how you cast your gaze, Damon the Athenian, or I’ll put you in my harem.”

  I looked away. “Forgive me, O King.”

  “I do,” Bera said, his rough voice softening. “Thus, arise and let us forget this incident. But don’t forget the might of my hand. I shall crush Chedorlaomer as easily as I’ve crushed your pretentions. Now go. Lot waits. He thinks you’re unsafe here with me. We will prove him wrong.” He grinned, a frightening thing to see. “I do so enjoy proving men wrong.”

  I climbed to my feet and slunk from the throne room of Bera of Sodom. Here was a king of cunning, power and arrogance. If anyone could defeat the kings of the East, it would be Bera of Sodom.

  Chapter Twenty

  The next morning after the sun had risen by four hours, I left Lot’s tent for good, heading to a file of soldiers leaving the city gates.

  I wore attire Lot had gifted me so I was dressed once more like an emissary of Knossos.

  Bera appeared riding a stoutly constructed chariot like those of Ur. It had a wooden platform and built-up sides, the small wheels halves of rounded wood hammered together. Four large mules pulled it. With the king were two shield-men. Other chariots rattled behind Bera, twenty in all, another secret weapon to use against Chedorlaomer.

  As I marched with the throng, I began to count. There were eight hundred city spearmen led by the one hundred and fifty of the Sacred Band, nearly a thousand in all. Three hundred javelin men followed, many pushing handcarts with supplies. Behind them tramped Amorite spearmen and one hundred Amurru slingers.

  It was impressive for a city the size of Sodom. If the other four cities brought like numbers, the Cities of the Plain would match the kings of the East.

  I recognized some of the Amorites and spied several giants. The giants didn’t look as proud as in the past, but they were here, a welcome addition.

  The next day, the men of Gomorrah added to our numbers, perhaps half again as many. That was a letdown, but the soldiers looked hearty enough. They had more javelin men than Sodom, however.

  We marched through lush fields and along roadways and pathways crisscrossing the Valley of Siddim. There were fig and olive trees, wheat and rye fields and endless herds. Many of the fields were irrigated via trenches and canals. Here were riches indeed, a reason for Chedorlaomer to have made the great effort.

  Some of the valley wasn’t like a pristine garden, but smelly slime or tar pits, pools of bitumen that stank horribly. In places, black sludge bubbled up. Amorites told me that if we threw a torch on that, it would blaze for days. The slime pits were not in a single location, but dotted throughout the valley. Some merchants used the tar for mortar to bind bricks.

  I marveled at that. The men of Siddim seemed able to turn anything into use, into more coin. No wonder the cities were so wealthy.

  Could Bera use the slime pits in battle? Would it be possible to lure Chedorlaomer into the slime pits? I didn’t get the idea Bera or the others thought so.

  At last, with the hosts from the other cities joining ours, the kings of the Plain gathered in one locale.

  As I was a trained ear of Minos, I employed my skills for Bera. I counted over four thousand soldiers—spearmen, slingers, a few swordsmen and many javelin men. It was a vast and mighty host, an impressive display of what the Vale of Siddim could produce in martial prowess.

  We’d gathered none too soon, for a cloud of dust in the distance showed that Chedorlaomer and his kings approached.

  Bera summoned the other kings and the chief soldiers. I attended the meeting. There, in his deep voice, Bera outlined the battle plan. Likely, we’d fight tomorrow and put the plan to the test. It was a good plan, and the thought we’d succeed tomorrow seemed more than possible but probable.

  The meeting adjourned. I went to the Amorites, staying among them, because the soldiers of Sodom and Gomorrah caroused. The sounds coming from the tents and pallets that night—

  I remained among the Amorites, my hand tight on the hilt of my dagger even as I drifted off to sleep. Tomorrow, battle. How would we fare?

  I tried to summon the image of the Minotaur, failing. I’d survive the battle. I must. I still had my mission, finding this Abram.

  “Tomorrow,” I whispered to myself.

  Then, thankfully, I drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  The next morning, we awoke to scouts racing in with news of the enemy’s swift approach. Trumpets sounded, soldiers shouted and we began to arm ourselves for battle.

  I picked up my target shield and made sure my dagger was strapped tight to my side. Picking up a spear, I stayed near King Bera. I would be running near his chariot, giving him advice as I saw it.

  Bera shouted in his deep voice, standing near his vehicle with its four donkeys.

  The other drivers moved their blocky chariots near the king’s.

  More trumpets blared. Captains shouted orders at their men, bringing a semblance of discipline to the milling horde. By degrees, the soldiers lined up into their respective formations, which took time and more shouting, swearing and jostling.

  Others kicked out the cook fires. A guard detachment moved into position to protect the camp and its supplies after we left. Then, like a sleeper rousing from his dreams, the army of the Cities of the Plain, which now looked and acted like an army, began to march toward the approaching enemy.

  We moved across open ground with slime pits to the south and orchards near on the other side. The open ground expanded as we left the orchards behind. This mostly level field would give the chariots, javelin men and spearmen room to maneuver.

  The Sacred Band held the center position, and what a sight they made. The one-hundred-and-fifty warriors marched proudly, the best armored and most spirited of our formations.

  A scattering of scouts ran back yelling. They hadn’t needed to do that. We could see the enemy from here easily enough. A haze of dust had formed where the army of the East maneuvered for battle. The giant- and Amorite -destroying phalanx marched smoothly with sick precision, still the same formidable host I remembered when standing with Kron.

  I rubbed my chin, taking a closer look.

  It seemed the Easterners might have picked up allies since I’d seen them last. There were more soldiers than I recalled.

  The phalanx marched in cadence toward us, their lines straight like a dagger’s edge. Javelin men hovered on both flanks, moving individually, making them a formless cloud of warriors. They highlighted the precision of the terrible phalanx, making a stomach-churning contrast.

  From his chariot, hugely fat, loud-voiced Bera called out.

  Raggedly, the many formations from the five cities halted. Captains dressed the lines, straightening them.

  Bera shook the reins, driving his chariot before our host, trundling from one end of the front line to the other, with two shield-men on the chariot with him to guard his person. On the way back from one end, he halted near the front center. Bera raised his voice and shouted a speech to all who could hear.

  The king of Sodom told the men to take courage. This was the great fight. We’d made our plan. The captains knew what to do and the gods approved. Now, it was a matter of soldiers fighting their hardest. We’d show those of the East, show those who tried to enslave the Cities of the Plain. The enemy demanded we pay tribute. Oh no, no, no, they should have remained at home. It was dangerous for them to accost us. They were going to die because we would fight for our cities, fight for our homes and loved ones.

  The men cheered, and cheered.

  When that died down, drums thundered from the approaching host.

  Bera turned toward them.

  The drums thudded louder and louder and then ceased abruptly. The enemy phalanx stopped, putting the edges of their great shields on the ground. They set the ends of their spears behind their shields, standing motionless and silent, a daunting contrast to the thundering drums of moments ago.

  The javelin men of the East milled on the flanks, again, throwing the phalanx’s precision into stark relief. Sunlight glittered off the phalanx’s spear-tips, glittered off the motionless bronze helmets.

  From his chariot, Bera shouted hoarsely, waving a fat arm.

  Our javelin men and slingers walked from our spearmen, filing in front, moving past Bera and his chariot as they headed for the enemy line.

  Bera turned his chariot, trundling to the right flank, the one farthest from the slime pits. The other nineteen chariots followed the king, taking station with him.

  I ran behind Bera’s chariot as instructed. I also watched the Amurru and javelin men spread out as they slunk toward the great phalanx of the East.

  What would happen when the slings twirled and javelins rained, and nothing happened to those of the East? Surely, Chedorlaomer would give the signal and the phalanx would bear down upon our army.

  I feared that Bera was going to let the enemy gain the initiative through that. He must think peppering their line was gaining the initiative. But I’d seen what had happened before when the giants of Emim had commanded the same thing. What’s more, the giants had possessed more slingers compared to our paltry few.

  I shouted to Bera.

  He turned in annoyance to me.

  I dared to jump up into his chariot, the better to explain to him.

  “Great King, there is a danger here. You cannot let Chedorlaomer charge your host while they stand and watch your slingers and javelin men. You must—”

  Bera gave an inarticulate shout. He raised a fat fist and clouted me on the mouth, dashing me from the chariot.

  I sprawled onto the ground, looking up at him. There was blood in my mouth. I stared at him in dull amazement. I’d only been trying to help.

  He loomed and pointed a fat finger at me. “Don’t seek to order me, you scum, you ally of slinking Lot. I know how to win the battle, not you who’ve already lost once. I said await my questions, not dare to enter the king’s chariot with his unsought advice. I should spear you and put your head on a pole.”

  I scrambled up and bowed low before him. My bloody mouth throbbed, but I said, “Forgive me, O King, I only spoke in the best interests of the Cities of the Plain.”

  When I heard nothing more, I looked up.

  Bera had already turned to see what was happening on the battlefield.

  I craned to look as well.

  The Amurru twirled their slings, letting fly with smooth stones and clay pellets. None had the lead balls possessed by those who’d fought with the Emim.

  The streaking missiles clattered uselessly against the great phalanx shields. They’d raised them to receive the missiles.

  Our javelin men didn’t dare run close enough to hurl their darts, but waited and watched the slingers.

  The slingers let fly again and again, uselessly, as nothing happened to the enemy.

  From the patient great-shield phalanx, a single bugle rang out. A huge banner rose from the middle of the phalanx as if rising from ashes. The gigantic banner had a stylized black eagle. The banner waved in one direction and then the other. That must have been the standard of Chedorlaomer.

  The soldiers of the East banged their spears against their great shields, making a tremendous din. They did it unison, showing superb order and discipline.

  Our slingers ceased twirling.

  The javelin men drew back from the Amurru, taking one step, two, three. None had yet hurled a javelin.

  The enemy bugle blared again. It was a signal, as a great hurrah sounded from those of the East.

  At a walk, as in cadence they banged their spears against their shields, the phalanx advanced upon the slingers and stumbling-retreating javelin men.

  What went on in their minds, their hearts? The precision and banging were like spiritual weights against their souls, pushing against them. The slingers and javelin men of the Cities of the Plain cried out in terror. They turned and fled before the phalanx.

  I nodded.

  The terrible phalanx of the East had swept giants, Amorites, everyone from their path. Now, in an irresistible though slow step, they bore down upon the host of Sodom, Gomorrah, Admah and the others.

  Our few giants stood near the chariots. They shouted with rage, shaking their weapons at the enemy.

  That might have been a sign for Bera, waking him from slumber, from an approaching nightmare. He signaled a man. That man signaled others.

  Trumpeters stepped up, raised their horns and blasted martial notes.

  The soldiers of the Cities of the Plain gave a hurrah, a ragged cry that grew with repetition. They then started toward the approaching phalanx. They didn’t march in unison, but they did march, picking up speed as they went.

  “Now, now,” Bera said, turning to the other chariots. “We must attack and upset their balance.” The king began to lash his donkey team.

  The chariot drivers followed his example, lashing their donkeys. The beasts brayed, bolting. At a herky-jerk gallop, the donkeys raced, dragging the twenty chariots after them. The stoutly built wooden vehicles clunked and clattered, bouncing wildly on the right flank, heading for the enemy and some of our fleeing javelin men heading toward our line. The chariot shield-bearers readied their shields, protecting the drivers.

  The clumsy chariots were a sight, nobles and kings racing at the hated enemy. Bera shouted, his deep voice heard across the battlefield.

  From the phalanx, the black eagle banner waved. Enemy bugles sounded.

  The phalanx of the East halted.

  The enemy javelin men on the same flank as the chariots shouted. They burst into a run at the chariots.

  These were younger men, unarmored and fleet of foot. As they raced nearer the chariots, they heaved. Javelins in a cloud rose up and came down hard. Many speared a chariot donkey. Others thudded beside the beasts.

  Bera must have divined the plan before it took place. He’d sawed at the reins, making his donkeys slow. Other chariots had sped ahead of him. The enemy javelins struck their donkeys. Several teams tangled due to a wounded or slain beast. The chariots slewed or tipped, throwing their occupants to the ground. Some didn’t rise. Others staggered as if drunk.

  “Back, back, go back!” Bera shouted. He turned his team and whipped them savagely. The donkeys brayed as if with terror, bolting, taking the chariot and king with them.

  Other chariots did likewise.

  Enemy javelin men and a few swordsmen raced up, killing those thrown from the fallen chariots. That included the dazed and staggering victims.

  Bugles blared from their side.

  The phalanx of the East resumed its march, moving quick time at those of Sodom, Gomorrah and Zoar.

  The soldiers of the Cities of the Plain charged the approaching phalanx. In the lead was the Sacred Band of Sodom. It headed straight for the eagle banner, perhaps believing Chedorlaomer stood there.