by Lazlo Ferran
“There!” It was Geb. At around midday, when most of us were starting to roll in our saddles with exhaustion, his keen eyes had seen something. He stood high in his stirrups, his horse atop a high dune, and he pointed straight ahead. “About two miles. I saw him. He is barely moving. He is leading his horse.”
“But what is he doing out here?” said Meth. “And where is he going?” These were the obvious questions.
“He is heading towards Korim’s camp.” I offered.
“He couldn’t possibly hope to make it!” said Geb.
“Perhaps.” I said.
As we finally reached the top of the dune, behind the man, Meth called to him. “Stop!”
The man swung around and shielded his eyes.
“Who are you?”
“Let us try something.” said Meth quietly to us. “It would be best to take him alive.”
“I am Meth, one of Korim’s Lieutenant’s. He told us to wait for you. You passed west of us so we had to catch up with you.” He laughed. “It was not hard! Where are the others?”
“My men?” the soldier called. So he was their leader, as I had thought. His accent was strange, as was his dress.
“Yes. Do you come back empty handed?”
“Listen. My horse is lame. I need a ride.”
“We are coming down.”
We slipped our horses down the long, sloping sand dune. Meth was talking to his men. “He will recognise us eventually. When I say ‘Go!’ ride forward and push him off his feet.” We continued down, until we were only about fifteen paces from him. Suddenly he drew his sword. “You are not Korim’s men.” He put his sword to his own neck. I saw Meth hesitate. He looked intently at the man. “Go.”
Ashan and two other men spurred their horses to leap forwards and in an instant, faster than I though possible, they had him on the ground. At the last moment, he had turned his sword towards them but too late to defend himself. Meth had been correct in his judgment. The man would not kill himself.
He lay pinned, a man to each arm and another on his legs, as Meth and I stood over him.
The sand blown from the wind in the south, bit into our necks like thousands of little teeth.
“What are you doing in this God-forsaken place?”
The man spat up, at Meth but the spittle just fell back on his cheek, making him even angrier. He said something, swore, in his native tongue. I guessed he was from the north somewhere. Their tongue often sounded uncouth to our ears, although I knew this did not necessarily reflect their character. Nevertheless, they were ruthless and proud. Meth ground the man’s elbow slowly under his heel. The man grimaced and ground his teeth.
“Where are you from? Where is your camp?”
“I will not tell you. You will have to kill me.” He added, “Because I am not a brave, or foolish man.”
“Hmm. Your leader is Korim?” No answer. “He is a hard man, is he not?” The man did not respond but we could see the recognition in his eyes.
“Search his clothing.” I suggested. Meth leaned down and pulled a pouch from the man’s belt and put two of his fingers in the pockets of the man’s leather tunic. In two pockets he found only tobacco, tinder, flint and a few copper coins. In the last, he found something else, round and metal, about the size of a medallion. Meth held it and releasing the knot in the thong at the end of a leather pouch, poured its contents on the sand. A thin piece of parchment almost blew away, before Meth, with his left hand, caught it. Lying on the sand was the other item, a small leather case. Meth unfolded the parchment sheaf and studied it. It was about four vershok long and two, wide. His old eyes crinkled and he turned it this way and that, trying to decipher it. I strode forward and looked at it.
“A map! But of what area? I am not sure I recognise it. Geb?”
Geb walked forward and looked over my shoulder. I stood aside. Suddenly, gently, he turned the sheet the other way up and pointed to a line marked. “This is a river. I think I recognise it as one of the rivers we crossed on our way to Meth’s camp, Sire.”
“Shh.” I said. “Do you want us to kill him?”
“Sorry. But look! Do you not recognise this?”
I looked closely. Yes, it was Boris’s home village, on the far left of the map. This was curious. Anybody living in my Kingdom would have drawn a map with northern most points at the top of the map. This one had the desert at the bottom of the map. I guessed that somebody exploring our land from the north, might do this. “Keep it safe, Geb. We will study it later.”
Meth had meanwhile opened the small case and had taken out a quill pen, which had evidently been used but not much. Also in the case, was a small bottle of ink, stoppered.
“Let us see what is in the metal ‘medallion’ case.” I said.
Meth put the contents back in the case, closed it and handed it to me. I handed it to Geb. The man suddenly struggled.
Meth found a catch and opened the disk shaped case.
“It’s a compass!” he exclaimed. “But, it’s broken.”
The man looked bitterly down at the ground.
“Any man would need a compass to travel to Korim’s Army,” said Ochnud.
“No. He might want it, to steer a straight course, but he wouldn’t need it,” said Dimez. “One could just ride north, until you hit the mountains, where there is plenty of water and food.”
“Somewhere around here, is a camp then,” I said. Both Dimez and Meth nodded.
“It is probable.” Said Meth. “Because his compass was broken, most probably during flight, he is lost. Perhaps he had to take to the desert before a known landmark, which they could normally have used, in the case of a broken compass.”
“You are a scribe. What is your name?” I asked. If he was a scribe, he would not withhold his name. To do so would be an admission that he was a spy. Also, scribes are proud of their names. Their trade runs in families. He thought for a moment.
“Gul-Gadir” he said, slowly hesitatingly. “I cannot help you. Korim will have me castrated, or worse.”
“Worse?” I asked, smiling.
“Well, we are leaving,” said Meth. “And we are taking your horse, your weapons and your clothes, except your underwear. You have only two choices. To help us or to stay behind.”
Gul-Gadir said something in his own tongue and then said, quite quickly, I thought, “Alright. I will help you. But do not ask me to give more than the most subtle clues. And please gag and bind me when you may reach,” he paused. “... any camp.”
Meth looked at me. I nodded.
“Alright,” said Meth. “Mount up!”
We all gathered our horses and sat Gul, half-naked on one of the two remaining spare horses.
“Where should we go?” called Meth, to Gul.
“The camp is four hours north of a point, half between that river and the village on the left edge of the map.”
I smiled at his forthcoming clue.
“Can we see the map?” called Dimez to Geb. Geb took it out and handed it to him. Dimez and Ochnud stood over it. They didn’t have a compass but they had a detailed map of this part of the world, inside their heads. After murmuring together for a few moments, they pointed almost due east.
“We may have passed it slightly, said Dimez but at least our smell won’t be picked up by horses or camels, if we are north of the camp.”
“Let’s go,” said Meth.
After about two hours, Mechredir, still at the head, held his hand up. We stopped. He was pointing to something slightly south of us but neither Meth, nor I could see anything significant. Just sand dunes, stretching as far as the horizon.
“There is a pole, with a red flag on it.” Called out Geb.
I looked around at Gul. He looked interested but noncommittal.
“Let’s look at it but cautiously. Mechredir, go forward on foot and call us if all is clear. Check there is nothing over the dune.”
Mechredir went slowly towards the pole and after crawling up the last few feet of the du
ne and spending a few minutes, observing the ground on the other side, stood up and beckoned to us. We rode up.
It was not a pole but a spear and was marked. There were five notches cut into its shaft, near the tail, where the red flag, a simple piece of torn cloth, fluttered. The very tip of the tail was also cut on one side, the side facing east.
“What does it mean?” I asked Meth.
“It is an old trick. It has not been used since the Wars of the Western Tribes, nearly one hundred years ago, which my great grandfather fought in.” He pointed east. “Over there, approximately two verst away, will be another such spear, this time with only four notches, and then, at two verst intervals, a third, fourth and fifth, spear. At the next two verst mark, you will find the camp. On the other side of the camp, at similar intervals, you will find five more spears, this time with the tip cut on the west side, pointing out the site of the camp. In this way, anybody lost and traveling north or south, has a much greater chance of finding the camp. But enemies might not read the signs. They might simply think some passing nomad has lost a spear from his camel!”
Geb, stooping over the spear in the dune, called out, “There is a slot in the tip and it is whistling.”
“Ah, that is interesting!” said Meth. That is another trick, to help people find it on quiet nights. Only a few tribes used to use this method. It is not a loud sound but if you listen carefully, you can hear it.
“Yes. I can hear it now. I thought it was just the sound of wind through the horse-harness.”
“If you were lost, you probably would not have a horse-harness, or a horse. You look troubled, Lord.”
“I do not like it! I have not heard that Korim is a clever man. Not this clever!”
“Shall we go on?”
“Of course. We must see how many men are in this camp.”
We rode east, passing the fifth spear not long before dusk. We needed to see the camp before nightfall and so we quickly moved forwards for two verst, even though the horses were tired.
We left Ochnud and Geb with the horses and the rest of us covered the two verst quietly, on foot. Looking over each dune, before walking over, we finally saw the camp. Lying on the sand, I let my eyes adjust to the gloom, between the lanterns. My head dropped to the sand in dismay. “There must be four hundred men there!” I whispered. “I expected maybe fifty, but not this many.”
“No, you are wrong Sire.” said Dimez. “There is accommodation for four hundred, yes. But look at the horse corral. Only forty horses and a few camels. And I can only see about thirty around the fires. It is meal-time so most should be around the fires.”
“Then, others are away,” I said. “Probably south. That is even worse.”
“There is something else,” said Mechredir.
“What?”
“Look at the tent sides to the south. The sand is very high against their sides. I would say they have been here for months, not weeks.”
“Well spotted. You are a very good tracker and observer,” I said. “If only you were not so correct, in your deduction! Let’s pull back.”
We slithered for a few feet down the north side of the dune and then gathered in a stooped huddle.
“I do not like this. I do not like this at all.” I said. “This has been well planned. It is not just a foraging expedition by Korim’s men. They seem to be instructed to map and possible install spies in the hills south of here. This invasion is much better planned and more advanced that I thought.”
“How does this affect your plan?” asked Meth.
I thought for a moment. “We must still execute it. It is the only way. The pass is the bottleneck, for them. We must cut off the head of the viper. Then, if the teeth will not let go, at least they can bite no harder and we can take our time to remove them. How long before your caravan can reach their camp?”
Meth’s eyes looked up to the skies as he calculated, in his head. “Forty days.”
“Too long. Can you be there in thirty?”
“Without a break at the Oasis, yes.”
“Good. I will see you, on the field of battle, at noon, on the sound of my horns, on the thirtieth day from now.” We held hands and I took each of his two eldest sons’ hands and those of Mechredir’s.
We mounted and rode back to Geb and Ochnud.
“We will part here!” I called. “Geb and I will go due south and back to the Palace.”
With a wave, their horses disappeared into the night and Geb’s horse and mine, were taking a zig-zag course across the shallowest dunes, as we headed back towards the hills.
We reached the Palace the following afternoon. Geb’s horse became lame late in the ride and so we finished, both on my horse, slowly.
We had stopped at the same inn and Boris had quickly run to grasp my legs but I shewed him away and we went into a back room to talk with Moddei.
Looking anxious, as he closed the door, he asked “Trouble?”
“Aye” said Geb, sitting at a narrow bench alongside a flat oak table, with some books, sheaves of paper and a candle on it.
I sat beside him, Moddei opposite, and we each leaned forward, on the palms of our hands.
“The same day I last saw you, a few miles west of here, we were ambushed.” Geb went on. He went onto more details and Moddei told us that some of the villagers had seen northern Tribesmen passing through, early one morning. One had stopped to ask for food.
We stayed only long enough for Moddei to provide us with fresh water bags and meat wrapped in cloth.
At the Palace, at first, all seemed serene. Our horses were stabled and I asked Geb to accompany me to our anti-chamber. There he sat, patting Bear’s great knobbly head while the Princess and I talked.
“I knew you shouldn’t go!”
A hearty fire breathed life into the room.
I sat down and pulled off my boots as she paced the floor, the diaphanous blue silk of her robe hem swanned beside her as she turned, back and forth.
“I have heard nothing of interest,” she finally said impatiently. “Bulya is his usual ‘bullish,’ dull self. He has made several curt remarks to me and several suggestive ones, as is his nature.”
I had smiled at her pun.
“What sort of remarks? Anything I can hang him for?”
“He said I was thinning like a sapling becoming a fruit tree and that I was ready to bear fruit.”Oh, I see. Yes I have been meaning to talk to you about that. I think the time will be right for us when this campaign is over. Bulya will be at his weakest and I will be at my strongest, for some time at least.
“Then we can marry?”
“Yes, yes.”
She grabbed my wrist and then stood up and did a little girlish polka around the room.
“But will there be a problem? With Lord Bulya, I mean.” She had suddenly stopped, mid-step and looked at me seriously. Bulya was the only one who had any idea about the probable nature of our relationship to each other. His perception was based on hearsay and he had no proof. He knew it was wishful thinking on his part to assume he could mount an effective opposition to the marriage. He could inflict damage on the reputation of the Royal Family though. In later years this would gain in effect.
“Quick, come with me.” She took my hand and we ran through a number of chambers and corridors into the less used part of the Palace, on the upper floors. Suddenly she turned and pressed her back against a huge pair of double doors, carved from single pieces of oak.
“Close your eyes.”
I did so and heard the doors slowly creak open.
“Now, open them.”
I did so and saw a delightful vision before me.
A huge chamber, newly painted in white, was completely bedecked in flower petals. They were laid out in pathways but not randomly. They were grouped and patterned as if really flower beds and the whole had the effect of seeming a real garden.
“Come, let us walk together.”
It was then, as we walked the paths that I saw how cunningly th
e paths had been laid, to create a labyrinthine course from one side of the chamber to the other. It took us perhaps five minutes to cross to the double doors, twins of the first, on the far side of the chamber. The sweet smell, trapped, as it was, inside the Palace, was think and intense. It settled on the senses like a magical blanket and I felt we were become nymphs.
This time, with a laugh at the top of her register, she swung open this second set of doors. The chamber beyond was even more of a delight. It had been sloped around the edges to the rim of a large, irregular pool. The banks were green grass and in the pool floated lilies and swam golden and green coloured fish.
“Come here!” She showed me where to stop. Taking off her silk slippers, she stepped into the pool at the place where a narrow underwater path, only inches below the surface, curved its path to a central island and from there, on to the far bank. We crossed over, myself looking all around at the many coloured petals speckling the still surface and filling the air with fragrance.
A third set of oak doors led to the greatest delight of all. This chamber, much the same size as the others, was completely covered in green grass, apart from several rose bushes and in the centre, a fruit tree, as yet without fruit but creating a lovely flickering shade from the overhead candelabras.
We walked, hand in hand, up to its open arms and sat in the shade, my arm around her lovely waist. She leaned her head against my neck and closed her eyes.
“I was thinking of putting rabbits in here as well,” she murmured. “But the Gardener advised against it.”
I closed my eyes and then felt her small hand touching mine.
“Tell me again how you found me.”
“Well, the Royal Marriage was in its seventh year and had been barren, apart from your sickly half-brother who died after only one year. I met your mother at a camp, in the eastern most part of my Kingdom, at Sem-Gorge. Many of my men had been caught and slaughtered and we sought shelter in a small village. She was a serving-maid there and she had quick, searching eyes and a gentle caring nature. We talked in the late hours, while many of my men suffered, close to death. When it was time to leave, I did not want to go and realised I loved her. We stayed another week, during which time I slept with her.”
