The Sea of Grass

by Gilbert M. Stack

  “You can’t do that!” was shouted by a dozen different men.

  Marcus let them voice their anger for several moments before calmly stating. “Yes, I can. The best hope this caravan has of survival is to reach Fort Tertium. The dust that the wagons kick up makes it impossible to move with stealth. So if we are to move forward, the only thing we can do to reduce our disadvantage is to lighten our loads and move faster. Caravan Master, how far is it to Tertium?”

  “Four or five days at normal wagon speed,” Burkhard said. “At this speed? Assuming the horses can hold up under the heavy load, it could be nine or ten days.”

  “And that’s impossible if the army that destroyed Segundus is still out there,” Marcus told them. We need to turn four or five days into three to have any chance at all of slipping past. Even then, all we’re really likely to accomplish is to have the savages come after us with fewer men than they would like, but we’ll take any advantage we can craft.”

  “We can’t leave our goods behind!” several men protested.

  Burkhard finally took on some of the leadership of the meeting. “Yes, you can. The Tribune is right. We need speed if we’re to accomplish this, because after we reach Tertium it’s still another four or five days to Fort Quartus.” He glanced at Marcus. “It’s the salt pan. We’re winding our way around it and all of that territory is open to savage attack. A couple of days past Fort Quartus and we start to get into territory that Lord Evorik’s people patrol and the savages are less likely to hit us there. If they’re going to raid the north, the towns make richer targets.”

  “They don’t like to face real cavalry!” Evorik bellowed. “But I don’t believe we’ll make it to Fort Quartus by the route you’ve laid out. We’re going to reach Fort Tertium and find an army camped around it and our slow moving wagons will be easy prey for the savages.”

  “Then you think we should return home?” Burkhard’s son asked as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “My father says—”

  “I think we should take our third option,” Evorik cut him off, “and go directly north through the salt pan.”

  “The salt pan!” This idea got people even more excited.

  “It’s impossible!”

  “Too dangerous!”

  “Might as well let the savages kill us!”

  “Lord Evorik,” Burkhard said. “I realize you are a brave man and so tend to minimize the dangers, but there is no way across the salt pans. Men who try get swallowed up in the ground or simply die of thirst before they reach the other side.”

  “Miners go there,” Evorik reminded him. The pans were, in point of fact, the primary source of salt for the entire region.

  “They go to the edges, my Lord, but no one goes through the salt pans. It’s just not possible.”

  “Your scout, Mataskah, says otherwise,” Evorik argued.

  “The half breed?” Burkhard asked as if he couldn’t believe Evorik would bring him into the argument.

  “Yes, the half breed, he says he knows the way across the pan and can get us there in one and a half days. Then it’s just another day to Fort Quartus which would surprise the savages and let the Tribune here warn the Aquilans of what we think is happening at Tertium. I could then ride ahead to alert Topacio and rally a few hundred cavalry to join up with the legion and put down this savage menace once and for all.”

  “No!” Burkhard shouted. “I will risk my life traveling to Fort Tertium, but crossing the salt pan is not a risk. It’s certain death and I will not do it!”

  “Let’s hear from the savage!” someone called from the back.

  “From Mataskah? He can barely speak,” Burkhard countered. “Don’t you understand, he’s one of them!”

  “I speak!” the half breed scout passed to the center of the group from the outskirts where he had been sitting in silence. “I Mataskah. I live my life in Grass Sea. I no work for Oyáte. Teetonka hate men like me. Say I too white to live in Grass Sea.”

  The gathered men quieted as they listened to the scout.

  “I travel twice through salt to north when I young man,” Mataskah continued. “Master Burkhard right! It hard trail, very dangerous, very thirsty, but no Oyáte. Why they go where no man can live?”

  “Your wagons are too heavy for the salt pan,” Burkhard pleaded in a much quieter voice. “You’d have to drop half your weight even to try and if you get stuck, what will you do for water. This is not a plan. This is trading a possible death in battle for certain suicide.”

  “I’m of a mind to try it,” Evorik stated. “Any who want to can come with me, but I’m ready to see home again and I don’t think I’ll do that traveling towards Tertium.”

  Anguished pleas and cries greeted these words, but Evorik withstood them without weakening. “I am not some fucking caravan guard fighting for his wages. I have no responsibility to any of you. But I’m also a generous man. Any who dare the salt pan with me will be under my protection so long as they lighten their wagons as the Tribune suggested.”

  He looked at Marcus. “What say you, Tribune? Will you come with me or with Burkhard?”

  “You make a good case for the salt pan,” Marcus told him, “but I haven’t made my mind up yet.” In truth, he did not like the appearance of abandoning these men, but he very much liked the thought of getting the jump on the savages and bypassing Fort Tertium and warning Quartus of what was happening. “I’ll decide by morning.” He let his glance play meaningfully across the gathered merchants. “You will help me make my decision by seriously lightening your loads.”

  He walked out while the men were still protesting and went to check on his own wagon.

  ****

  “Tribune?”

  Marcus looked up to find Señor Alberto and his very pregnant wife slowly approaching his wagon just as he was about to climb under it to go to sleep. Severus had taken to sleeping with the legionnaires to keep the young fool, Phanes, from undoing all of his work to turn the greens into a disciplined fighting force.

  Marcus immediately came forward to offer his hand to Alberto. “Señor, Señora, what a pleasure it is to see you again. How can I help you?”

  A spasm of pain momentarily twisted Carmelita face and a tendril of dread touched Marcus’ soul.

  “But where are my manners?” he asked. “Come closer to the wagon. We will have a cup of wine and the Señora can sit.”

  Without waiting for a response he went to the back of a wagon and lifted off of it a short wooden chest with some of his personal things within it. Carrying it back to the two Gente, he placed it on the ground and watched with approval as Alberto tenderly helped his young wife to sit. Then he busied himself pouring three cups of wine, diluting the concentrate as was the Aquilan practice, with an equal part of water.

  “Here, drink this,” he said to Carmelita and waited patiently while she sipped the wine.

  “It is very fine,” she said with a slight smile. “You, Tribune, have been very good to us.”

  “It is why we have come,” Alberto said. “It seems a poor reward to you after your earlier generosity but we continue to need your help.”

  “I am quite certain that my father will reward you tenfold for your kindnesses,” Carmelita added with a hint of urgency—as if she feared that Marcus had grown tired of the couple and would turn them away.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Marcus asked.

  “As we indicated before,” Alberto began, “my father-in-law engaged in a contract which will break him if he defaults. It seemed a simple matter at the time, but then the pirates increased their activity and the savages began their marauding and well—we are almost out of time.”

  Marcus sat down on the ground and made a gesture for Alberto to continue. “Tell me about the contract.”

  “Lord Totila is the cousin of the Thegn of Amatista.”

  “He is a cruel and notorious miser!” Carmelita added.

  “His scandalous daughter—”

  “Whom reputable women would not
even sit at the same table with,” Carmelita cut in.

  “Is marrying the son of Thegn Hathus of Granate—”

  “His third wife, the—” A spasm of pain cut off the word that Marcus was fairly certain would have been whore.

  “It is an important political alliance for Amatista. Relations with Granate and Morganita have been especially tense these past years. It is hoped that this marriage alliance will not only lower that tension, but strengthen Amatista’s ties to Granate at the expense of Morganita. So it is important that the wedding be a spectacular celebration—a marvel to be spoken of for decades to come.”

  Marcus didn’t see that they were making any progress. “And the contract?”

  “In his youth, Lord Totila traveled the world and in one of your own provinces called Vitrum he saw the most amazing creations of a glass so pure it looks like crystal. There were elaborate lamps which hung from the ceiling and reflected the light through pieces cut to look like precious stones. There were mirrors so finely constructed that you can see your reflection as perfectly as others look at you. And there were cups crafted from glass to make it appear you were drinking from gemstones.”

  “Very expensive trinkets,” Marcus observed. Since before Vitrum had been brought into the Republic, senators and the leaders of the patricians had vied with one another to see who could lay the most impressive table and the crystals of the northern province were among the most prized utensils.

  “I see you know more than military affairs,” Alberto told him. “It is a thegn’s ransom, or at least a princess’.”

  “And that—oh!” Carmelita broke off as she touched her stomach, then valiantly continued her speech. “And that miser would pay no money up front and warned my father that if he failed to deliver the glassware on time he would confiscate all his estate for causing Amatista such embarrassment.”

  “Oh, I see,” Marcus said. “And you’re trying to carry the cargo back to Amatista in time for the—wait a minute! Where are your guards! If your wagon is full of Vitrum crystal—why don’t you have any guards?”

  “We’ve lost them,” Carmelita said. “We started out with six guards nineteen months ago and—”

  “You’ve been gone nineteen months? When is this wedding supposed to take place?”

  “In the Jeweled Hills,” Alberto explained, “women cannot marry until they turn sixteen. On the coast they are more liberal and permit their fifteen year olds to marry.”

  Marcus almost asked what a fourteen year old could have done to merit such derision from Carmelita, but it was late and he needed to understand why they had come to him. “So you lost your guards how?”

  “Two to illness, two were murdered, and two simply disappeared. Maybe they were bribed to leave,” Alberto shrugged, “and maybe they were killed. It has been a difficult time. We do not know for certain who is trying to keep us from returning—my father-in-law’s rivals or enemies of Amatista. There have been many attempts to sabotage us. I realize that your impression of my worth is lowered by my difficulties in this caravan, but I am not unskilled with a blade and I have proved that several times on this venture.”

  Marcus tried to bring the conversation to the point. “So you’ve got a wagon packed with Vitrum crystal and…”

  “Not just crystal cups,” Carmelita interjected. “We have the beautiful full length mirror and two of the hanging lamps—they call them chandeliers.”

  “And…”

  “We can’t leave any of it behind as you have suggested,” Alberto complained. “I admit that I suffered a moment of greed and collected even more goods from those unfortunates we passed on our way here. I have already thrown it to the side of the road, but as for the rest—I cannot leave it behind or my father-in-law will be ruined.”

  Normally, Marcus would have believed Alberto to be exaggerating his problem, but disappointing the cousin of a ruling thegn was obviously courting disaster.

  Marcus stood. “Excuse me a moment, please.”

  He walked up the line of wagons until he found a small group centered around Calidus—all of them drinking Marcus’ wine.

  The moment Calidus caught sight of him he excused himself from the men he was laughing with and hurried to Marcus’ side. “Tribune?”

  “How full is our wagon? You told me we could carry twelve thousand pounds. Are we carrying that much? And if not, how much room do we have in the wagon?”

  Calidus scratched his head. “The wagon is full, but light. I doubt we are carrying more than nine thousand pounds—even with your personal baggage.”

  “Good! Come with me.”

  Without explaining further, Marcus led Calidus back to Señor Alberto and his wife. “This is my adjutant, Red Vigil Calidus,” Marcus introduced him. “When we finish speaking, he will fetch twelve legionnaires and bring them to your wagon. They will then transport a quarter of your load to my wagon and I will leave behind one fourth of my wine cellar to make room for it.”

  Alberto shook his head in horror even while Carmelita touched her heart in appreciation.

  “But Tribune,” the Gente merchant protested, “you cannot leave your wine. It is uncivilized.”

  “I suspect that very little will actually be left behind, although tomorrow there is going to be a lot of hung over legionnaires, Gota warriors and caravan guards.”

  “But Tribune,” Alberto objected again.

  “I will hear no more protests!” Marcus told them. “Your mission is clearly of grave importance—much more so than the comforts that my wine cellar provides.”

  “You are a most generous man, Tribune,” Carmelita announced. “And while I realize that a man of your station probably pays no attention to such things, I want you to know that my father will thank you for this gesture by filling your cellar with the finest wines available in the Jeweled Hills. Your palate will not suffer from your kind—oh!” She broke off and touched her stomach again, then would have fallen from her seat if not for the speed with which Alberto and Marcus leapt to catch her.

  “Oh, Alberto,” she whispered. “I am so sorry! But I think the baby is coming.”

  ****

  “Have you made up your mind yet?” Evorik asked as he—unusually for him—walked up beside Marcus. It was an hour before dawn and Carmelita’s agonized screams proved she had not yet had the baby.

  The Gota grimaced. “That woman’s screams could rip the shit from a man’s bowels. Why can’t the baby get the idea and come out already?”

  Marcus slapped a comradely hand upon the man’s shoulder. “It was kind of you to let your wives help her with the delivery.”

  “Kind? Do you know any Gota women?”

  “No, I don’t,” Marcus confessed, “other than your two wives that is.”

  “And to them you have not yet spoken a dozen words,” Evorik reminded him. “I will tell you something that may help you when you come to the Jeweled Hills. No one lets a Gota woman do anything she has decided to do. You just get out of the way or prepare to fight to keep her knife out of you.” He laughed as if this was the funniest observation in the whole world.

  “Perhaps I’ve met a Gota woman after all,” Marcus told him in the same spirit of jest. “My last mistress tried to gut me when she figured out I was leading my men out to kill the damn witchdoctor she worshipped.”

  Evorik’s laughter bellowed forth even louder. “I hope you whipped her well as she deserved.”

  “I didn’t get the chance,” Marcus told him. “The skeletons her witchdoctor raised killed her before I got back from the campaign.”

  “Oh, this is the tale you told at dinner—the one in the Fire Islands,” Evorik realized.

  “That’s right. We didn’t talk about what the skeletons did to the rest of the island. They didn’t seem to be able to tell the difference between those people who supported Kekipi and those who opposed him. They just murdered everyone.”

  “That is one of the things I hate about magos,” Evorik agreed. “Their magic—it so often hu
rts everybody. Take this dust storm the savage shaman raised. Yes, it hid them from us, but it also hid us from them—if you take my meaning.”

  “That is one of the keys to beating them,” Marcus said. “We must learn the weaknesses in their magic and their tactics and turn those vulnerabilities against them.”

  “Do all Aquilans make things so complicated?” Evorik asked. “I say you just lead enough horsemen into battle to be sure you kill them all. It’s like hitting a walnut with a blacksmith’s hammer. You smash them to pieces.”

  “And if we don’t have enough horsemen?”

  “Well, there is that,” Evorik agreed.

  The woman screamed again, a high-pitched, agonizing shriek of pure agony.

  “Is that normal?” Marcus asked.

  Evorik shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t have any children yet. If I did, they’d be with me.”

  “I see.”

  The two men lapsed into silence for a while, waiting to see if a baby’s first cries would break the night, but the next sound was another of Carmelita’s screams.

  “So have you decided?” Evorik asked. “Which route will you take in the morning?”

  “Well I’m not going south again—that’s for certain,” Marcus said.

  “Yes, I heard about your difficulties there. Why is it so often among you so-called civilized people that men who cannot fight have the power to determine the fates of those who can?”

  Marcus didn’t know and didn’t want to talk about his exile.

  “As for the trip north, I admit that I’m tempted by your shortcut across the salt pan, but I don’t like the idea of abandoning our fellow travelers. While I have no technical responsibility to them, let’s face it, if they are attacked again without my legionnaires and your cavalry it will not go well for them.”

  “Sad, yes, but they are responsible for their own choices.”

  Marcus nodded. In essence, he agreed with what Evorik was saying, but he still felt bad about not shielding the travelers.