The first to react to this diabolical sight was not the men, but the dogs: led by Storm. He lowered his head and growling fiercely, he charged at the wall of Sisters. The wall opened and closed behind him. Three more holes in the wall seemed to open and close as the other dogs hit it. The wailing stopped suddenly and so did the impending darkness. The Sisters had turned and seemed to be troubled by something in their mists. Groans of pain and muffled screams had replaced the wailing. The wall had become a mass of surging forms, moving and ebbing towards some troubling centre spot.
Inaki turned to his men. “Come on!” he gestured and screamed. “This is the best chance you’re going to get to finish it and save your lives.”
With a firebrand in one hand and his axe in the other, he charged at the Sisters. His men hesitated and then followed his example. They fell upon the mass of hooded and black-cloaked forms, cutting, axing and stabbing anything that came within reach. Finally and totally exhausted, it was over. The floor was covered in blood and so were the men. Some had wounds to arms and faces. Arostegi had been stabbed in the eye and knelt holding his face, the blood running between his fingers. A little distance from the men, the two beautiful white Pyreneans lay dead in a circle of dead and dying Sisters. Aguirre, his head down and in his hands, knelt beside one of the great dogs. The faint groans of the wounded could be heard all around them. From the depths of the cavern; Storm and Roka emerged, their chests and mouths covered in blood. Inaki looked at the surrounding carnage for a few moments. He gestured to the men to remove the wax from their ears. He removed the wax from his own ears and in a very tired voice, which was almost a whisper said:
“Find the boy.”
The men at first could not understand, but gradually, slowly and painfully they understood and obeyed. They moved slowly round the cavern and after sometime, one finally shouted: “Here, under the altar.”
They all converged towards the altar and sure enough, there was the boy. He was sat with his legs drawn up in a kind of stupor. They lifted him and carried him out. Two men helped the man who had been blinded in the eye. They collected their weapons and retreated up the tunnel to the top of the waterfall where they bathed their wounds and washed off the blood. Finally they put the wounded man, their dead and the boy on the mules and silently, without looking back, made their way out of the caves. Back through the tunnels and caverns they went until, after several hours, they emerged into the dying sunlight. Inaki ordered the dead to be burned and the entrance to be sealed with rocks and stones. After this was done, the six men collapsed onto the soft grass and they all slept for the rest of the night. The following morning over the breakfast fire, they reflected on the events of the past day.
“That was some fight,” Aguirre said to Inaki.
“Could have been worse,” Inaki replied. “At one point, I feared it would be.”
“Element of surprise?” mused Aguirre.
“Worth a thousand men, they didn’t have time to prepare,” Inaki said.
“No. It would have been different if they had,” Aguirre said it as a simple statement of fact. “What now?”
“Have you noticed the boy, Aguirre?”
“Yes and our wounded are not much better.”
“He’s not fit to be taken back like that. Our men will recover, but his injuries are in his head.”
“You were not thinking of taking him back, Inaki, were you? It would give away our advantage, and besides he’s not fit?”
“I don’t know what they have done to him,” Inaki said. “But I intend to do the best I can for him.”
“Will he live?” queried Aguirre.
“Yes, but they have his mind.”
They both looked at the boy. He was lying on the grass, eyes wide open and in some sort of trance. He had not moved or spoken since they had rescued him.
“Can you cure him?” asked Aguirre.
“Only time will tell and it will take greater skill than mine, I fear. Come, we have been here too long. The Sisters will recover and I fear they will gather friends and give chase. We have to move quickly now if we are going to save Zaragoza.”
Elexoste looked up in alarm. “Why do you say that? Will the Sisters really come after us?”
“They have got to, once they have dug themselves out. We know their hiding place and besides we have taken their mules and they will want to recover the boy or kill him.”
“So it’s not over yet?” Elexoste said in a very tired and sad voice.
“It’s never over,” said Aguirre, “but take heart, this time we have them on our own ground, in the mountains and where we are impregnable. Let them come and we will draw them towards Euskadi.”
Inaki spoke pensively. “I think they will make towards Zaragoza.”
“Of course, they will think we are taking the boy back to his father and if we leave no tracks it will gain us time and space to give them a warm reception when they realise their mistake,” Aguirre said gleefully.
Inaki stood and gave some short commands. The men gathered themselves up quickly. They were anxious to leave the frightful place and the small party of men was soon on the move. Roka, sensing his master’s grief at the loss of his beloved Pyreneans, stayed close to Aguirre. As they moved Storm began to quarter the mountain slopes ahead of him and the men seeing the dog hunt, began to string their bows. Storm’s action soon diverted the minds of the men from the terrible ordeal they had suffered and events inside the caverns. They moved purposely, knowing that they were heading home to their beloved land and enjoying the hunt. Inaki noticed their rising spirits and uttered a small prayer to the Gods for the gift that was Storm.
Inaki’s peace of mind was short lived. That evening, the Moorish boy, who had remained in a stupor and had been tied to a mule, began to shake violently and vomit uncontrollably. They stopped, cut him down from the mule and Inaki tended to him.
“What on earth is the matter with him?” Aguirre asked with concern.
“I don’t know, exactly,” Inaki replied, “It’s something that they gave him to keep him quiet and manageable.”
“Could it be poison?”
“No. They had to keep him alive. He was of no use to them dead, but whatever it was, it was so powerful that it may still kill him. He has to keep water down or he will die.” Inaki knelt thoughtfully by the boy.
“What are you going to do?” one of the men asked.
After a while Inaki replied.
“Put him to sleep. It will give the body time to recover and hopefully, time to get whatever it is out of his system.”
Inaki mixed some herbs in water and Aguirre held the boy’s head tenderly, while Inaki poured the mixture down his throat.
The boy vomited, but kept enough down to have the desired effect. Soon he was in a deep slumber. They tied him back on the mule.
They skirted around the mountain and the monastery, and made towards the town of Boltana. As they marched, avoiding all human contact, Inaki and Aguirre planned. They decided that they would make contact with the Muslim garrison at Boltana and send, through them, a message to the governor of Zaragoza that they had his son. Quite how this was to be achieved would be decided at Boltana. In the meantime they would press ahead with all possible speed. The capture of the mules meant that the wounded man and the boy were no handicap and progress was fast. They marched, only stopping to eat a hot meal at night and to dope and feed the boy. Slowly the boy began to recover. Within three days they had reached the outskirts of Boltana.
It was market day in Boltana. Inaki sent Aguirre and Elexoste to buy fresh food. He gave them some silver coins and retreated to a small hill above the town to await their return. The Muslim boy had fully recovered, although his mind was still scarred by his ordeal. It would be many years before he was fully healed and even then, the nightmares would still visit him. He viewed his rescue with curiosity and suspicion. He had never encountered Basques before and found their language incomprehensible, as d
id most people. He wondered at their clothing and weapons, as they did his. With Inaki there emerged, slowly, a patient-healer relationship. Only seven years older than the Muslim boy, Inaki not only had his respect, but an affinity with the boy that was difficult to explain. Born into a royal family, Adr-er-Rahman II had, on the surface, little in common with Inaki. In later years he would distinguish himself by his wars against the Christian nucleus-groups within Spain and their attempt at reconverting Spain and by his notorious persecutions of Christians. He never forgot or forgave the Benedictines for putting him in the hands of the Sisters of the Moon, and throughout his life took great pleasure in torturing, mutilating and beheading any of those monks that had the misfortune to fall into his hands. He was cruel, sly, mistrusting and ambitious and yet despite all this, he trusted and liked Inaki. As a result, he never made an attempt to escape whilst he was with the Basques and held them in life-long high esteem.
Elexoste and Aguirre had entered the town by the north gate. The town was full of people, selling and buying. As a result few gave the strangers a second glance, and they moved about the market place with ease. The town inhabitants were mostly Mozarabes, which are Christians who had taken-up the Muslim religion to keep their possessions and lands. They lived in a twilight zone. They were despised by both Christians and Arabs alike. They belonged to neither one side nor the other and were persecuted by both. Consequently, those of the inhabitants who did take a harder, closer and longer look at the two Basques made no effort to denounce them. The insecurity of their own fragile position made them unsure and apathetic.
After completing their purchases, Aguirre and Elexoste were resting on the steps of the great Mosque, eating some fruit. Below them, a man was sitting on a silk cushion. In front of him was a small desk with quills and parchment. As they watched a succession of people would approach the Arab and he would write down their words, but keep the parchments, which he would place inside a leather bag beside him.
“What on earth is he doing?” Elexoste said, between mouthfuls of apple.
“Don’t know, but I mean to find out.” Aguirre got up and approached one of the people waiting for the scribe.
“Friend,” Aguirre said, “what does that man you are waiting for do?”
The man glanced at Aguirre, saw his great size and the battle-axe in his belt and thought it would be better to be polite, not wishing to offend him.
“He writes letters.”
“Letters?” queried Aguirre.
“Yes, letters. You know, if you have a message for someone, he will write it for you and send it. Depending on how long it is and how far it has to go he will charge you accordingly.” Then he added. “But, you must haggle or he will overcharge.” He didn’t wish to get on the wrong side of Aquirre.
“I am obliged,” Aguirre said.
“Don’t mention it.”
The man said moving quickly away, thankful that the conversation had ended.
“Well?” Elexoste asked.
“Stay here and don’t move.” Aguirre went over to the scribe.
“I wish to send a letter.”
“Sit down!” the Arab said. He gestured to a cushion before the small desk.
Aguirre sat down.
“Where do you wish to send your letter?” the Arab said.
“To Zaragoza.”
The Arab wrote a few lines down in Arabic.
“And to whom?”
Aguirre paused for a moment. “Captain Umar-el Bakr.”
The Arab looked up from the parchment and stared at Aguirre. Aguirre stared straight back with a blank expression on his face.
“Who is sending this letter?” The Arab was still staring at Aguirre and had put his quill down.
Aguirre, giving no sign of his thumping heart, said in a matter-of-fact voice: “From my master, the merchant Jean Luc de Tours of Lyon.”
The Arab picked up the quill again.
“What is your master’s message?”
Aguirre made as if to clear his throat. He was beginning to enjoy his play-acting.
“Most illustrious Captain Umar-el-Bekr, of the Guard at the palace of the governor of Zaragoza.”
Aguirre paused, and then continued.
“The merchandise that you ordered from the Benedictines has been collected and will be outside Zuera on the north road in three days time.”
“Not so fast. Give me time to write and it is customary to start the letter with salaam,” said the Arab.
Aguirre paused. “So be it. Do it.”
“Go on,” the Arab said after a moment.
“The goods are on three mules. No, make that, two mules. You will need but a small escort to take them into Zaragoza. Your humble servant,
Jean Luc de Tours. Merchant of fine quality goods.”
*
The Arab finished and smiled. “You want to keep some of the profit for yourself?”
“I am but a humble muleskinner.”
“That will be three silver pieces,” the Arab said still smiling.
“I will give you one,” Aguirre replied.
“The price is three.”
“Two if you can guarantee it reaches Zaragoza tomorrow.”
“Very well, two and it will be in Zaragoza tomorrow.”
“You swear it by the Blood of Allah?”
The Arab looked uncomfortable, but nodded slowly. Aguirre handed over two silver coins. He stood and bowed and joined Elexoste. The Arab had carefully watched Aguirre’s departure. He was no muleskinner. Of that he was sure. He looked down at the letter. A man that dealt with the Captain of the governor’s Guard was not to be trifled with. He picked up his quill and carefully wrote down the date at the bottom of the parchment. He wrote, 1st August 778 and his name. Charlemagne had entered Spain and would be at the gates of Zaragoza in five days.
“Let us get out of here. We have stayed too long already,” said Aguirre.
They left the town and made their way along the north road. When they had reached the hillside, they carefully made sure that no one could see them and took a track leading off the road towards the hill. After they had been on the track for sometime, Roka appeared out of a thicket. He came bounding over to his master and made a great fuss over him as if Aguirre had been away for a very long time. He placed two great paws on his chest and licked his face. Aguirre laughed and scratched the great head behind both ears. The dog growled his pleasure.
Roka soon led them towards the camp and as they approached, Arturo appeared from behind a tree, bow at the ready. To his left, Storm suddenly rose from some long grass. His head was low and he stared intently with his yellow eyes.
“That animal still gives me the creeps,” Elexoste said. “His ability to appear out of nowhere is uncanny.”
“That’s the wolf in him,” Arturo replied, smiling. “You will find the camp a hundred paces ahead of you. Have you any food? I’m starving!”
They gave Arturo some food and made their way to the camp where Inaki was in deep conversation with the boy. He looked up and greeted the two men.
“Did it go well?” he asked as they sat down beside him.
“Better than in your wildest dreams,” Aguirre replied.
In short sentences he explained about the Arab scribe and what he had done.
“You have been cheated. You paid too much,” said the boy without being asked for his opinion.
“I will have his head,” he said seriously.
Bloodthirsty little devil, thought Aguirre. However, he had a burning question which he did give voice to.
“Will the letter reach Zaragoza?”
“Oh yes,” said the boy matter of factly. “It will get there all right.”
“Let us move,” said Inaki, “we have an appointment to keep.”
As they did so, Aguirre turned to Inaki and said: “Is there something I should know?”
“What do you mean?” said Inaki defensively.
&
nbsp; “Well, as we approached the camp, Storm was waiting in ambush.”
Inaki looked at his old friend.
“He has been acting strangely, but we can talk about it later.”
“Are you sure?” said Aguirre.
“Yes.”
With that, Inaki turned away and hurried the men to get started.
Chapter Thirteen
Charlemagne
At the far end of a deeply wooded valley, a company of horsemen waited. It was a hot summer’s day and the air was alive with insects. Bees hummed through the air and brightly-coloured butterflies flittered amongst the meadow flowers. At the head of the mounted men, a man of royal bearing sat on his charger. He was tall, with shoulder length blond hair and bearded. He wore chain mail and had a deep purple cloak about his shoulders. His posture had the bearing of one who was used to hard military training and his body had the scars of many battles. In his hand, he held a thick-shafted hunting spear. The ash shaft was strong enough to take the full force of a charging boar without shattering into splinters. He had that unique authority about him that made men follow and obey. He was a natural leader, who men would die for. Behind him were 300 mounted guards and various noblemen; together with a number of hunting dogs and their handlers. He was Charlemagne, King and soon to become Emperor; the most powerful man in the known world at that time, and he looked it.
In the distance he could hear the sound of Roland’s mighty hunting horn. An hour earlier it had sounded the start of the hunt. Now it sounded the three short notes that indicated the dogs had found the wild boars and that they were on the scent. As he sat on his charger, Charlemagne could picture the scene. Roland, his beloved nephew and the greatest of his warriors, would be right behind the great mastiffs. These were specially bred dogs for hunting, with exceptional noses that could follow a scent for hours. They were large dogs, descended from Roman war dogs, but lighter in weight; bred for their speed, strength and fearlessness. Their ancestry gave them certain characteristics; they were black and tan or alternatively, all one colour with large floppy ears, short rough coats and long tails. They were handled in pairs or, if the handler was skilful enough, in fours. They were kept on long leather leashes until the boars took to cover and then released to flush them out of the thickets and onto the waiting spears of the huntsmen. Several horns could be heard now as the forty odd dogs that were being used that morning found the scent of the prey. But above them all, the distinctive note of Roland’s horn could not be mistaken. Twice the size of any other horn, the great Oliphant, boomed out of the valley. No other man had the lungs to blow it and in battle, as in the hunt, it was a means of communication between the great king and his most trusted kinsman.
The Moon Worshippers Page 14
