Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986

by Cahena (v3. 1)

  “We’ve always fought or hunted with two javelins,” said big Ketriazar, shifting his pitted face in the fireglow. “We’ve beaten the Moslems with two javelins apiece before this.”

  “If I’m allowed to advise you —” began Wulf.

  “You’re here to advise us,” the Cahena assured him. “You seem to know various fighting methods.”

  “I say that each man should have several javelins,” insisted Wulf. “Four, perhaps five.”

  “Five?” repeated Bhakrann. “When we all hit our marks?”

  “You don’t all hit your marks,” Wulf said flatly. “Yesterday we fought those scouts. Four of you threw javelins, and only two went home. That’s only half of you hitting the mark.”

  “Hai!” cried Bhakrann. It might have been agreement, it might have been embarrassment.

  “It takes time to make a javelin,” put in Ketriazar. “It needs as much skill to make it as to use it. We can’t make more just now.” He drank wine. “You say they have bows and arrows. What else?”

  “Swords,” said Wulf. “Good swords.”

  “Here’s a Moslem sword,” said Mallul, baring his weapon to gleam in the firelight. “We’ve taken a number of their swords.”

  “How well do you use them?” Wulf inquired.

  “None of us as well as you do,” answered Bhakrann for them all. “My brothers, this Wulf’s sword strikes like a snake. I’ve seen him at work.”

  “It will be javelins against swords,” said Wulf. “Again I say, I wish we had more javelins to strike them and leave fewer to bring their swords close.”

  “You talk like one of us.” Yaunis smiled. “You’ve been here just long enough to eat and drink, but you sound Imazighen.”

  “You want to beat the Moslems and so do I,” returned Wulf. “That makes some kind of kinship.”

  “I’ll vouch for Wulf,” said Bhakrann. “I’ve liked him from when I first saw him handle weapons and heard him speak. Cahena, let me say that whoever distrusts him does the same to me.”

  “You don’t have to say that, Bhakrann,” her soft voice replied. “We need Wulf, to help destroy as much of this advance party as we can, leave only a few to run back and tell Carthage how badly they were beaten, and give us a chance to gather our own big army. I’ve already sent messengers to alert the men from everywhere on Arwa, from Thrysdus south of here, from the towns on the coast. Because the Moslems think that if they wipe us out, there’ll be no more danger to them.”

  “I was there when Bhakrann killed Okba,” said Ketriazar, deep in his chest. “I was there when we killed Zoheir. I’ll be there when we beat them this time.”

  The Cahena’s burning eyes roved around the circle. “If we’re through eating, I’ll say good night.”

  They got to their feet, Wulf among them.

  “Stay here, Wulf,” she bade him. “I want to talk more.”

  The others filed out without speaking. The Cahena motioned for Wulf to sit down again. She leaned intently toward him.

  “Some of those chiefs were slow to believe you, but I believe you,” she said. “My voices say that you are wise and brave. You’re right about the javelins, though we can’t get those just now. But tell me about the Moslem horses.”

  “You know by now that their horses are good,” he said. “Horses from Arabia, better in most ways than yours. I know that your horses live hard and can travel, but the Moslems have bigger ones, stronger in a charge. I got out of Carthage on a captured Arabian horse, and it’s better for war than any of those in Bhakrann’s party that found me.”

  “What’s the Moslem way of battle?”

  “In the open, they like to form a long line of horsemen and charge, with more close columns behind, ready to gallop for any point where they can help the most. They close on the flanks if they can, to crumple the enemy formation.”

  “We’ll keep them from doing that,” she said. “We’ll choose the ground this side of the pass and let them ride out to us.”

  “You’re right, Cahena,” said Wulf.

  She smiled at him. “Then we’ll start when the moon is high.”

  She rose. Her shadow fell close to Wulf. He bowed on his hands and knees and kissed the earth where her shadow was.

  “Get up, Wulf,” said her voice above him.

  He did so. She smiled radiantly. He saw how white and small and even her teeth were, how beautiful she was.

  “You didn’t do that when we first met,” she said with a hint of a laugh. “I knew you didn’t know our customs.”

  Out came her slim hand. He took it, wondering if he should kiss it, too, but she laid her other hand over his, pressing gently.

  “That’s a warrior’s hand,” she said. “Strong for fighting, sure for thinking. You’ll ride beside me when we fight the Moslems.”

  “Ride with you? You’ll be in this battle?”

  “I always lead my men.” Her eyes swam in their own brilliance. “I’ve led in many battles, ever since I was a young girl. And I’ve always won.”

  “Bhakrann and the others say you have more than human wisdom, Cahena,” he said.

  “I can judge situations, foresee problems, and decide how to meet them.” She looked at him all the time. “You speak Imazighen well, better than most foreigners.”

  That, he judged, was to stop his talking about her. “I learn languages quickly,” he said. “Frankish, Greek, Latin, Arabic, Hebrew. And I can write those languages, too.”

  “You’re a learned man. Good night, Wulf.”

  She turned and paced toward the makeshift tent. How gracefully she moved. He walked out of the enclosure.

  She was like no woman he had ever seen. She had deliberately shown him her womanness, to awe him, maybe to overwhelm him. That must be part of why her men worshipped her, for the woman she was as well as for the queen and prophetess and commander she was. She had turned her light on him because she wanted him with her. For what?

  The moonlight softly bleached the land. Wulf passed the silent sentinels. Up the slope to westward sprawled the little camps of the men. Someone was singing.

  “Wulf.”

  Bhakrann came striding. Wulf turned his steps that way. Bhakrann stopped, half leaning on his javelin. His eyes caught a glitter from the moon.

  “They picketed our horses where those Djerwa subehiefs are making ready to sleep.” He pointed, and Wulf went with him in that direction. “What did she say to you?”

  “Among other things, that we’d march when the moon is high.”

  “Didn’t I say she’d order that? What else, if you’re allowed to talk about it?”

  “She didn’t tell me to keep still about anything. She wants me with her when we fight. That pass where they’ll come through, that’s where she thinks to meet them.”

  “She’s always right. She can choose a battleground better than I can.” Bhakrann chuckled over that. “Maybe better than you. What else, now?”

  “She said I was a warrior and a thinker.”

  “I told her that, but she’d know it anyway.”

  Wulf thought about the Cahena. “Does she always fight alongside her men? And doesn’t she have women to tend her in camp?”

  “At times like this, on a fast move, she looks after herself. She cooked that supper. She can do everything for herself. She’s worth following. You’ll find out.”

  “I’m finding out,” said Wulf.

  They came to where five men lounged, wrapped in their mantles against the cool of the night. Horses were picketed where there was grass to munch. Beyond that gathering, other men sang.

  “What do they sing?” asked Wulf. “I can’t hear.”

  “Who knows?” said one of the reclining men. “We make up our songs as we sing them.”

  “Maybe they sing about you, Wulf,” said another. “About how the Cahena trusts you.”

  “Suppose we stop talking and get some sleep,” said Bhakrann. “We’ll move out around midnight.”

  Wulf tugged off his Byzantin
e half boots. He unbuckled his sword, cleared it from the sheath, and laid it where he could put a hand on it quickly. The others lifted their heads to study the weapon, but said nothing. Nobody had said anything since Bhakrann had called for silence.

  Bhakrann lapped himself in his cloak, put his head on a saddle wallet, and seemed to go to sleep at once. Wulf lay with his hands clasped behind his head and gazed at where the moon swam among the stars, round and pale, with shadowy flecks. It might have been an Imazighen shield, complete with design. Wulf wished he had a shield.

  How soon would the camp be awakened and marshaled, how many miles would be accomplished by the light of that moon? Those scouts who had been sent out, were they adroit enough to keep from being seen? How war-wise were these men he had joined, obeying the slightest soft word of the Cahena?

  He could see her smile, could feel the touch of her hands on his. She had called him a warrior and a thinker, as if she knew what the words meant. She was beautiful in what she said and did. Thinking of her, Wulf wondered if sleep would come to him.

  As he wondered, sleep came.

  * * *

  V

  He half wakened in the moonlight, to what seemed the thud of heavy feet. He gazed to where, at another group of sleepers, moved a misty something. It was dark; it stood tall and knobby-armed. Its massive head seemed to have horns like a bull. A helmet? He could not be sure. He watched the shape tread heavily away, vanish. A dream, he told himself, and closed his eyes again.

  The stir of the camp roused him. He was awake swiftly. He knew who he was and where he was. The moon blazed at the top of the sky. Near him, men pulled on boots or laced up sandals, buckled belts. Wulf carried his gear to where his horse drowsed, threw the cloth across its back, and set the saddle on that and drew the girth snug. Bhakrann was there beside his own mount.

  “Here, maybe this headpiece will fit you,” said Bhakrann.

  An old Roman helmet, Wulf saw, rusted and dented, with a comb on top and worn felt padding inside. It went all right on his head.

  “And here.” Bhakrann handed him an oval leather shield faced with a gridlike iron netting and a brass rim.

  “Thanks,” said Wulf. “I had a strange dream. A sort of giant with a bull’s horns, walking through the camp.”

  Bhakrann gazed at him. “Maybe that wasn’t a dream. Did it stop beside you? No? That’s good. That thing’s name is Khro. He comes before a battle and picks out the men who’ll die.”

  “A dream,” said Wulf again.

  “I’ll show you it wasn’t. Where did you see him?”

  Wulf pointed to where other men roused. Bhakrann led him there and studied the ground. “Look,” he said.

  Wulf saw cloven prints in the earth. “An ox?” he said.

  “We haven’t a single beef animal with us,” said Bhakrann, “and the prints are fresh as of last night. Khro was here.”

  They walked away again. Wulf shrugged off an uneasiness. “What are the marching orders?” he asked.

  “Scouts went out an hour ago,” Bhakrann told him. “The main body will follow, three columns about half a mile apart. We ride with the Cahena at the head of the middle column.”

  Wulf slung the shield to his pommel and mounted. He and Bhakrann rode toward the stream. Elements of the force splashed across. Murmurs of conversation rose. Wulf checked his horse to let it drink a few gulps, then pulled up its head and sent it wading over. Bhakrann and he trotted to where a string of mounted figures moved eastward in the half-light. A standard fluttered above the foremost rider.

  “Bhakrann,” came her voice. “Wulf. Ride at my right and left.”

  They took their places. The party moved at a brisk walk. Wulf recognized Mallul among the others, but nobody else.

  “The chiefs are with their peoples,” said the Cahena, as though she read Wulf’s mind. “We’re all Imazighen here, no Greeks, no Vandals. We didn’t have time to prod them into coming along.”

  She wore her blue robe. The scarf was drawn back from her face. She looked young in the moonlight. Two javelins were slung behind her shoulder. She sat astride, confidently, like one who has ridden from childhood. Wulf saw her small boot in the stirrup.

  “How far to that pass, Bhakrann?” she asked.

  Bhakrann peered. “We’ll be there before dawn, Cahena. We can push in — be right in their faces before they expect us.”

  “Won’t they expect us?” asked Wulf.

  Bhakrann looked across at him. “They don’t know this country. Oh, maybe a few were here with Okba, but that was years ago. They won’t know what to expect.”

  “Then they’ll expect anything,” said Wulf. “Try to prepare for anything. Especially prepare for us to come into the pass.”

  The Cahena smiled sidelong at Wulf. “How do you know they’ll do that?”

  “I only know that, before a battle, you prepare for anything the enemy might do.”

  “Ahi,” said Bhakrann. “How can we know, or they know?”

  Wulf stroked his horse’s mane. “I’m trying to think like their commander. You’re right, Bhakrann, they aren’t sure of the pass or the country this side, so they camped on the far side. But they’ll have sent men up on the heights, scouts and observers and probably archers. He’ll want to hold those points all the way along, while his main body comes through below. He doesn’t want us up there, throwing javelins down on him.”

  “We could send advance parties to right and left,” said Bhakrann, half impatiently. “It’s easier to climb up from this side.”

  “They’d expect something like that,” insisted Wulf. “Very likely they climbed up as soon as they stopped at the pass.”

  The Cahena gazed back at the column of horsemen. Then she looked to one side and to the other. Shadowy blotches paced out there to either hand.

  “You think this Moslem commander is wise,” she said gently.

  “Hassan ibn an-Numan won’t have sent a fool, Cahena. These people have fought all the way from Egypt to here. They’re seasoned. Whoever leads them was chosen for competence and experience.”

  “So you don’t want us up on the heights,” said Bhakrann, “and you don’t want us to meet them in the pass. Maybe you want to wait for them to come all the way out on this side.”

  “I think that’s exactly what Wulf has in mind,” said the Cahena.

  “Not exactly, Cahena,” said Wulf. “Not let them come all the way out. Let maybe half of them into the open. Then, before they can deploy for either a charge or a stand, strike them, demoralize them, before they can spread out into a proper line of battle.”

  “The other half would wait for us to come into the pass,” objected Bhakrann.

  “I don’t think that will happen with those Moslems, chosen for a thrust into unknown country,” said Wulf. “That sort goes to a battle like boys to a game. When the fight starts with half of them out on our side of the pass, the other half will rush to get out into it, come to close quarters. But by the time their rear elements get into the open, we can settle accounts with the first elements, then handle the rest.”

  The Cahena tilted her lovely head, smiling.

  “I hadn’t made a decision. But now I’m building on what you say, Wulf. Keep talking. Bhakrann and I will listen.”

  “Hai!” muttered Bhakrann. It didn’t sound quite like agreement.

  Wulf elaborated. He explained why he thought that the Moslems would explore the pass by night, in gingerly fashion, while the main body might well start slowly. No prudent commander, he said again, would emerge into strange and dangerous territory until there was light enough to see and fight by. He remembered that the opening of the pass toward which they now marched had jutting rocks and scattered boulders to each side. Even when the Moslem van could see, it could not change formation from column into line with any great speed.

  “They’ll rush us,” declared Bhakrann. “Then we’ll countercharge and drive them back in.”

  “Is that your advice, Wulf?” asked the Cahe
na. She looked at him with her full lower lip caught in her teeth, as though to keep from smiling. It gave her an expression almost coquettish.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “If they retreat into the pass, they can hold us off. Let our three columns come along. This middle one faces the pass, the others lie out to either side. As the enemy comes out, let this middle column retreat.”

  “Retreat?” Bhakrann barked his protest.

  “It’ll fall back but keep formation and spread into line as it retires. Those Moslems will gallop at us, calling on Allah almighty.”

  “There is also the Cahena,” breathed Bhakrann, like a prayer.

  “If we fall back, what then?” the Cahena prompted Wulf.

  “Out come their first squadrons, thinking they’ve already won,” said Wulf. “Our other columns strike from the sides, charge in close order, and, when they’re almost there, throw javelins. This central force will charge, too, drive in, fight hand to hand.”

  “That sounds good,” said the Cahena, nodding. “When did you think of all this?”

  “While we rode,” said Wulf. “Considered our possibilities and theirs, and tried to choose the best one. And you asked for my opinion.”

  “I did, and you gave it.”

  She laughed. It was her first real laugh that Wulf had heard. It was musical, like a flute.

  “Bhakrann,” she said, “did you hear what Wulf explained?”

  “Very clearly, Cahena,” replied Bhakrann.

  “Then ride to the left column there. Yaunis leads it. Tell him and his subchiefs what’s been decided. They’re to approach the pass, not directly, but within sight and signal of us. When we, here at the middle, draw them into the open, Yaunis is to charge. Understand?”

  “Very clearly,” said Bhakrann again, and cantered away.

  “Mallul,” the Cahena called.

  Her son hurried from behind. He listened as the Cahena told him the orders to carry to the right. “Ketriazar commands there,” she said. “Say that this is my word, then come back to tell me that he will obey.”