Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986

by Cahena (v3. 1)

  Whatever the Cahena had meant to do with him, she had not done it. Had not shaken him, defeated him. What would happen between them now he did not know, did not care to know.

  The heavy door murmured open. Someone peeped in, then came in. It was Daphne, in a long gown of black and silver, draped close to her plumply curved body. Her hair was bound with a lacy fillet. She closed the door and the latch fell into place, with a click like a dagger going into its sheath.

  “There, I’ve locked us in,” she said. “I wanted to see you. I’ve missed you.”

  “Will you have a drink with me?” he asked, and filled a cup. She sat on the shelf with him and they drank. The wine was sharp, strong. It made Wulf’s nose tingle.

  “How do you like Thrysdus?” he asked her.

  “We’re getting used to it.” Her eyes crinkled with a smile. “My father’s busy making swords. Everyone wants a sword now, along with his javelins. You’ve taught our warriors about the sword, Wulf.”

  “I wish nobody needed a sword,” he said. “Fighting gets tiresome.”

  “Yes, doesn’t it?” She drank and put her plump little hand on his wrist. “What do you need to make you happy?”

  “Peace, I think. For everybody.”

  “Maybe a little stir of action now and then?”

  Her face was almost against his. He kissed her mouth.

  “Oh,” she whispered.

  His arm slid around her of its own volition. There was nothing under her gown, nothing but Daphne. She kissed him strongly.

  “I’ve wanted this,” she said, close to his ear. “Wanted it since the first day at Tiergal, when you came for your mail coat.”

  He said nothing. For a moment, the Cahena was out of his angry mind. He put down his cup and slid his hand inside her black and silver gown. She was made snugly, silkily. She sighed, and she was feeling inside his robe, too.

  Down she sank on the cushions, holding him tightly to her. He shrugged out of his robe and drew her garment open. Her body was paler than the Cahena’s body, it was an abundant body, it welcomed him. As he covered her, she lifted her loins to his.

  It was long before they were finished with each other.

  * * *

  XX

  Afterward, Wulf wondered if the Cahena could know, she who knew so much. Perhaps she didn’t bother to know, in her preoccupation with Khalid. As for Daphne, she comforted Wulf. They met again and then again. She always came to him when nobody would disturb them. She soothed him like wholesome bread, where the Cahena had stirred him like strong wine.

  The Cahena sent for him one evening and received him alone in her chamber. She motioned him to sit opposite her. “I’ve an important errand for you,” she said.

  “What errand, Lady Cahena?”

  No faint whispers in the room, no half-heard music as in times before. Wulf heard only her voice.

  “You know what’s been decided,” she said. “We’ll make a desert here, leave nothing for those invaders to steal. Carry my orders to Lartius and to Yaunis, out there in the northwest.”

  He frowned. “What if they don’t like those orders?”

  “They’ll have to see wisdom,” she said, sternness in her voice. “I want their towns razed to their foundations, I want their groves and orchards cut down. Tell them I said so. You heard Ketriazar and Daris agree.”

  Still he frowned. “Ketriazar and Daris are used to the wild, roaming life. These others are different. They won’t understand.”

  “They don’t have to understand.” Her fine teeth showed. “All they need do is obey.” She studied him. “You’ll obey, too.”

  “I’ll go and give them your orders,” he agreed. “When do I go?”

  “Start tomorrow. Is that agreeable?”

  “May I take Bhakrann?”

  She shook her head. “Bhakrann handles our exchanges of their officers and gets back ransoms — weapons camels, horses, gold, and so on. And he watches that line of castles Hassan is building. Take someone else.”

  “I’ll take my man Susi, yes, and Cham. Cham has scouted all those lands.”

  The Cahena nodded permission. “And you go tomorrow, I say. Will you eat here with me? Talk with me?”

  Her voice sounded winning, but Wulf rose and bowed.

  “With your permission, I go make ready.”

  She pouted at that. “We should be better friends, Wulf.”

  “I’m your warrior and your errand runner, Lady Cahena.”

  “You don’t call me Daia.”

  “How would I dare? Give me leave to go.”

  He stooped to kiss her shadow, and went.

  At early dawn Wulf and Cham and Susi rode away on their best horses, leading a pack mule with provisions. Cham showed them a trail to the northwest, not a good one but plainly marked. There were wells here and there, and occasional hamlets of a few huts apiece. Sometimes women held important posts in those places, as chieftainesses and priestesses. When the party stopped for a night, they were gladly entertained, were sung to and praised as conquerors of Moslems. Wulf told of the Cahena’s plan to blot out villages and farms, and his hearers listened soberly but did not protest.

  Reaching Cirta at last, they were hospitably greeted by Lartius, who gave them a fine supper, served by his sketchily clad maidservants. Wulf set forth the Cahena’s orders of destruction. Lartius knitted his black brows. “Destroy Cirta? You’d need thousands to do that. Cirta is a fortress, a treasure city. Cirta has been here for centuries.”

  “I’m here to tell you the Lady Cahena’s orders,” said Wulf evenly. “She wants to deny the Moslems any plunder, any profit or provision or shelter.”

  Lartius shook his head. “If we destroyed our town, there would still be this height — Cirta’s a natural fortification. Wulf, I don’t follow your advice.”

  “It’s not my advice, it’s the order of the Cahena.”

  Lartius munched a fig. “Whose advice is it, then? Khalid’s?”

  “Yes, Khalid’s advice,” Wulf felt obliged to say. “He points out that Hassan’s followers are mostly new, half-converted Moslems, who want spoils of war.” He gazed at Lartius. “All right, she’ll be waiting for your answer.”

  “I’ll have to think, it needs thinking,” said Lartius unhappily.

  “Do I take that back for your answer?”

  “Yes, tell her that.” Lartius managed a smile. “Let’s change the subject. Do you fancy any of these nice girls waiting on us? Pick one for your bedfellow tonight.”

  “Thanks, but I’ll leave early tomorrow to visit Yaunis, and I don’t want to start out feeling jaded.”

  “That’s wisdom, anyway.” Lartius clapped his hands, and a eunuch came to them. “Show Wulf where he’ll sleep.”

  At dawn Wulf’s party headed westward. They came to where Yaunis kept his place, a busy village somewhat similar to the Tiergal Wulf had known. Yaunis soberly heard Wulf’s report on the Cahena’s policy of destruction.

  “I never heard such stem measures,” vowed Yaunis. “We settled here I don’t know how many lifetimes ago. How can we go wild, the way she orders?”

  “Ketriazar and Daris will go wild,” Wulf reminded him. “So will the Djerwa.”

  “But they’ve always been tent dwellers and hunters,” said Yaunis. “I’ll have to call in my subchiefs and wise men and women, hear what they say about this.”

  “The Cahena thinks she’s the one to say, about everything.”

  “I’ll confer with my people and send my message to Thrysdus.”

  Wulf led his party back the way it had come. He reported to the Cahena, who sat with Khalid beside her and tightened her lips as she heard what Lartius and Yaunis had said.

  “So they balk?” she snapped. “Weigh my orders before they obey? Maybe I should go up there and do the destruction myself.”

  “What if they rebelled?” suggested Wulf.

  She tossed her head, stirring her black cloud of hair.

  “They wouldn’t dare. I’m their q
ueen. I saved them from the Moslems and I’ll save them again, in spite of their objections.” She looked at Khalid. “Would you lead a force to tear them down?”

  “I’d obey any command from you,” said Khalid. bowing.

  “We’ll see,” she said. “Thank you for that news, Wulf.”

  He sought his own apartment. As he entered, Daphne slipped in behind him. He closed and barred the door. She threw her arms around him, pressed herself to him.

  “Welcome home,” she whispered against his cheek.

  Time went on. Bhakrann and his scouts took one Moslem officer after another eastward to Hassan and brought back weapons and horses and gold. Bhakrann said that Hassan’s line of forts neared completion and that new swarms of Moslems gathered there.

  “They look like another army of invasion,” Bhakrann said in council.

  “Invasion and plunder,” said Khalid from beside the Cahena. “If they find anything worth taking.”

  “They won’t,” declared the Cahena. “I’ll see to that.”

  She told Wulf and Khalid and Mallul to stay while the others left. Stooping above a flicker of fire in a corner of the room, she whispered rhythmically. She strewed dust from an embroidered pouch on the fire, which blazed up pale blue. Again she whispered. Finally she turned back toward the three men.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, almost plaintively.

  “You don’t hear your voices?” asked Wulf, and her eyes glittered at him.

  “I know where to turn for counsel,” she said, and looked at Khalid, who made his graceful bow.

  “I know what to do, and I’ll see that it’s done,” she said. “Are you rested, Wulf? Then go to Ketriazar and Daris. Say that I order them up yonder to Cirta, to see that it’s laid waste.”

  “I’ll go tomorrow,” said Wulf. “I’ll take Susi and Cham.”

  Daphne slipped into Wulf’s room that night, barred the door, and fairly leaped into his arms. Again she was a solace to him. She left at midnight. At dawn Wulf gathered his party and rode away westward.

  He found Ketriazar’s Medusi living in tents, happily hunting deer and wild hogs. Ketriazar greeted the visitors with a dinner of big snails stewed in highly seasoned olive oil. When Wulf repeated the Cahena’s orders, Ketriazar smiled in relish.

  “I’ll come with you to see Daris,” he said.

  Daris’s people, too, had taken readily to a tent-dwelling nomad life, and Daris chose his best cavalry squadrons to join with those of Ketriazar. Almost two thousand strong, these forces rode northward on a mission they seemed to relish in advance.

  Back at Thrysdus, Wulf met Bhakrann. Bhakrann had been busy returning the last of the captured Moslem officers to Hassan and bringing back goods and gold for ransom. His first question puzzled Wulf:

  “You’ve been out in the west. How are things? I mean, did you see any odd shapes or hear any odd noises?”

  “Why no, nothing like that,” said Wulf. “Nothing strange.”

  Bhakrann shrugged. “Nothing strange in these parts, either. That’s what’s strange about it. No appearances, voices, little happenings out of the ordinary. Not even with the Cahena.”

  “Not even a glimpse of Khro?” said Wulf, and Bhakrann glared.

  “Didn’t I tell you, don’t say that name?”

  “Why not say it?” Wulf flung back. “I know it means death. But I’m not afraid of death. I’ve been so close to death, time after time, I could see the flash of hell’s flames. Death doesn’t bother me. Let death come, any day and any hour.”

  Bhakrann’s glare became a blank stare. “You must be lost in your heart.”

  “Don’t bother about my heart, old friend.”

  He sat down in his apartment to drink wine. He was drinking a considerable amount of wine these days. A diffident scratching at the door, and he went to open it and in came Daphne.

  She looked plump and pleasant, caught up in one of the captured Moslem garments she liked. Wulf smiled down at her.

  “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “What’s usually on my mind?” she asked back, and flung the garment from her bare body. She was an opulently toothsome sight like that. Wulf caught her in a hug so powerful that she gave a bubbling gasp.

  Quickly, eagerly, they had each other. Wulf wondered why he did not truly love Daphne for her gladness, her passionate acceptance of him. He almost forgot the Cahena at the supreme moment with Daphne — but not quite. The Cahena could never be forgotten. Never never.

  Crops grew and farmers brought them in for trade. Word came from Ketriazar about events at Cirta.

  Lartius had protested, had resisted. He had mustered warriors to face Ketriazar and Daris, and there had been a skirmish of sorts. Two of Ketriazar’s Medusi killed, two of Daris’s Nefussa, and maybe twenty of the Cirta force. Lartius had retreated up his height to go on the defensive, and the men of the expedition had gleefully set fire to grain fields, chopped down big orchards, had laid the land waste for miles around Cirta. From there they had gone to seek Yaunis, but Yaunis and his people had left their settlement to live in tents and gather what wild food they could. Ketriazar and Daris had burned their houses and destroyed their crops, had done the same thing elsewhere. The coastal territories in those parts, once pleasantly fruitful, were becoming the desert the Cahena had commanded.

  Djalout and Wulf talked about it.

  “I can’t publicly challenge her plan,” said Djalout. “I can only deplore it in private.”

  “She’s trying the loyalty of her chieftains,” said Wulf. “Surely she didn’t make such a move at the bidding of her spirit voices.”

  “It was at the bidding of the very human voice of Khalid.” Djalout stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Once we heard the echoes of those who spoke to the Cahena. But things are becoming distressingly workaday — dully logical, don’t you think?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes,” said Wulf. “I’ve missed a strangeness in the land, the air. The last really extraordinary business was at that Tomb of the Christian Woman.”

  “Where you destroyed that Lamia.” Djalout nodded. “Has it occurred to you that her destruction may have had its effect on all this land?”

  “She was evil,” Wulf said. “She claimed to know all about the Cahena, said she influenced the Cahena, would eventually see her defeated. I’m glad she’s gone.”

  “Something’s gone with her. All sorts of strange somethings. How shall we fare without them?”

  “A lot of that depends on Hassan, gathering his new forces,” said Wulf.

  “He’ll come at us again,” said Djalout. “I don’t pretend to hear prophesying voices, I only observe events. Meanwhile, the Cahena acts on the advice of Khalid.”

  “Do you approve of laying the land waste?” Wulf asked him.

  “My approval hasn’t been sought, and neither has yours. Come, I want you to meet somebody.”

  They went down to the lower level and out in the great open arena, where horses of the guard details were picketed. Djalout led the way to a sort of makeshift tent of striped cloth, pegged against the wall. Before it sat a small misshapen man, cross-legged, scanty-bearded, staring at them.

  “This is Shua, Wulf.” Djalout made the introductions. “He’s been in Egypt, he’s watched Hassan’s preparations, and he can tell us some interesting things.”

  Shua got up. His thin legs were bowed, his back rose in a hump almost as high as his head. His dark, wrinkled face looked like a fuzzy raisin. His eyes were so bright that they almost bit.

  “You’re welcome here, Shua,” said Wulf. “Where are you from, and what’s your calling?”

  Shua stamped crookedly to where a horse stood tethered. Like Shua, it was brownish black and, like Shua, it was misshapen. Its legs were grotesquely knuckled, it was deeply swaybacked under its old saddle. Its head on its scrawny neck was as blunt as a melon. Shua groped in a saddlebag and brought out a gleaming round crystal.

  “I’m from Ethiopia,” he growled. “Yo
ur Moslem troublemakers haven’t come there yet. By trade, I’m a soothsayer.”

  “We hope you can say sooth,” said Djalout politely.

  Shua squatted at his little tent. He was almost as tall sitting as he had been standing. He glared at his crystal ball.

  “Say sooth?” he repeated. “I wanted to see what sooth you say here. I’ve heard of the wisdom and power of your Queen Cahena, of all the gods you worship. I came to find out, and I find nothing.”

  “You think we haven’t any skills,” suggested Wulf.

  “Maybe you had them once, but where did they go from you?” flung back Shua. “I made my journey, I wanted to learn and profit. But nothing I do has any response. Look here.”

  He held out the crystal on his palm. “Look at it. Think of the future, what it may hold. Look hard, think hard.”

  Wulf studied the shining globe. Bright motes seemed to stir in it, to form a pulsing cloud. Wulf looked. The cloud grew dim, melted away.

  “You see?” grated Shua. “No, you don’t see. There should have been a figure, somebody with a broom, sweeping to make ready for a vision. And after that —” He clamped the crystal in skinny fingers. “No good, not here! You don’t have any gods or spirits or angels or devils. Nothing!”

  “It makes things pleasantly uneventful,” said Djalout.

  “I’m a scholar, a soothsayer, looking for truth,” yammered Shua. “Truth — what is truth?”

  “Ah,” said Djalout, “that question was once asked by a Roman official named Pontius Pilate, of a troublesome agitator named Jesus. Pilate didn’t wait for an answer, which might have been illuminating.” He smiled down on Shua. “What do you plan to do, now that you’re disappointed in us here?”

  “I’m leaving, but not for Ethiopia just yet,” said Shua. “I want to go to that Tomb of the Christian Woman I hear about, see the nature of things there. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

  “Good,” approved Djalout. “Come and eat with us.”

  At dawn Shua loaded his patient, deformed horse with a bundle of supplies, hoisted himself astride, and rode away. Djalout and Wulf watched.