Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986

by Cahena (v3. 1)

  “Nothing happens here,” she told Wulf. “I can’t advise these people, can’t cure them when they’re sick. Some of them go out to that tomb and mope around the place where you killed her and burned her. Maybe they ask her for help. If so, she doesn’t give any. What was it you called her?”

  “Lamia,” said Wulf. “Do you think she had all that power and that when her power went, all the magic went?”

  “I only know it’s gone. And I wonder if what you did was a good thing for us.”

  “At least nothing drinks your blood,” Wulf reminded.

  “I wonder about that, too.”

  Wulf and Mallul went back to Thrysdus.

  Things went on like that, all the year and into spring of the next. Scouts told that the Moslems mustered, mustered, all along their line of forts. The Cahena held councils. Khalid did a great deal of the talking. When Hassan made his move, he said, let the Imazighen choose a good ground of battle, meet the Moslems with spears, counterattack with horsemen, score another victory.

  “We’ve good ground to the north of here, where they’d have to tire their horses, advancing up a long slope,” said Wulf.

  Bhakrann, away from his scouting to attend the council, squinted at Khalid. “You count yourself one of us,” he said.

  “My Lady Cahena has made me one of you.” Khalid smiled. “She granted me mercy, let me kiss her shadow. She trusts me.”

  “I trust you,” said the Cahena, with music in her voice.

  It was summer. Trusty scouts roamed through the great Moslem force, pretending to be volunteers. They estimated that Hassan had assembled sixty thousand warriors, from every Moslem nation from Persia to Egypt, and that he had swarms of camels to bring along supplies. Hassan seemed to know how the Cahena had destroyed farms and dispersed herds so that he could not count on capturing rations. It was Bhakrann who brought news that the enemy was marshaling for an advance. The Cahena called Wulf and Mallul and Djalout to hear this.

  “The most men and horses and camels I ever saw,” Bhakrann reported.

  “I’ve sent swift riders to call Ketriazar and Daris,” said the Cahena. “For Yaunis and Lartius and every man they can bring.”

  But a visitor from Cirta said that Lartius had sent messages to Hassan, had offered to go and capture Carthage for the Moslems. The Cahena’s eyes blazed.

  “Lartius has signed his own death warrant,” she said to her council members. Before the Cahena lay a great tray of sand, such as diviners used to read the future. She drew in it with her forefinger.

  “Where’s Khalid?” she asked. “I want his viewpoint.”

  A messenger hurried to Khalid’s quarters and hurried back.

  “He’s not here,” he said breathlessly. “They say he rode away early this morning, on the best horse he had. That he carried food and water for a long journey.”

  “Which way did he go?” demanded Wulf.

  “To the east.”

  They looked at each other, all of them.

  “Back to Hassan,” said Djalout.

  * * *

  XXII

  The others sat and looked at Wulf. Not at the Cahena, whose hands hid her face. It was at Wulf they looked, all of them.

  “He’s deserted us,” said Djalout. “And I’m not really surprised. Should I be?”

  “He meant to spy on us and betray us,” said Mallul. “He’ll tell our plans to Hassan.”

  “And Hassan will profit by his mistakes in the other battle,” added Djalout. “What must we do, Wulf?”

  “Make new plans,” said Wulf at once. “Where is Hassan starting, Bhakrann?”

  “From about ten days away toward Egypt,” judged Bhakrann. “What’s your word, Wulf? Change our position from that high ground?”

  “No, some of us must wait to bring him there. And others, our best riders, can head north and then come back, strike his right flank. Hit him, roll him up like a rug.”

  The Cahena stared. Tears shone in her wide, wounded eyes. “When did you think of that?”

  “Right now,” said Wulf. “It’ll need lots of organization. We’ll clarify it while we wait for Daris and Ketriazar to get here — say five or six days. Then, if we move the right way and strike the right way, perhaps we can bring it off.”

  “Desperate measures,” muttered Mallul.

  Djalout nodded. “In a desperate situation.”

  “You take command, Wulf,” said the Cahena, fighting to steady her voice. “I put you in command — you’d never betray us.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “Let me go away and think.”

  In his quarters he mused frowningly. He thought of the men, the horses, how he must depend on them. He thought for hours. At last Daphne stole in at the door and cuddled beside him.

  “They say a battle’s coming,” she said. “Will I be in it?”

  “Everybody will be in it,” he said, his arms around her, and they made love.

  “I’ve been training some of us in archery,” she said afterward. “Mostly boys, big boys who can draw strong bows. They’ll help.”

  When she was gone, Wulf lay long into the night, thinking, pondering. In the morning he fetched Bhakrann for a talk.

  “I’ll tell my plan to nobody but you,” Wulf said. “It’ll be secret between us. Khalid’s gone, but there may be other spies. I’ll take a strong, well-mounted force off and around the Moslem flank, with another force here to meet their advance. You know this country better than I do — how should we move?”

  They found a tray of sand, such as the Cahena had once used to read the future. Bhakrann set a pebble to represent Thrysdus and modeled a landscape with the slope to the north of town and, back of that to westward, a succession of ridges and plains and valleys. Here and there, he said, were ponds and water holes, and he marked them with the point of a twig. A march could advance in those hollows, out of sight of any observers to the east.

  “How far can we go there?” asked Wulf. “Forty miles, two days of riding? We’ll need to do that; they’ll have an extensive front.”

  “We can come to here and head out over this height,” said Bhakrann, pointing. “With luck, we’ll flank them.”

  “Luck,” repeated Wulf. “Nobody can live two minutes without luck.”

  “Your plan’s good,” Bhakrann said. “So far as I can see, it’s our only chance, and we’ll have to take it.”

  Yaunis rode in that evening. He had no more than two dozen hard-faced companions with him. His usually neat beard drooped. He joined a council summoned by the Cahena.

  “My people turned traitor,” he announced bitterly. “The subchiefs voted to stay neutral — not go over to the enemy like Lartius — but they won’t join us. I have only these few true men.”

  “You’re welcome, Yaunis,” the Cahena said. “What’s that you say about Lartius?”

  “He’s heading for Carthage, to hold it for the Moslems.”

  “That’s not where we’ll fight them,” said Wulf.

  “Where, then?” asked the Cahena. Her confusion at Khalid’s desertion seemed gone, or at least conquered. She spoke like a queen.

  “I’m going to divide our forces,” said Wulf.

  “Divide?” repeated Djalout. “Is that good tactics?”

  “It’s desperation tactics,” replied Wulf. “I won’t go into details now. Wait for our loyal tribes to get here, and I’ll explain.”

  He went to talk to warriors and subchiefs, to examine horses. Days passed, and Ketriazar came, with his best riders. The rest of the Medusi would follow, and behind them Daris’s Nefussa.

  “What’s the condition of your horses?” was Wulf’s first question to Ketriazar.

  “Good,” was the reply. “We came on the best mounts we had. There hasn’t been much straggling.”

  “We’ll make a long march, almost at once,” Wulf told Ketriazar. “When Daris gets here, he and I and you will talk about it at dinner with the Cahena.”

  Daris arrived. His squadrons and Ketriazar’s m
ade camps outside the walls. “Now,” said Wulf, “I’ll tell you everything at dinner.”

  Bhakrann, too, came to the Cahena’s big room. It was a simple meal, roast mutton and barley cakes and a flagon of wine passed from hand to hand. In a subdued voice, the Cahena called on Wulf to explain his proposed campaigu.

  He spoke simply. By now, Khalid would have told Hassan of the plan to meet the Moslems on high ground. Part of the Imazighen force would take that position, resisting but falling back. Meanwhile, the best riders would slip north and behind the enemy flank, striking hard. All listened intently.

  “How long a march?” Daris asked Wulf.

  “Bhakrann thinks two days, maybe part of a third, and a hard fight at the end of it.”

  “How many men?” was Ketriazar’s question.

  “Maybe twelve or thirteen thousand, depending on what men are trustworthy and what horses will last.”

  “What chiefs?” asked the Cahena, who had not been talking much.

  “Ketriazar and Daris, to command their tribesmen,” Wulf replied. “Bhakrann will guide us. Lady Cahena, I’ll leave Yaunis with you, and most of Bhakrann’s scouts, and some ten thousand warriors.”

  “What do we do on that slope above here?” she prodded.

  “Face them, stick them full of javelins, and fall back. Don’t close with them. Pray that our flanking movement succeeds.”

  “Pray?” she repeated. “To what gods? The gods don’t answer prayers anymore.”

  Wulf said nothing, but he felt that she spoke the truth. He himself would put no reliance in any god he had ever heard of. He’d trust only in himself, Wulf the Saxon, prone to errors, limited in vision, but himself. All he had to trust.

  He and Ketriazar and Daris went out to speak to men and examine horses. They chose those who seemed fit for the march and the battle. They wound up with more than twelve thousand, and organized them in troops and squadrons, under petty chiefs. From the stores of Thrysdus were issued rations of smoked meat and barley bread and dried fruits. No wine, said Wulf flatly. Each man would sling two leather water bottles to his saddle. Susi would lead along the best of Wulf’s spare horses, with his mail jacket and helmet and shield hung to it.

  Daphne came, begging to go along. Wulf shook his head. “Command your archers here,” he said. “We’ll meet again when the fight’s over.”

  “If we’re still here.” She hugged his neck and kissed his bearded face. He took off a gold chain he wore. “Here,” he said. “This will bring you luck.”

  Bhakrann reported no evidence of enemy in the region. At dawn, Wulf ordered his following into four columns of fours. Someone came to where he stood by his horse. It was the Cahena, blue-robed, white-coifed.

  “Yaunis will help me command here,” she said. Her face was drawn, her eyes deeply circled. “How will you fare, Wulf?”

  “That’s all to find out. Pray for me.”

  “I can’t pray, I can only hope. Wulf, I haven’t been fair to you. Forgive me for being weak. Think well of me.”

  “Of course,” he said evenly.

  She went away. He mounted and gave the command to march and heard it echo along the formations.

  The close-drawn columns moved a hundred yards or so apart. Each man carried a sheaf of javelins. Many wore captured Moslem swords. Scouts strung out a mile or so to the right. Bhakrann rode with Wulf, pointing the march to low land with sparse grass. Ketriazar and Daris joined them. Both were eager for the venture.

  “Where will they strike?” wondered Ketriazar.

  “Our spies report that they’re passing Cairouan to concentrate on the area where they expect us,” said Wulf. “Khalid will have told them about that.”

  “Bring me in stabbing distance of Khalid,” grated Daris.

  “Or in stabbling distance of Lartius,” said Ketriazar. “I’d like that. He never was a true man and not much of a fighter, either.”

  Three hours of marching brought them to a string of ponds. They watered the horses, squadron by squadron. When they left again, Wulf sent along an order for the men to walk and lead their mounts. Everyone was in good spirits as they went behind a sheltering range of hills far to the right. At noon they stopped to eat and rest. Wulf conferred with Bhakrann and Ketriazar and Daris.

  “We can camp tonight in a valley with streams and good grass,” promised Bhakrann.

  “A valley,” repeated Wulf. “That means high ground to both sides. We’ll bivouac a strong force on the right. I hope we have enough food.”

  “We started with enough, but some of the men were eating as they rode,” said Daris. “I spoke unpleasantly to them.”

  After an hour, all mounted again. Bhakrann guided them, and scouts still struck out to the east. That evening they camped among more scattered ponds. Wulf ordered that no fires be lighted and told the subehiefs to set up a series of watches. The men ate and talked. Some of them sang. When they lay down to sleep, muffled in their cloaks, they were scattered over acres of ground. How many acres, Wulf did not try to guess. He commanded a considerable host. But Hassan’s numbers would be much greater.

  Again a conference with Bhakrann and Ketriazar and Daris. They had accomplished something like twenty-five miles that day, and the horses seemed to be in good condition as they slouched in their picket lines. Bhakrann explained the next day’s route, with more hills to screen them from possible enemy observers. They speculated on the way Hassan would approach. Probably some Moslems would occupy Cairouan. Hassan could leave a garrison there and still march to a main battle in tremendous numbers.

  “If he heads for the high ground where the Cahena and Yaunis will be, he’ll be close by midafternoon tomorrow,” said Bhakrann. “We can move about fifteen miles eastward and get to close quarters. There’ll still be hours of light to die by.”

  “Let’s get some sleep and start early,” said Wulf.

  He lay down with his head on his saddle. Almost at once he slept and dreamed of the Cahena. Of her bared skin softly golden, her hair like a black banner, her face close to his. Her voice murmured his name, her hand was on his arm so strongly that he woke. But it was Bhakrann’s hand, shaking him.

  “Word of the enemy,” Bhakrann said. “Cham came with it. Our scouts have ridden for hours to bring it.”

  Wulf scrambled to his feet. “Bring Cham here, and send somebody to wake Ketriazar and Daris and fetch them.”

  Cham came to salute the chieftains. He described how two scouts had spied the Moslem host as it went into camp less than a day’s journey from Thrysdus. Relays of other riders had brought the news. The Moslems advanced in a great line of battle, close-drawn, miles in extent. Wulf thanked Cham and gave orders.

  “Everybody up and in the saddle before dawn,” he said. “We’ll ride as soon as there’s light to ride by. Columns again, but as we get close to them we’ll spread for a charge. A line of squadrons in front, more in columns close behind. When we get to where we can hit them, I’ll signal and whatever trumpets we have will blow. Any questions? Then go do as I say.”

  Bhakrann lingered with him. “You seemed happy while you slept. I hated to stir you up, but I had to. Maybe you were having a good dream.”

  “It was just a dream,” said Wulf, and thought again of the Cahena, her last words to him when he mustered for his march. Could she have meant to call him back to her? But no time to think of her, or of Daphne, or of anything but fighting tomorrow.

  Bhakrann went away. Wulf paced among sleeping warriors in the dark. He was glad they slept soundly. Many might never sleep again. But someone else moved among them.

  “Who’s that?” he called softly, and walked toward the shape. Tall, ungainly — he had seen it before, with its horns that curved like a dark crescent moon.

  “Khro?” he challenged, and closed in, hand on his sword. The shape drew away, lost itself in the night. At least Wulf wasn’t being chosen. But many would be killed tomorrow. Wulf stared after Khro. Not all magic was gone from the land. Here prowled the most balef
ul magic of all, the chooser of the dead.

  He went back to where he had left his cloak and saddle. He sat down and shivered, from a chill that was not of the night air. He stretched out and put his drawn sword beside him. Again he slept.

  He woke in the first gray dawn. Bhakrann was up, too, and Daris and Ketriazar. They and the subchiefs got the men on their feet to gobble a cold breakfast and saddle up. The host formed on Wulf’s orders of the day before and moved eastward. Bhakrann and a wide scattering of scouts pulled out far in front. Then came a line of squadrons in close order, and behind that the others in columns.

  They traveled over a land of dry grass and clumps of thirsty trees. Here and there showed cindery remains of habitations, destroyed by the Cahena’s orders. Bhakrann led them along a succession of valleys chained with hills far to the east. No signs of an enemy, though scouts gazed into the distance. Again Bhakrann found pools of water, somewhat stagnant, for the noon halt. The sun was hot in the sky. Wulf mopped his face and wrung out his damp beard.

  “All right, where are they?” Ketriazar prodded. “My men want action.”

  “They’ll get it, sometime this afternoon,” said Bhakrann.

  They pressed on, under the glower of the sun. The men pulled up their hoods against its rays. Wulf rode here and there, studying the horses, glad that they bore up well. Bhakrann moved ahead to talk with scouts who rode in, then out again. At midafternoon he joined Wulf and pointed to a hilltop where a horseman showed.

  “Enemy in sight,” Bhakrann said.

  The distant rider held a javelin crosswise above his head in both hands. Peering, Wulf saw the javelin raised to arm’s length, then drawn down and raised again and again.

  “Enemy in sight,” Wulf agreed, “and in large numbers.”

  Susi brought up the spare horse with Wulf’s armor. Wulf wriggled into his mail jacket and set his helmet on his head. He slid his left arm into the loops of his shield. Then he beckoned to Daris.

  “Hold our main body where it is,” Wulf said. “Come on, Bhakrann, let’s ride up there.”