by Alex Janaway
CHAPTER EIGHT
Forge was woken to the sounds of a camp that was well in to its routine. He could hear a number of voices and the sounds of many people going about their business. He had trouble seeing straight due to the sleepy dust caked onto his eyes and had one hell of a dry throat. He heaved himself out of his cot, scratched various parts of his anatomy, checked his balls were still in the right place and then ventured out, firstly sticking his head into the crisp morning air. For a moment he thought that it was still the night before but then saw the cooking fires of the Quartermaster, and looking up, observed the red sky on the horizon signifying dawn’s approach. The First Sergeant always did like an early start. Forge himself was increasingly finding he preferred a slower start to the day. Just another sign of my impending old age. He pulled his boots on and half staggered his way out the gate and over to the river to relieve himself. His attention was drawn to where a number of flames moved amongst the trees. He could see a shadowy forms moving in and out of the circles of light. Forge expected to hear the sounds of axes cutting down the first of the timber but none came.
“Morning, Sir!” said Sergeant Pike cheerfully.
Forge grunted his thanks to the Quartermaster, who had arrived with the captain’s morning cup of coffee.
“Funny buggers, ain’t they?” said Sergeant Pike.
“What, more than usual?” replied Forge.
“Well, you know, what with that humming and mumbling and shite. Quite distracting really.”
“Uh?” was all Forge could manage.
“The way they get the wood, boss,” explained Sergeant Pike, who was being far too talkative for this time of morning, even by his standards. “You should listen. They hum a tune and bosh!”
“Bosh?”
“Wood, boss. Shaped wood.”
“Uh-huh.” Forge wanted to go back to bed.
A couple of dark figures struggled by carrying a long object between them and Forge followed them over to the river bank where a larger pile of the stuff was being stacked. Private Thom was stood to one side with a torch watching the work. Forge joined him and Private Thom stood to attention.
“Morning, Sir,” he said smartly.
“Apparently. What’s all this then?” asked Forge.
“Planks, Sir. Got at least twenty of ‘em. Not bad for an hour’s work.”
“Planks?”
“Yup. Seems that this is just the supporting joists. They want to get some big stuff to drive into the river so that means going deeper into the woods but they are waiting until it gets a bit lighter. That right, Kely?” Private Thom asked of a well-muscled Bantusai who had just deposited another load.
Kely rubbed his hands to get rid of some dirt and nodded. He was much bulkier than Juma and the start of grey hair at his temples suggested he was in his mid-thirties if not older. “Yes, no need walking into tree. Hurts head,” he said tapping his forehead.
Private Thom laughed. “Aye, just plain stupid that.”
Kely grinned and re-joined his companion walking towards the forest.
Forge looked at Private Thom, who just shrugged. Since when did he feel so ill informed that even his men had a better grasp of the situation than himself? He followed Kely into the woodline. He wanted to witness these guys in action. He could see that dawn was well on its way now and that he could pick his way quite easily. A short distance in he saw another of his men standing a few metres away from a Bantusai who appeared to be leaning against a tree. He joined the soldier, who put his finger to his lips and gestured towards the man by the tree. Forge looked over and could see the Bantusai. He was stood as if he were trying to push the tree down. He could hear a faint murmuring coming from the black man. He leaned closer and could discern a definite musical lilt to the noise. The man was moving his hands slowly up and down the bark of the trunk as he sang.
The soldier leaned close to Forge. “Watch this, Sir. It’s amazin’,” he whispered.
Forge gave him a quizzical look and stared back at the tree. He couldn’t quite believe what was happening in front of him. As the man continued to softly sing, his hands were pressed more firmly against the unyielding wood then gently they seemed to melt or merge into the very bark itself. A few moments later he pulled back from the tree. As he did so, his hands appeared holding onto a piece of wood that seemed as if it had already been cut into shape. He had reached into the living tree and had just taken a part of it! How in the Nine Hells did that work? This was some crazy magic all right. He walked back out into the proper light of dawn and went in search of Sergeant Mac. He found him standing by the riverbank talking with Juma.
“Gentlemen,” said Forge.
“Morning, Sir,” saluted Sergeant Mac.
“I see you have not yet dressed,” commented Juma dryly.
Forge looked down at himself. Juma had a point. Boots, breeches and undershirt were not exactly fit for war. “Got side tracked.”
“Juma was just asking if he could send some guys over the river,” said Sergeant Mac.
“What for?” asked Forge.
“If I send some of my people across, we can begin work on the far end of the bridge. It will be quicker,” explained Juma.
“I said we would have to check with you. Don’t want to let these blokes go wandering off by themselves. No offense, Juma,” added Sergeant Mac.
Juma tilted his head in acknowledgement.
“Wouldn’t be a good idea you being over there unprotected. How you getting across?” asked Forge.
“I will move upstream a small distance. The river is fast. I will swim and will arrive there,” Juma indicated the far side. “If you tie me with rope I will not be taken. Then I will tie it to a tree and others may use it to follow.”
“Still, my men would have to be lightly armed. Can’t have them humping all their kit across.”
“Only for one day. We will have made a way across by the time the sun sleeps.”
“You think that you can have that much done in one day?” asked Sergeant Mac
“You have seen what we do. It will be so.”
“Juma, you will have to explain how you do that stuff to me,” said Forge with a mixture of admiration and disbelief.
“I will try, Captain. But will you allow me to swim?” asked Juma.
“Yeah, reckon I can let you go across. But the first men over will be mine. Just to check out the area.”
Juma nodded. “Very well, I shall prepare.”
As Juma walked off, Sergeant Mac folded his arms. “Just to check out the area and to make sure we stop any of ‘em making a breakout,” he observed.
“Damn right. Having seen these guys in action I think we might have to double the guard. Better send Jonas across first,” said Forge.
Sergeant Mac laughed. “Oh he’s gonna love you.”
Forge shrugged. There wasn’t anything that he hadn’t been called or that he had heard said about him that could shock anymore. Still, Corporal Jonas did have a way with words.
“I’m off to get dressed and have breakfast,” said Forge. “Let me know when they are set on the other side.”
The crossing went smoothly enough. As predicted, Corporal Jonas had responded to the task with a suitably pithy response. He nevertheless shed himself of armour and his jerkin, wrapped his bow in a waterproof oilskin which he tied to his back and then wrapped the rope around his waist. He made his entry into the water some fifty yards further upstream and then allowed the fast-moving current to take him. He struck out for the far side strongly and covered the distance quickly. He still ended up going past the agreed point by about another fifty yards. This was greeted by catcalls and abuse from the other soldiers who were watching. He climbed out of the water, tied the rope loosely around a sturdy oak and gave them a crude gesture and then moved swiftly into the tree-line, unwrapping his bow as he went.
A few minutes later he emerged and gave the all-clear. Once the line had been properly secur
ed and made taut, a further six soldiers, clad similarly to Corporal Jonas, struggled their way across. As they waded in, it only took a few yards before it became impossible to stand on the bottom. They were then reduced to the slow and laborious hand-over-hand method, using the rope suspended above them. It became difficult at the centre of the flow, as the men were caught up in the strong current. A moment of panic ensued as one hapless individual lost his grip and was whisked away. Fortunately he had the presence of mind to continue swimming to the far side. He arrived back at the site ten minutes later looking bedraggled and suitably chastened. It wasn’t so much his near death experience that bothered him, more the constant stream of abuse he would no doubt get from his mates that evening. Next came a party of eight Bantusai led by Kely. The big man had given a thumbs- up to Sergeant Mac and informed him that they would “be back for scoff tonight”. He then plunged into the water and made it across with his companions without any mishap.
Later that morning Forge took a party of twenty soldiers and set about clearing the new site for the camp. He had a plan in mind to incorporate the old fort into their camp structure. He would house the Bantusai within the walls, which would make guarding them easier. The first step was to remove the flora that had grown around the clearing. He split the men into two parties. The first group he had doing the digging and dragging away of the undergrowth, whilst the other group he had tasked to commence the removing of the rubble and useless, rotten wood from within the walls themselves. This humping and dumping work continued until they broke for lunch. As they wandered back, Forge noted that the men were laughing and joking. They were clearly in good spirits and morale was on the up. It was heartening to see his men in such a mood. Just putting some distance between themselves and the Duke had been the best thing to happen to the Company for a while.
Forge felt that the Company would never shatter in combat. Its spirit could not be broken in battle, even if it could be severely damaged by misuse and lack of care. Poor leadership and poor decisions had affected morale. Neither Forge nor his men were blind patriots without a proper sense of right and wrong, but you had to believe in something. For them it was the brotherhood of the 7th Mounted Infantry. A lot of the guys had nothing else to call home. Forge, if he admitted it to himself, was the same. He still maintained quarters within the barracks back in Ashkent, even though officers or sergeants didn’t have to live in if they didn’t want to. Not for the first time he began to wonder how much longer it would be before he gave up life in the field for a more sedate existence.
As he ruminated on his future he glanced over at the worksite. Two large, thick, vertical posts had been lowered into deeply excavated holes. In fact, they looked more like complete tree trunks. They had been placed some ten feet apart and would act as the major load bearers for much of the bridge weight. On the far side one post was already in and the other hole was being dug. Usually a surveyor would have laid out guide strings to ensure the two sides were level. Not these blokes. Forge did a rough guestimate and figured that they were close enough. He put it down to another example of their strange talents. On the far side he could see a similar number of wooden posts and planks being stacked by the water’s edge. He could only see two of his men standing by the planks in conversation. The professional in him said that meant the Bantusai had the guards at a disadvantage just in sheer numbers. However, he trusted his men to be keeping an eye on things. He also didn’t feel that these guys would take off without their leader.
As he wandered over to the commissary tent to grab some stew he noticed that Sergeant Pike was busy directing operations down by the ropeway. He had gotten one of the Bantusai to fashion him a crude, bowl shaped vessel that was now being attached to the main rope. Within it he had put lunch for the men working on the far side. The Quartermaster had secured cloth over the top to offer some protection against the elements. The safety rope that the men had been using earlier was also attached to the bowl. It would be used to pull the bowl across. There was much shouting and banter coming from men on both sides of the river and he even heard bets being taken on whether the bowl would make it across.
Taking a piece of bread and a helping of stew, Forge hunkered down to watch the performance. One of his men took up the strain of the rope and began to slowly pull the food towards the far bank. The bowl itself was caught in the swift current and had a tilt to it that meant the water was only inches away from the lip. As the pulley rope dragged it forwards this only helped to take the tilt to the edge of the lip. Hoots and cheers came from the home bank whilst on the far side the men waited quietly. Sergeant Grippa stood by the soldier whispering choice words of encouragement. Forge dunked his bread into his stew and watched with interest. Slowly the package made its way across the river until it was only a few feet away from the bank. Private Thom rushed into the water, grabbed the bowl and dragged it onto dry land. Behind him the big shape of Kely ran up, untied the rope and lifted the bowl, which was none too light, above his head in a display of triumph. The far bank erupted into cheers whilst those near Forge hurled abuse and catcalls. He grunted and smiled. Sergeant Pike trotted back up to his kitchen looking pleased with himself.
Corporal Kyle joined Forge.
“Back, Sir!” said Kyle brightly.
“No, shit,” smiled Forge. “So what did you find?”
“Headed out just after daybreak, just like you said. Followed the line of the river north for about three hours. Something of a game trail running alongside it. About a quarter-mile from here the river gets narrower. Deeper and stronger, too. Ten minutes’ walk further on the land starts to climb. Pretty rapidly as it goes. What we get into is some real hilly and wild country up there. Before you know it that river is flanked by one hell of a gorge. I carried on for another couple of hours and I guess we’re talking fifty-foot drops over a span of about the same width. Rapids too, here and there.”
“So what do you reckon?” asked Forge.
“My guess is that gorge cracks on right up to the mountains. And I sure didn’t see anyone rushing to build any rope bridges up there. Guess our intel was right.”
“Jonas back from the south yet?”
“Not yet, boss. Knowing him he’s probably gone into Shifter again.”
“Cheers, Kyle. Tomorrow I want you and Jonas to go and scout round the eastern side of the Rooke. Go get yourself some scoff,” suggested Forge. “That’s if you didn’t stuff yourself with nuts and berries like you normally do,” he added.
Kyle grinned and saluted. Forge mulled over that information. He had wanted to check if this exercise truly was a necessity. By the sounds of it, this area was indeed the first practicable site for a crossing south of the mountains. The country to the north had probably never had any real habitation and had remained only a source of game for those who lived on the northernmost borders of Graves. Hence the remains of the earlier settlement and watchtower. Still, it didn’t sit easy, him and his boys being used as a private construction force.
Ten minutes later he saw Corporal Kyle heading back out into the woods. On questioning, he said that he had been nabbed by Sergeant Pike to go get some meat for the evening meal. Forge suggested he take a break first but Corporal Kyle just shrugged, saying he would get some rest whilst waiting for supper to show up.
Corporal Jonas soon arrived back from his recce from the south. Stopping to grab a brew he joined Forge.
“Not much, boss. River bends away to the east about a mile away. I carried on following it. There was a game trail bit like the one Kyle used. After a while it turns southeast again.”
“Life?” asked Forge.
“Jack shit.”
“No crossings then?” Forge prompted. Sometimes it was like getting blood from a bloody stone from Jonas.
The wiry corporal shrugged. “River gets a bit wider, still deeper than a man though.”
Forge decided to leave it there. J
onas would have done a thorough job.
“Alright, Corporal. Tomorrow you are across the river. Kyle’s just headed out to catch supper. You joining him?”
“Bugger that. His own fault for getting back early.”
As Corporal Jonas strode off, Forge marvelled at how the Half-elf scout displayed absolutely none of the poise and grace one expected of his kin. Still, he was glad really, he found Elves incredibly boring.
For the rest of the day he took only an occasional interest in the bridge build and put his efforts into the overseeing of the fort reconstruction. He rather enjoyed seeing everyone busying themselves with the tasks at hand. As the sun began its final descent into dusk he was pleased with the results. Around the fort there was now a clear field of vision all the way to where the woods started proper. To the north, the encroaching forest had been pushed back to a fifty-yard open run. The detritus from inside the fort had been cleared away and all the stone that had looked like it could be reused had been placed in a pile by the gateway. The next stage had been to place a wall of palisade stakes running parallel to the eastern wall and starting from just inside the gate wall’s eastern arm and moving straight across the floor of the fort until it met the far northern wall. In so doing they had created a rectangular cage for the Bantusai with three stone walls and one wooden one.
There had been only one area of the eastern wall that had needed to be augmented by the placing of more palisade stakes. As long as it was well lit, a guard in the tower, and another by the gateway should suffice. That way, anyone attempting to scale the walls would be seen and an arrow in the back would be the reward.
He had grand plans for repairing the walls themselves, getting a new rampart built and maybe constructing some new gates. It would be good if they could actually move into the fort itself. It may be a tight squeeze but the horses could be corralled outside and a separate area built Sergeant Pike’s set up. They could build a new ditch and palisade as an outer ring. He felt that reconstructing the tower may be too great a task given the time frame and the resources needed. But he looked forward to outlining his plans to Sergeant Mac and the others. And he felt sure they would have their own input regarding the venture.
Forge wandered out of the fort and back to the encampment. A couple of hours earlier he had seen Corporal Kyle return with a couple of deer and some rabbits. Not bad for an afternoon’s work. He could see the cook fires burning and had been sniffing the savoury scent of meat in the air for some fifteen minutes now. His stomach had been rumbling for about the same period of time. He diverted his path towards the bridge to see how it was looking. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn’t really considered how the men on the opposite side where going to get back across. Forge figured they would have to use the rope again. It was an option he was sure at least one individual he knew would not be best pleased about. As he joined a knot of men on the near side he was somewhat surprised to see the solution.
As the Bantusai were rounded up to be escorted back, he watched as one by one figures trod warily over the river. It turned out that on both sides of the Rooke piers had been constructed, with the home side’s being more advanced out into the water. Whilst they were simple affairs, lacking any railings either side, they appeared sturdy enough. Underneath he could see the large wooden supporting beams had been driven through the water and deep into the ground. The pier ended with two further supports standing alone in the water. The gap between them and the nearest supports on the far side was about six yards and a long plank had been manoeuvred out and rested on the left hand side. It was here that the last of the Bantusai were picking their way across. The guards followed them at a rather slower and less sure pace. Last across was Corporal Jonas. He then chivvied the whole party back towards the camp. Forge joined the scout as the men walked slowly back.
“I’m impressed. Any problems?” he asked.
Corporal Jonas shook his head. “Nope. The guys say they didn’t cause any trouble and just seemed happy to be getting on with the work. They were even quite happy to piss about in the water. Bloody weirdoes. It’s icy cold that stuff.”
“Imagine they are used to water a bit warmer,” mused Forge.
“They can keep it,” Jonas replied.
“I guess you went for a look around before heading off tomorrow?”
“A quick one. The track is still pretty obvious. Heads east for a bit then turns north. If there has been anyone around it hasn’t been recent.”
“Well, I guess they are hoping for more business when this thing opens up,” surmised Forge. “But we’ll be long gone.”
They were the last back into the Ashkent camp. Only the two sentries on picket duty in the entrance were outside the perimeter. Corporal Kyle was waiting there for Jonas. The scout took his leave of the captain and the two men moved out for their silent patrol of the perimeter.
Over supper Forge walked through the camp to join Juma and his men. The Bantusai were sitting in a group with a couple of guards watching over them. The atmosphere was lighted hearted, however. There had been good-natured banter amongst Forge’s men and the slaves all day. It seemed that the soldiers had gained a respect for the skills and attitude of their charges. Like them, the Bantusai had accepted their lot and got on with the job at hand. Juma was in conversation with Kely when the captain approached. He glanced up, smiled and indicated that Forge should sit. Kely withdrew to let the two men talk.
“So, do you like our work?” Juma asked.
“Well, I’ll wait till you’re finished. But you don’t mess about, do you?”
Juma looked shocked. “No, Captain. We don’t mess about.”
Forge put his hands up in a placating gesture. “No, I meant you aren’t slow in your work.”
Juma looked pleased and had a devious look in his eye. “I am sorry, Captain. I know what you meant. I am making fun.”
Forge gave him a hard stare. Juma laughed.
“In answer to your question, yes, we have been quick today. Tomorrow I think we will have a bridge that can be crossed by many men.”
“Finished in two days, then?” asked Forge.
“It will be finished properly in three, but it will work in two.”
“Good job.” He looked down at the mug of ale he was carrying and offered some to Juma. Who looked at the mug, cocked an eyebrow at Forge and then accepted it and took a sip. “Gah, it is a bitter drink. Not like ours. We sweeten with honey.” He then smiled and offered it back. “But a man can get used to many things and a drink shared freely is a kindness.”
Forge took the mug back, took swallow and thought for a moment.
“When we are done here, what will happen to you?”
Juma shrugged. “Then our new master will have more work for us. We are useful.”
“Guess so,” said Forge. “Nice to be wanted.” He got up and bid Juma goodnight.
Juma inclined his head in return. As Forge left he saw Kely re-join his chief and the two began to talk softly to each other. A group of his men then burst into a song. It was a tune and a manner of singing that Forge had never heard before. One of the Bantusai sang in a strong, warbling tone for a line or two before being joined in a chorus by the other men. Then another would sing, followed by a chorus and so it went. The men of Ashkent were silent and found the music gentle and soothing. Even hypnotic, thought Forge to himself as he stood there, in the darkness between fires. He felt a strange kind of peace and found himself imaging a life that was empty of war, politics and the cold hand of chance. Where a man could live a life without fear of an unseen archer, or a swift sword thrust. He found, for a moment, a calm and a peace he had not felt since…well since he couldn’t remember. Certainly not for the last few years of his war torn life. And since when did I become so poetic?
As the singing finished, the spell was broken and the men of the Company clapped and cheered. For the most part, the Bantusai smiled and grinn
ed with pleasure. As he went to make his leave Forge caught Juma staring at him with a thoughtful look in his eye. Then it was gone and replaced with a smile. Forge nodded and moved away. He felt disarmed but wasn’t sure why. Behind him Smitty and Thom had decided to treat the Bantusai to a rendition of their favourite drinking songs. Forge shook his head with a wry smile, feeling sorry for the strangers and walked away from the group.
Forge now walked over to another fire where Portal sat waiting with Sergeant Mac.
The wizard looked up with eager eyes.
“Captain. It appears that all is going well. I understand that the day after tomorrow we will be finished here.”
“Seems so,” agreed Forge, switching into defensive mode.
“And we can travel back to inform the Duke that our task has been successful. Believe me the Duke will be pleased that everything has gone without a hitch.”
“I’m very happy for him”
“You should be. The Duke has been displeased with your attitude and performance of late.”
“He can carry on being displeased. And tell him from me he can shove this bridge up his arse for all I care. And you can go back now if you want. I have no intention of hurrying back just yet. I’m getting used to my men not being sent off and getting killed under your boss’s orders.”
Portal bristled. “You have specific instructions, Captain. Do not think you can get rid of me that easily. I will stay and ensure you do as our commander wishes.”
He got up and stormed off.
“Does that a lot these days,” observed Sergeant Mac.
“Yeah, was it something I said?” asked Forge dryly.
“Probably. You know, I have actually talked to him a couple of times. I know he behaves like he’s got a carrot up his arse,” said Mac acknowledging the point. “Found out a few things though.”
“What, other than that his preferred sexual implement is a vegetable?”
“No,” Sergeant Mac continued with the practiced air of a man well used to ignoring his boss’s less savoury comments. “More like his family are Shifter stock.”
Forge raised his eyebrows at that. “Well, well, well. Sounds like some divided loyalties there.”
“Not sure about that.” Sergeant Mac paused and drank some coffee from his mug. “They were Shifter until they were killed for planning sedition. As Portal puts it, they backed the wrong side in a local power dispute. He was still a teenager, sent to study magic under some second-rate hedge wizard further south. After he learnt about his ma, pa and little brothers getting killed he figured that he wasn’t safe in Shifter. Took off for the border before anyone could nobble him.”
“And sought refuge with Burns?” asked Forge.
“Nope. Not right away. Did some government work in the capital for a while. Pissed people off there and then came up north.”
“So he didn’t continue with his magic?”
“From what he says, it doesn’t sound like it,” agreed Sergeant Mac.
“So basically he is a bloody civil servant,” said Forge, throwing his hands up in the air. “He might’ve been able to turn frogs into toads once. Now the only thing he’s good at is over-inflating his opinion of himself.”
Sergeant Mac shrugged.
“Maybe, boss. But he ‘aint no fool. He plays political games. And you and I know. Never trust a politician.”
“I’ll drink to that.” Forge took a long draft of the ale he had been nursing. “Anyway, I want to talk over my grand plans for our new fortress.”
Sergeant Mac grunted in mirth. “I wondered when you might let forth on that one.” He turned is head and cupped his hand to his mouth. “Hey, Jonas, Sergeant Grippa, Pikey. The boss is gonna tell us what a master of engineering he is again.” Men turned round and laughed as those called gathered round to talk shop.
Later, the Bantusai were ordered up and taken back under guard to their new home. It was a strange sight as they laughed and joked with the Ashkent men. They seemed like friends of old walking back home together. Forge noticed that some of the slaves were carrying blankets and others piles of wood and kindling. He walked up to Sergeant Pike and gave him a half accusing, half quizzical look. Sergeant Pike looked suitably embarrassed and shrugged his shoulders.
“Well, you know, it’s still chilly of a night and they ain’t got tents or warm bedrolls like our guys. So I thought to myself a nice little fire might do the trick. Just to take the edge off, so to speak.”
Captain Forge shook his head in astonishment. “There was a time, Sergeant, when it was easier to get an egg from a rooster than to get anything free, and not signed for first, from you.”
“I know that, Sir. Can’t help liking ‘em can you? I must be getting soft in me old age.”
“Don’t remind me,” said Forge ruefully.
With that he went to find his own bed. Damn but my joints are aching. Why did Pikey have to start talking about old age?
