“Those who drink the wind,” said Maeve, deep in thought. “That really struck me. What was the name in that cartouche again?”
Nordhausen had to go back over to the monitor, peering in at the image of the stela again. “I make it Ke-hai-lan,” but its meaning eludes me.”
“Could it be Ku-hay-lan,” said Maeve, substituting a vowel in the first syllable to change the pronunciation.
“As you wish,” said the professor. “I still can’t recall any personage of importance by that name. Should we Google it?”
“But you said this cartouche was always accompanied by another symbol, a determinative, the symbol of the horse, correct?” Maeve was pulling on a rope and reeling the professor in.
“Yes, now that you mention it,” said Robert. “I took that to mean the cartouche held the name of one of the generals, an officer of cavalry. Would that help?”
“Well,” said Maeve definitively, folding her arms. “Kuhaylan is the name of one of the five major breeds of Arabian horses, a primal name.” She had owned horses most of her adult life, riding several times a week on the trails of the East Bay hills. “And get this—the name comes from a mythical tale about the Angel Jibrail, the Angel Gabriel for us, who comes to Ishmael sleeping in the desert, and wakes him with a dust storm, a whirling wind spout actually. When he awakens Jibrail orders the storm to abate, and it resolves to the shape of a horse, as if the horse had devoured the dust storm. So they gave the name Kuhaylan to this strain of Arabians, which means ‘Drinker of the Wind!’”
“That’s it then!” Robert clapped his hands together. “Look here!” He pointed at the stela again, searching for the lines he had translated earlier. “Yes, yes, here it is…“Hold them fast… those who drink the wind… lest they trample thy endeavor and the host is made to flee… For the unseen one that comes in the dusk shall unseat all....”
“Then it’s not a royal personage in the cartouche,” said Maeve.”
Kelly put it more directly: “It’s talking about the damn horses,” he said. “Hold them fast… those who drink the wind…Perhaps it’s another warning to keep a firm hold on the cavalry. The charge broke and dissipated when there was a disturbance in the rear areas, and a good segment of the cavalry broke off to secure their loot.”
“Yes,” said Robert. “There was a warning inscribed about that earlier in the stela. Here…’stirrings of unrest …Heed them not, or the mighty host flees before the enemy, and many will die. Forsake all plunder, lest the road become the path of Martyrs. For he who would be slain must live…”
“It’s a good lead,” said Kelly, “and an obvious warning aimed at altering the outcome of the battle.”
“Right,” said Paul, “but there’s a lot of haze there. I mean, it’s too broad. There’s no obvious Pushpoint, just a general admonition to keep the cavalry under control. How would they be able to accomplish that if they sent someone back to this milieu? Would he have to be in the guise of a respected military advisor who meets with Abdul Rahman and his Emirs before the battle? He might do so, though there is no mention of any such man in the history the Golems dig up. But even if he delivered his message, convincingly, there is still the fog and heat of battle, and men react in unanticipated ways. Panic and disorder can spread very quickly on a battlefield. A false rumor can undo even the soundest of military plans.”
“I suppose you’re right,” said Robert.
“But there was something more,” said Maeve. “What was that bit about Neith and the weaver of days, Robert?”
Nordhausen scratched his head, looking at the screen again until he found the line in the hieroglyphics. “The weave undone… A loose twine… where horses were brought together….”
“No,” Maeve pointed. “You said you translated that ‘to gather’ the first time. ‘where horses were brought to gather,’ not together.”
“Yes, I suppose it could be read that way.”
“Well where do they gather horses?” Maeve was on to something now.
“In a corral,” said Kelly.
“Right,” said Maeve. “I keep mine in one. Could it be they were holding a large group of horses back in the camp, perhaps looted from the farms and fiefdoms of the countryside? They’d already overrun half of Gaul by this time. Tours is just a hundred miles southwest of Paris! And if they did have them in an enclosed place of some kind they would have to have some kind of a gate.”
“A loose twine!” Kelly said excitedly. “Somebody left the gate open and the damn horses got out! A loose twine… where horses were brought to gather… “
“It could have been a stampede! It’s exactly the sort of thing the camp raiders would try to start.”
“Now that’s a Pushpoint!” said Paul. “A loose twine. It’s practically defines the workings of a Pushpoint—something odd and utterly insignificant that ends up causing major ramifications. They probably did collect numerous horses and other animals as they pillaged north. They would be highly prized by a mounted army, and yes, they would have used horse holders in the rear areas, or perhaps have some enclosure where these animals were kept safe from the battle. I love it. It’s clear and specific, a pointed warning… a loose twine!”
“Alright, let’s assume this was the disturbance in the camp,” Nordhausen agreed. “So they sent someone back to secure these horses, and prevent this stampede. I suppose it’s as good a scenario as any. The hieroglyphics clearly say hold them fast, those who drink the wind.”
“Keep a firm hold on the horses,” Maeve said it another way. “And if they can’t manage that then all the other lines were just backup—heed no disturbance, don’t worry about the plunder…”
They all looked at Paul, waiting to see if they had the makings of an intervention. “Well,” he began. “If this is more than speculation then we may have a chance here. If their mission was to go back and tie that knot—”
“Then we have to make sure we un-tie it,” said Kelly. “But how in the world do we do that?”
Part IV
The Lost Sheep
“It would be nice to travel if you knew where you were going and where you would live at the end… or do we ever know? Do we ever live where we live? We're always in other places,
lost, like sheep.”
- Janet Frame
Chapter 10
Arch Complex, Lawrence Berkeley Labs, Saturday, 4:40 A.M.
Nordhausen was reading from a file he had called up from the RAM Bank. It was a description of the invading Muslim army as it advanced into Christian lands.
“A countless multitude;
Syrian, Moor, Saracen, Greek renegade,
Persian, and Copt, and Tartar, in one bond
Of erring faith conjoined-strong in the youth
And heat of zeal, a dreadful brotherhood…
Nor were the chiefs
Of victory less assured, by long success
Elated, and proud of that o'erwhelming strength
Which, surely they believed, as it had rolled
Thus far uncheck' d, would roll victorious on,
Till, like the Orient, the subjected West
Should bow in reverence at Mohammed's name;
And pilgrims from remotest Arctic shores
Tread with religious feet the burning sands
Of Araby and Mecca's stony soil.”
“That’s from Southey's Roderick,” he finished. “It’s referring to the defeat of the Visigoths on the Rio Barbate in 711, but it gives you an idea of the nature of the foe. Years later Abdul Rahman’s army was the equal of this force, in fact it was actually much larger. It took the western passes over the Pyrenees, and auxiliary incursions came by sea to Narbonne, then moved along the Mediterranean coast to Avignon, pushing inland through the provinces of Provence and Burgundy. This was no mere raid, as some historians carp. Abdul Rahman was intent on eliminating Odo as a threat on his northern border, and he was coming for plunder and land, all in the name of Allah. ”
“And Odo ran st
raight to Charles after his crushing defeat,” said Paul.
They were studying a map of the campaign now. “That secondary thrust pushed up through Lyon, Chalons and all the way to Dijon,” said Robert. “Cities were laid siege and stormed for pillage, notably Bordeaux, where Odo was defeated. The Mozarabic Chronicle of 754 states that they burned churches, abbeys, palaces, forts and any other places of importance. The whole countryside was scoured for loot, and as Abdul Rahman’s army approached Tours he had his eye on the Abbey at St. Martin as well.”
“Yes, and they were taking their time, burdened by ever larger hauls of plunder that the soldiery claimed as compensation for their service.”
“Without doubt,” said the professor.
“So how do we make this intervention?” asked Paul. “It’s clear that we need to be focusing on the Arab camp, wherever that may be. Information on the actual battlefield is sketchy. Many feel it occurred between two rivers south of Tours. That’s where it was in the simulation I played, and if I were to deploy a largely infantry force there, I’d put my main body close to the confluence, on any high, wooded ground I could find. That way the two rivers would protect my flanks. Get a Google terrain map of that area. Let’s see what we find.”
They called up the data, perusing the map until Paul laid his finger on a spot near the meeting place of the rivers. “This looks interesting,” he said. “The village of Cenon… Some accounts indicate there was marshy ground to one side of the old Roman road here. This low lying terrain with the small lakes south of Cenon may be where that ground was,” he concluded.
“You have a good eye,” said Robert. “The weight of opinion now believes the battle was fought here near Moussais. It’s a small estate today, with a golf course nearby.”
“Over 1300 years ago it was the anvil of fate,” said Paul. “And this adjacent high ground would be perfect for a large infantry Phalanx. Let’s get a Google image.”
The street view was very helpful. Right at the intersection of two roads a small white sign read: “La Bataille de Poitiers, 732.” The road it pointed to was named “Pied Sec.”
“You’d think the French would have a bigger sign, given that the whole of Christendom and Western history rides on the outcome of this battle. Look at it! There’s nothing here, no monument, no national park. You’d think they’d at least have the decency to put a statue of Charles Martel here. And what’s this road named, Pied Sec?”
“Dry feet.” said Maeve. “That’s what it translates to.”
“This was marshy ground,” said Paul, “and this is the only high ground around, though I doubt the road was even here 1300 years ago. There’s not much elevation, but it will do, and it was most likely wooded in the 8th century. I’ll bet Charles dug his defensive trench and established a shieldwall right along that road, or somewhere close to it. So let’s see…” He traced his finger along the map. “The Muslim camp would be back here somewhere,” he said. “Probably south of this little stream.”
“It was supposed to have been on a small hill, according to some scholars,” said Robert. “And it would definitely be in a clearing. They needed room for their tents.”
“Then it would have to be here, at or near Le Pugets, just south of the modern day golf course. Or possibly slightly east of that area.”
They agreed that they had a reasonable line on a breaching point as to location, somewhere right between these likely zones. Now the more difficult question of the temporal coordinates would have to be tackled.
“We’ve got the year,” said Paul. “It’s well recorded to have been 732 A.D. And I think we can safely say it was in October.”
“Accounts confirm that,” said the professor. “Watson has an interesting paper…” He clicked on a link and called up the file. “Here it is: ‘Thus, there is a consensus in most of the Latin sources that the battle occurred on a Saturday in October, 732.’ Later he narrows down the weight of opinion to late in the month and makes it October 25th, 732, coincident with the start of Ramadan.”
“That would mean the two armies met six days earlier, on the 19th of October,” said Paul. “I don’t think it will do us any good to arrive too soon. Both sides were harassing and probing one another throughout the week. The battle was fought on the seventh day, Saturday, October 25th, and that will probably have to be our breaching point. Let’s get Kelly working on some numbers.”
“And use the Julian Calendar,” the professor advised. “There’s as much as a ten day shift on the Gregorian calendar.”
They still had to work out the details of the mission, and Paul had some real apprehension about it. The sources on this battle were few, sketchy, and well scattered over the centuries after its conclusion.
“It’s as close as we’re likely to come,” he said with some resignation in his voice. “There just isn’t much data on this battle out there, no matter how decisive it turns out to be.” He looked at the time, well after 5:00 AM now. “Kelly…How long before we would have coordinates?”
“I could do it in an hour—with an Arion.”
“We don’t have one handy,” said Paul. “Unless you want to leave the Nexus Point with me and drive back into the City, and I don’t think we can contemplate that now. The risk of dissonance is too great, to say nothing of the fact that I siphoned most of the gas from my Honda and the other vehicles.”
“Then I need some bad ass computing power. We should have dedicated more budget to CPUs. I spent too much on RAM.”
“All water under the bridge,” said Paul. “Can we link up every desktop we have in here and do something that way?”
“Not nearly enough processing power,” said Kelly, then he stopped himself. “Hey, wait a second! The Golems! There must be an installed user base in the tens of thousands still left active out there. We’ve got the information we need on variations. We know where we want to go, and when. I can write a command prompt to tell all the Golems to join in a super-network cloud to do the calculations! All I have to do is write the algorithms with the variable data.”
“Go do it!” said Paul. “You just shifted in from ten thousand B.C., so you’re not a candidate for this mission. You get us those numbers and run the show from here.” He looked at Robert and Maeve. “I guess that leaves us to decide the rest.”
Even if they did have temporal and spatial coordinates nailed down to a reasonable breaching point, the prospect of shifting in to a Medieval battle zone was a bit daunting. Who should go? Paul was the first to volunteer.
“I’m fine now,” he said. “I’ll know the ground, and use my military horse sense to scout out this camp. You can dress me as an Arab. I’ll grab the first unattached loot I find and try to look like I’m a camp attendant.”
“Well enough,” said Robert. “I’ll be useful with the history, and I can manage a little Arabic now. I’ve been boning up, you see, and—“
“I’m the one who speaks French and Latin,” said Maeve.
Nordhausen frowned. “Now, see here, we went round and about on this the last mission. This will be dangerous, my dear, and if we’re going as Arabs we won’t need to speak French. Besides, the language of the eighth century wouldn’t sound anything like modern French. Latin, perhaps, and I can manage that as well.”
“I’m afraid he’s right, Maeve,” Paul weighed in. “I think it best that Robert and I handle it this time. And Robert…I’m willing to go this alone. No sense risking two of us.”
“Two of us doubles our chance of success,” said Robert. He was determined to get a look at the eighth century.
“It also doubles the chance that one of you gets killed,” said Maeve. “Remember, we’re not indispensable any longer. Time has shown us that she can get along without us quite well if we believe the possible outcome on the Golem report.”
“We’ll just have to risk it then,” said Robert. “Soldiers of Christ and all…” he smiled.
“And better if you stay here with Kelly,” Paul said to Maeve. “I think we owe yo
u that much after the last mission.”
Maeve shrugged. “Alright,” she said flatly, “you’ve twisted my arm.”
“Good,” said Kelly over his shoulder. “I could certainly use the company.” He had been listening intently, his attention divided between the command prompt and the conversation they were having.
Maeve gave him a warm smile. “Then I’ll go down to the wardrobe and see what I can dig up for you. It seems to me that we sent the two of you through in Arab garb once before.” She was obviously referring to the initial mission, a lifetime ago, or several as it seemed to them now.
“Make sure the shoes fit this time,” Nordhausen complained as she went, still muttering to himself as he turned back to Paul. “I’m not blundering about in size eights again.” And for good measure he shook a finger at Kelly. “Plan it well,” he said. “Get the numbers right. I don’t want any visits to Jurassic Park again!”
“Rule number one,” said Kelly. “No coffee near the keyboard.” He reached out, picked up his mug of Peet’s, and plunked it firmly down on the desk, a safe distance away.
Paul could not help but smile, but the worried look returned to his face a moment later. “You’re sure about this?”
“Time and place?” said Nordhausen. “It’s as close as we’re going to get given the data.” He turned to Kelly again. “Make it dawn, October 25th, 732 AD.”
“Dawn?” Paul questioned the time. “The battle most likely started at dawn. Who knows how long these cavalry charges went on? The Arab tactics would be to mount rushes with the archers on horseback, then dissipate. They’d come in, fire, and fall back. Then, at some point, the heavy armored cavalry would charge. Well, the point is, the longer we are there the more time there is for something to go wrong. I’d like to push it back several hours, perhaps in the mid-afternoon.”
Anvil of Fate (Meridian Series) Page 9