Eagle in Exile

by Alan Smale

  And then it would be time for a Cahokian League.

  No, greater than that, much greater. A Hesperian League.

  “Cahokia should talk more with the western tribes and the southern peoples. I meant what I said to the Haudenosaunee. All of Nova Hesperia needs to stand together, not just the Cahokians and the Iroqua. The Five Tribes already know they are stronger when they are allied than when they make war on one another. If the other peoples of the land can learn this, too, maybe we will make a true confederation of Nova Hesperia.”

  Over a millennium before, Parthia had been the equal of Roma. The attempt to shatter Parthian power had left the Roman Imperium so weak that it had almost foundered. That and the civil war between the sons of Septimius Severus that had almost destroyed the Imperium from within were the biggest crises in Roma’s history.

  Eventually Roma had ground the Parthian Empire into the sand. Geta had crucified his mad brother Caracalla in the Roman Forum, and the Severan Dynasty had unified the Imperium again. After that, Roma had gone from strength to strength for a thousand years.

  Surely Hadrianus would not risk any such crisis again.

  “If Nova Hesperia is strong enough, Roma will not attempt to annex it. Not with a war in the east against Chinggis Khan to be fought. If Nova Hesperia is developed enough, it can trade with the Imperium without further Romanization—with no further changes beyond those which the people want. There will be no benefit to Hadrianus in conducting a war over such an extended area and every benefit in establishing trading links.”

  Marcellinus looked at her. “Are you understanding?”

  “Some. And I understand you try to convince yourself, not me.”

  He looked out over the river.

  “And you still believe you can march with Roma and dance with Cahokia?”

  “I have to.”

  “Huh.”

  “I can’t fight my own people. When the Romans come again, I won’t take up arms against them. I would die first.”

  Sintikala nodded soberly.

  “And so there must be peace,” he said.

  “If we can make peace with the Iroqua, and you and I with each other…” She did not complete the sentence but smiled and leaned so that her shoulder bumped his arm.

  Marcellinus could feel the warmth that radiated from her in the evening sun. His heart ached. Her blood now flowed in his veins, but that was not enough, could never be enough. “Sisika…”

  She raised her hand and shook her head slightly. “What you are about to ask me, Gaius. It is still no.”

  Three short steps brought Marcellinus to the port gunwale of the longship. He grasped it, looking out over the southern bank of the Oyo and the rolling hills beyond.

  “Not yet,” she added.

  She had spoken so softly that Marcellinus barely heard her. He turned abruptly.

  Sintikala’s hand was still up. “Perhaps never. You understand? But certainly not yet.” She stared deep into his eyes, her gaze steadfast, and for a moment he glimpsed her soul. “Because the past is not forgotten, and we are still broken. Brothers in war, brothers in peace. But not more. It is enough?”

  The splash of Viking oars in the waters of the Oyo, the birds on the riverbank, the soughing of the breeze across the bow of the ship; Marcellinus was aware of every sound, clear and crisp, and still gliding above them all in the air, the memory of those words. Not yet.

  But maybe sometime.

  “Yes,” he said. “It is more than enough. Thank you.”

  Her gaze was too penetrating, his own soul too fragile. He had to look away.

  “Thank you,” he said again.

  Sintikala sighed almost sadly. She stepped back to his side. “And one more thing.”

  Marcellinus was afraid now, more afraid than he had been when he had faced the Council of the Haudenosaunee. Another thing? What else could there possibly be? All of a sudden he stood on the brink of a precipice. “Please. I am old and broken. Speak carefully.”

  “You are not old. We are different by, what, ten winters?” She peered into his face, trying to catch his eye again. “Gaius, you should listen. I have something else for you.”

  “Something else?”

  “Kimimela,” she said simply. “Now she is your daughter as well. She is the daughter of Gaius as well as the daughter of Sisika. If that is what you want.”

  He could barely comprehend what she had just said. The blood rushed in his ears, roaring like a waterfall or like the flame from the fire jar that kept a Sky Lantern aloft.

  His voice shook. “Sisika, I need to understand. Please tell me again.”

  “It will be three winters or more before Kimimela comes into her moon time and becomes a woman. Until then, she should have a father. So if you will take Kimimela as your daughter, too, I would, it would—”

  She turned her face away.

  Marcellinus reached for her, not as a lover now but as a friend. “Sisika?”

  Tears streaked her cheeks, though she made no sound. “It would be a good thing, I think. For us all.”

  His arms went around her. His heart was bursting, trying to escape. “I would be very, deeply happy. I would be honored. But Sisika…this must be Kimimela’s choice. Not mine, not even yours.”

  “Kimimela has chosen,” Sintikala said. “She told me so, very long ago.”

  The tears came then. Marcellinus did not even try to hide them. Emotion racked his whole body.

  He had been dead for so long. Now, all of a sudden, he lived again.

  “Thank you,” he said at last.

  And he kept his hold, chastely clutching Sintikala to him in the cool of the Hesperian evening.

  —

  Now they paddled a Woshakee canoe, guests of the Iroqua no longer. The clan chiefs of Woshakee remembered Marcellinus well, of course, from when he had helped liberate their town from the Iroqua. They had offered Marcellinus and Sintikala a warrior escort the rest of the way down the Oyo. But Woshakee still lay close to the frontier of mound-builder territory, and Marcellinus did not want to deprive them of their few men of fighting age, not till he knew the peace would hold. He and Sintikala traveled on alone.

  They turned at Ocatan without stopping there and headed north. Here they were paddling against the Mizipi current, but Marcellinus welcomed the honest toil. The closer they drew to Cahokia, the more concerned he grew about the reception that might await them.

  He was startled out of his thoughts by a delighted yelp from overhead as a Hawk wing buzzed their canoe. “Sintikala!”

  Marcellinus raised his hand to wave, but Demothi had already sped past, back toward the Great Plaza, to announce their approach.

  “Well,” Marcellinus said. “At least Cahokia has not forgotten how to guard its borders.”

  Even in that there was sorrow. The Great City would never return to the pastoral complacency it had known during his first months there. “Cahokia does not forget a lesson,” said Sintikala.

  “Nor do I.”

  Sintikala looked away. “Really?”

  All of a sudden, after all these days alone together, they didn’t have much time. Marcellinus could not help himself.

  “Sisika? Not soon, not this winter or the next, maybe, or even five winters. But think on it sometimes. Ask yourself whether the good match is Gaius and Sisika.”

  “Do not think it,” she said sadly. “Claim your victory of the treaty. Accept your new daughter. Enjoy them. Do not think of anything more. Do not always be waiting.”

  Marcellinus met her eye. “It’s very hard.”

  She shrugged, feigning dismissiveness. But her eyes were tender until she looked away.

  Already a gaggle of excited Cahokians were running down the riverbank toward them. As Marcellinus stepped ashore, he braced himself, almost dreading it.

  Hanska arrived at a dead run, with Takoda and Mahkah a few yards behind. Panting too hard to greet him, the three of them took up formation behind him. Hands on the hilts of their gladii,
they eyed the crowd.

  “That bad?” Marcellinus said to Hanska.

  “Yes,” she panted. “Sir.”

  Sintikala threw Marcellinus a complicated look. He shook his head, bemused.

  Others were joining them on the riverbank, the common folk of Cahokia. Many cheered; some would always be pleased to see Sintikala or Marcellinus, and others openly celebrated the peace. But skulking silently all around them Marcellinus saw Cahokian braves he didn’t know, many of them Wolf Warriors capable of killing him in an instant.

  Wachiwi strode past the Mound of the Flowers with Enopay half walking, half running by her side. She did not greet Marcellinus either but passed him to stand by Hanska.

  “Come to the Great Mound,” said Enopay. “No delay.”

  “Not here to welcome me home, then?” he said for something to say.

  Wachiwi nodded at Hanska. “She is here to watch your back. I am here to watch hers. She already nearly died for you once.”

  Enopay pulled at Marcellinus to make him start walking. “Cahokia is close to war. Not with Iroqua now. A war of Cahokia with Cahokia. Many are angry. For today, Great Sun Man is still chief, but many would prefer him gone. Warriors. Shamans.”

  “Kimimela?” Sintikala asked Enopay.

  The boy nodded. “Kimimela is well. Waiting at the Great Mound.”

  Marcellinus broke in. “But the Cahokian army is back? Great Sun Man welcomes the peace?”

  “Of course.” Enopay’s eyes still darted around the crowd. “That is why you are not already dead.”

  “The First Cahokian come,” said Sintikala.

  A few dozen of his men marched—in step, for once—from the outskirts of western Cahokia with Akecheta at their head. At their approach the circling Wolf Warriors ducked their heads, looking everywhere except at Marcellinus or the cohort.

  Amid the First Cahokian, Marcellinus saw Dustu and, next to him, Tahtay, still with a slight limp but managing to keep up. His heart leaped, but Tahtay did not meet his eye.

  Akecheta arrived by Marcellinus’s side.

  “Welcome, sir,” said the centurion. “You robbed us of a war.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And now not all in Cahokia are your friends.”

  “But you are.”

  His centurion grinned tightly. “Until I am ordered not to be, sir. Come.”

  Marcellinus balked. “If Cahokia is on the verge of rebellion, I cannot—must not—walk into Cahokia at the head of the cohort. It would look—”

  “Then walk behind us,” Akecheta said. “But hurry.”

  —

  Once again, Marcellinus and Sintikala traveled with an armed escort.

  They faced no challenge as they walked through western Cahokia. The Cahokians who rejoiced outnumbered those who scowled, and once the members of the Hawk clan joined the procession, they held the threat at bay. Still, Marcellinus was unsettled. Now accustomed to being accepted in Cahokia and after all he had been through, he grieved that there were men and women here who hated him again.

  As they passed the Circle of the Cedars, Marcellinus looked sideways at Sisika. Except that she was Sintikala now, haughty and imperious, seeking out Wolf Warriors with her eyes and glowering at them. “You’re all right?”

  “They should be dead,” she hissed. “Opposing the will of Great Sun Man in this? They should all be dead.”

  Marcellinus grinned.

  They entered the Great Plaza. Atop the Master Mound, the Longhouse of the Sun gleamed even more brightly. In front of it on the top plateau stood Great Sun Man. Even from this distance there was no mistaking his stance.

  “A hero’s welcome,” Marcellinus murmured.

  “Shut up.”

  As they entered the palisade that surrounded the mound, the warriors closed the gates behind them. Once again, Marcellinus climbed the Great Mound in silence.

  —

  “Well done,” said Great Sun Man a little ironically. “On the peace? Well done. And can you now bring peace to Cahokia?”

  The paramount chief wore his full regalia of office and held his mace in his hands. Beside him stood several of his handpicked warriors. Some paces behind them were Tahtay and Kimimela.

  Marcellinus was hot, tired, and bug-bitten. All he wanted was to dip his face in the cool water of Cahokia Creek, brew some bearberry tea over a low fire, and drink it with Sintikala and Kimimela.

  As so often happened in Nova Hesperia, what he wanted was not what he was getting.

  By Great Sun Man’s side, Wahchintonka gripped his spear so tightly that his knuckles were white. Sintikala glared at him. “Your Wolf Warriors must observe the peace. All of them. You have not told them so?”

  “Of course he has told them,” Great Sun Man said. “And they obey.”

  Wahchintonka eyed them balefully. “And what will our warriors do now? Sharpen spears they will not use? Polish swords to admire their reflections? How will our young men prove themselves if not by fighting Iroqua?”

  Sintikala looked at Great Sun Man. Great Sun Man looked at Marcellinus. Marcellinus was momentarily speechless.

  Sintikala said, “A man can prove he is quick and strong without killing another man.”

  Wahchintonka ignored her. “And what of those who died here in Cahokia last year? Will we have no revenge? The Iroqua laugh at us now. This is not peace. This is defeat.”

  Marcellinus was not prepared to face such anger from Wahchintonka. Somehow he had not anticipated it. He respected Wahchintonka as a fine warrior; on that terrible day when Cahokia had been sacked, only Wahchintonka’s quick thinking and tactical skills had saved the Master Mound from falling to the Iroqua.

  But if Marcellinus had learned anything in a lifetime of campaigning and especially over the last few years, it was that even a fragile peace with honor was better than a war.

  He had spoken truly to the Iroqua. The Hesperians could not afford the Mourning War, that constant cycle of raiding and revenge. Not anymore. That was their old world. A new world had come to them now. Marcellinus had brought it, and other Romans would follow; he could not hold it back, and he needed to help the Hesperians understand that.

  “There may be other battles ahead,” Marcellinus said. “And…there is honor in other things.”

  Marcellinus did not have the words within him right then to explain it to this angry young man. And so he held Wahchintonka’s gaze steadily, not blinking, and said no more.

  Great Sun Man had been watching soberly. Now he raised his hand and stepped forward. “Enough. These are words we have spoken many times already and will speak again. Even the elders argue about it. But I am Great Sun Man, and I say we will have peace. Peace with the Iroqua, peace in Cahokia, and especially peace here on the mound. We are not two Cahokias. Wahchintonka?”

  Marcellinus looked away at the heat haze rippling over the Great City. Eventually, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wahchintonka nod.

  “And now we must talk,” Great Sun Man said. “I must hear what you learned of the Iroqua. And tonight the Wanageeska must tell it again to the elders in the Mound of the Smoke.”

  “Yes.” Sintikala glanced around the warriors. “But before you talk with us, I would ask for some time in private with Kimimela.”

  Great Sun Man nodded and waved the girl forward. “Come,” he said to Marcellinus, and ushered him toward the door of the Longhouse of the Sun.

  “With Kimimela and Gaius,” Sintikala said.

  Kimimela’s eyes widened. She gave a little squeak, and her hand went to her mouth.

  Nonplussed, Great Sun Man looked from the girl to Marcellinus and back to Sintikala. “And Gaius?”

  “Yes,” said Sintikala. “It is…a family matter.”

  Kimimela had grown even in the few short months Marcellinus had been away, and some of her baby fat had turned to muscle. Flying almost every day had given her confidence. “Hello, Gaius.”

  They stood in the Longhouse of the Wings. Above them, Catanwakuwa hung
from the rafters. Sintikala had greeted her daughter almost formally and then had walked out of the longhouse without another word, leaving the two of them together.

  In the presence of Great Sun Man, Kimimela had stood still and calm with her chin up. Now Marcellinus could sense the restless energy that bubbled inside her.

  Now that it had come to the moment, Marcellinus felt tongue-tied and unaccountably shy. “Hello, Kimimela.”

  Her face was more angular. He saw more of Sintikala in her now. If he had been meeting Kimimela today for the first time, it would have been much easier to guess who her mother was.

  Kimimela was assessing him in return. He hoped she was not too displeased with what she saw. He, too, had turned some winter fat into muscle during his long trek to Iroqua country and back.

  She spoke. “And so now you are my father?”

  “Your mother said…” Marcellinus swallowed, ducked his head awkwardly, and began again. “If you are willing, Kimimela, I would be honored.”

  “Have you been a father before?”

  “Yes, I had a daughter back in Roma. Her name was Vestilia. But I was not good at it.”

  Kimimela shrugged. “I am used to that. Sintikala does not know how to be a mother, either. How old is Vestilia? What happened?”

  “She is a grown woman now, of…” Marcellinus thought briefly. “Twenty winters. Or twenty-one. I was never there for her. Always away at war, and we grew apart.”

  She eyed him shrewdly. “You will not want to go home to her?”

  “No; that bridge burned long ago.” He thought about it and said with some wonder: “There is nothing for me across the Atlanticus anymore.”

  Besides, if he ever did go back to Roma, he would probably be in chains.

  But he did not wish to speak of Vestilia or Roma now. “What must I do, Kimi?”

  “Many men are fathers. You should ask them. And then let me do whatever I want.” She gave him the same quick half grin that he occasionally saw from Sintikala.

  She was obviously enjoying his discomfort. This was absurd. “Kimimela, please, tell me what you are thinking.”