by Alan Smale
As for Marcellinus, he was being educated at breakneck speed in the ways of the mound builders. Each village and town was different from the one before. He saw a huge variety of building styles, customs, and standards of dress. The farther south they traveled, the more the townsfolk lived in pole-and-thatch houses that were round instead of square, and after pitching in one day to help build one, Marcellinus saw that this might be a more effective building technique.
Most villages used dugout canoes or round hide-covered coracles braced with wood rather than the sleek birch- or elm-bark vessels of the Cahokians and Iroqua. Everyone harvested fish from the river, but in different ways. The larger towns used broad nets of hemp with rocks for weights and dried goldenrod galls as floats. The villagers fished from coracles or from the bank, using smaller nets, hooks and lines, or even spears. Apparently only Cahokia used the fish weirs, static traps with wooden stakes and webbing of vegetable fiber that used the Mizipi current to funnel the fish into big nets that took a dozen men to haul to shore.
Many towns and villages specialized in certain crafts or trades, such as carving and firing exotically glazed and ornamented cups and pots. One town was totally devoted to the carving of arrowheads, which they traded to Cahokia for the other items they needed. All, however, farmed and built mounds; in many towns the chieftain or head shaman would live atop the largest platform mound, staring regally out over his domain like a feudal lord of pagan Europa. Other villages might have no building at all on the principal mound, merely a carved cedar pole.
But all Mizipians buried their honored dead in the conical or rectangular mounds. After a while Marcellinus grew adept at estimating the population of each new town from the river, based on the number of mounds he counted as they paddled closer; all he needed to do was multiply by forty.
Naturally gregarious, most of the crew helped Marcellinus considerably in entertaining the villagers and being good guests. Sintikala and Kimimela, though, were prone to moodiness and often stayed in the longship to guard it. As for Tahtay, he had no interest in talking to anyone and frequently disappeared onshore for hours at a time, following the boat unseen and wandering into their camp again late at night.
The first time he stayed away overnight, Sintikala walked out to a hill large enough to launch herself from and took to the air to look for him.
It was fortunately a day of sufficient warmth to keep her aloft. Meanwhile, as the dense forests had given way to relatively open country, Kimimela, Hurit, and Dustu were jogging along the riverbank. Some distance behind them came a group of a half dozen Cahokian warriors, among them Hanska and Mikasi, Yahto and Napayshni, who also chafed at sitting still on the Concordia the entire day. The novelty of the river journey was beginning to wear off for all of them.
Sintikala reappeared from the east, flew across to the far side of the river, and looped up, swinging around. Sometimes when a suitable hill or crag offered itself and the wind was right, she would launch herself and fly ahead of the boat to look for a good mooring place for the night and land there to await the ship. Today the strength of the southerly wind would limit how far she could go, meaning that they’d need to pull over to the bank to pick her up.
Akecheta helmed the longship. The wind was blowing against them and the sails were stowed, but the waters were capricious, and the First Cahokian centurion was finding it tough to keep the Concordia’s nose straight and not be pushed out into the slow eddies on either side of the main current. Now he glanced up and behind him in some alarm as Sintikala swooped down and came in low over the water toward them. “Merda!”
“Oh, gods,” said Marcellinus, scrambling to his feet and running forward, bumping into Mahkah and Chumanee, who also were making all haste away from the rear of the dragon ship.
Spilling air from her wing, Sintikala passed over the raised stern with inches to spare and thumped down hard into the hull of the Concordia. The drekar pitched with the force of her landing and then yawed hard to the left as Akecheta lost his grip on the rudder altogether and tumbled forward onto his hands and knees.
Sintikala was safely aboard with her feet beneath her but was now in danger of being pulled over the side by the wind. She dropped to one knee, yanking at her straps and pointing the nose of the Hawk downward, as two of the woodturners jumped up and grabbed the edges of the wing. On the nearby shore, Kimimela and the warriors stood stock-still, mouths agape. The Concordia swung broadside to the current, and some of the men in the bow dug deep with their oars. Akecheta got to his feet, muttering and shaking his head, and grabbed the rudder again.
The two men lifted the wing off Sintikala, and she began to break it down. His heart still pounding, Marcellinus stepped back toward her. “You should have warned us you were going to try that.”
Sintikala grinned. “More fun this way.”
“You might have gotten wet,” he said. “Or worse.”
“Someone is following us,” she said quietly. “Not Tahtay. Someone else. Watching us from the far bank. Staying under cover. You’ve seen?”
“Yes, of course,” Marcellinus said shortly. “I’m not blind.” He moved in closer. No sense in spooking the crew with this.
“For three days now. Sometimes we leave him behind when the waters and winds are with us, but always he is back again the next day.”
“Not Enopay, I presume.” Marcellinus was only half joking. “I only catch a glimpse now and then.”
“A grown man. A warrior by the way he moves. If there are others, they are clever enough to not be seen.”
“Might Avenaka have sent a runner to check that we keep heading south?”
Sintikala shrugged. Who knew?
“And you didn’t see Tahtay?”
She shook her head.
Now that they were farther from Cahokia, they moored the Concordia in defensible locations when they could, sometimes on islands or sandbars in the middle of the river, to deter thieves or any roving bands of Tuscarora. They already assigned watches through the nights. There was little else they could do but remain vigilant. “And how far to Shappa Ta’atan?”
She shrugged again. “This is farther south than I have been before on the river. From high in the air it all looks different.”
They saw nothing more for the rest of the day, nothing but the twists and turns of the Mizipi. By now Marcellinus could tell the difference between the natural eddies in the water and the ripples that showed where the underwater snags were. Like Akecheta and Mahkah, he was learning to read the river.
It was just as well. They might be on it for a long time.
When they stopped to fill the jars with water that afternoon, Tahtay appeared as if he had never been away, stepping into the longship and retreating to his place in the bow. Hurit and Kimimela went to speak to him, but he ignored them both, curled up, and apparently went straight to sleep.
Back on the river, Dustu and Hurit approached Marcellinus in the stern. “Wanageeska? Tahtay can’t go on like this.”
“You’re telling me?”
“You need to fix him again.”
Marcellinus shook his head. “I may have managed it once, but then his only problem was a leg wound.”
Hurit looked worried. “If he keeps wandering around by himself, a bear will eat him.”
“Eat Tahtay?” Dustu snorted. “Tahtay is so bitter that the bear would spit him right out again.”
“Dustu, Tahtay’s father was killed. Right in front of him.” Marcellinus took a breath. “Tahtay was proud of Great Sun Man. And now he feels…shamed as well as grief-stricken.”
Even for Marcellinus it was hard to speak of this. He shook his head again. “Breaking things is easier than mending them. Give him time. Gods know, we have enough of that.”
—
It seemed that Marcellinus had only just put his head down on his kit bag when something touched his knee, and he was awake again in an instant. Hanska’s silhouette was there before him in the dark of night, her fingers over her mouth in
the hand-talk that meant Be silent.
Nodding, Marcellinus sat up cautiously. It was the early days of the Flower Moon, and the crescent moon would not rise until just before dawn. The Mizipian constellation known as the Spread Hand was directly overhead, meaning it was just past the middle of the night.
Following his warrior’s lead, Marcellinus carefully picked up his sheathed gladius and crawled to the gunwale of the longship.
They had tied up to the trees at the river’s edge. The ground nearby had been too marshy and damp to sleep ashore. Starlight glistened in muddy pools across the reeds.
Aside from that he saw nothing, no one. But again came Hanska’s hand on his arm, stilling him and warning him to keep silent.
Marcellinus stole a glance down the longship. Around them everyone slept except Sintikala, who watched them unblinking from near the bow. The Hawk chief reached out and touched Kimimela on the shoulder, and the girl, too, came awake. She reached up to rub her eyes, but her mother pushed her hand down. Understanding immediately, Kimimela reached for her dagger.
Marcellinus and Hanska lay side by side like statues. The shoreline was in shadow. A breeze grazed the top of the waters, and the reeds rustled. Marcellinus felt his hair prickle.
Hanska exploded into motion in an instant, leaping onto the gunwale and hurling herself out onto the riverbank. The longship lurched and rolled in reaction, and its crew awoke and scrabbled for weapons. All at once the night was alive.
Marcellinus stood and flicked his gladius. The sheath flew away and clattered down between the thwarts, baring cold steel. He vaulted over the side of the ship, but his toes caught on one of the shields and he almost tumbled into the shallows of the Mizipi that lapped against the hull. Recovering his balance, he began to run.
Hanska was thirty feet away, pounding into the reeds. She had thrown her sword aside and was reaching out.
A man scrambled to his feet and turned to run. He had left it much too late. Hanska crashed into him and took him down in an almighty splash.
Marcellinus was close behind but could no longer see them in the murk. He expected enemies to rise up around them at any moment. Behind him, Akecheta shouted, “Bows! Nock arrows! Wait for the order!”
As Hanska dragged her man to his feet, Marcellinus passed her and skidded to a halt to cover her, blinking into the night, gladius up and ready for any assault.
Again he scanned the bushes. No one else came at them. Could the man really have been planning to attack them alone? Marcellinus looked up the bank, down it.
“Just this one.” Hanska wasn’t even breathing hard. “And he’s not armed.”
“Bows down!” Akecheta called from the Concordia. “Stand easy.”
Marcellinus was not so sure and spent a few more moments staring into the darkness before he would lower his blade.
A sneak thief, then?
“All clear,” Hanska said. “Really. Uh, Wanageeska?”
Marcellinus nodded and exhaled. “All right.”
He turned.
Hanska had wrestled the man’s arms behind his back, but he was not struggling. He stood peaceably enough, streaked with mud, watching Marcellinus.
Marcellinus blinked. The man had a mustache. The first mustache, he thought dazedly, he had seen in years.
“Hello, sir,” the man said in Latin.
Marcellinus took an involuntary step back and rubbed his eyes. The man before him did not vanish; rather, Aelfric smiled tentatively and had the good manners to look a little sheepish.
“Gods above,” Marcellinus said in awe. “How is it that you live?”
Aelfric shook his head. Marcellinus had spoken in Cahokian.
A feeling of unreality rocked Marcellinus like a strong wind. Was he still asleep and dreaming?
From behind them Kimimela translated Marcellinus’s words into Latin, and now it was Aelfric’s turn to look startled.
Marcellinus made a grand effort to pull himself together. “What happened to you? Where have you been all this time? How could you possibly—”
“Bind him.” Sintikala strode up to them, sinew coiled in her hand. She tossed it to Kimimela.
“Wait,” Marcellinus said. “This man…”
“Bind him.”
Kimimela looped the sinew around Aelfric’s wrists and knotted it while Hanska held him firmly.
“I know him,” said Marcellinus.
“Talk to him, then,” Sintikala said. “Ask why he creeps around in the night. Ask why we should not kill him.”
Kimimela translated the questions for Aelfric. Aelfric cocked an eye at Marcellinus. “A word, Praetor?”
“Ask him if there are others near,” Sintikala said. “Other Romans.”
Kimimela did so.
“Well, are there?” Marcellinus asked. “Who else lived? Don’t tell me you’re the only one. That would beggar belief.”
“None nearby,” said Aelfric. “Up the Wemissori, a couple of dozen, living with the People of the Grass. About fifty more headed northeast two years back, hoping to make it through to Vinlandia. I didn’t fancy their chances, frankly. Instead, I came looking for you. Isleifur Bjarnason is with me, but he went on ahead, downriver a ways, in his canoe.” Aelfric grinned. “There’s scouts for you. Always have to be out in front.”
Kimimela shook her head in frustration. “You talk funny.”
“He’s a Briton,” said Marcellinus, also in Latin. “They all talk funny. His name is Aelfric.”
A long silence fell as everyone looked at everyone else, and then Kimimela shook her head and said to Sintikala in Cahokian, “No other Romans around here,” and Akecheta at last sheathed his gladius.
“What do you want with us, Aelfric?” Kimimela asked.
Aelfric looked at her. “With you, pet? Nothing.”
Hanska yawned. “Can I kill him yet? Or at least gag him till dawn?”
“Why come by night?” Marcellinus demanded.
“I’ve been following you downriver by land,” said Aelfric. “Watching. Waiting to get you by yourself so we could talk without me getting—” He quirked his mouth wryly. “—captured or killed. Last two nights in the middle of the night you’ve left your bed to take a piss, but I’ve been too far away. I hoped you’d come ashore again tonight, and maybe I could get your attention after, and we could talk. Quietlike. Can we talk?”
Kimimela turned to Sintikala. “He wants to talk. In case you couldn’t tell. It seems to be what he does best.”
Marcellinus sighed. “Back to bed, everyone. Sintikala, Akecheta, this man saved my life once. Let me speak with him and find out what he knows.”
Gratefully, Akecheta and the warriors clambered back into the longship. Sintikala still frowned. “Hanska and Kimimela stay with you. And he stays tied up.”
“Me?” Hanska said indignantly. “I caught him and I get to suffer?”
Sintikala turned away. “Just keep him quiet and keep everyone safe.”
—
“After the battle? We ran hard and fast into the north. Swam across the Mizipi after we had an ill meeting with an Iroqua war band and went on westward across the grasslands. There we’d probably have died if Isleifur Bjarnason hadn’t caught up with us. He took us north to the other big river, the Wemissori, and then along that for a month or two. And that bloody grass goes on forever and has some strange beasts browsing on it. It’s not just the buffalo. Have you seen the horns on the wild sheep? And out there we stayed with the People of the Grass, and some of the men took native women to wife and decided things weren’t so bad. But others were burning to get home if it was the last thing they did.”
“Talk slower,” Kimimela said.
Aelfric grinned. “All right, lass. Sorry.”
It was so long since he’d heard such a torrent of Latin that Marcellinus could barely keep up, either.
Aelfric was muscled and long-haired. He wore a tunic in the style of the tribes of the plains and torn and well-worn moccasins. Not a trace of Roman clothing
remained on the man, yet somehow he still held himself erect like the tribune he’d once been. Marcellinus tried to sit up straighter. “And was it?”
“Was what?”
“Was it the last thing they did?”
“Don’t know. Perhaps. It’s a devil’s long way, Vinlandia, according to Isleifur. Far out beyond the lakes, right on the other side of Iroqua country. There’s the biggest of the lakes, and that spills out into a river and leads you there, but the river is locked down hard by the Iroqua and the Hurons and the Ojibwa, and there’s no canoeing along it, not if you want to keep your heart inside your chest. They own the water, and they own the land.” Aelfric shrugged. “I wasn’t up for that, but a bunch of the men would do anything for the chance to get themselves out of Nova Hesperia and home, and I’m not saying they were wrong. Off they went.”
“How long ago?”
“This was in the second summer.”
Marcellinus worked the numbers in his head. “And the rest stayed, but you came south?”
“Yes. I missed trees.”
Kimimela screwed up her face. “Trees?”
He grinned. “Up there? Pretty much grass, grass, grass to the horizon. I wanted to see honest woods again. If you ever go up there, you’ll understand. And as for the others, they remembered what the summers were like down here.” Aelfric fidgeted, twisting his arms to try to keep the blood flowing. “And then I heard about the Wanageeska. Making war. Making peace. Generally making a nuisance of himself.”
Marcellinus rubbed his eyes. Dawn was still three hours distant, but he might not get any more sleep tonight. Tomorrow would be a long day.
“My turn to ask something,” Aelfric said. “Where are you going?”
“South.”
“Well, I see that.”
Marcellinus saw no reason not to tell him. “We’re banished from Cahokia. Exiled, forbidden to return. Now heading for Shappa Ta’atan, another Mizipian city.” He paused. “Shappa Ta’atan may have gold.”