by Alan Smale
“Gold?” Aelfric stared.
Marcellinus dug into his pouch and held up the birdman talisman. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Aelfric exhaled. “Damn.”
“Yes.”
Kimimela looked from Marcellinus to Aelfric and back again. “What’s that? What is gold?”
Her bafflement broke the tension. The Briton grinned at her. “What’s gold? You’re a cute one.”
“Stop flirting with my daughter,” Marcellinus said, provoking a double take from Aelfric. He pointed to the talisman Enopay had given him and continued, “And ‘damn’ is right. Kimimela, this is gold, and my lares are gold, and the Romans will do anything for gold.”
She looked at the shiny object carefully and handed it back. “Including send more legions?”
“Especially send more legions,” Aelfric said.
“But do they know?”
“Once they realize I lost a legion here, they’ll be back, anyway. But one of the reasons the 33rd was sent here in the first place was to search for gold. If Roma found out it was here, they’d be back double-quick. They would fly here.”
“Fly?”
“Not literally. But they would come very fast.”
“And your Romans might find out from the men who went to…Vinlandia?”
“Or from any survivors from our garrison at Chesapica who managed to escape the Iroqua.”
“Oh, they know,” Aelfric said. “I’d bet you a good sword—or you a fine coney for dinner, young lady—that the Imperator knows the fate of the 33rd by now. Even if none of them made it back, Hadrianus will have sent out ships to sniff around and see what became of us. They know. I feel it in my water.”
“In your what?” Kimimela gaped.
“And on that fine note, we should get some sleep.” Marcellinus looked over his shoulder at the dark outline of the dragon ship, trying to remember which warriors he was supposed to wake up to take the last watch of the night.
Aelfric raised his wrists. “Marcellinus, man. You’re really going to keep me tied up? Can I at least go and get my pack and my gladius from over yonder?”
Marcellinus grinned. “We’ll ask Sintikala in the morning.”
“She’s the fierce one?”
Kimimela laughed, and Marcellinus nodded. Aelfric eyed the sleeping Hanska; unable to follow the conversation, she had nodded off some time earlier, sword still in her hand. “And women rule the roost in this tribe? Where does that leave you?”
“Alive,” said Marcellinus. “At least for now.”
—
Dawn saw the longship back out on the river and Aelfric freed; even Sintikala saw no need to bind a man who could row, especially a man surrounded by Cahokian warriors. From the look in her eye Marcellinus suspected she would not be particularly sorry if Aelfric jumped over the side and swam away again, but that seemed remarkably unlikely; after he had been alone for so long, it was as much as they could do to stop the Briton from talking even as he rowed. It was only when the crew’s unease at hearing so much spoken Latin became apparent that Kimimela persuaded him to shut up for a while and give them all some peace.
—
“Well, you landed on your feet, and no mistake,” Aelfric said quietly much later on. “Lucky bugger.”
They were sitting in the bow. The current was so strong on this stretch of the river that rowing was almost superfluous, and most of the oarsmen were taking a break. Marcellinus stared. “You’re joking. Nomads, living from day to day?”
Aelfric grinned. “We’re all living from day to day. But you really like these people. And they like you.”
“This wasn’t how it was with you? You didn’t make friends up the Wemissori?”
“Some of the tribes upriver are decent enough. The Hidatsa took us in and fed us. Made us work for it, of course, and wanted a gift or two from our pockets. But they could have slit our throats on the first night, and I’m rather glad they didn’t.” Aelfric looked out over the Mizipi. “The Grass People reminded me more than a little of the Picts, truth be told. But I can’t say I made any real friends up there, and I doubt that any of ’em mourn my absence. Your friends here are a little keener. Better organized. The difference between city folk and country folk, I’m guessing.”
“I wish you’d seen Cahokia,” Marcellinus said.
Aelfric shivered. “I did. It was nearly the death of me.”
“I meant really seen it.”
“I’m sure it’s lovely this time of year.” Aelfric sobered. “But what happens when they come again?”
“Roma?”
“Who else?”
Marcellinus shook his head and stared out across the fetid waters.
“All right,” said Aelfric. “But I’ll only ask you again tomorrow and the day after.”
“I hope it doesn’t have to be war,” Marcellinus said. “I hope there’s a way to avoid fighting.”
“Aye, there is, if the Cahokians lay down arms and agree to become a Roman province and pay taxes and all. Simple.”
Marcellinus laughed. The look on Aelfric’s face acknowledged that that would be anything but simple. “Another way.”
“And which side will you fight with when it comes to that?”
Britons were very direct. Marcellinus had been hoping to dance around that topic a while longer. “Not with Roma.”
He glanced into Aelfric’s eyes for his reaction but saw nothing.
“Interesting,” Aelfric said.
“And not against Roma either.”
Aelfric weighed it. “You really think you can do that? Not pick a side? Stand aloof? You’re dreaming.”
“I could never fight my own people. Kill Romans in battle? I’d let them cut me down first.”
“Easy for you to say now. You’ll change your tune when some lad runs at you waving a gladius.”
“No,” said Marcellinus.
“You killed Corbulo, right enough.”
“That was different.”
Aelfric laughed. “Because he was a friend of yours? That’s comforting.”
“I killed Fuscus right enough, too. Doesn’t mean I’d do it again now.”
“All right.” Aelfric shrugged. “None of my business anyway.”
“And you?”
“I don’t want to live and die in this godforsaken country,” said Aelfric. “I really do not, and that’s a fact. I want to go home. Trouble is, when the next Romans march into Nova Hesperia, they aren’t exactly going to welcome me back with open arms. Being a deserter and running from the battlefield and all.”
“You don’t have to put it quite like that,” Marcellinus said.
“Yes, I really do. I cut and run, Praetor. Didn’t stop for my men. Didn’t stop for anything. I tossed away my helmet and my breastplate so I could run faster, and I took off like the wind. Got clear by a miracle of God and hid in a borrow pit until nightfall. Right under the water with only my nose showing. Oh, I abandoned my duty, all right. What do you think of that?”
Marcellinus hesitated. “I don’t think anything.”
“As Praetor you’d have had me killed for less,” Aelfric said bluntly. “An example to others. Discipline.”
“Things change. Now I’m just glad you’re alive.”
“Huh,” said Aelfric. “We’ll see.”
“I’m hardly the man to judge you.”
“Plenty of others will. Anyhow, that’s why I didn’t try for Vinlandia with the rest of ’em. Okay for the foot soldiers. But a fine tribune like me?” Aelfric shook his head. “And you, too. All this talk of who we’ll fight for is grand. But the truth of it is that when the Romans come for us, we’re dead men. And so I don’t know where that leaves me. Whose side am I on? I’m on my side. Living for today.”
“It’s not as easy as that.”
“Certainly it is. And if you’re half as smart as you should be, that’ll be your answer, too. As for him, he’ll just disappear into the woods like magic.”
“Him?”
—
The Norseman lifted his canoe into the longship, stepped aboard with a nod to Marcellinus as if he had seen his Praetor just last week, and went straight to Sintikala and Akecheta in the stern, bowing to each and saying a few words in Cahokian that were so fast and accented that even Marcellinus couldn’t catch them. Sintikala blinked in surprise, and Akecheta smiled. Isleifur bowed again and worked his way forward, greeting everyone in turn with a grin and a comment, clasping hands and punching shoulders. Even Tahtay sat up and stared and nodded in acknowledgment when Isleifur spoke to him.
Aelfric shook his head. “I’m guessing nobody is going to tie that bugger up.”
“Told you you should have come by daylight,” Marcellinus said, although that obviously wasn’t all there was to it. Isleifur’s shoulder-length hair was combed and his beard was full and he wore no tattoos, but aside from that he easily could have passed for Hesperian in his appearance, demeanor, and—if the crew’s reactions were anything to go by—speech.
At last Isleifur arrived at the bow, where Marcellinus and Aelfric stood. Akecheta had given the order to cast off again, and the Concordia was already nosing back into the current while they tried to catch the wind.
“Still alive, then?” Marcellinus asked for want of anything better to say.
Isleifur shrugged casually as if to say, Who’d have thought it? “Nice ship, sir. You’ve made a sorry mess of the rigging, though. Makes my teeth itch.”
Marcellinus felt unaccountably embarrassed. “We were guessing.”
“We’ll fix it before you have to fight your way back upriver,” said the Norseman. “There’s fresh water around the next bend if you need it, and deer three bends on if you want to send hunters ahead. Um…excuse me.” And Bjarnason strode back down the boat to talk to Akecheta.
Sintikala and Kimimela were already back at work on their wing as if nothing had happened. Aelfric was grinning.
Marcellinus shook his head and went to talk to Mahkah about supplies.
“Up, lazy thing,” Kimimela said with scorn, and Marcellinus came awake in a moment, grabbing for the pugio under the spare tunic that served as his pillow.
“Planning to murder me for waking you?” she said.
“Sorry. I was dreaming.” These days Marcellinus’s dreams were often bloody. In light of the store that Cahokians set by dreams, he did not tell them this.
He sat up with some difficulty, blinking into bright sunlight. Beside him was their dead fire, and nearby the macabre sight of the bones of the three deer they had feasted on over the last two days. Beyond, the warriors were already piling weapons and pouches into the longship. Yahto was stacking the spare firewood under the deck planking to save foraging time in the evening.
“So easy it is for you to sleep,” his daughter said with a touch of spite.
Marcellinus grunted. In fact he had been wide awake and worrying for the first half of the night. “One of the benefits of a clear conscience.”
She frowned. “Humor?”
“Sarcasm.” He scanned the crew again. “Tahtay?”
“No.”
Tahtay had disappeared into the woods again as soon as they had landed, and they had not seen him since.
Marcellinus stood, stuffing the spare tunic into his pouch and looking around for Sintikala. “But we’re leaving anyway?”
Kimimela scowled and spoke in a deeper register in a passable imitation of her mother: “ ‘The men are fat and restless. We sail.’ ”
Shaking the stiffness out of his legs, Marcellinus walked to where Akecheta stood supervising the loading of the Concordia. Aelfric and Isleifur were hauling gear and wood with the rest of the warriors.
“What about Tahtay?” he said to Akecheta.
Akecheta glanced at Sintikala, who was on the longship standing guard over her Hawk wing as the men loaded. Warriors tended to be clumsy and overenthusiastic, and the boat often rocked unexpectedly, and her concern was always that someone would stumble into the wing and damage it. “Tahtay will catch up.”
“He’ll catch up?”
“We don’t travel that fast. Especially today.” True enough; there wasn’t a breath of wind, and the strength of the Mizipi current was slackening as they slid into summer. The men would be rowing.
Tahtay often walked the bank alongside the longship anyway, which was just as well; when he was aboard or in camp, his black mood made him almost impossible to be around. “Yes, but…”
“He has to learn not to be such a pain in our hides,” Kimimela said viciously.
Hurit and Dustu were loading the boat, eyes downcast. Kimimela followed where he was looking. “Oh, they lost patience with him days ago as well.”
Marcellinus had already lost this battle while he slept. “Very well. We sail.”
“Glad you agree,” Kimimela said, and stalked off to board the drekar and stand by her mother.
—
By then, two months after fleeing Cahokia, the crew of the Concordia had divided into two groups.
By and large, the warriors of the First Cahokian were on an adventure. Of course it was the men with the greatest thirst for novelty who had joined the First Cahokian in the first place, and the unattached men among them who had stuck with Marcellinus and Tahtay to come on this voyage. As far as Marcellinus knew, none of the men on the boat had wives at home, at least not wives they cared about.
Ultimately, his crew had options. Many were confident they’d be able to go back to Cahokia once all the fuss had died down. Or Shappa Ta’atan. Or another mound-builder village. Some liked the idea of Woshakee, where good men would always be welcomed with open arms.
Others were happy to see where the river would take them. None of them had been this far from home before. And when their good cheer lagged, when the work of navigating the endless river became drudgery, Akecheta was there to buck them up, along with Hanska, Mikasi, and Chumanee. And also Aelfric and Isleifur, who had taken it upon themselves to be relentlessly cheerful at all times and defy anyone else to be grumpy.
Remaining aloof from any hint of good cheer was the much smaller group of Sintikala and Kimimela and of course Tahtay, when he was there at all. Marcellinus, Aelfric, and Akecheta did their best to chivvy them along, Aelfric in atrocious Cahokian and hand-talk, but Sintikala in particular was still morose at the loss of Great Sun Man and Cahokia, and Kimimela took her cue from her mother.
Now they floated downriver in the middle of the current. The air was too still to sail, and by the afternoon it was too hot to row in more than a desultory way. Isleifur was at the rudder, keeping the ship’s nose straight; in truth, he was a better scout than seaman and despite his caustic comments knew little more about the ropes and rigging than anyone else, but he did seem to be better at steering than most.
In the bow Marcellinus kept his eyes peeled for any sign of Tahtay onshore. Chumanee and Aelfric moved among the men with a cheerful word or two before arriving by his side, where they flopped down, sweating.
“Thank you, Aelfric,” Marcellinus said in Latin.
“For?”
“Keeping spirits up.”
Aelfric mimed an exaggerated look of confusion. “Eh? We Britons are always cheerful.”
“No, you really aren’t.”
Chumanee curled up in the hull at their feet and fell asleep immediately. Marcellinus blinked. “That’s a talent.”
“She’s a talented lass,” Aelfric said, deadpan. “But don’t tell the other boys.”
Marcellinus shook his head, bemused. “You are an utter rascal, Aelfric.”
“Well, you can be sure I’m not doing all this for you, you grumpy old bugger. And anyway, this?” Aelfric waved his hand, the gesture including the Concordia, the Mizipi, even the sky. “This is the best time I’ve had in this benighted land, and that’s a fact. These are good people. You lucked out with this crew.”
“Some of it may not be luck.”
“Aye. But your trouble is you spend too much time worrying. Food, water, Iroqua, and Romans, Romans, Romans. You know what? Screw the Romans. They’ll come when they come, and there’s not a damned thing we can do about it anymore.”
Marcellinus thought about that. Aelfric punched him on the arm. “Gaius, man. Stop it. Didn’t I just say there was nothing we could do?”
“I don’t have to be happy about it.”
“You surely do or we’ll throw you overboard. Three sourpusses per ship is all that’s allowed.”
Marcellinus looked at Sintikala or, rather, at the back of her head.
“She’ll get over it,” Aelfric said. “And she likes you. A great deal. God help her.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’ll cheer up the riffraff if you cheer up the nobility,” Aelfric said. “The boy has lost his father, fair enough. But what about her?”
“Sintikala has lost her people. Lost her whole city.”
Aelfric cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean that her. I meant your daughter.”
“Oh.”
“You’re neglecting her. That’s why she’s being such a pain in the arse. If she’s really your daughter, act like it.”
“I do,” said Marcellinus, surprised.
“You used to talk a good game,” Aelfric said. “ ‘Vestilia this, Vestilia that, oh dear me, I ignored her so much she went away and hated me, oh futete, what a bad and evil father I am.’ ”
Marcellinus stared. “Eh?”
“Kimimela came to stand by you. Did she need to? No. Did her mother need to? Doubly no. So…don’t fuck it up again.”
“Are you done?”
Aelfric glanced down. “Are you?”
Marcellinus unclenched his fists and blew out a long breath. “Yes. It’s far too hot for this conversation.”
“Then go astern and start another,” Aelfric said. “Talk to them. Both of them, but especially Kimimela.”
Marcellinus hesitated.
“Get on with it, man,” Aelfric said. “And that’s an order.”
—
“There.” Isleifur’s arm was out straight, pointing to the right bank. “Tahtay.”