by Alan Smale
“Well, not really. They’re all over the place. Nomads and hunters. They follow the buffalo.”
“They’re not the tribe you were with?”
“Isleifur and I were with the Hidatsa. They farm and grow things. The Blackfoot tribe was very different, a rough lot. Hard, warlike. If Tahtay has gone to them…”
Marcellinus met Enopay’s eye. “Is it possible? That we could go to find him?”
“Yes,” Enopay said.
“But the Romans…Is there time? To get up the Wemissori…” And back to Cahokia. He shook his head.
“We will have to make time,” Sintikala said slowly.
Marcellinus’s thoughts were racing. He looked at Sintikala, Aelfric, Enopay, Hurit, and Dustu.
Sintikala was looking at him. “We must think on it, Gaius. And talk tomorrow. Now we must sleep. Unless?” She looked at Enopay.
“I have nothing else to tell you. Sleep is good.”
“Thank God,” Aelfric said. “You people would talk the hind leg off a donkey. What?”
Enopay was shaking his head. “Talk a leg off? You are a very strange man, hairy warrior. Very strange.”
—
“So you’re planning to put all our lives into a boy’s hands?” Aelfric shook his head in frustration. “And he…How the hell old is he, anyway?”
It was the next morning, and they were packing up the longship in light rain. The showers had broken out around midnight and drenched them all; in the afternoon they would need to spread out their sleeping blankets to dry. Everyone was grumpy and on edge, Aelfric more than most.
“Nobody knows,” Marcellinus said. “He seemed very young five years ago. Now he just looks young.”
“I’m willing to believe he’s clever. But what if he’s lying? What if this is Avenaka’s trap to lure you and Sintikala to Cahokia and get rid of you once and for all?”
“There are simpler ways. I trust Enopay.”
“You’d trust him with my life?” Aelfric asked.
Marcellinus grinned. “Much more than that.”
“Fantastic,” Aelfric grumbled. “And now here comes your girlfriend.”
Sintikala was approaching, her face and hair wet where she had recently dunked her head in a stream to wash. Unlike everyone else, she seemed cheerful. Her eyes glinted. “Time to talk, Gaius. Let the others row awhile. Walk with me.”
—
Unfortunately, it was not a rowing day. The pace of the river that morning and the shape of the currents against its shores made that impossible. This was a day for hauling the boat up the river from the bank at the end of a long rope while Bjarnason stood at the rudder and a few other men sat on board to fend off the bank and the inevitable trees, branches, and bloated buffalo carcasses that came floating downriver toward them. It would be a slow day with few miles gained, and even more strenuous than rowing.
Yet Sintikala’s mood was bright. Marcellinus had rarely seen her this happy. No longer merely a wanderer on the waters, she had a purpose now and a challenge ahead. Whatever the outcome, Sintikala was going home. She had a restless excitement, an attractive energy, and Marcellinus could hardly take his eyes off her.
They walked together into the wilderness. Ahead the Mizipi curved in a long oxbow, hooking to the west, and by cutting across and meeting the river again later they could shorten their journey.
It was the first time Marcellinus had been alone with Sintikala for any length of time since they had escaped from Shappa Ta’atan heading south, and for a while they avoided discussing Tahtay, Cahokia, and Roma. Instead they talked of Kimimela, of supplies and the weather, which of the crew were the strongest and most trustworthy, and which were the mischief makers and complainers who caused trouble.
Finally she said, “And so, Gaius, your Romans are coming. How long?”
Marcellinus had given this a lot of thought. He answered quickly. “They won’t be able to start again over the mountains of Appalachia until the snows have melted and the ground dried. It could be Maius—the Planting Moon—and then after that another two months to Cahokia. Four or five months from now…or longer.”
“Why longer?”
“There are many things to take into account. I pushed my legion hard, with few rest days, because we needed to find food. A legion that travels too slowly loses its morale. But fast travel puts stress on them. They make mistakes. And this one…A larger army takes much longer to move than a smaller one. If Enopay is right, they are building sturdier castras, so that takes longer and they stay longer. They’re maintaining a supply line that they can’t afford to outpace. And also there are the animals, the four-legs.”
“The horses?”
Marcellinus nodded. “Although some may be pack mules. Enopay says that the supply train contains almost no wagons and that the horses the men ride are bigger than the ones that carry provisions. Mules are half horse, half…” He hesitated, reluctant to get sidetracked into equine breeding. “Mules are smaller than horses but stronger. They carry more than a horse but eat less and handle rough ground more easily than a wagon can. And they’re why these Romans don’t need to take slaves. But four-legs eat grass, and a lot of it, so the Romans will need to rest them regularly and graze them on pastureland, which will slow them down still further.”
Sintikala pondered it. “If you were Praetor of these legions, what would you do?”
“I’d split up the legions. Divide my forces. I’d know I wouldn’t face a large army until Cahokia, so I’d gain nothing but logistic difficulties by keeping them together. I’d send the first legion on ahead to clear the way and build fortresses. I’d use our old castra sites where possible—the campsites of the 33rd—to save energy. I’d rest my men and animals every third day and switch the legions’ order every ten or twenty days so the first legion could rest while the second took over spearheading the trail. But that may not be what this Praetor decides to do. Especially if he has as much trouble with the Iroqua as we did.”
“The Iroqua.” Sintikala nodded.
“It must take several cohorts just to protect the supply train. They probably need a mule for every three or four men in the army. Enopay may be right about the sizes of the legions, but there must be even more men than he saw. There must be hundreds, maybe even a couple of thousand more soldiers, just guarding the mule train.” He grinned. “It’s a pretty problem. Praetors worry much more about food than about fighting.”
She frowned. “We only have until summer?”
“They’re being very methodical. This is a systematic invasion. This time, they’re here to stay.” Marcellinus considered. “I think they’ll take their time and aim to arrive rested and in fighting form in the Hunting Moon or even the Falling Leaf Moon. Given the choice, they’ll want to fight after the heat of summer has broken and after Cahokia has taken in the fall harvest. They have nothing to gain by arriving sooner than that. And it may even take them longer.”
“Later would give Cahokia longer to prepare.”
“They don’t care how long they give Cahokia to prepare,” Marcellinus said. “They know they can beat you.”
Sintikala paused. “ ‘You’?” she said sadly.
“I will not be fighting them, Sintikala. You do remember that? I cannot lead a Cahokian army against my own people. And an all-out war would be a disaster. That cannot be what happens. We must find another way.”
“And what way is that?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“You knew you could beat us, too,” she said. “And look what happened.”
“But their army is three times larger than mine. They have more solders than Cahokia has men of any age, and cavalry besides. And they will not helpfully bunch up into a normal Roman triplex acies line like the 33rd did so you can bomb them with liquid fire.”
She shook her head, not understanding.
“I mean they will not group together, and the Cahokian liquid flame will be much less effective, because they will have prepared for it. For
all I know they may even have designed armor against it or have coated their skin with, oh, something, to reduce its burning. I would certainly experiment with such ideas.”
“I think you are right,” she said unexpectedly. “They will not be rushed into fighting. They will wait until the autumn when the leaves are falling.”
Marcellinus smiled at her, and she grinned quickly back. The rain had stopped now, and they were reaching the top of a hill, although the trees surrounded them, giving them little view of the land ahead.
He took a deep breath. So far, despite the seriousness of the conversation, their mood with each other had been light and friendly. Marcellinus felt very close to her. For a moment they were at peace, they were a team again, whatever the future might bring. In another world this might signal the beginning of a deepening relationship between them, a more permanent bond.
But he had the feeling that what he was about to say might shatter that completely.
“They may have read my letter. Remember, we prepared letters and sent them to the leaders of the Powhatani and Nanticoke peoples on the coast. If they were delivered, then the eastern legions know that I am alive and that we are willing to talk.
“And so, Sisika, this time I must go and talk to the Romans. While the rest of you go to Cahokia or look for Tahtay, I must go east to meet the legions. Give myself up, take whatever comes. Attempt to negotiate, try to put off this war. And I don’t yet know how, because a lot will depend on who I find in command when I walk into their fortress.”
She kept walking, apparently lost in thought. Marcellinus peered at her. “You do understand that I must do this?”
“You have a name for this land,” she said.
“Yes,” he said, surprised. “You know that Romans call it Nova Hesperia.”
Sintikala nodded. “And that is how you think of it. You have named it, and so it is yours. It is Roman. The Praetor of those two giant war bands of Roma who sits now in his big fortress of wood on the eastern lees of Appalachia waiting for the thaw, he thinks the land is already his. He can do whatever he wishes with it, because he is strong and he has many men. He thinks the land is Nova Hesperia.”
“Yes.”
“And he thinks it is new, just as you do. You said this when first we met, when you held me captive in the castra of the 33rd. Again you said it as we traveled home after the powwow with the Haudenosaunee. Fresh, you said. Our land is fresh and new, just made. But it is not new, Gaius. It is our old land, not your new Roman land.”
“Yes,” Marcellinus said again. It could hardly be denied.
“And you will go to this man, this Praetor, and negotiate.”
Now Marcellinus saw the trap she had led him into.
“I can speak his language,” he said. “I will know how he thinks. I can speak in a way he will understand.”
“Yes, that is true,” Sintikala said. “And I agree that you will go to speak with him, but you will go as part of a Cahokian parley, and not yet.”
Marcellinus looked around him and saw a fallen tree trunk. “Let us sit and talk more of this.”
Sintikala remained standing. “Once we have retaken Cahokia, once we truly speak for Cahokia and not just for ourselves, you and I will go to the Romans and speak with them. I and perhaps Kanuna, perhaps Akecheta, and Tahtay if we can find him: the people who are strong and can lead. And you will come with us to help us speak with the Roman Praetor. We cannot do it without you, Gaius. But you will not do it without us.”
Marcellinus thought about that.
She sighed. “And now you are thinking that I cannot stop you, that if you choose to go alone, you may. You flew away once before to speak for us, and you can go again. You do not believe I will kill you to stop you.”
He glanced up, but she had no weapon in her hand.
“You are right,” she said. “You can go where you please. But I do not think you will. I think you will see that my way is the best way. Yes?”
“I’m still thinking,” he said.
“Because you are not Cahokian and you never will be, but despite that Cahokia is your friend, and you and I are sworn blood kin and family. And so we will do this together or we cannot do it at all.”
Marcellinus looked into her deep brown eyes, and his breath caught.
She met his gaze calmly. “And besides all of this, you swore to your daughter that you would not leave again.”
His chest tightened. But it was not just his heart that knew. It was his head, as well.
He nodded. “You’re right.”
“Do not answer quickly. Take time to think. And know that if you walk away again, I will not follow you a second time. Walk away from me again, from this family again…and we are all-done.”
The moment lingered in the air. Marcellinus cleared his throat. “Sisika, I want to help. I want to save Cahokia from war. And I do not want Roma to rule Cahokia. I want Cahokia to rule itself as a strong friend to Roma. If that is at all possible, I will do whatever it takes. I swore this to the Haudenosaunee, and I swore it to you. Do you believe me? Do you understand?”
“I think so.” She looked up at the sun. “Let us go on. I do not like to be out of sight of Kimimela and the ship for too long.”
They began picking their way down the hill.
“You liked the word ‘Hesperia,’ ” he said a little defensively.
“Hesperia is a nice word. Evening is a pleasant time. But not Nova Hesperia. Not new.”
“All right. Just ‘Hesperia,’ then. And a Hesperian League.”
He had talked little about it to her on their journey south down the Mizipi. It would have seemed absurd to dwell on it then, traveling as outcasts and with Sintikala mourning the loss of Great Sun Man and her city.
It was clear that she thought it barely less absurd now. She gave him a wry look. “Your League of all the Land? Standing together against Roma?”
“Yes.”
“Even now, when Cahokia cannot stand with itself?”
“We will mend that,” he said. “With Tahtay or without. We must. And then forge our league, not just of the mound builders and the Iroqua but also of the Powhatani, of the People of the Grass, and others in the south and north. As many as we can find.”
“And Shappa Ta’atan? And those of the Market of the Mud? And…I think the Powhatani have no reason to be your friends.”
“But every reason to be Cahokia’s with Roma again on the march through their lands,” he pointed out.
Sintikala shook her head slowly, wide-eyed, feigning being dazed. “I think perhaps we should think of one thing at a time, Gaius. And that one thing is Cahokia.”
Marcellinus assumed a solemn expression. “I think we should consider everything all at once.”
“You think very big.”
“We both must,” he countered immediately.
She grinned and shrugged. “Very well. And so I will go to Cahokia and think big there, and perhaps also to Ocatan to speak big words with Iniwa in the quiet of the night, and meanwhile you must go deeper into Hesperia to find Tahtay.”
Marcellinus sobered. He had reluctantly been coming to the same conclusion, but still he fought it. “I have no idea where Tahtay is. I don’t know the country. It might be a wild goose chase.” He took a deep breath. “I want to stay with you, Sintikala. Help you.”
“You help us all by bringing us Tahtay. Enopay is right. And now that Great Sun Man is gone, you are the closest thing Tahtay has to a father. You are a man Tahtay will listen to, perhaps the only man. He has listened to you before…Do not make that face. After he was injured, he hobbled around Cahokia like a dead man for months. Did he listen to Great Sun Man, who he adored and looked up to? To the mother he loves? To the friend of his soul, Dustu, or to Hurit, who would have gladly been his wife if he had only been a man and claimed her? No, he did not. He picked up a sword only when you told him to. He smiled again because you gave him a reason.”
“And then he ran away without telling me
.”
“Because his father was dead. His heart was broken, and he went after his mother. I will not say he was wrong to do that. When my husband was killed, I—”
Marcellinus jumped. Sintikala had reached out and seized his arm. He glanced around the trees, his right hand going to his gladius, but he saw no enemy. “What?”
Then he looked at Sintikala and saw sudden tears in her eyes, blind tears that ran down her nose and dripped to the forest floor. He reached for her then, and his arms went around her before he even knew what he was doing.
He held her to his chest as she cried quietly. He breathed her in, his heart pounding, and stared over her head into the forest.
She broke away and strode on along the path ahead of him, wiping her face.
“Are you all right?” he said stupidly.
Sintikala cleared her throat. “When my husband was…killed, I did many things, Gaius. I ran from Cahokia. I killed men, some of them my friends. I was…” She hit herself lightly on the side of the head with the palm of her hand. “The shamans said I was on a bad spirit journey. I was not. I was just not in my mind, not inside myself. Do you understand? But in the end I came home.” She turned back to him. “You must find Tahtay now. You must bring him home.”
Her face broke again, and she reached out, and he grabbed her and clasped her to him again as she cried.
—
“So we are returning to Cahokia?” Kimimela said. “How will we do it?”
“You are not,” Sintikala said. “You will go with Gaius. Cahokia is too dangerous.”
“I go where you go!”
“Not this time.”
Kimimela looked at Marcellinus. “I don’t want her to go either,” he said. “And how will you do it, anyway?”
“Quietly. I can walk into Cahokia unnoticed.”
Marcellinus looked at her doubtfully.
“Yes. Without the Hawk paint at my eyes, I am different. I can put ash in my hair to be older. It will still be early in the year and cold, and I can bundle in furs and wear a hood. Stones in my moccasins will change my walk.”
“Even with all that I would still know you,” Marcellinus said.
Her mouth twitched. “You would know me anywhere, and so would Kimimela. But you will not be there. I have not been seen in Cahokia for a year. No one will expect me, and I will stay far from the Great Mound and the Wolf Warriors.”