“So Thrysdus is like a fortress?” she said. “We’ll see.”
There was more direction of the same plan tomorrow as the last two days. Let the Moslems run, unless there was some sort of stand. And let the runners go, let them run, gather in only officers.
Moslem food was brought them. Wulf relished slices of smoked fish. At last the council broke up and Wulf went to where Susi and Djalout had made camp. Susi muttered prayers for the rest of Gharna’s soul, but Wulf could not make out what gods were addressed.
At dawn, yet again the advance across broad country the Moslems did not try to defend. There were no dead bodies to show where defense, if any, had been attempted. Birds twittered in trees. Great camel-loads of plunder plodded behind the advancing warriors. The Moslems had brought much equipment, much provision, with them, and had abandoned it in their flight. Wulf wondered what they ate as they ran.
The army passed a sizable sprawl of houses, large enough for a town. In its midst stood a clay-plastered church, with a clumsily made cross of rocks on its roof. People cheered them and fell prostrate as the Cahena rode among them. A pursy, flush-faced man in a swinging black robe came and bowed at her stirrup.
“I’m the bishop of these Christian people, great queen,” he rolled out impressively. “Our prayers are answered. God has sent you to destroy these infidels.”
“Thank you,” she said gravely. “But give your own thanks to your God for my brave men, my wise chiefs, who have made victory possible.”
He flourished the sign of the cross at her.
Bhakrann had been given command of the strong contingent sent to observe, perhaps to occupy, Cairouan. The main force fared on until the vast pile of Thrysdus rose on the horizon, rosy brown in the late afternoon sun. Small houses clustered around it and outside those, orchards and vineyards, spreading like dark, hugging clouds over the ground.
* * *
XVII
The towering central structure of Thrysdus, red-brown in the last rays of the sun, looked like a mountain, ruinous though it was at the top. The Cahena led her staff to the forefront of the army. A scurrying press of people rushed out past the orchards and vineyards to greet them. They fell on their faces around the hoofs of the Cahena’s horse, and several talked at once.
It seemed that the Moslem garrison had fled Thrysdus without stopping to pack. All who remained were civilians — Jews, Christians, even some Moslems — who now rejoiced at the flight of their arrogant masters.
The Cahena spoke graciously to all these, but authoritatively to Wulf. “Take a couple of hundred men and ride in,” she said. “Make sure that the enemy is really gone, and send word back to me.”
“At once, Lady Cahena.”
He chose two squadrons of Djerwa, one of them the following of poor Uchia. Several men of Thrysdus volunteered to guide him. He took his following along a street fringed with plastered huts, and straight to a broad entrance to that huge stone building at the center of everything. People were there with torches and lanterns to light them.
They came into a wide central arena, open above to the evening sky. Undoubtedly it had once been skillfully sanded, for headlong races or for combats of men and beasts, but now it was green with grass, the blades nibbled down by horses or cattle. Wulf guessed that it was more than five hundred paces long and nearly that wide, and on all sides of its oval expanse rose sloping bank after bank of seats, enough as he judged to hold all of the army that followed the Cahena. The men who had guided him swore again that the Moslems had fairly scuttled away.
“They left food cooking,” declared one. “Some of them even left their wives — pretty wives, at that.”
Wulf quickly sent parties to ascend on all sides of the arena and explore every corner of the building. They hastened to do this, while he waited in the arena with those who held the horses. The patrols came back to report that all was safe. Back of the seats were corridors and chambers, fountains of water from some system of conduits, disordered baths, and here and there kitchens with bubbling pots and meat roasting on spits. Wulf sent a swift rider to carry this information to the Cahena.
While he waited, he and Susi made a tour of some of the passages and rooms. Sure enough, food was on fires in several places, but Wulf did not taste it and posted guards in the kitchens to keep others from helping themselves. He surveyed with pleasure a great steambath with perfume in the air, a library of rolled manuscripts, a system of pipes with running water. He encountered several people, most of them women who simpered at him behind their veils and vowed that they considered him and his companions as deliverers.
The Cahena and her staff rode into the great open oval, having halted the main body of the army outside the houses of Thrysdus. She and Mallul dismounted to hear what Wulf had to say about the situation. Fires were lighted here and there on the arena’s grassy level, to dispel the dark. The Cahena herself visited the chambers of the lower tier, and chose a spacious room with a window looking outward on the corridor. Another room opened into it from behind.
“Put my things in here,” she directed. “Light a lamp. Mallul, you can choose a room close by. Wulf, what have you learned about the retreat from here?”
“That there wasn’t much of an armed garrison, but a number of officials. They got out long before we came in sight.”
“Bring together all those chief men we captured,” she said. “Tomorrow, when we’ve set up full possession here, I’ll assemble those prisoners to talk to.”
She visited the kitchens, peered steadfastly into pot after pot, murmured over them, and then pronounced them safe to eat. Warriors found bowls and spoons and served themselves. The Cahena herself ate only sparingly. She ordered Mallul to see that the herds of horses and camels and cattle had good grass outside the houses and orchards, with guards to watch over them. Finally she went to the apartment she had chosen. Many of the warriors spread their rugs and cloaks on the stone seats of the arena and slept gratefully.
Wulf and Susi were content to find an adequate square cubicle, with a single window opening upon the corridor and a stout door with a bar inside. Susi was soon asleep. Wulf lay wakeful, pondering the army’s position and the problems it must face. The dwellers at Thrysdus had welcomed the victors in; he had noticed fraternization between Imazighen warriors and townspeople. Girls and young women had been especially receptive. Indeed, some of those were cuddling up to warriors on the great stone benches. But that sort of easy acceptance might mean an equally easy rejection if a strong enough enemy force came back. Wulf knew he must make ready for any change in the fortunes of this war.
When he did sleep, he dreamed of a vast plain on which rose a sort of forest of Imazighen tombs. Among those things, he thought he saw a prowling shape as black as charred wood, near at hand but stealthy. In his dream he followed it, sword drawn, and glimpsed the curved horns on its head. Khro, he dreamed of Khro, and was glad to wake up at dawn, wash and eat, and report to the Cahena.
Hassan’s captured officers had been assembled in the arena. There were something like eighty of them, enough for a squadron, all handsomely turned out in fine turbans and mantles. They drew together in a close group, and the Cahena with her attendants stood at the parapet below the lowest bank of seats. She wore her blue cloak, and her cascade of black hair was bound at the temples with a silk band of gleaming white.
“I’ll speak to them,” Wulf heard her say to Djalout. “My Arabic isn’t of the best, and so I ask you to translate what I say.” She turned to look at Wulf. “Listen to how he translates, Wulf. See that he doesn’t misquote me.”
“Would I ever do that?” Djalout smiled, unabashed.
The Cahena, too, smiled. Then she faced her glum audience, and raised her voice:
“You’re men of importance, the officer-companions of your general, Hassan. I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to make you even uncomfortable. Swear to me now, by the name of Allah your god, that you won’t try to escape while you’re with us, and we’ll trea
t you as our guests until we see how to send you back to your own friends.”
Djalout translated. There was a moment of silence. Then one of the officers stepped clear of his fellows. He was tall, lean, hawk-faced. His beard was shot with gray.
“We swear to that, Queen Cahena,” he said, and a murmur of agreement rose through the gathering.
“You all swear?” prompted the Cahena. “Does any of you not swear?”
None offered a denial. She looked them over searchingly.
“We’ll arrange your return to Hassan,” she said. “He should be glad to buy you back. We’ll send one of you with a message to him. We’ll offer an exchange. Each of you can buy us something we need — good horses or camels, maybe weapons, maybe gold. Is this a fair offer?”
Djalout explained.
“Fair and kindly, by Allah!” shouted back the spokesman with the gray-shot beard.
“Then you are guests here,” said the Cahena again. “I’ll send one of you at once, to give your general our terms. Choose somebody to take that errand.”
There was a buzzing conference among the captured officers. One voice seemed to protest loudly. The spokesman moved forward again to address the Cahena.
“Great lady and queen, we asked for our young companion Khalid ibn Yezid to ride on this errand, but he refuses.”
Khalid moved gracefully into the open.
“Queen Cahena, I do not want to go to Hassan. I ask that you let me stay here.”
She looked down at him and she smiled radiantly. “You don’t want to go back to your friends?”
“I want to stay and make new friends among you.”
As Khalid spoke, the others pulled away from him and stared. Still the Cahena smiled down upon him.
“You wish to turn from being a Moslem?” she asked, and Djalout translated.
“Mighty queen, I don’t need to turn from being a Moslem to see that you are great and compassionate and beautiful,” said Khalid, and Djalout rendered his words into Imazighen.
“Well,” said the Cahena, “stay if you want. I’ll talk to you later.”
The other officers chose their spokesman to ride to Hassan. The Cahena ordered that a horse be given him — his own, if it could be found among the captured stock — and a water bottle and provisions. An escorting rider would go with him, to get him past whatever was happening with Bhakrann’s men at the town of Cairouan.
To the others she said, “We’ll find quarters for you to have while the exchange goes forward. You’ll be well treated. If you want to talk to any of us as friends, I’ll permit that.”
The gathering murmured, as though in applause. A square-built Moslem said, “You show great mercy, Queen Cahena, and Allah, who is merciful, sees mercy when it is shown.”
“Thank you,” she said grandly. “Now, my people will assign you to quarters and see that you’re provided for.”
Turning, she left the parapet. Wulf and Djalout and others went with her. She walked into the corridor behind, and to the spacious chamber she had taken for herself. Stopping inside the door, she raised her head as though to listen.
“My voices,” she said. “They speak here.”
Wulf had a sense as of a hum somewhere, but could make out no words. The Cahena looked around at them.
“Fetch that young Arab, what’s his name —”
“Khalid ibn Yezid,” supplied Wulf.
“Fetch him to talk to me. I take it that those others aren’t particularly glad that he said he wanted to stay with us.” She looked around again. “Have someone bring wine, good wine if we brought it along. We’ve captured lots of food here, but the Moslems don’t drink wine, at least they say they don’t.”
Obediently Wulf went to find Khalid, who still waited in the arena. They went back to the Cahena’s door. The others had left, and at her beckoning gesture Khalid entered and she shut the door, with Wulf still outside. He frowned. Would she be safe alone with Khalid? Probably. She knew how to read minds, whether to trust those minds or not.
A hand touched the sleeve of Wulf’s tunic. He turned. There was Daphne, bunching her cheeks to smile.
“You think it’s good here, Wulf?” she chattered to him. “My father’s going to take over a forge here, one deserted by the Moslems, but he wants things brought from his Tiergal place. He’s joining a party riding back there, and he’s left me to look after things this end.”
Her smile grew wider; it was almost conspiratorial. “Our new forge, the place where we’ll live, is below here.” She pointed down. “If you come visiting, you won’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” Wulf said. “Just now, I have about eighty details to look into.”
She pouted as he turned away.
His first detail was to attend to the captive Moslem officers. He went down into the arena, where they still stood together as though waiting for dismissal. Susi went for a horse for the one who would take the Cahena’s message to Hassan. Then Wulf explored here and there for living quarters for the others. There were plenty of chambers, and he assigned them two to a chamber. He spoke in Arabic, and several replied in friendly fashion.
“Your great queen is merciful to us, but you weren’t,” said one. “I never saw a champion strike such blows as you struck. You should be a Moslem, one of us.”
“If I’d been one of you, I’d have been on the losing side,” said Wulf, smiling. “Maybe killed, if I’d have been chosen to be killed.”
“Chosen?”
“Something in this country chooses men to die in battle. Something with horns.”
“An ifrit, a djinn,” said the Moslem. “A creature of Satan.”
“Undoubtedly,” agreed Wulf. “Maybe we’ll talk more about djinns and ifrits while you’re here.”
He went to busy himself in organizing a patrol system for guarding Thrysdus, bodies of armed men to range through and around the place to observe in all directions, with subchiefs in command of each. He told himself that the Djerwa would be best at such a duty, and that Lartius’s men from the Cirta district would be poorest. He finished his duties for the day by assigning camp areas here and there outside the arena, with quarters inside it for the chieftains. Finally he went to a steambath, which refreshed him greatly. When he dressed and came out, he was told that the Cahena invited him and her other lieutenants to an evening meal.
Her spacious lodgings had been decorated with figured hangings and set with cushioned furniture. Wulf found himself in company with Ketriazar, Yaunis, Lartius, Daris, Mallul, Djalout and Khalid. The Cahena introduced Khalid as a new ally, an adviser to whom she listened with profit.
“My voices said we would profit by our battle,” she said, “and Khalid is the profit. I’ve heard wisdom from him, great wisdom from a man so young and modest.”
“You flatter me,” said Khalid, his slim hand to his trim young beard. “I’ve said only things I thought were obvious.”
The Cahena smiled. “Repeat them for my chieftains.”
Her women fetched in the dinner, soup of couscous and olive oil and pungent seasonings, followed by roasted birds and wheat bread and an assortment of dried fruits. Again she told Khalid to talk, and he touched his hand to his brow in salute and did so.
“I told our queen about Hassan’s troops,” he said. “How he had gathered them from here and there. His companions, his officers, are chiefly Arabs, but most of the others come from everywhere. A great many from Egypt and Libya and these countries hereabouts — new converts to Islam, rude and even savage peoples.”
To Wulf this remark seemed fairly sensible. The Cahena put her hands together, almost applauding. “You feel that this is significant,” she said.
Again he touched hand to brow. “Very much so, Queen Cahena. I called these people converts, but they’re hardly converted. Most of them declared Islam so as to join what seemed the winning side. And they marched with Hassan, not to spread the faith of Allah but to find plunder in your towns, your cities.”
“Cities like Cir
ta,” remarked Lartius, putting a grape in his mouth.
“If they want gold, we don’t have gold mines,” put in Djalout. “We only get gold by caravan, many days across the southern deserts, or by trade from the east.”
“Or by capture,” pointed out Yaunis. “Maybe enough to be worth stealing.”
“And there are your women,” went on Khalid, his brilliant eyes upon the Cahena. “Hassan has told his men that they will find women like the houris of paradise.”
Everyone seemed to think, and not to like the thought. At last Wulf spoke:
“I’ll remind you that we’ve kept our women so far, and that we’ll fight to keep them if Hassan comes again. Will he come, Khalid?”
“That depends on whether Caliph Abd al-Malik keeps him in command here. I can’t read the caliph’s mind and wishes, but we should soon learn what happens to Hassan.”
“We’ll find out,” said the Cahena confidently. “We’ll have contact with Hassan, and I have voices other than our contacts. Those voices have always helped me,” and her eyes lingered on Khalid, whose gaze met hers, and again his hand sought his brow.
The council broke up, but the Cahena put her hand on Khalid’s arm and he stayed to talk. Wulf went out and met Susi in the corridor. Susi proposed a retainer to replace the dead Gharna. This man proved to be a sturdy young Djerwa who had been a spearman in the front rank of the great battle. His name was Smarja, and he was almost as tall and broad as Wulf, with brown hair and beard. He had done some blacksmithing and horse training, and Wulf engaged him on the spot.
The Cahena had declared that Thrysdus would be her new headquarters, and sent messengers to invite all residents of Tiergal to come and join her. Wulf found Jonas at his new, well-appointed forge and metal shop in a chamber of the arena. Jonas mended mail and sharpened weapons, and Daphne rejoiced in this new home.
“The women here are friendly and interesting, more interesting than most of those at Tiergal,” she said. “They say flattering things to me, say I’m pretty, wonder why I don’t have lovers.”
Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986 Page 17