Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986

by Cahena (v3. 1)

  “Why don’t you?” Wulf asked her.

  She looked at him long. “Maybe I’m hard to please.”

  That evening, another council in the Cahena’s great sitting room. Djalout said he had organized a signal system to the west, a series of manned stations where fires could send up columns of smoke to warn of possible Moslem threats and summon all of the Imazighen to battle. Daris and Ketriazar heard this and expressed a desire to go back to their homes, there to wait for any orders. Yaunis and Lartius, who enjoyed the luxuries they had found in Thrysdus, said that they would delay any return to their own towns. As for the Cahena, she announced that she would make a tour to the northward over the territories wrested from Hassan, and added that town after town sent invitations.

  “It will be like the progress of a mighty queen,” said Khalid from where he sat beside her. “A queen like Cleopatra of Egypt, like Dido of Carthage. I’ll ride with you and see your glory.”

  “And I’ll come,” promised Lartius, “And I,” said Yaunis.

  “I’ll stay here,” said Djalout. “I’ve found some interesting documents in Arabic and Latin, even a few in Latin. I want to study them. Wouldn’t you like to see them, Wulf?”

  “Wulf will come with me,” said the Cahena. “Let people everywhere see him and speak his name for his courage.”

  The council broke up, and the chieftains headed for the door. Wulf, on the threshold, saw that Khalid still waited, and turned to look.

  Khalid and the Cahena stood close together, almost touching, gazing almost raptly into each other’s face.

  “I’ve never seen a man more beautiful than you,” she said, and Wulf heard every word. “You’re brave — wise. I’ll take you to my breast, Khalid, to be my son.”

  “Yes,” said Khalid eagerly. “Yes.”

  Wulf went out and closed the door behind him. He sought his own quarters and sat down on the shelf against the wall that did duty for a bed. A crockery jug was at hand. He poured wine from it into a cup and held it in his big clenched fist.

  He remembered when the Cahena had summoned him to her, had put her swelling breast to his mouth. He remembered what had happened afterward. Now that would be happening again, with Khalid.

  He had been the Cahena’s lover, eagerly she had given him love. She had said that he was sent to her by whoever spoke to her with disembodied wisdom and guidance. Now she talked like that to Khalid.

  He felt as though he sat in a soggy, chilly mist that soaked to his bones.

  The lover of Daia the Cahena, how had Wulf been that? She had always sent for him to make love with her. Never, he reflected, had he made the first move. She had sent for him to come to her, and he had come to her, and there had been deep ecstasy. Now…

  Now, and what about now? And what about other things, for that matter?

  Had she had other lovers before Wulf, lovers mystically recommended to her by those voices she knew? Other men welcomed, accepted, possessed, and later superseded? Had that happened with her? Wulf had never wondered about that before. And no point in wondering now. She had taken Khalid to her in there, and Wulf was alone out here.

  A noise at his half-open door. Somebody had peeped in at him, and as he looked up the somebody slipped out of sight. It had been a woman. Who? Certainly not the Cahena.

  Scowling, Wulf drained his cup of wine. His hand closed fiercely on the stout earthenware, and it shattered in his grip. He reached for another cup and filled it from the jug.

  * * *

  XVIII

  Wulf had vague. fitful dreams that night. One was of Khro, bull-horned and gigantic and ungainly, looming over him with a fanged mouth. Others were of the Cabena, her smile, her caressing hands. He rose early, dressed and ate bread and dates, and went out into the corridors.

  He completed organization of the guard. Each troop of fifty riders would serve for a day and a night, and then be relieved by another. Arranging this took all morning. In the afternoon he toured the whole great arena-fortress. There were levels above levels of the wide corridors, with all sorts of chambers for living and storage. The inhabitants he met were shyly friendly. At last Wulf resorted to the baths. He soaked in a steaming-hot tub and let a barber trim his hair and cut his beard to a point. In the evening he dressed and came out again.

  The Cahena met him outside his quarters.

  “The principal chieftains will eat with me tonight, in my council chamber,” she announced. “We’ll have some plans to approve.”

  “I’ve eaten already,” said Wulf. “A Moslem woman grilled me morsels of peppered mutton, on a skewer with pickles and onion slices.”

  “A Moslem woman?” she repeated.

  “My servant Susi found her. They like each other.”

  “Wulf,” she said, “you seem distant.”

  “I only try to be respectful, Lady Cahena.”

  She pursed her beautiful lips. “You’re displeased with me.”

  “Would I dare be displeased?” He looked levelly at her. “I’m your servant, your man-at-arms.”

  “Why are you bitter?” she asked.

  “You can answer that yourself. I’m not so much bitter as chilly — put out in the cold.”

  Her frown deepened. “You mean Khalid.”

  “It’s you who said the name, Lady Cahena.”

  “Daia,” she said, as if to correct him. “If I speak to Khalid, have I rejected you? Too much has passed between us to be forgotten.”

  Wulf shrugged. “Lady Cahena, I don’t know how to go half shares on anything. I doubt if Khalid would.”

  “Oh, be sensible,” she snapped. “My voices ruled me with Khalid, as they did with you. Come to the council, whether you eat with me or not.”

  She walked rapidly away. He heard her giving orders to servants.

  For an hour he looked into trifles of administration. At last he joined the others in council. They sat on cushions, Khalid next to the Cabena, Mallul next to him, and Djalout, Ketriazar, and Daris opposite. The Cahena motioned him to a seat beside Djalout and asked him about his arrangements for guard and garrison at Thrysdus. He explained in detail, and asked about supplies.

  “I’ve attended to those,” Mallul said. “People fetch in grain and dried vegetables and goats and cattle. We pay them with our captured treasure.”

  Ketriazar then spoke of surveying pasture lands for both the herds from Arwa and the beasts left by the fleeing Moslems. He and Daris thought that crops could be sown.

  “Meanwhile, what will Hassan do now?” the Cahena wondered. “What do you think, Khalid?”

  “That depends on the Caliph Abd al-Malik, Commander of the Faithful,” said Khalid. “How he considers Hassan’s defeat. Whether to keep him in command or put someone in his place.”

  “All I know about Abd-al-Malik is that he became caliph about fifteen years ago,” said Djalout. “What’s he like?”

  “I’ve seen him at his court in Damascus,” said Khalid. “He’s middle-aged, learned, and devout. Frugal, too — some call him a skinflint — and he believes in signs and omens and dreams.”

  “What will he dream now?” was Djalout’s next question.

  “Probably about whether to keep Hassan in command,” said Khalid, his slim hand stroking his beard.

  “We’ll find out,” declared the Cahena, sipping wine. “We’ll be in communication with Hassan, about exchanging his officers. As soon as we know we hold this region, I’ll travel to Cairouan and other towns.” She sipped again. “To Carthage,” she added.

  “When do we go home?” asked Dans.

  “I’ll arrange that for whoever wants to go,” the Cahena replied. “I’ll stay here, bring the Djerwa here. This place is a fort, where we can meet any Moslem advance.”

  “They won’t dare advance, after that whipping we gave them,” offered Ketriazar. “How many did we kill? That whole country, all the way to Arwa, is planted with their dead. It should be fertile for years to come. The farmers will thank us.”

  Khalid sank h
is head, as though he did not like that. Other details were discussed, and finally the Cahena dismissed the council. But Khalid stayed beside her as the others left.

  Days passed. Bhakrann sent word that the people left in Cairouan were quiet, cooperative, but that the water supply was scant. A messenger came with a letter from Hassan, now far away toward Egypt in the east. Hassan promised to pay ransoms for his captured officers. All the while, the Cahena efficiently consolidated her position at Thrysdus and spent hours apart with Khalid. Now and then she spoke winningly to Wulf, who made restrainedly courteous answers. She did not invite him to a private meeting. He wondered if he would come if she asked it. He did his best not to think about her.

  Plans went forward for the triumphal march to Carthage. The Cahena chose an escort of veteran Djerwa horsemen, and Wulf and Mallul and Khalid as staff officers. Yaunis and Lartius would bring their contingents on their way home. Ketriazar and Daris would garrison Thrysdus with their men, and Djalout would command there. From the east came word that Hassan and the remains of his army were building a line of fortified castles.

  “They think only of defense,” decided the Cahena. “Form for the march.”

  It was an impressive column of horsemen and supply camels. The Cahena rode at the very front with Mallul and Khalid. Wulf and Smarja followed, and Lartius joined them to clatter happily about the victory. “Hassan won’t come against us now,” he said.

  “If he’s in command, it will be to fight us again,” said Wulf.

  “If they fight us again, we’ll whip them again,” said Lartius confidently. “It was pleasant at Thrysdus, wasn’t it? I approve of the baths there, and of some of the women. I’d like to see more of that armorer’s daughter, what’s her name?”

  “You mean Daphne.”

  “Yes, Daphne, like the nymph who changed into a laurel to get away from Apollo. I don’t want her changing into a laurel.”

  “Then don’t press her with your attentions,” said Wulf, and Lartius blinked and rode away to talk to Yaunis.

  They came to Cairouan, a town with lofty walls and minareted mosques, forested with trees outside. Bhakrann greeted them at the gate, knelt to kiss the Cahena’s shadow, and roared welcome to Wulf.

  “We’ll have a banquet in the palace yonder,” he promised. “They like me here. They don’t know I killed Okba — I don’t even wear his sword here. What are the Lady Cahena’s orders?”

  She gave them — no townspeople to be roughly handled or insulted. Her followers might buy things, but must not steal, and mosques would not be entered. A trembling imam thanked her for that.

  At dinner, Bhakrann said that he had ordered the digging of more wells to relieve the water shortage. A number of influential Moslems had said they would obey the Cahena’s rule. And no enemy were reported, all the way eastward for thirty-five miles to a great bay.

  “Well done, Bhakrann, and thanks,” said the Cahena. “You come with me to Carthage. Who can we leave in command here?”

  “Why not Zeoui?” said Bhakrann, pointing to his friend beside him. “He’s a tried scout; he knows the enemy.”

  “Very well,” granted the Cahena. “Let’s rest early tonight. It’s a good three days of riding to Carthage.”

  They were on the way at dawn and camped two nights in open country. At sunset the third day, they came to shattered Carthage.

  People still clung to makeshift shelters along the ruined streets, and came out to applaud the Cahena’s entry. Khalid spoke of how she was like Dido in the ancient capital city. Dido — Daia. Had Khalid been told to speak her secret name? Undoubtedly.

  Wulf visited the house where he had lived before the fall of Carthage. It was no house, only a pile of rubble. Wulf remembered a pretty, mock-demure girl who had served him and wondered what the Moslems had done to her.

  Some big palaces, temples, fortifications still remained. Wulf found Lartius surveying there. “We seem well liked here,” said Wulf.

  “For the most part, yes,” said Lartius. “But somebody showed me a sort of poem, on parchment. It was in Hebrew, and I had to get a translator. It’s doggerel. Compares the Cahena to Nebuchadnezzar, to Hadrian.”

  “Nebuchadnezzar?” repeated Wulf. “I don’t understand. She hasn’t set up any golden idol to be worshipped or cast anyone into a fiery furnace, and certainly she doesn’t go around on all fours eating grass. As for Hadrian, he wasn’t cruel as conquerors go. He did build a wall up north in my English country, to keep out the Picts and Caledonians, but down here it’s Hassan who builds defenses.”

  “How educated you are,” said Lartius. “I don’t understand, either, but we seem to have enemies.”

  They lingered one day at Carthage and went east to Bulla Regia, where throngs scattered spring flowers before their horses. Another banquet that night, with Khalid seated at the Cahena’s right hand. She beckoned Wulf to come to her left.

  “I have an important assignment for you,” she told him. “Co on east from here, bring back news of all the towns and peoples, how they stand as our friends. Take Bhakrann along.”

  “How far do we go?” Wulf asked.

  “Ride for, say, thirty days — six hundred miles or so. You needn’t go as far as Tinga — that’s a stronghold of the Goths.” She mused for a moment. “There’s a place they call the Tomb of the Christian Woman. I hear strange stories about it, but I’ve never been there. Go survey it and come back to Thrysdus.”

  “Whatever you say,” assented Wulf.

  She turned and talked to Khalid. Wulf sought Bhakrann, who said he would look after provisions for their journey. They chose two horses each. Bhakrann would take Cham along, Wulf would take Smarja. In the morning, the Cahena gave each of them a purse of silver coins.

  “You’ll be a hundred and fifty miles along when you go north of Cirta,” she said. “From above Cirta, another hundred miles or so to Cuicul. I have been there; it’s a half-ruined town, but its people are vigorous. Some followed Lartius with us. And then go on, go on to that Tomb of the Christian Woman.” She smiled. “Be wise and diplomatic, Wulf. I’ll wait for your report at Thrysdus.”

  In the gray dawn the four of them rode away. The air was warm and dry. Behind them rose dust, and within its cloud showed the dark head of a mounted column. They slowed their pace and let the leaders catch up. Lartius was one, and he said that his warriors were returning to Cirta. He invited Wulf and Bhakrann to come with him and be entertained.

  “Pretty women there.” He snickered. “Too many, really, for me to notice as they deserve.” But Wulf declined with thanks, saying that he was ordered to keep to the coast.

  Two days of riding, two nights of camping, before Lartius led his men off on a trail to the southwest. Pursuing their own way, Wulf and Bhakrann visited a string of small villages, where they were entertained with fish dinners, bathed in the sea, and heard exultations over the Cahena’s victory. They turned inland to a sizable town called Cuicul, perhaps two hundred and fifty miles west of Bulla Regia and a hundred beyond Cirta. Here, once-sturdy walls were more or less tumbled down, as was a large circus oval outside them, but the inhabitants were hospitable. A genial old chief said that Cuicul had once been a Roman legion’s garrison town, that the legionnaires had married native girls and prospered, and that a series of attacks by Imazighen raiders had half ruined the defenses and houses. News of Hassan’s defeat had come there. A number of Cuicul’s warriors had been with Lartius on the campaign. These would be returning to tell of the fighting.

  “Maybe they’ll bring plunder,” said the old chief. “How much plunder was taken? Gold, jewels?”

  “Here’s a sample,” said Wulf, giving him a broad gold piece. For that, Wulf and his party were given supplies of smoked goat’s flesh and flaps of barley bread and raisins. They went north to the seacoast again. After a week or so of camping among pleasant orchards and vineyards, they reached Tipaza.

  This was a town with a harbor and fishing boats. News of the great battle was little more tha
n rumor there, but the people of Tipaza knew about the Cahena, her military skill and the strange voices that guided her. What sort of place was Thrysdus? Wulf found it hard to explain in terms they could understand. Was the Cahena as beautiful as report said? More beautiful than that, replied Wulf. Would the Moslems invade again? If they did, Wulf predicted, they would be defeated again.

  The party was quartered in a hut within sound of beating waves. Bhakrann ate shellfish and counted on his rough fingers.

  “This is our twenty-third day, and I judge we’ve come better than five hundred miles,” he said to Wulf. “When do we turn back?”

  “The Cahena told me to go to something called the Tomb of the Christian Woman,” replied Wulf.

  “People here talk about that, and not good talk,” said Bhakrann. “They say there’s an evil spirit. Stray sheep get torn to pieces. A pair of lovers wandered there one night and were found with their throats ripped out. I didn’t hear the Cahena’s orders, so I don’t have to go there. Don’t you go there, either, Wulf.”

  “I heard her orders, and I’ll go.”

  Five more days of journey brought them to another seaside village, where they had supper of couscous with scraps of salt fish in it. Their hosts said that the Tomb of the Christian Woman lay an hour’s ride westward, and added that it was a place of blackly ill omen. Bhakrann and Cham and Smarja frowned as Wulf rode out alone under the sinking sun.

  The way was rocky, fringed with thorn bushes and occasional grim-looking trees. The moon came out, round and pallid. By its light, Wulf saw what must be the tomb. He rode close, dismounted and tied his horse to a tree, and looked.

  It was a great round structure in the moonlight, its domed roof tufted with coarse grass. He walked to it, his sword drawn. It was more than a hundred feet high as he guessed, and considerably more than that in diameter. It was built of ancient-looking cut stones, dark and light, spaced about with pillar-like columns set into the wall. Wulf wondered if he heard a moan of voices somewhere, inside or out. He paced along the circumference and came to where steps led down in the glow of the moon. He walked down. There was a stone-faced door. It opened under his hand, with a dry groan of movement. Sooty darkness inside.