He drank while his warriors echoed his words.
Ceyx snapped his heels together and slammed a loud, cross fist salute into his chest. The salutation didn’t go unnoticed by Wolf Shout. Alerio was a heartbeat behind. He raised his gladius to his chest to add his own salute to the ritual.
“To the wind that carries the whispers of our ancestors,” Wolf Shout declared.
He drank. His men repeated.
“To the rain that waters our ponies,” he shouted.
His men replied in full voice while he drank.
“To the trail forward, which leads eventually to the ground,” he said lowering his voice.
The Tribesmen also lowered the volume as they uttered the words.
“To the ground, where our ashes will join with our forbearers’,” he almost whispered the final words.
The Tribesmen mumbled these as Wolf Shout took a long pour from the wineskin.
“We also honor our dead,” slurred the War Leader to Alerio, “Now we fight.”
The pony responded immediately to the knee pressure and pivoted. Wolf Shout wobbled on the back of the animal as they trotted away. At fifty feet, the pony spun about and the War Leader over rotated before righting himself.
“How drunk do you think he is?” asked Alerio.
“I have no idea my friend,” Ceyx replied. “Hopefully, enough. I think I’ll watch from the cart.”
“You do that,” Alerio said as he dropped the wineskin and adjusted his grasps on the gladii.
Ceyx made it to the cart before Wolf Shout notched an arrow in his bow. Two additional arrows were clutched in his teeth. As he kicked the pony into motion, all signs of inebriation vanished.
The instructors in Legion recruit training had four words of advice when facing an Archer; Duck behind your shield. Unfortunately, he didn’t have a shield. Beyond the advice, none of the lectures covered defense against a mounted Archer.
Alerio didn’t watch the pounding hooves or the bow and Wolf Shout’s body. He focused on the Tribesman’s eyes. While an opponent’s eyes, in a swordfight, weren’t always reliable for judging a blade’s path, an Archer would need to aim. Or, did he?
Apparently, the wandering warriors from the high plains didn’t aim like Legion archers. The arrow launched, from hip level, at twenty feet. While Wolf Shout failed to sight along the actual arrow, his eyes did lock on to the area he targeted.
Alerio raised both gladii in front of his face and held them together. One blade rocked back as it deflected the arrow. Quickly, he lowered the blades to cover his midsection. It was a guess. If his head had been the first target and it was protected, the next logical target should be his belly.
A blade rang as the second arrow impacted and ricocheted off the steel. Alerio spun to keep his gladii between him and the passing pony.
He dropped to a knee reducing his silhouette and flipped the blades up at an angle. Wolf Shout twisted around and released the third arrow. The arrow struck the blades and bounced high into the air.
Wolf Shout nudged the well-trained pony and it turned in a tight half circle. As the animal came about, Alerio stood. At the position of attention, he saluted with one of his gladius. With the other, he motioned for the Tribesmen to come at him again.
There was no delay. While the pony was digging in his rear hooves, Wolf Shout notched one and placed two more arrows between his teeth. As if shot from a catapult, the mounted Archer raced forward.
Alerio turned sideways to the charging pony. One of his blades was facing up while the other faced down. It looked ridiculous as if the Legionary was attempting to hide behind the blades. At their widest, the gladii were just under three inches in width.
The first arrow came at his knees. With a clue from Wolf Shout’s eyes, Alerio rotated the top blade downward and used both to shield his knees. Just in time it seemed. The arrow immediately deflected off a blade.
Wolf Shout notched the second as the arrow to the knees struck without doing any harm. He pulled and released the second arrow. After a lifetime of shooting from the back of a moving pony, aiming was as simple as looking where he wanted the arrow to impact.
He looked at the Legionary and released the arrow. The arrow left the bow. But, the target was no longer there.
By standing sideways to the charging pony, Alerio’s body aligned with the track of the rider. When Wolf Shout focused his eyes, Alerio figured the archer would release the second arrow. Instead of standing and trying to block the arrow, Alerio jumped and rolled towards the path of the charging pony.
His feet found the ground and once he stood, he was one-step form being trampled.
By extending a gladius, he managed to slip the blade between Wolf Shout’s leg and the animal’s flank. As the pony raced by, the leg reached the hilt. A hard shove on the gladius unseated the rider. It also spun Alerio back and to the ground.
The deadly bow flew through the air and landed between the men. Both scrambled to their feet.
“Now we’re on my terms,” Alerio sneered, “Go for the bow and you’ll lose an arm. Pull your knife and we’ll fight blade to blade. Your choice.”
Wolf Shout pulled his knife, spread his arms, and positioned his legs.
“Blade it is,” Alerio pronounced as he tossed one of the gladii to the side. “Oh, I’m sorry. Would you like that sword? It’s longer. Tell you what. You get the gladius and I’ll fight you left handed.”
He switched hands and stood waiting for the confused Tribesman to decide. As the men stared at each other, the pony pranced up beside Wolf Shout. It was the proper place for a war pony, next to its warrior and ready to be mounted.
Wolf Shout, without taking his eyes off Alerio, gently ran a hand down the animal’s flank. As if confused, he chanced a glance at the pony. Other than a shaved area where the sharp blade had slid along its side, the pony’s skin was undamaged. He’d expected to feel blood pumping from a deep wound.
“The pony is unharmed,” stated Wolf Shout. He was puzzled and curious so he asked, “Why?”
“It’s you I have to kill,” Alerio explained. “Not a well-trained pony.”
“But you could have sliced my leg and ended the fight,” the War Leader said. “Your bladed would have butchered the animal in the process, but I’d be out of the fight.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” the Legionary replied with a smile. “See, you have ten mounted warriors watching. I kill you, I die. You kill me, I die. So why add a helpless pony to the killing.”
“You are an odd man, Alerio Sisera,” Wolf Shout observed.
“I’m a thirsty man,” the Legionary replied. “Where is your wineskin?”
“We drink. Then we fight,” announced Wolf Shout.
“If we must,” Alerio answered slowly while looking around. “Or you could take the seven ponies, the knives, and the bows as barter.”
“Barter for what?” demanded Wolf Shout.
“Our lives,” Alerio said. “In trade for our lives.”
Chapter 67 - Caravan Town
“Do you think you could have unseated him if he was sober?” Ceyx asked.
They were standing next to the cart, the mule, and Speckled Pheasant. Wolf Shout and his warriors were specks vanishing in a trail of dust. Along with the Tribesmen, went the seven ponies, the Rebel’s weapons, and the last wineskin of the excellent vino.
“I don’t know,” admitted Alerio. “My ego says yes. But common sense tells me otherwise. Can we make camp here for the night? I’m a little tired.”
“Of course we’ll camp here,” Ceyx said agreeably. “And for you, my grand swordsman, I’ll prepare something special for dinner.”
“Sounds good,” Alerio admitted. “What’ll you make?”
“Corn meal with goat jerky,” Ceyx said as he walked away. “My specialty.”
At the mention of the menu, Speckled Pheasant gaged as bit of puke rose in his throat.
Days later, a town appeared on the hills overlooking the high desert.
“Civilization,” announced Alerio indicating the single story clay buildings.
“Civilization might be giving the caravan town a little more credit than it deserves,” Ceyx corrected. “It’s there to supply merchants crossing to the harbor. Or for those crossing the mountains or continuing north on the high desert route.”
“Still, it should have a variety of food,” Alerio said. Then realizing the statement might be insulting added, “Oh, no offense to your cooking.”
“None taken.”
They camped that night with the lights of the caravan town in view. It was only half a day’s march away. But, they agreed it was better to arrive in daylight. Finding supplies in the dead of night in an unruly, frontier town wasn’t a good idea.
“Captain. When we get into town, don’t try to enlist help,” Ceyx warned Speckled Pheasant. “If you do escape, Lance Corporal Sisera will hunt you down and your hired help. Then, he will kill all of them, and you.”
“Why can’t I kill him first?” asked Alerio. “Or better yet, why not kill him now?”
“Hold on,” begged Speckled Pheasant, “I’m not going anywhere. The Dulce Pugno will hear my side. And, they will murder both of you. Me? I’ll be in a caravan heading back to the harbor while the vultures are still rendering the flesh from your bones.”
“Are you sure I can’t kill him now?” asked Alerio.
“We hauled this fat cūlus, and put up with his merda, all the way across the desert,” Ceyx explained. “At this junction, we might as well finish it, and take him to the Golden Valley.”
They broke camp while it was early morning and still dark. As the sun rose, the rough clay buildings stood out in stark contrast to the green trees of the foothills. The pens and stockyards, where the merchant’s draft animals were held, came into view. They led the mule and the two wheeled cart between the fencing.
“Livestock pens available,” a man shouted. “Feed, water, and guards throughout the day and night. You’ll not find a safer place for your mule.”
“We’re just passing through,” Alerio yelled back. He and Ceyx were dressed in woolen trousers and shirts. No one would recognize them as part of the Republic’s Legion unless they identified the gladii hanging from their hips.
“Young Sir. Everyone here is just passing through,” the man replied by holding out both arms indicating the caravan town. “Your stay will be better if you don’t have to keep an eye on your ass.”
The man and Speckled Pheasant laughed. Ceyx didn’t.
“He’s not kidding,” Ceyx advised. “The only law here is the one you can enforce, personally.”
“We’re pretty good at that,” Alerio suggested.
“That we are,” Ceyx agreed, but warned. “One of us has to keep the cart in sight at all times.”
The small caravan passed through the pens and between open air buildings. Under the roofs and around cooking fires, Merchant guards and drovers lay about relaxing.
Alerio and Ceyx failed to notice when two guards suddenly became alert as they passed by. The small caravan turned a corner and proceeded onto a well packed dirt thoroughfare. Once the subjects of their curiosity were out of sight, the two guards leaped to their feet and rushed out the far side of the building.
The thoroughfare was lined on one side by stalls offering supplies for the caravans. On the other side of the street, more permanent establishments were housed in unfinished clay brick buildings. Some offered divided spaces for sleeping. Some beverages, food, and tables for dining. Some served as offices for trading houses. A few buildings were occupied by lawyers and doctors. Merchant business and injuries to the men working the caravans were ongoing concerns.
Further down the wide street, the trail leading into or down from the mountains bisected the town. Beyond the trail stood a cluster of warehouses. These were for the temporary storage of goods awaiting transfer between caravans.
An aroma of roasting venison filled the street. It was carried on smoke lazily arising from a fire pit. The smell was a superb advertisement for the restaurant. Alerio and Ceyx were entranced. Resupplies forgotten, they marched by shouting vendors and didn’t stop until they halted in front of the restaurant.
A man stood turning the meat on a spit. Another man inside the building shouted out an order. The outside man stopped turning, pulled a sharp knife, and sliced off a healthy portion of moist venison. After slapping it on a clay platter, he passed the platter to the inside man. Then, he returned to rotating the venison.
Alerio and Ceyx stood mesmerized by the process.
“They do sell the meat,” an exasperated Speckled Pheasant sneered. He crawled out of the cart and waddled towards an opening in the low façade of the restaurant. Knee high boards acted as a barrier between the dust and mud from the street and the slightly raised flooring of the restaurant. “Well. Park the mule boys, and join me,” invited the Rebel Captain.
The restaurant occupied a corner at the junction of the vendor’s street and the mountain caravan trail. They should have backtracked up the street for supplies. At the moment, though, the smell and promise of a delicious venison meal seemed like the better idea.
The mule was led in a U-turn and tied to a post just passed the fire pit. After strapping on a feed bag, they made directly for the eating establishment.
Speckled Pheasant had already chosen a seat. After studying the location, Ceyx motioned him to a table with a better view of the cart.
“Meat, my good man,” Speckled Pheasant ordered when the proprietor approached. “Venison for three.”
“We have bread and mead, as well,” the proprietor explained.
“Even better. Meat, bread, and mead,” the Rebel Captain said, “We’ll take all three.”
The man limped over to a wall of barrels and selected three clay mugs. While the mead splashed into the mugs, he spoke to a teenage boy. The boy was occupied coiling silk threat around the looped end on a line of waxed hemp.
“Bread will be out shortly,” the man explained as he set down the mugs. “You want rib, rump, or shoulder?”
“Shoulder for everyone,” Speckled Pheasant declared without asking either Alerio or Ceyx.
The man turned and shouted the order to the outside man. Then, he limped over and said a few words to the boy. The teen carefully laid his project on a barrel before running out and disappearing behind the building.
As the proprietor laid the three platters on the table, Ceyx asked, “Are you the hunter?”
“Not me. I’ve got a bum leg,” the man stated. “It’s my son. A few years ago a bow maker stayed with us. He took a shine to the boy and showed him how to make a bow and how to shoot. The hunting he learned by wandering the mountains. That’s a new bow string he’s tying.”
The teen leaped the low wall while balancing an arm load of bread loafs. One he dropped on the table beside the platters of meat. The others he placed on a barrel before gingerly picking up the silk thread and hemp line.
“I used to barter for meats from hunters,” the establishment’s owner said with pride. “Now, the boy brings me all the stock I can cook and sell.”
“He must know the mountains really well,” Ceyx said. “to bring in that much game.”
“That he does,” admitted the owner. “And his bows are starting to fetch a hefty price.”
While Ceyx spoke with the proprietor, Speckled Pheasant gobbled down his venison, half a loaf of bread, and drained his mug of mead.
“I’ll have the same again,” Speckled Pheasant ordered with a loud wet burp. “But first, I must relieve myself. Where is the proper place?”
“There’s a waste trench out back, behind the ovens,” explained the owner.
Alerio was only half way through his venison and Ceyx had taken just a few bites.
“Want me to go with him?” asked Alerio.
“No. He can’t organize a rebellion in the time it takes to cacāre,” Ceyx said. Then he told the Rebel, “Be quick. Don’t make me come looking for you,
Captain.”
“It’ll take, as long as it takes,” Speckled Pheasant said using the table top to push up. He waddled towards the entrance.
“For some reason, the food tastes better without all the slurping,” Alerio said between bites and sips.
“I believe you are correct,” Ceyx replied as he placed a piece of venison in his mouth. “It does taste better.”
Chapter 68 - Divide, Conquer, or Die
The half loaf of bread disappeared quickly.
“I’ll get another,” Alerio volunteered.
As he walked to the barrel to retrieve another loaf, three men entered. They took seats at a table behind Ceyx. Alerio glanced at the men and thought it strange when they ordered mead and declined the offer of venison. The teen’s coiling drew his attention and he stepped over to watch.
“Tying bow strings properly takes patience and talent,” Alerio observed.
“Mostly just time,” the boy replied without looking up.
His fingers wrapped a loop of silk thread and pulled it tight. Finishing the loop at one end of the waxed hemp line, he measured out a length of the line between his fingers. At a specific place, he formed another loop and began to secure it with silk thread.
While Alerio was admiring the teen’s skill at making a bow string, Ceyx cursed and stood up.
“Someone’s a little too interested in our cart,” Ceyx explained. “You stay and wait for the Captain. I’ll go run him off.”
The Legionary strolled through the entrance obviously in no hurry. Alerio took it as a good sign and returned his attention to the small tight coils the teen was making.
Ceyx’s voice carried into the restaurant, “You! Get away from the cart. Now. Are you deaf?”
The urgency in his voice drew Alerio’s attention. He strolled back towards the table to get a better view.
Ceyx was shouting at a raggedly dressed and dirty man. The Legionary, probably repulsed by the filthy beggar, was attempting to warn him off verbally from a distance.
Alerio understood the need for space to avoid the stink. Still, he was amused by the frustrated expression on Ceyx’s face.
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