Shouts. “Die!” “Move back.” “Help!”
Helped by the arrows coming in waves from above, our pressure was growing, and the first signs of panic touched the enemy – when death comes from everywhere around, your resolve crumbles. Some of the Mehadins where trying to turn, but there was no place to escape. Our force was now a wedge piercing through the enemy lines, and I was in front with Vlaicu and Vlad.
Sometimes the mind loses focus for a split second. A neigh somewhere in front. A rock hitting a helmet. Echoes from the gorge. The moving horse under your body. Another one slips in front of you.
“Die!” “On the left.” “Now!” “Nooo!”
Another sword moves in front of you. Clang. A second clang. Metal meets metal, body meets body. Horses clash. You fight to keep equilibrium. You strike at the same time. The one that recovers and strikes faster survives. The other one becomes a falling body. Sometimes there is no cry, sometimes there is. Each has his own way of dying.
I parried the sword of the rider in front of me with my left blade, and struck with the right. He started to fall, in slow motion. My eyes were already fixed on the next enemy, and I pushed Zor with my knees, turning to the right. Something struck against my ring-mail on the left side, and a pang of pain moved through my body. The spear in my ribs came from behind the soldier I had killed a moment before. He was still on his horse, albeit lying on his back and dead – there was no place for him to fall. I leaned back, pushing the spear with my sword. Its owner was grinning, eyes alight, and he was resisting my move to take out the point, trying to rotate the spear for more damage, and a sharp pain moved through my ribs up to my head. He was in an awkward position, his body inclined and stretched forward, to reach me with his right hand, over the dead one. That was my chance. He lacked both strength and accuracy for a final strike. I threw my small sword, and the blade swirled in the air, hitting his face. A curved sword is difficult to channel when throwing it, and I knew that he was not wounded badly, yet blood welled from his mouth, and his hand, still pushing the spear, recoiled. Vlad’s sword put him down a moment later, and he smiled encouragingly at me, raising his red blade up. Despite all the pain in my side, I smiled back.
By a strange coincidence, that was the moment when the Mehadian army’s will broke, and in panic they stopped fighting, trying to retreat where there was no place to move. The rest of the fight was a massacre. It is always like this: the fight endures until one army looks back, then everything crashes in a moment. When there was no enemy left alive in the meadow, I rode Zor from the battlefield, and slowly dismounted.
“Vlaicu,” I said, “take over now, and gather the wounded. Stop any pursuit.”
Vlad helped me to take off my ring-mail and my clothes, already soaked with blood, and I checked my wound, trying a first assessment. Blood was pouring out slowly, and Vlad stared at me with panic in his eyes.
Two wounds, I realized, even though I could not see the one on my back. The point of the spear had pierced my body and gone through. It did not go between my ribs, just pierced my muscles. A rib may be touched too; I remembered the fierce pain from the stab. I looked for a bulge, the usual sign of a broken rib, then I took a deep breath to move my ribs. The pain did not increase by much, so nothing was broken. “It’s not so bad,” I said to Vlad, who had little experience with wounds. “The spear did not go inside my ribcage.” I would have been dead… “Look for some tissue in my back pack and a small bottle of alcohol.”
“Wash the skin around the wounds with alcohol,” I said when he was back with my Assassin kit. “Then soak the tissue with the alcohol, and bandage me tight to stop the bleeding.”
Vlaicu appeared a moment later, and stared at my wounds, then smiled. “Just a scratch, you are a lucky man,” he teased me, but he was an old hand and knew how to evaluate an injury. “Your sword,” he placed the short sword I had lost in the battle with the long one lying close to me.
“Thank you. After so many years, I deserve to be lucky. Report.”
“We have thirty-two wounded. I am not talking about small cuts. And twenty dead. Ban is counting their dead now. Just to keep the score,” he grinned, knowing well that the Mehadians had lost many more men in the battle.
“Fetch our soldiers with their horses and weapons. The best horse, armor and sword go to Vlad. He saved my life.” I knew that both the horse and sword would go to Pintea, Vlaicu still had the Arenian ones I gave to him, but he needed a good mail-ring.
When Vlad finished bandaging me, Vlaicu appeared again, leading a horse of good quality by the halter. “Mehadin’s Spatar died in the battle, and another eighty-six of his men. Mehadin was able to escape,” he said with a dose of regret. “Your horse,” Vlaicu pushed the halter to Vlad, measuring him at the same time. “The Spatar’s ring-mail and sword are on its back. It will fit you well.”
Standing up slowly, I realized that despite the pain my movement was not impaired much. In a few turns, I will be able to ride, so long as the blood stops flowing. I decided to leave the next morning, taking only five men with me. Vlaicu would follow with the rest of the army, a day or two later, when the worst wounded would be in a better shape.
“Take all the remaining horses and weapons,” I said to Vlaicu, before leaving to Severin. “Even the ones our people left here. Mohor’s soldiers need them. And find me a good mare for Zor.” It would be the second one. I knew how difficult it would be to get a foal with the same qualities as Zor from a mare of a different race. He was just six months old, I remembered, when I received him. I was thirteen, and still had a family. Now… It could have been worse. Despite all my anger about Saliné’s engagement keeping us apart, I was grateful that Jara had accepted me in her house. What if Mohor did not exist? No Devans, no marriage contract…
“I think I saw a prime quality mare,” Vlaicu interrupted my thoughts. “If you have a foal from Zor to spare, put me on the waiting list.”
How long would Zor stay with me? Eight, nine more years? If nothing bad happens. Horses live less than us, I sighed.
“What?” Vlaicu asked.
“Just some old memories from a child who no longer exists.”
The gates were already open when we reached the city – the watchers in the tower saw us from far away, and they were prepared. Vlad took my horse and I entered the residence, everybody looking at me with various facial expressions, but no one dared to ask what news we brought. Saliné was inside the hall, and she stopped, staring at me in silence, as if seeing a ghost, then suddenly running toward me. Involuntarily, I tensed my muscles when she jumped into my arms, and I embraced her.
“Codrin. You are back. Are you well?” she could barely speak in my ear. The door behind her opened, and Jara came out from the living room. She stayed silent, staring at us.
“I am fine, Saliné.”
“I am sorry that I could not see you when you left. I didn’t know when...Codrin, I was afraid that I would never see you again. Codrin...” Her words vanished in a long cry. I had never heard her crying aloud until that moment.
“Saliné,” I said gently. “I think that you have a fly in your eye.”
“Yes, and my eyes are crying together because they are brothers,” she said, raising her head from my shoulder, and I slowly traced the tears sliding down on her face with my finger. When she wound her hand in my hair, I drew her tighter against me, and we stilled for breath, both knowing that we were lost. Any social constraint vanished away from her mind, and I kissed her, forgetting that Jara was there, too.
“I should have done this before,” I said, when we regained our breath.
“Yes, you should have,” she whispered, disengaging from my arms, and stepping back, her hands gliding slowly over my palms open up. With all my desire to kiss her again, I had to let her go.
“May I embrace you, too?” Jara suddenly asked.
“Mother!” Saliné exclaimed, and her face reddened.
“I always liked to be embraced by beautiful women,” I j
oked, to give Saliné enough time to recover.
“It appears that you came back well. No wounds,” Jara said, a bit maliciously, after embracing me in a formal way, maybe because she saw us kissing, and I answered with a shrug. “Did all go well?” she finally asked, in a tense voice, staring intensely as if trying to pierce into my mind.
“We won.”
“Thank you, Codrin. Let’s give the news to Mohor.” Her voice was still edgy, and only now I realized that the eyes of both women were sunk in their orbits from lack of sleep. Inside the room, Mohor looked the same, yet he smiled. Jara made him aware of the news, in a subtle way, or he just read it in the stance of her body.
“Welcome back. You look well. How did it go?” In a peculiar way, all their questions were straightforward, missing the grandiloquence encountered in songs and books about perilous times – it was as if I had just come back from a party. All their inner tension surfaced through their eyes, voices and Saliné’s outburst after her first question.
“We won,” I gave him the same short answer, but he gestured for more. “They fell into our ambush. We lost twenty people, they lost eighty-seven, including their Spatar, but Mehadin escaped. We have a lot of wounded. More than thirty. Three are in bad shape. Vlaicu will come with them tomorrow or the day after.”
“Thank you, Codrin. From my window, I saw six soldiers coming. I counted several times, until I remembered that a good army comes back in one group when defeated, not in small bands,” Mohor smiled. “We have to celebrate,” he raised his voice, taking out an old bottle of wine that was there in readiness. “And to mourn.”
“Sorry, Mohor. I am hungry and tired. Tomorrow...” There was a sudden weakness in my legs. I have lost too much blood, I realized, wishing to check under my ring-mail if my clothes were soaked again.
“Fine, there will be more wine for me,” he joked and patted my shoulder with his free hand.
“Ah!” a cry escaped me, and I tensed. It was a friendly blow, but strong, and my elbow went into my wound, extracting an involuntary reaction.
“You are wounded!” all three exclaimed at the same time, and Saliné came closer, taking me by the arm.
“I am fine,” I smiled, touching her palm.
“I will send for the doctor,” Jara said swiftly.
“Thank you,” I accepted her idea that a doctor was needed. Saliné had already released my arm, and I swept a finger through the broken rings of my armor for traces of blood. There were none. “Send him to the Tower.”
“You will stay here. Please,” Jara stopped my reaction. “From now on, you will stay only here,” she said, and I shrugged, letting her to seat me at the table. “And I apologize for the bad joke with the wound.”
“It seems I will have to share the wine after all,” Mohor said, with fake regret in his voice.
After the servants came with the food and left, I had to eat with all three of them staring at me in silence. Mohor’s wine was of excellent quality, and we raised our glasses to salute the victory against Mehadin. At the end, we spilled some drops on the floor, a last homage for the people we have lost in battle.
“Orban?” I asked, trying to be casual.
“His army is settled at our northern border, but did not try to pass. And we have a hundred fifty soldiers outside. I guess you saw them,” Mohor glanced at me, and I nodded. “We no longer think that he wants to attack us now, so we go for Mehadin.” It was a way to tell me that his spy in Arad informed him about Orban’s intentions.
The doctor came to my room and took off the bandages covering my wound – it was not pleasant. Trying to alleviate my pain, Saliné took my right hand, stirring a sensation that I almost forgot. Jara, Cernat and Mohor were there, too; my health had suddenly become a political issue.
“That is not a light wound,” Jara said, visible worried, and I felt Saliné’s fingers gripping stronger.
“It looks worse than it is,” the doctor calmed her.
“The spear just pierced the muscle,” I agreed with him, “and some broken rings from the mail scratched my skin, making it look bad, but my ribs are not affected. In two weeks, I will be ready to fight again.” More or less... My thumb swept over Saliné’s fingers, and I smiled to calm her too.
“I would say three,” the doctor cautioned me. “Your wound is worse than the one Bucur received in the other battle,” he stated professionally, just to give them a comparison, and in a strange way I was pleased that my wound was worse than his, and that everybody knew about it. “But not a hard one. You must sleep now,” he said after bandaging me again, staring at me, yet his message was for my visitors.
I hoped Saliné will not leave, but to my chagrin, Jara stayed until everybody else left the room, and she realized my disappointment, then slowly embraced me.
“Put all the bad thoughts away, Codrin. Some of my decisions have upset you, and I know it, but we had no choice, and I am trying to protect both of you. You are like a son to me. Please,” she whispered, ruffling my hair, then her hand moved down my face. “Good night,” she smiled.
Late in the morning, when I entered the council room, everybody was already there, except for Saliné. Vio forget all the etiquette they had forced into her and jumped into my arms, with her amazing speed. She had come just to greet me – no one could convince her to wait until the meeting was finished.
“I’ve heard you were wounded,” she caressed my face, her way of taking my pain ‘away’.
“Nothing to worry about,” I said. “See, I can easily take you in my arms,” I raised her, balancing her body on my right side that was not hurt, after I tensed all my muscles to calm the pain. Convinced, she separated from me, ready to leave the room. I stared at Saliné’s empty place, and I caught Jara watching me. Bucur is not here either...
“Saliné is indisposed,” Jara said, a trace of worry trailing in her voice.
“I am sure she is receiving the best care right now,” I could not stop a caustic reaction, despite her concern and everything that had happened between us the evening before, remembering that Saliné was usually ‘indisposed’ only for me.
“There are some sensible people in this castle ready to help her,” Big Mouth grinned.
“Yes, Vio will stay with her,” Jara added hastily, to calm me, and I realized that Saliné was really sick this time.
“I trust you to take care of her,” Mohor surprisingly smiled at Vio, who smiled back without really understanding what was happening – not that I could understand anything from his reaction.
“Don’t worry. I will not leave Bucur with Saliné,” Vio whispered, embracing me again. Jara heard her whispering too, and both of us remained baffled by her reaction.
She is thirteen now, I realized that Vio was no longer a small child, she understood my worries, and as always, she was ready to help. “Thank you, Vio,” I whispered, low enough to be heard only by her and Jara. I wanted Jara to hear me too. “You are a real friend.” I smiled at her before she left, and sat in my chair, ignoring everybody else. What has happened to Saliné?
“Mehadin lost a third of his soldiers,” Mohor interrupted my thoughts. “This presents some opportunities, but we must calculate carefully.” Standing, he was studying the large map spread on the wall behind his chair. “Severin, Mehadia.” Attracted in equal measure by both places on the map his head moved several times like a metronome, left and right. “There was no war between us until now. Father and old Mehadin got on well together. Things changed after...” He did not finish his words, and there was displeasure in his voice. When Mohor was still young and weak, the current Mehadin imposed a new treaty and borders, gaining some land, but there was no fight. “And Arad.” In a rare show of tension, his palm hit the map over the city, as if slapping its owner himself. “We must not forget Orban. He will not forget us, either, his soldiers are at our border.”
“We attack Mehadin fast, do some pillaging and push for negotiations on our terms,” Big Mouth said, excited by the idea, seemingly
recovered from losing the first battle and ready to take command again. “He must pay.” It was not clear if Mehadin had to pay for defeating him or for the land he had grabbed in the past.
“When you win, some of the past deserters come back,” Mohor said, thoughtfully. “But not all. And maybe we can hire some mercenaries. If everything goes well, Mehadin’s money pays for them. We need at least three hundred soldiers. How fast can we gather them?” Mohor’s question was addressed more to himself, he was not speaking to anyone in particular. In normal times, he would have been able to gather four hundred soldiers, a fourth of them close to the average and the rest low quality, but even after our victory, things remained troubled, and some vassals would avoid answering his call for arms.
“One week for our army, ten days for the mercenaries,” Big Mouth answered swiftly. “We must attack fast, before they recover.”
“Our army did not follow Mehadin, and we missed the opportunity to crush him,” Veres added, and I realized that his attack on me was planned by Big Mouth. “I don’t know if it was a mistake or…” he left his phrase unfinished, his hand gesturing in a way that pointed to treason.
“Feel free to do that after you win a battle,” I mocked, staring at Big Mouth, it made no sense to speak to his tool.
“Codrin,” Cernat interjected. “What was your reason for stopping their pursuit?” There was no complaint in his voice, he was just trying to balance things between Big Mouth and me, and it was now clear that I had been accused in absence for my decision, after the soldiers were questioned by Mohor and Big Mouth.
You bastard, I cursed Big Mouth inside. “Two reasons,” I said after a while, when my anger became controllable. “We had many wounded, but mostly it was because the ratio of dead in the pursuit would have not favored us. If the enemy is three times stronger, you can’t afford less than four dead enemies for one of your soldiers, in long battles. The ambush gave us a good ratio; we were too few to attack them again in the open field. A war of attrition is not for small armies. Any real commander knows this.”
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