Caros shuddered inwardly at how long the Romans had kept them captive. Time enough to destroy their minds, yet the woman before him showed her strength and courage still. Perhaps she had foreseen that they would be saved. Had she, through her people’s ancient ways, divined that they would live and the Romans be destroyed instead? He thought he might ask what outcome of the impending war, but she forestalled him.
“You seek to hear the words of the ancestors. Hanna will divine for you, not I.”
Fear and superstition coursed like ice down his spine and with palms leaking sweat he backed away. “We will see that you are safely returned to your people. We remain here tonight and leave with daybreak. We have spare horses if you are able to ride?”
“We are. We would be grateful for a fire tonight?”
“Of course. I will bring embers and wood.”
Returning with an armful of wood and a wrapping of embers, he found that the women had retreated to the brackish stream down the beach. No doubt washing their bodies clean of the filth they had been forced to lie in under the Roman rowing benches. He quickly kicked loose rocks into a rude circle and dumped the firewood into the centre. He placed the embers, still wrapped in leather, in the middle of the kindling. He looked to the women and saw them drying themselves with Roman cloaks. They could start the fire easily once they returned.
Scouts sent back word late that afternoon that they had found fresh tracks above the beach.
“It seems that our quarry was within our grasp. No matter; their tracks will lead us back to the rest of them.” Aksel spoke confidently, but Caros stared silently at the tree line above the beach, his mind on the words of the woman, Shawnwa. He had never before sought out an Oracle and wondered if the future was a thing he might prefer not to know before it came upon him.
“We cannot do so yet. First we must see these women back to their people.”
“We will lose Gualbes after all he has done? What he did to Adicran?” Aksel protested.
Caros collected his thoughts. “Our duty is to them, the women. They are of an ancient people and have lived here since before even the Bastetani. It is said that once they were many, but in time others came including the ancestors of my own people and so slowly the ancient clans became less until now maybe this is the last such clan in all the lands. The last of a people Aksel, imagine that.”
His friend rubbed the amulet that hung from his neck thoughtfully. “It is a frightening thing to think of a whole people dying away. Perhaps then yes, we should take them back to their clan.”
Caros felt an icy premonition. “They did not live as we do, in one place, but were always moving. We call them the Clan of the Shade for they…speak with the ancestors and bring messages from across Saur’s lands to the living.”
“Aihee. In the land of the Massylii, there are those who profess to have this ability. For the most part, they are charlatans. Still, one dare not cross the path of those who may have the power to place curses on you.”
“It is always so that we fear those things we do not understand, maybe with good reason. I had thought these people were long gone and only part of the fabric of our past. Now I find they still linger among us and that we have saved the lives of three of them. We are now responsible for those lives.” Caros glanced towards the little knoll where a small fire had been kindled. “We must put the pursuit of Gualbes behind us until these women are delivered back to their own.”
Aksel grinned at him. “It seems the Romans brought their destruction on themselves when they took those three.”
Caros smiled. “I had feared you might turn them away if you knew.”
“It is right to fear people with such magic, but it would be wrong to have saved them from the clutches of the Romans just to leave them stranded and far from their own people.” Aksel cast an eye towards where the women camped. “All the same I’m glad they are way over there!”
Dawn came in a rush with just a brief steel-gray prelude accompanied by the cries of gulls and bark of distant seals. The sun floated from the flat of the Inland Sea like a fresh forged coin from Poseidon. Above the beach, the riders warmed their food and wolfed it down. Those assigned to scout had already left. Caros took three horses from among the remounts and led them across the dunes to the women. He had tied extra blankets across their backs to make the riders more comfortable.
“Greetings! It is time we left.” Caros called as he approached.
Shawnwa was standing in front of the other girls and she stared disconcertingly at Caros before nodding at the thickly piled blankets on each mount. “Thank you.” She gestured with a flick of her wrist and the two girls came forward and took a horse each. Caros noted with relief how easily they mounted.
Shawnwa came up beside Caros and looked up at him. “I sense you are afraid, Caros of the Bastetani. Your fear is misplaced.”
“Misplaced? What should I fear then?”
She frowned and shook her head slowly. “Let us find my people and there maybe you will find an answer.” She slid past him and mounted the remaining horse.
They rode away from the beach, leaving behind the still smoldering hull with its crew of burned dead. They rode north, staying on the ancient trade paths that ran alongside the coast and they enjoyed the cooling breeze for the spring weather was rapidly becoming much warmer. The women, at ease on their horses, rode silently together in the centre of the column. The Masulian riders gave them a wide berth and avoided eye contact with them, sensing they were different although Aksel had said nothing. By night, the women ate and slept apart from the men. Caros took them food each evening and departed as fast as he could back to his own fireside. Their scouts had found the trail of Gualbes and the Romans and Caros was gratified to find that these also led north. Once the women were reunited with their people, Caros was confident they would run Gualbes down long before he reach Massalia. Gualbes aside, Caros dearly wanted to capture one or more of the Roman agents and present them to Hannibal. If Rome was planning an assault, these agents may even know the details starting with the intended location.
On the third day after rescuing the three women, they rode down a steep hillside into a narrow valley stretching sinuously inland. Caros lolled on his mount, dazed by the afternoon heat and thinking this might be a good place to rest for the night. Aksel beside him was riding with his chin down and Caros smiled when he heard the Masulian’s faint snores. He sat up straighter and lifted his hand over his head, making small circular motions with his wrist to the riders behind. They swarmed into the valley and found a stream running with sweet water and so the horses were released to find grazing and to drink. The sound of cicadas was startlingly loud on the valley floor, their grating tune sounding like a thousand knuckle bones shaken in a cup.
Shawnwa stopped her mount beside Caros and slid to the ground. She gestured to the two girls who quickly dismounted and all three waded across the stream, their horses forgotten behind them.
“Do not go too far, this valley has a wild look about it!” Caros called after them. He glared at the horses he would no doubt have to unburden of their blankets and brush down.
Aksel rode up beside him, watching the women disappear into the thick foliage across the stream, a stalk of green grass protruding between his lips. “Noisy bloody place. You expect us to sleep here. These things just get louder when you lay your head down.”
Caros grimaced. The buzz of the cicadas was increasing and as he watched, the horses snorted and pulled back from the stream, water dripping from their muzzles and their ears flattened against their heads. A warrior shouted a warning, pointing. Warriors were backing uneasily away from the stream along with the restless horses.
“What is it? What did you see?” Caros barged through the milling horses to the warrior who stood squinting into the deeply dappled shade of spring growth.
“I thought I saw a figure moving, but it must not have been.” He frowned at the foliage and Caros kept his fist tight around the hilt of his falcat
a.
“Of course you did. The women are across there and they would probably prefer that you did not stare.” He slapped the rider’s shoulder and the man grinned sheepishly.
Aksel called out to him. “Caros, we should camp elsewhere, there is something…unsettling about this place.”
Caros, barely able to hear him over the thunder of the cicadas, nodded. In all his life, he had never encountered such a din as this. Already the Masulians were hopping onto their mounts and circling to leave. Aksel spun about in confusion. Warriors began to stream away down the valley towards the nearby coast. Caros drew his blade and the thunder of the cicadas nearly drove him to his knees. Wincing he stumbled towards Aksel who held a javelin cocked in the crook of his elbow and a thumb in one ear. Masulians rode past them in a rush and for a moment, the valley was blanketed in a cloud of dust that slowly subsided leaving Caros and Aksel standing alone beside one another. The song of the cicadas slowed and the sounds of bird life and even the shuffle of a light breeze could be heard again. The only movement was Caros’ mare, which came trotting back, neighing her rebuke at him for selecting to stop here.
Aksel’s brow glistened with sweat. Licking his lips, he croaked. “See! Their horses did not bolt like the others.” He pointed to the three mounts contentedly slurping from the stream. “Witchcraft. It is this Clan of the Shade, yes?”
Caros felt the knot of fear grow in his chest and slowly sheathed his sword to stand with his hands loose at his sides. Aksel cast aside the javelin and emulated his stance.
Shadows moved and foliage shifted and then there was a figure and another. Caros turned slowly, watching figures emerging from every conceivable place in the valley. Beside him, Aksel chuckled and then Caros smiled. The Masulians boasted the best scouts in Hannibal’s diverse army and yet they had never suspected these people were right here amongst them. A familiar cloak fluttered and Shawnwa stepped from the shade into the stream.
“Caros of the Bastetani. Aksel of the Baka’Masuli. Greetings from the Clan of Hargro, the Healer.”
From his left rang a new voice. “Greetings from the Clan of Astutes, the Huntress.”
“Greetings from the Clan of Hanna, the Oracle.” A third voice called.
Without waiting for a response, many of the figures merged back into the foliage from where they had appeared. A diminished circle of people drew closer around the two men and Caros sought out the familiar face of Shawnwa. She looked different and Caros took moment to realize she wore a strange headdress, that seemed to be of hair, but stood high above her head before cascading down her back in long tawny locks. He noticed then that the people around him were all much shorter than they had first appeared; the headdresses they wore giving them the illusion of height.
Shawnwa stepped from the water and strode barefoot to him. She allowed the cloak to fall from her shoulders. Underneath she wore just a short leather tunic, tied at her waist with a belt of hide and bronze.
Three clans gathered and two to receive their thanks.
The whisper of bones and the call of the crone
One to hear the prophecy,
One to disbelieve the murmur of lips, dry as sand.
She stopped in front of Caros. “Will you listen to the voices of the Shades?”
Caros’ eyes were wide and his heart hammered with dread. “If the dead have oracles for me, I will listen.”
Aksel stiffened and stood closer to him. “Beware, Caros. This is a dangerous path, more dangerous by far than a foaming mad dog.”
The drone of the cicadas deepened and Caros placed his hand on his friend chest. “It must be. There are words I might hear from those I once held close.”
Shawnwa’s lips moved silently and she lowered her chin. Caros became aware of another figure; startled the person had drawn so close unseen. He looked and found himself eye to eye with that silent form. Eyes locked to his, he marvelled at their colour, the vivid green of a shallow sea before a storm and drifting in the green were islands of bright amber. He swallowed and blinked. The woman who stood before him was as tall as he was, with hair so dark it shimmered with midnight blue. Her skin, sun browned and unblemished. She stepped closer still and her breath drift across his cheek, carrying with it the scent of summer fruit. Her full lips moved with a whisper and her voice came to him.
“The oracles are made with smoke and fire and blood. What will you bleed to hear the words that make you?”
He cleared his throat and glanced at the horses that had carried the three women all this way. “I will offer a mount, a gift of blood from the throat of a horse to hear the words.” He gestured to the horses. Her eyes seemed to swim before him and she shook her head slowly, from side to side.
“Words of import, blood of that held close.”
Aksel shuffled a step back and Caros frowned. “I do not have…” His eyes fell on his mare and he remembered his father’s smile as he gifted the mare to him. He inclined his chin towards the horse grazing placidly nearby. “The mare. I hold the mare dear. A gift from my father who has passed through the lands of Saur.” He clenched his jaw.
Aksel cursed softly. “Caros…”
The woman stood back and smiled at Aksel. “Your part is as it should be, warrior and friend.” She looked back at Caros still smiling. “We will offer sacrifice once you have eaten with us and had time to reconsidered. Come.”
They were led by a small group of men and women through the stream and into the seemingly impenetrable wall of foliage there. A path appeared and they filed along it some distance until they disgorged into a clearing at the foot of a massive wall of granite. At the base of the rock wall was a low wide cave and before it the people of the three clans gathered. The green-eyed woman turned to Caros and Aksel. “I am Hanna, welcome to the gathering of our clans. Thank you for returning our sisters.” She flashed a grateful smile.
Caros looked around at the people of the clans. There were ten score or more and they bustled around several large wagons and cook fires. He looked again at the woman, Hanna. She was caught in a beam of sunlight and he realised she was younger than he had first supposed.
“You are named after your clan? The Clan of Hanna.”
“I am Hanna.” Her smile widened at his confusion. “The Clan of Oracles is named for the clan leader.”
“You are the clan leader?” He asked surprised.
“I am. Until the ancestors or gods favour a new Oracle. Now sit and rest. There are many gifts to be exchanged among the clans. We gather each spring to do so and to make betrothals.”
Caros and Aksel found a boulder and perched on it as the people of the clans began to prepare their evening meal. The men gathered in a group and there was much laughing as they spoke among themselves and cast glances in their direction.
“There seem to be many more women than men. The rest must be away hunting.” Caros remarked.
“They must have powerful spells Caros. How could so many people have hidden all around us?” Aksel shook his head perplexed. “I will need to find the column. They will have missed us and may return.” He made no move to leave.
Several of the men broke away from the rest and led by a tall, gaunt man with more silver than black in his long hair, made their way over. He nodded politely to them. “Greetings. I am Ira.” He unhitched a large waterskin from his shoulder and offered it.
Caros took it gratefully and introduced himself and Aksel. As they drank the sweet wine, Ira thanked them for returning the women to their people and asked how they had managed to free them unharmed. More of the men came along and listened as Caros told of their pursuit of Gualbes and how they happened upon the galley. The men listened gravely and many whooped when they heard the Romans had been cut down to a man. More wine flowed and then a strange drum sounded. Caros watched as two men standing beside a table of sorts began to rhythmically pound the surface with short wooden sticks. They struck the wood with the ends the sticks and in doing so, produced a strange, but appealing tune. Soon women
appeared with hand drums fettered with discs of bronze and shell, shaking and rattling these skillfully, they created a harmony with the drumbeaters. Aksel smiled at Caros and began to clap in time to the music. Caros felt the tension in his shoulders loosen and began to sway with the rhythm. Hanna swirled through the gathering, arms held high, two small rattles in her hands adding to the music while she danced with her eyes half closed. Caros watched her move; gracefully she swayed and spun, the tunic lifting to reveal her long shapely legs. He was spellbound at her beauty, the way her tawny skin glistened and her hair bounced and flowed across her shoulders. Her eyes met his and he swallowed hard. She wove between men who stamped their feet and began to sing and chant and then she was beside him laughing. “Caros! Do your people not dance? Here let me help remove your warrior clothes.” She leaned close and her scent made him heady with desire. Nimbly she unfastened the leather strap under his chin before lifting the helmet from his head. Her eyes widened at the sight of his scar and she delicately touched the smaller circular scar made by a Masulian healer. “Such a wound might kill a lesser man. This is where a healer released the poisoned blood?”
His skin burning pleasantly under her fingers. “The healer was very skilled. He saved my life I am sure.”
She smiled softly. “The gods have an eye for you. They will make men available to you to complete their games.” She giggled. “Women too.”
He laughed. “It seems they do though I wish I knew the game and against who I am pitted.”
“Maybe you will before the night is fled. Come lift off this heavy shirt and dance.”
Self-consciously he removed the armour and padding and immediately relished the coolness of the evening air. Hanna took his hand and led him amongst the dancers. Circles of dancers drummed and stamped while the circles revolved through and about one another in a timeless, energetic pattern. Faster and faster, the rhythm paced the dancers and spinning, Caros saw Aksel caught up in the resonance, eyes glazed and body lithe as a lynx’s. The music threw the dancers into a wild frenzy and then died away and people laughed and cheered. Food materialised and Caros found himself on his haunches beside a fire tearing at a stringy bolt of venison. Hanna sat beside him, her shoulder and leg rubbing against his whenever she reached for wine or meat. “Wine, meat and song!” She laughed and nudged him. He fumbled the meat he was eating and a hound had it from his feet before he could retrieve it. He laughed and realized he was more light-headed from the wine than he had been for a long time. Across the fire, a wizened woman lifted a wooden bowl above her head, lips smacking, she muttered and crooned before passing the bowl on. The bowl arrived in his hands and he raised it to his lips and drank. The musty sourness revived him and sweat sprang from his brow as the liquid coursed through him. Only then did he realise no one else had drunk from the bowl. He turned to Hanna only she was no longer there. The others too were rising and leaving, all except the old woman who peered across the weaving tongues of flame at him. He realized she was blind, one eye white as sap and the other shrunken to a glistening black pit. He shuddered at the intensity of her blind stare. He felt a warm breath on his neck and heard a familiar whinny. His mare stood nuzzling him, her eyes liquid in the firelight. He rose, took her cheeks in his large hands and sang a child’s song to her. The night closed in around him and the only sounds were the cicadas and the beat of drums. Hanna closed a hand over his and leaned against him, pressing her body into his back.
Maharra Page 18