Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1986 (18 page)

“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 Cirta,” 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.”

“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.

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 his 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.