Tim Leach - A Winter War

‘You knew the ground was weak there?’ Gaevani said to Lucius. ‘Too soft for the horse?’

‘I did,’ Lucius answered.

‘That was done well.’

Lucius hesitated. ‘What will happen now?’

‘That depends. Will you really give them a war?’

Something like laughter from the Roman. ‘After all this, they will still want war?’

‘They will want it more than slavery.’ Gaevani swept his hand in a circle. ‘Tell them, if you can.’

For others were gathering about them – strangely shy and hesitant, chieftains and children alike. Kai saw a shadow cross Lucius’s face, for perhaps he knew that it was not enough, all that he had given in courage. He felt the man leaning against the crook of his neck, the shallow breaths growing heavy. Then Lucius stepped away, standing tall, and spoke once more.

He had not the strength to shout – perhaps it would have done him no good. The words came soft and rasping, like a man speaking a secret. ‘Fight for Rome,’ he said to the gathering crowd. ‘We have more enemies than can be counted. If it is war you desire, you shall have it. Iron, and gold. And if it is your homes you long for, know this. We do not keep our warriors in the warband for ever. Twenty-five years, and you will be free. Twenty-five years, and you go home.’

Silence answered him.

‘You have shown you are not afraid to fight,’ he continued. ‘Not afraid to die. Are you afraid of twenty-five years?’

It was almost enough. But still the Sarmatians made no answer – a sense of something missing, as when the storyteller finishes his tale too soon, and those at the fireside call for more, call for the true ending. Kai knew then what he must do, and he slid the sword from its sheath.

‘Will you swear it?’ said Kai.

‘Swear it?’

Kai offered the point of the sword to him – a Roman sword, but still the iron would make it sacred. ‘An oath upon the sword,’ he said. ‘That we shall have our war. That we will come back after those years, as you say.’

A shadow on the Roman’s face. A hesitance that Kai could not understand. Then Lucius’s hand was at the tip of the sword, and he said: ‘I swear it.’

No cheers answered the Roman, no calling of his name. Someone nearby clapped their hands once, the way that seers sometimes ended a ritual, and it was done. The crowd breaking, drifting, beginning to reform in a different way. All about them Kai could hear word passing from one Sarmatian to the next – not spoken with joy or anger, but with a quiet acceptance. A trial to be endured, like so many before. A pride, perhaps, in having the courage to endure it.

Lucius’s work was still not done. Kai watched the Roman speaking with each chieftain in turn – low, quiet, urgent. For the peace they held together was a fragile thing. It might not last the day.

Beside him, Gaevani said: ‘A blow struck by the gods, they shall call it. It will be sung of for a long time. Brave Zanticus, who made even the gods envious. Lucius and his spelltouched sword. Though perhaps they will make a Sarmatian of him, when the tale has been told enough times.’ He chuckled. ‘I begin to see why you look on him the way that you do.’

‘He is a captain to follow,’ Kai answered.

‘He is a captain that will have you, I think you mean.’

‘That too.’ Kai turned, sword still in his hand. ‘And what of us?’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You promised to kill me when I returned. We may settle it now, if you wish.’

Gaevani said nothing for a time. Then: ‘That time shall come. But not now.’

‘Why not?’

‘You entertain me, Kai. I never quite know what you shall do or say. I thought that there was little left in the world that surprises me. I shall have to kill you one day, for the injury you have done me. But I am not tired of you yet.’

Kai shaded his eyes, looked towards the sun. And he said: ‘You shall not have another chance, it seems.’ And he heard Gaevani curse, when the man saw what Kai did.

For there were riders to the west. The sun low at their backs, stretching their shadows long, making giants of them. Even at such a distance, he knew them. The slight figure of Tamura, hugging her spear close against her body as if for comfort. Saratos slouched low in his saddle, almost seeming a part of the horse he rode. The little gestures of the others that he knew from the long road they had travelled together, when they had kept company as intimate as lovers. And at their head, a rider on a one-eyed horse, red tassels dripping from the spear. Close-cropped hair, and a face that could have been a mirror of his own.

His sister, and her warriors. Come to claim their blood price at last.

They were a ragged band, the riders on the horizon, with the bandit look of those who have lived off the land for too long. Wolves at the end of winter, hard-eyed and hollow-ribbed. But the war gear was clean and well-tended, fresh scalps hanging from the saddles. And when Kai looked amongst the others once more, he saw that they too bore a single tassel of red felt on their spears. A mark from their new captain, a sign of their allegiance.

A mist spread across Kai’s eyes, before he blinked to clear it and turned his face towards the sky – the gods had chosen a good day, at least. No stormtossed rain or lightning dancing on the plain, but the achingly clear light of a low sun. The gods wanted a fine view of what was to come, and perhaps they wanted him to feel, at the last, how sweet and beautiful it was, the world that he was leaving.

Lucius must have returned. For from his side, he heard the Roman say: ‘How did they know where to find us?’

‘They must have been following us for some time. Saratos is a good tracker, and Tamura was always soft-footed in the dark.’

‘Kai, you must tell me. What does this mean?’

‘Oh, Lucius. You have learned much of my people, but this is something you cannot understand.’ Kai’s horse and spear were close by – he took up the weapon, and carefully picked the truce leaves away.

‘We must get our message back across the water,’ said Lucius.

‘ You shall. They have not come for you.’

‘There is an army at our backs. We can—’

‘They will not fight for you here. They will follow you on the journey you have promised them, and fight and die in any war you give them. But this is my battle, not theirs, and they know it.’

At last, perhaps, there was an understanding – the orders died on Lucius’s lips before he could speak them. The Roman’s hand, trembling and weak, went to his sword once more.

‘Perhaps it is worth the price I shall pay,’ said Kai, ‘to see this bravery from you. We always know these things too late, don’t we?’

The Roman did not seem to hear him. ‘We shall send one of my men back. Ferox, the fastest rider we have. The rest of us can—’

‘No, Lucius. Stay here,’ said Kai. ‘And whatever happens, do not interfere. One last oath, can you give me that?’

The Roman said nothing, irresolute. For all that Kai had seen that man wounded to the point of death, kept as a prisoner and a slave, perhaps it was the first time he had seen him defeated.

‘I swear it,’ he said.

Kai set his horse forward, a steady, even walk. And he could feel the horse restless beneath him, longing to rush forward and greet its lost companions. For this was a feud it could not understand.

The feel of the sun on his neck and wrists, the spear smooth in the hollow of his hands. And the birdsong, the idle chatter and mating calls of a new season beginning. He tried to let his memories go, to think of nothing but the passage of one moment to the next, the fall of the horse’s hooves, the beating of his heart, each single breath that he cast to the wind. Yet the memories came to him unbidden, all the same.