A Veteran Returns Home: Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Two
Atars’ stomach rumbled.
‘I know. There isn’t much to eat out here,’ Nemo patted the horses neck. ‘I do have something though,’ he reached behind him into a saddlebag and pulled out an apple. He tossed it a step in front of Atars. ‘Go ahead,’ Nemo said.
Atars halted and sniffed the apple. Atars’ eagerly bit into it. The apple was gone in a few short bites.
‘That will do for now,’ Nemo clicked his tongue, shook the reins, and led Atars forward towards the coast.
When Nemo cocked his head to the side and squinted he could make out a tower. Or was it an odd shaped tree. Either way that was his target to aim for. He would reach it by nightfall or earlier if Atars galloped. Pyrrhus had been telling the truth.
Before long the sun had touched the edge of the world and began to melt and be reformed for the following day. The moon had risen in victory already, its pock marked face, pale as milk, stared down upon its new short lived kingdom.
Nemo could hear the trickle of water and see green leaves a short ride away. A copse of trees grew tall and shadowed fruit bushes at their base. A river? Here, he didn’t remember such a thing. Though he struggled to remember if he had ridden this way at all. Would make sense to camp next to water. Pyrrhus’ directions began to make sense. Nemo had questioned the reason for camping off the road. A river was more important. And a large enough army could drink many rivers dry.
As he neared the water he had expected the sound to intensify. To grow from the trickle of a stream to the pealing of waves. It never did. Instead the trickling became closer and all Nemo could see was patches of green along a muddy strip of land.
Avoiding the camp he had turned to his right, back north, and kept the flagpole and tower to his left. The tower became the corner of the wall as he neared.
Atars plodded along nipping the ground every other step and snuffing out the life of new buds. Nemo snickered to himself.
The mile wide coursing river he had imagined was nothing more than a lazy shallow stream. I guess a little is better than none. Atars showed himself to its banks and quenched his thirst.
Oval shadows danced over Nemo from the trees opposite. The half melted sun hiding behind the trees and bushes nurtured by the stream.
Nemo dismounted and refilled his waterskin to the left of Atars. Gruff laughter and words were shared on the breeze from downstream. Nemo ducked lower to see under Atars’ neck. A short ways off were three people washing in the water. On the banks of the stream were shirts, leather jerkins, and swords. He was telling the truth. A pang of shame swept the thought up as all he could offer Pyrrhus was a quicker death. Snuffed by atrocity and the thought of his children. And risk of being seen.
If they had they are being too calm. If they didn’t… well no cure for stupidity. Nemo climbed into the saddle and tugged the reins leftward. Atars rose his head upstream and dutifully cantered along. Towards the camp.
The camp revealed itself with palisades cutting across the landscape in harsh lines straight as arrows. The nearest wall to Nemo sitting mere feet from the banks of the stream. The stream widened as it passed the camp. Thicket grew up to the walls and along the banks. None grew high enough to hide Atars. I’m going to have to leave you and hope you aren’t drafted or give me away.
Nemo dismounted and crouched at the edge of the thicket. The camp palisade less than twenty feet away. All he had to do was cross the shallow stream and disappear into the bushes on the other bank then sneak into the camp. Easy, he told himself not believing it.
The bathers were specks in the distance. Straining his eye he could make out faces and hand gestures. Neither aimed at him. He investigated the other direction, upstream. The lulling rumble of water soothed him. Cooling and calming as the evening set in. The Thesusians had constructed a short bridge across the stream. Two guards stood on his side of the narrow river. Resting on his halberd one of the guards shifted from one foot to another. Been there awhile and itching for wine, Nemo remembered that feeling.
Military life had been an ill-fitting suit of armour for Nemo. Overly regimented and excessively domineering. And that wasn’t even mentioning the bizarre code of honour regarding how warfare was conducted. “Wars are won with strength of arms and wits not through poison and subterfuge,” Nemo recollected a commanding officer telling him. An old, grizzled, man who had no right being alive let alone on the battle field. When fighting for survival no tactic is too low and no weapon dishonourable, Nemo thought.
You’re here to find prisoners and free them not poison their supplies, Nemo never let the two guards on the bridge out of his sight. Neither turned to his left or right instead opting to stare out towards the darkening eastern horizon.
A changing of the guard or a small slither of darkness before the lanterns are lit, Nemo hoped. In that window of opportunity he would cross the river and vault the camp wall. The river seemed wider in the dark, its flow quicker and louder. The palisade taller and the tips of the fence sharper. It’s just the night.
Night. Nemo made a swift sweep up the length of the stream, the palisade wall, and the bridge. No eyes peered at him. No lanterns burned, yet. He stepped into the shallow of the river. The water rose up and over the top of his boots. He lost a breath to the cold of the water. He stepped through the river in large strides careful to have his feet remain submerged in order to maintain the essence of stealth. Within several strides he was on the other bank. That wasn’t so bad, he thought unable to feel his toes.
He crouched under the cover of the thicket. Pale green leaves stroked his ear and the short branches scratched at his neck. It was one thing to go into the general’s tent of an abandoned camp. Completely another in a fully occupied one. What am I doing? Nemo hesitated. Doubt plagued him. What if Avaya isn’t here? And where would Delara or Mani be? How am I going to get them out? It would be better to attack the trains tomorrow or whenever they leave. He rubbed the back of his neck slick with sweat.
What’s the worst that can happen? He thought. You die and their fortunes are solely in the hands of Kethus. He has been good to me and mine thus far. I see no reason to lose faith now. He prayed silently beneath the cover of the bushes. His words for him and him alone. A silent plea to the God of Fortune.
He opened his eye to renewed purpose and a font of willpower. He pushed through the thicket ignoring the branches clawing at his person and the leaves tickling his ears. The palisade was an abrupt wall before him. Solid and impenetrable. The thicket hacked back as far as needed. A sickening efficiency that worried Nemo to the bone. How do they treat slaves in the Republic? He brushed the wooden stakes with his hand and parted the leaves above him to see up the length of the fence. Slot my hand through there, grab that, pull up, and I’m in, he imagined himself doing it. The dusk covering his tracks. The stars not at their apex and the moon still revelling in victory but not yet commanding the night.
Standing in the waist high thicket the stakes were half his height again in the air. The corner twice his height with the blue owl of Thesus flying proud. Nemo spat seeing it and reached up to a gap in the palisade. A crack in the wood when constructed. He gripped the support beam on the other side and planted his feet against the wall. He pulled himself up in a shuffling walk up the wall and jumped up to the top of the wall. He reached out with his other hand and lunged for a hold. His hand slipped. Sharp flashes of pain covered his palm. Dozens of splinters dug into his hand. He caught the edge of the palisade peak and lifted himself up.
He peered over the top of the fence and the tents and fire pits rippled out to the horizon in uniform lines with paths between every tent and streets between every five. They were Arranged in an uninterrupted five by five pattern. The brilliant white cloth shimmering in the evening breeze. Nemo swung his leg over and held himself aloft with both arms. He swung his other leg over and behind him and dropped to the ground with a minor thud.
What the hell am I doing, was his immediate thought. He crouched and darted for the nearest tent wall hoping no one was inside to see his shadow, if there was one. Even the slimmest shadow would reveal him. Spots of blood welled on his palm. He pinched the larger splinters and pulled them out one by one. Relief was sweet but short lived.
Where would they be? Nemo asked himself as he stole a glance down the length of the north facing wall. A long track with the fence on the left and the tents on the right dizzied him. The pattern stretching unbroken to the setting sun.
How many soldiers are stationed here? Another whole army. We never stood a chance. Seeing no one he dashed out and darted passed a row of tents. The voices of soldiers rushed around him. The sounds of cooking and eating rang from the paths where fire pits were burning. He slunk close to a tent wall and approached the road as close as he dared, halting at the edge.
A camp street separated him from the next block of tents. A wide open space. No one cooking or lounging around but a long street intended for travel and inspection. He ran along the rear side, the entrances faced south on the north side.
Laughter rippled from around the corner. Was it ahead or behind me? He refused to poke his head round into the street in case a Thesusian sat watching. Waiting. A single intruder and the camp would be in uproar. No, a soldier wouldn’t be watching but could be sitting and chatting and his eyes wander over as Nemo darted across. The laugher rang out again, a cluster of men drinking the evening away.
Must be the escort for tomorrow celebrating being sent home. Dreaming of the large bags of gold and glory waiting for them from another successful conquest. No one will have to know they didn’t fight. Only themselves, Nemo lamented as he edged closer to peaking out from behind the tent.
He leaned out as much as he dared but saw nothing. His lone, left, eye seeing the white canvas of the tent and nothing else. If I stick my head out I’ll be seen, he thought. There is no other way. Nemo leaned out, risking his head, and pulled back behind the tent after a glimpse. A leg. On the other side sticking out from the tent. That’s who is laughing and telling jokes.
He steeled himself and peaked out. The rows upon rows of tents made him queasy. The sheer number of troops made the Free Cities Army look like a town militia. When the whole world comes marching you don’t stand a chance. He counted two people but more voices. One faced away from him, the other sat inside the entrance of their tent. Good as it will get, he held his breath and hurried out from behind one tent and into the cover of another.
He stopped and counted to five all the while listening for the laughter to stop, for footsteps approaching, or any sign that he gave himself away. The laughter continued. Nemo let the breath escape and snuck further along the north wall of the camp.
Nemo stole a glance down the camp street. Nothing. He rushed to the next block eager to find his family, or at least Avaya. Mani and Delara could be anywhere. He reached the next street in his search. The repetition dimming his resolve. I’m not getting anywhere. Stipi and Pyrrhus both said Arridaios dealt with transporting slaves. Stipi simply assessed them. Stipi would have written it down so Arridaios knew who he was getting. That will be in the command post. Where would that be? Nemo needed a better view of the camp.
From his small, quiet, strip of the camp he peaked between the rows. Unlit fire pits and the smouldering coals of others. Men asleep or on watch. Nemo half stood up making sure to keep his head below the peak of the tent roof. He strained his hearing one last time before raising his head above the parapet.
Poles poked through white canvas as far as Nemo could see. The wall of the camp to his left seemed distant now and stretched into the horizon interrupted only by the occasional flag pole flying the blue owl and mountain of Thesus and the entrance to the camp, a short gap in the wall with an anti-cavalry barricade erected a few steps inside the camp.
Sweeping over the camp with a swift eye left little to the imagination. A make-shift stables near the centre of the camp obstructed his view of a few rows of tents but that was all. Further around to his right was a smithy, the canvas roof rolled back on beam supports with two men attempting to lift the resulting long roll of fabric.
To the right was a tent larger than the others. With straight poles and low angle roof. Two guards stood at the entrance. There. That’s where Arridaios will be. Nemo had no intent of meeting the general himself. It might make things quicker but not any simpler. Nemo ducked back behind the tent and planned his route. At some point he would be walking through the lion’s den, he knew. Knowing it made it no less terrifying. Stupid. It’s plain stupid. But I can’t leave now. Not when I’m this close.
Nemo hurried through the camp as best he could. If he didn’t hurry he was afraid he would stop or give up and jump the fence. Temptations on the edge of his mind closer than he would admit. Further off than his need for Mani or the desire to hold Delara and Avaya and never let them go. He felt for the ring around his neck and his resolve quickened.
The camp quietened the deeper he went. Darting and dashing passed the rows of tents. Listening for soldiers taking a break or for the ones on night duty.
The sun had lost. Melted into the sea and the moon had taken up residence as ruler. Flickers of fire leaped across the camp as lanterns were lit. I need to move faster but any faster and I’ll make too much noise and wake one of these snoring oafs. He crouched near a tent and heard the whistling snore of a man inside. A man asleep is one less to worry about seeing me, Nemo thought.
Soon enough the command tent was ahead of him. A short ways down the path and on his left. Between him and it was a street between the blocks of tents. Wide enough for a cart and running the length of the camp. A sickening efficiency of design that made a stray pair of eyes like hawks hunting for a dormouse.
At best it will have a map of the camp and where the slaves are held. At worst the general will be inside with a blade at his side, Nemo scampered down a side path clambering over tent guy ropes and pegs. Better than being spotted from half a mile down the way, he thought as his foot clipped a rope shaking the tent. Nemo didn’t stop to see if someone was inside. Trusting his ears as his eye spotted ropes and pegs that could lead to his end as easily as a sword or spear.
What Nemo hoped was Arridaios’ tent sat on a raised platform as high as his waist. The focal point of the camp, so no soldier or commander could claim ignorance of where to go when the general required them. Nemo was surprised it lacked a standard or two as well.
Nemo ducked against the platform. Struts littered the ground underneath as ordered as the camp. He peered underneath and caught the legs of a pair of soldiers on the other side. Nemo climbed underneath the platform. No one is going to look under here, he turned to his right heading to the rear of the platform. Ahead of him were unlit fire pits sitting, waiting, in front of numerous tents. Each with their own coat of arms emblazoned on the side. The commanders tents. Larger, grander, but still cooking and eating out in the elements.
Shouts and cries rang out as he reached the rear of the platform. His hand seized his scimitar half out of the scabbard as he turned to face the sound. In the distance, at the entrance to the camp, where hundreds of soldiers in neat and ordered units marching in. Their spears glistened in the moonlight. The armour shone with the orange glow of the lanterns. That’s why it’s quiet.
Nemo sheathed his weapon and stuck his head out from under the general’s tent. No one. He clambered out and climbed up onto the platform. Knife in hand he cut through the canvas. The fabric parted for his knife with ease.
He pushed his way inside and found it empty. No spear aimed at his head and no attendant waiting patiently for his master to return. An empty tent filled with articles of war and living. A sparse bed stood against the wall of the tent. The bare minimum. A plush carpet lining the centre of the tent where a table stood covered in rolls of parchment and small figurines of warriors. Sparse bed but soft carpets? Does the man not sleep but instead rest standing up? Nemo approached the table and fingered one of the figurines. A horse with rider and spear. He inspected it closer. It has eyes, nose, and a mouth. Such aesthetic care over a practical item. Nemo returned the horse and rider.
An army of tens of thousands, a hundred thousand, just to pacify the populace? Excessive even by the standards of the Republic. If I were with the Resistance this would be important. They would want to know plans and numbers. But… Nemo turned away from the table littered with military directives, marching orders, and supply information.
A writing desk sat against the wall. A stamp lay on its side with the owl of Thesus coated in blue. A stick of blue and a stick of red wax rested on the saucer of candle holder. Crumbs of broken wax seals clustered in the centre of the desk. Cracked wax seals clung to folded parchment paper at the back of the desk. Gathered in a haphazard pile, tossed after reading as an after thought.
Nemo collected the stack of letters and saw the wax seal, not of Thesus, but of Tanussi. The roaring bear head in red wax. The icon of Tanussi longer than any could remember and that few knew why. If it had been chosen in recent years the symbol of Tanussi would be a couple of coins with a woman wrapped around them. He opened the first to find a short tract of writing in cramped handwriting. The words swam on the page and he blinked to clear his vision. His vision wasn’t the problem. He hadn’t a clue what the runes on the page meant. He spoke little Thesusian and could read even less. Only having came into contact with it on bounties that took him north.
He flicked through the stack of letters barely able to pick out individual letters or symbols of a kind. Where does one begin and another end? The short curled runes appearing more scrawl than words.
Each letter began with a short intro and ended with a single word in the centre of the page. Names? Stipi? Arridaios? Nemo worked with what he had. He continued flicking through the letters until he came to a long list that filled the sheet of parchment. Split into columns and lined with over two dozen rows. Each box was filled with one word, sometimes two, until the final column where words followed by dots. The second column contained short words in most cases two or three runes long. Here the runes were straight lined and never crossed into the next. Age? Nemo thought seeing a three sided box followed by two straight lines.
Nemo ran his finger down the list trying to decipher the lines and boxes. Each line must be one person. As he scratched down the list he caught a letter he understood. On the left most column. A name written in Tanussian.
Jaro. Jaro, he repeated the name trying to recall a face to match. Was he from Beargarth. The town has swelled in my time. More people than I can remember live there. He flipped the previous lists of slaves over and hunted through the indecipherable letters for the few he could read.
Nemo had taught his son and daughter, and his wife, the basics of how to read and write. A skill he had required by chance in accepting payment in forms other than coin. It had proved useful for him and he thought it a good idea to pass on. Using old bounty notices and short tracts he had written himself he had managed to teach his family how to write and pronounce each letter. Mani had no time for it preferring to spend her time on “real work”, she had said. Delara and Avaya were keener and quicker writing whole words and sounding out words to figure out how to write them. Nemo had saved money and bought a number of story scrolls for his children to practice with, and enjoy.
Turning the pages he caught what he was hunting. Two names in a row, Delara and Avaya, written in their practiced hand. Each letter standing apart from the next. Underneath their names were words in Thesusian. Their future names? Nemo thought searching for the third name.
No luck. He pilfered over the last page and turned the stack back over for a second search. Heavy boots slammed down onto the steps of the platform outside. Nemo froze and dropped the pages on the desk.
A second step sounded.
He darted for the cut in the canvas wall.
A third step. A fourth quick behind.
The flap to the tent flung open and a man in bronzed armour, and a gold pommelled sword on his hip, strolled in a letter in hand.
The cut in wall a few steps away. Nemo dropped to the floor and shuffled under the table.
Arridaios looked up, bored, and called out ‘Guards.’
Two halberd wielding men entered behind the general.
‘There’s a man under my table. Tie him up,’ Arridaios said without any sign of surprise.
Nemo jumped out and drew his sword. The two men with halberds lowered them and held him back with the tip of the weapons. Nemo couldn’t engage, pushed to the back wall of the tent with two halberds aimed at his torso and the wielders three foot away at least.
He dropped the sword and one of the halberdiers set down his weapon and approached with rope.
‘Disarm him of anything that could be used as weapon,’ General Arridaios commanded. He set down the letter and moved towards Nemo. Hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
The guards set to work removing Nemo’s belt and knife. Taking everything from coins pouches to waterskin. Anything could be used as a weapon he supposed. One guard fiddled with his wristbow, pulling the leather straps free and yanking the weapon off. He went to toss the weapon on the pile of Nemo’s belongings.
‘Hold. Pass me that,’ Arridaios said.
The guard passed him the bow and leather strap with bolts slotted into the sides.
‘What is this contraption?’ Arridaios asked in Nemo’s tongue.
Nemo refused to answer.
‘Not talking. No matter, I’ve seen these before,’ he pulled free one of the bolts and inspected it. He opened a draw in his bureau and removed a single bolt. Blood dried on its tip. The general held the two bolts together. Their size and shape near identical. ‘I do have to wonder why you are here. It doesn’t seem the most sensible option for a runaway assassin to enter a military camp unless you were trying to kill me too,’ Arridaios turned to Nemo.
Nemo remained silent. The rope cut into his wrists and creaked as he strained against the knots.
‘Still not talking. Even when I’m going to all this effort to speak the local tongue. No matter. Geleon, prep a cage cart for the man. Note his crimes of assassination of Governor Stipi and attempted murder of myself. As well as all the crimes that led him to those acts. I’m sure they are numerous. He is under the rule of Tanussi and so he will be tried in Tanussi by the Governing Council till a new Governor arrives from the capital. Dismissed.’
Geleon saluted, ‘Sir, there are two heading out in a few days with criminals and to collect the next group of slaves. Shall I add him to that train?’. He pulled Nemo to his feet.
‘Yes. Better send him with others of his ilk,’ Arridaios said.
The slaves are still in Tanussi? What? Nemo’s mind swam with confusion as the other guard collected his belongings and he was led out into the night.
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