Hyperborea veteran of ro.., p.28
Hyperborea (Veteran of Rome Book 4), page 28
No one spoke as the Hyperborean looked around at the ship and the crew, his eyes and mouth gaping in astonishment. The man lowered his nose to the wooden hull and sniffed a few times, before slowly turning to stare at Marcus, with dark, penetrating eyes. Marcus did not move, as the man cautiously reached out to touch his beard and then his red hair. Then the native backed away and shouted something to his friends down in the water, in an excited, tense sounding voice. From his belt Marcus, carefully pulled free a Roman-army Pugio knife and held it up for the man to see, before offering it to him. The native stared at the steel weapon in silence before gingerly reaching out and taking it from Marcus’s outstretched hand and, as he did so, Marcus had the impression that the man had never seen a metal knife before in his life. Cautiously the Hyperborean ran the sharp point across his hand and then raised it to his nose and sniffed. On the deck of the Hermes no one moved, as every eye focussed on the strange, historic encounter taking place. Marcus was just about to speak when the native, with surprising speed, caught hold of Marcus’s hand and nicked his hand with the knife. As the blood welled up from the wound Marcus cried out in shock and pulled his hand free and in response the Hyperborean took a quick step back in alarm. Marcus grimaced as he looked down at his bloody hand, but the small wound was not deep.
“What did he do that for” Cunomoltus growled tensely.
Marcus looked up at the native. The man was staring at the blood welling up from the wound.
“I think he is trying to find out whether we are gods or mere mortals,” he growled. “And I think he has his answer.”
The Hyperborean had turned away from Marcus and was staring at the rest of the crew, who had formed a semi-circle around him. Then, catching sight of Calista, he cocked his head to one side and slowly advanced towards her and, as he did so, the girl started to back away nervously.
“Stay where you are,” Marcus called out to her in a sharp voice. “It will be alright.”
Calista was staring at the native with large fear-filled eyes but she did as Marcus had said and, as the Hyperborean came up to her, he reached out and ran his fingers through her hair and across her cheeks. Then he reached out and grasped hold of her breasts. The movement was too much for Calista and she squealed and staggered away backwards. The Hyperborean however did not seem to notice her reaction, for swiftly he turned round, opened his mouth, revealing a couple of rotten yellow teeth and started to laugh. His laughter drifted away across the placid sea as he made it to the edge of the ship and gestured at his friends, crying out to them in a language, that to the crew, was completely alien and unintelligible. Swiftly Marcus took a step forwards and, before the man could react, he had snatched the Pugio from him. Startled, the Hyperborean stumbled backwards as his laughter was abruptly replaced with a look of alarm.
Marcus fixed his eyes on the stranger, his face grim but not aggressive, as he held up the Roman army knife.
“We will trade,” he said slowly in a clear voice, “We need food and drinking water. If you can bring this to us I will give you this knife.”
The Hyperborean was staring at him with a nervous, watchful expression but it was clear he had not understood a word of what Marcus had just said. Patiently Marcus pointed at himself and then his mouth as he started to munch on imaginary food and drink imaginary water before offering the knife to the native. On the second attempt the man seemed to understand, for a flush of sudden excitement appeared on his cheeks, as he called out something to the men in the canoes.
“I think we are finally getting somewhere,” Marcus said, as the man nodded at him, his face cracking into an eager smile.
“Don’t give him the knife before he has brought us those supplies,” Cunomoltus called out in warning.
“Have you seen their boats and weapons,” Marcus replied. “Stone tools and weapons made of bone. If these men are warriors then they have no proper shields, no body armour and no steel weapons. Caradoc was right. They look rather primitive. But they clearly do like the look of our knives and swords. If Emperor Trajan were to decide to ship the Twentieth Legion across the ocean, they should have no trouble in conquering these people.”
“Don’t scare him away,” Cora suddenly frowned. “We need food and water. Our supplies are very low, especially fresh water. Make the trade.”
The native was peering at Marcus with his dark, curious eyes. Then he called out to his friends in the canoes before untying and taking something from a small leather pouch that hung around his waist. Stretching out his hand towards Marcus, he opened his fingers to reveal a small piece of brittle, Chert stone. Marcus frowned as he stared at the stone in the Hyperborean’s hand. Then slowly, so as not to startle the man, he took it and held up in the air, examining it carefully.
“What is it” Cunomoltus called out.
Marcus was silent for a moment as he studied the stone.
“I think he is offering us this stone in exchange for the knife,” he replied. “The stone must be a precious commodity. Maybe they make their tools and weapons from this stone.”
“Maybe he is having a laugh,” Cunomoltus snapped unhappily. “Anyway we need supplies not stones. We can’t eat stones.”
Abruptly Marcus handed the stone back to the man and shook his head.
“Penawapskewi,” Marcus exclaimed pointing at the Hyperborean. “Penawapskewi?”
The name seemed to mean nothing to the Hyperborean but from the expression on his face Marcus could see that he had understood, that the words had meant a question, for swiftly the man replied spitting out something in his own language. A wry little smile appeared at the corner of Marcus’ lips as he stared at the native and in response the Hyperborean’s face slowly cracked into a grin.
“I think we shall call them, the first people,” Marcus called out, “As they are the first people we have met in this new world.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine – The Home of the gods
Marcus stood alone holding the tiller as he slowly navigated through the sea straights. It was morning and above him the clear, blue sky stretched away to the horizon. A single, sea bird hovered high above the ship, its graceful white wings spread wide, as it peered down at the Hermes with sharp, curious eyes. A strong, fresh wind was propelling the ship southwards through the straights and the Hermes’s main, red, square-sail and foresail bulged outwards, powering the little Roman ship through the water. At its usual spot, beside the helmsman, the black ship’s cat lay stretched out on deck, enjoying the warm sunshine. Marcus peered ahead at the point where the land funnelled inwards to form a narrow sea-straight maybe ten miles across. Apart from the white chunks of drifting sea-ice, the passage ahead looked easy enough, but if he’d learnt anything in these past few weeks, it was to never underestimate the ocean and mother nature. To port and starboard the low rocky coast was interspersed with small islets, sandy deserted beaches and lone rocks. Further inland the dark, green conifer-forests stretched away into the distance.
On the deck below, Alexandros was staring at the coastline. He’d been unusually quiet since losing his eye in the thunder storm, but now he turned to look up at Marcus with sudden excitement, as he pointed ahead at the straights.
“When you pass through the Pillars of Hercules,” Alexandros cried out, his good eye shining with sudden passion, “I tell you, you will feel Hercules himself watching you. The pillars are the gateway to a different world. Maybe these straights up ahead are the same. Maybe we are about to sail into a new world. Maybe, beyond, we are going to find the home of the gods, Marcus”
“You had better clean yourself up in that case,” Marcus responded with a good natured smile. “If we are about to meet the gods, then you look like shit.”
Alexandros turned away, shaking his head in silent disgust and Marcus turned his attention back to the sea and the icebergs, that seemed to be accompanying the Hermes south. The trade with the Hyperboreans had gone well and the natives had returned to the ship that same day, and a vast quantity of seal and Caribou meat had been exchanged for one steel Roman army Pugio knife. That night Cora and Calista had cooked up a fantastic stew and the whole crew had feasted, stuffing themselves silly, as they’d enjoyed their first taste of meat in weeks. The feast had lifted their morale and the next day even Jodoc had even managed to say a few words.
“We need to put into land soon,” Alexandros called out, without turning to look at Marcus. “I am worried about the mast. That lightning strike has damaged it and the temporary repairs we have made to the hull also need looking at.”
The smile on Marcus’s face faded away as he studied the sea ahead.
“We should keep going,” he replied. “We can make repairs when we reach our destination.”
“That could take weeks,” Alexandros cried out in an annoyed voice. “And we don’t know what reception we are going to receive when we get there. Besides you don’t even know where this trading post is. We lost the only man who did.”
Marcus glanced at the coast. “We will find it,” he growled. “We will keep heading south along the coast until then. We know what to look for and we know the name of the Hyperborean tribe, in whose territory the druids have made their home. Sooner or later some of these natives are going to recognise the name and show us the way.”
“And how are they going to do that, when we can’t understand a fucking word they say,” Alexandros snapped.
“We are going to listen and keep our eyes open,” Marcus cried out. “I got us the meat didn’t I? These Hyperborean’s seem happy to trade with us. It’s a good sign. The next time we trade, we will not be trading for meat but for information. Pale faced men like us and the druids will stand out here. Somewhere, someone will know about this trading post.”
Alexandros was silent, as he digested what Marcus had just said. Then he turned round to look up at him and slowly adjusted his black eye patch.
“The women want to go ashore,” he growled, “We have been stuck on this ship for weeks Marcus. All of us want to spend a night ashore on solid ground. Just one night and we need to make these repairs. The ship is in a poor state. You know this.”
Under his breath Marcus growled in frustration.
“Alright, we will keep an eye open for a suitable landing spot,” he replied. “The land to port looks more promising.”
***
The white, sandy beach looked deserted as Marcus, Cunomoltus and Jodoc waded ashore. Marcus was holding an axe and a coil of rope was slung over his shoulder and Cunomoltus was armed with a bow and a quiver, that were strapped to his back. As they stumbled ashore, Marcus paused to look around as Cunomoltus sank down onto his knees in the sand, grasped hold of the earth with both hands and held it up, allowing the grains of sand to slowly slip through his fingers. Inland, the thick conifer forest stretched away to a line of distant hills and there was no sign of human habitation. The forest looked dark and uninviting. Jodoc was staring moodily at the trees as he clutched his axe and Marcus gave him a wary glance. Out in the small bay, the Hermes lay at anchor, her sails furled and Marcus could see Alexandros, pottering about on the roof of the deckhouse.
“Come on we need a good tree,” Marcus said turning to his companions, “Jodoc, you and I will cut it down. Cunomoltus, you will stand guard. Keep your eyes open. We are strangers in this land. The gods only know what is lurking in those forests. Maybe we will even run into Hermes himself,” Marcus added with a little smile, as he tried to lighten the atmosphere.
Cunomoltus and Jodoc did not seem to appreciate the attempt and they remained silent, as the three of them started out towards the forest. As they advanced across the beach, Cunomoltus however reached out for his bow and strung an arrow, as he peered nervously at the tree line.
The forest air was cool and shady and amongst the trees, it was quiet and nothing moved. As they pushed on deeper into the woodland, the trees reminded Marcus of the forests he had seen in Caledonia. When he judged they had come far enough, he raised his fist in the air and turned to examine the trees.
“This one will do,” he said at last,as he placed his left hand against a sturdy-looking trunk. “Alexandros said the new mast should be tall and strong. We’ll cut it down and drag it back to the beach.”
The rhythmic thud of an axe striking into wood echoed away through the forest as Marcus and Jodoc took turns at swinging their axes at the tree. Lightly-coloured wood chippings lay scattered across the forest floor and Marcus was sweating from the effort. A little way off, Cunomoltus stood clutching his drawn bow as he warily scanned the trees.
“I am sorry for your loss,” Marcus said with a grunt, glancing at Jodoc as he freed his axe head from the groove they had cut into the trunk. “But I did not kill him. His death was an accident. The waves washed him overboard.”
Jodoc said nothing, as he stepped up for his turn to strike the tree. His axe struck the trunk with a fierce, vicious thud.
“Listen,” Marcus growled as he swung his axe into the groove. “I know you hate me and you blame me for your father’s death, but you are going to have to put that all aside. You are going to have to embrace the truth. We all need to work together. The ship needs a united crew and we need a friendly reception from the druids, if this voyage is to be a success. If you can do that; if you can make that happen, then I promise you, that I will give you back the iron box and allow you to go your own way, after we reach the trading post.”
Jodoc’s axe thudded into the trunk, making the tree sway and creak.
“Without my father and I, how will you crew your ship on the return voyage” Jodoc hissed.
Marcus slammed his axe into the trunk and looked up to see tree top wobble dangerously.
“I will find a way,” Marcus said confidently.
“You will give me back my father’s book?” Jodoc snapped.
Marcus nodded. “I will, if you don’t cause trouble for us with the druids.”
There was no more time to discuss the matter as, with a long cracking groan, the tree started to topple over into the forest. Marcus cried out a warning to Cunomoltus as the three of them sprang away and the tree came crashing to the ground snapping branches in the process.
Marcus and Jodoc had just fastened the rope to the end of the tree and were preparing to start hauling it away, when Cunomoltus cried out in alarm. Marcus whipped round and stared in the direction in which Cunomoltus was pointing. Amongst the shady, cool forest, he could see nothing. Then, from behind a tree, he caught a sudden movement. A red-painted face appeared and then slowly a man stepped away from the cover. The native was clutching a stone axe and his face and buckskins were painted and decorated with red ochre. Marcus grunted in astonishment. Then amongst the trees, two more men and a boy appeared, similarly dressed with their faces painted red. The hunting party were armed with short stone knives and one of them was holding a bone-headed hunting spear. All four hunters looked nervous as they stared at Marcus and his companions with tense, wide-eyed astonishment.
“No one move,” Marcus called out in a tight, tense voice, as his hand dropped to the pommel of his gladius that hung from his belt. “Don’t do anything to provoke them.”
The forest grew silent as the strange, unexpected standoff continued. Then the Hyperborean’s started to nervously inch forwards and the man carrying the spear raised the weapon above his head and into an aggressive throwing position. The native closest to Marcus suddenly cried out in a strange sounding, unintelligible language and raised his stone axe threateningly, gesturing at Marcus and his companions. The men’s red-painted faces and strange apparel were like nothing Marcus had ever encountered before and for a moment, he could do nothing, but stand his ground. Close by, Jodoc had pulled his knife from his belt and was staring nervously from one hunter to the next.
Then, with a high-pitched shriek, the native holding the stone axe lunged towards Jodoc. The boy yelled in terror as the stone axe came swooping down, aimed at his head, but somehow Jodoc managed to grasp hold of the native’s arm and the two of them went tumbling onto the forest floor in a desperate flurry of snarling, grappling arms and legs. The native clutching the raised spear, never managed to release it, for a split second later, Cunomoltus arrow punched straight through his neck, sending a jet of blood spurting into the air. The man was dead before his body crumpled to the ground. With a well-practised movement, Marcus pulled his gladius from its brown leather sheath and charged towards the remaining hunter and the boy, roaring a furious battle cry. The fierce shouting and the unexpected charge were enough to send the two Hyperborean’s fleeing into the wood.
As Marcus wheeled round to come to Jodoc’s aid, he saw the young man gasping, bleeding and rolling over the ground in a desperate, vicious fight for survival. Cunomoltus however, was the first to reach him. He dropped his bow, caught hold of the natives long black hair and swiftly sank his knife into the man’s head, with a sickening crunch. Jodoc screamed as his face was splattered with the dead man’s blood and frantically he struggled free and rolled away from the corpse. Cunomoltus stood staring at the dead native, his chest heaving from exertion, his hand clutching his bloodied knife.
Marcus was breathing heavily as he stared at the carnage. The forest around him had fallen eerily silent. Then he caught Cunomoltus’ eye and gave him a little appreciative nod, which Cunomoltus silently returned. Jodoc, bleeding from a cut to his head and looking shaken, was sitting on the ground, his legs drawn up under him, as he stared wide-eyed at the dead man who had just tried to kill him.
“Why did they attack us” Cunomoltus blurted out.
Marcus shook his head.
“Fuck knows,” he replied, “But we need to get back to the ship right now. Leave the tree. Those hunters may come back.”
Cunomoltus nodded in agreement and Marcus was about to heave Jodoc up onto his feet, when something on the corpse of the red-painted man, who had been stabbed in the head, caught his eye. Frowning he stooped and reached down and pulled free a leather cord from around the native’s neck. The cord was adorned with animal teeth, worked antler-bone fragments, coloured stones and a single, small and round bronze coin.
