198
Barriers
Oran blended into the background, with his Daniel-Boone style leather pants and jacket, rubbed with white clay in streaks and spots and hatched with random dark streaks, so Antonio didn’t see him coming until he was within a hundred meters. If he hadn’t known Scout Two was coming, he might not have seen him till under half that distance. As the Scout flipped to a stop – like a gymnast, a trick the Haudenosaunee had taught him – Antonio chuckled at his own envy of the lithe, fit, flexible body his companion had. “Sweating yet?” he asked casually, as Oran took three deep breaths before speaking.
“Small of my back”, was the reply. Oran whistled, and a moment later bounced into the saddle when Apache came trotting up. “‘Tonio, it’s a town. Onatah said it’s three peoples together, but there’s just two definite parts – one’s got wandering lanes, all curves, and the other is a square grid, perfect north-south alignment.” He grinned. “Guess which part has stone buildings with round columns?”
“Looks like the ‘Ronams” really are Romans, huh?” Antonio chewed on his lip. “Any fortifications?”
Oran shook his head. “Not even a ditch. The closest thing would be the hedges around some of the big buildings. There’s a huge gate thing at the end of the biggest street, but without a wall it looks funny.”
“Symbolic”, Antonio guessed. “How big is ‘big’?”
“You could put a small fraternity house under it – like for thirty guys.”
Antonio shook his head. “There’s something familiar about a gate that big... I mean like what they were used for. I can’t remember it.”
“You mean like in the Bible, where people conducted business in the city gates?” Oran asked. “I didn’t have a good angle to see in, but it’s big enough for that. Heck, you could put a café in one side, a souvenir shop in the other, spread a bunch of tables out to sit at, and still have room for a street down the middle. Want Runner to take a look?”
That made Antonio grin. “Yeah. And if there’s a café, ask him to bring me a double-dark chocolate mocha with an extra shot.”
“And a chocolate chip fudge brownie with walnuts”, Oran agreed. A bit over a minute later they had their answer: two groups of people clustered under the gate, one on each side of the street. In Runner’s eyes, they appeared like two prides of cats, one lounging, one pacing about.
“Gossip session and political discussion”, Antonio suggested with a grin. “Now, the question of the day: do we loop around and come in through the gate, or just head in on the nearest street?”
“Sorry – there’s a closer gate”, Oran told him. “I got a better look at it – it’s got two statues carved in the rock, that look like Quistadors, except no weapons.”
“Quistadors... I bet if you got close, it would say ‘D’Aragon’!” Antonio whispered. “Okay, that’s our entrance! With the lancers up front, looking like conquistadors!”
Cristobal de Nevarez rode slowly – more accurately, Apache, on loan from Oran, was making a show of it, stepping in grand fashion, lifting each hoof high and placing it precisely, snapping it down to make a sharp thud. The young Quistador noble sat almost statue-like, holding the staff that bore Antonio’s banner vertically, the butt set on the saddle between his legs. The breeze barely pulled the light cloth away from that pole, but an occasional gust tugged it to a forty-five degree tilt, just enough that an observer could tell there was an emblem on it. Cristobal was thankful for those gusts; in spite of the chilly day, he was sweating like no Scout should.
Workers in the fields around the town looked up, watched briefly, then went back to work in a display of stifled curiosity Antonio had trouble believing. “Like a cult”, Oran muttered. “It’s not their business, so they don’t look.”
“Yeah, could be”, Antonio answered. “But we’re getting a crowd at the gate.” Behind the gate would have been a better description: this smaller gate didn’t seem to serve as a meeting place, and no one stood under it now; a crowd that kept slowly growing stood several paces behind it, while a smaller group, roughly a dozen, stood three times as far in front of it. “Welcoming committee out front.”
Oran shook his head. “Don’t think so. Runner says they don’t feel friendly.”
“Oh, good – so shall we conquer them?”
Oran had to hold in a laugh, that sounded so little like Antonio. “You’re stressin’, dude”, he said.
“Yeah. Maybe Cristobal will awe them.”
“I think we already shocked them. And Apache is better for awe than Cristo.” Oran looked over the area. “All the horses are – they don’t have any.”
“I think the Romans conquered the world without needing them”, Antonio recalled.
“Yeah, well maybe Rome would have got built in a day if they’d had them”, Oran joked. “Uh-oh – movement.”
The small group outside the gate advanced as Cristobal drew close. They looked determined; they strode more than merely walked, like people with a definite purpose. Antonio had the feeling they were going to tell Cristobal to go away, and said so softly.
“Runner doesn’t think so”, Oran replied. “They’re determined, but not... unfriendly. Hey – the guy in front is carrying a pair of rods. Wonder what that means?”
Antonio turned to a slender figure riding behind and to the side, one of the Yankee Snatched along as interpreters. “Frank – you’re our brain, here. What do two rods mean?”
Frank nudged his horse up by Oran. “Rods, or like bundles of sticks?”
“Huh – you’re right, they’re more like bundles of sticks. I think they’re carved out of one piece. It looks like they’re supposed to be held together by ribbons.”
“Right”, Frank responded. “Is there an axe head sticking out of a side?”
“No axe heads”, Oran informed him. “One has something like a hammer head, though. Oh – the rods are tied together. It’s a really thin cord, kinda golden.”
Frank frowned. “Okay, a bundle of sticks would be a fasces – what came to stand for fascism, later. In Rome it was a symbol of government, like police power or something. I’ve never heard of having two, tied together or not. There’s a statue of a famous Roman, Cincinnatus, in Cincinnati – city on the Ohio river – that carries one. I think it has an axe head. I never heard of a hammer head.”
“Onatah said they’re all peaceful”, Oran recalled. “Maybe a hammer is supposed to be peaceful.”
Frank nodded at that. “Sure – if you turned pacifist, you’d change the axe head or get rid of it. Only one fasces has it?”
“Right.”
“Okay... they’re different, so I think they stand for two different things, two different sources of authority. A guess: if these were just Romans, I’d say one stands for the Senate and one stands for the people, the old
Senātus Populusque Rōmānus, the Senate and people of Rome. Those were the two powers in the Roman Republic, before they had emperors. But with other people, one might stand for the Romans and the other for the non-Romans.” Frank shrugged. “Though your Haudenosaunee talk like they’re one people, so that’s probably wrong.”
Oran laughed softly. Apache was stepping in place, stopped in front of the man with the fasces. Cristobal sat statue-like in the saddle, looking ahead through the gate as though the group in front of him weren’t there. “I bet they don’t like that!”
“If they’re official representatives, it’s not an insult, I think”, Frank ventured. “He’s just a banner-bearer, so his status doesn’t allow him to talk to them.” He chuckled. “Apache still marching, though, that could seem rude!”
“We’ll find out when we get there”, Antonio stated. A half dozen lancers, chosen because they were very close in size and their horses matched in color, rode between them and Cristobal. “I wish I could give those guys orders, though.” But the corporal in charge got it right; he sent three right, three left, and they formed up behind Cristobal, turning to face the road, making a short aisle for Antonio to ride up through.
“Runner says they’re impressed”, Oran related. “That was pretty smart.”
“Yeah, it was.” Antonio was about to compliment the corporal when his estimation of the man jumped a notch: as he and Oran ride up, the first pair drew swords and saluted with blade to forehead; as they reached the next pair, and the next, those did the same. When Antonio passed them, the swords came down, blades flat across knees.
Cristobal moved aside, to the left, and Apache stood still – or maybe the horse had made that decision. Antonio stopped, Oran halted a quarter meter farther back, and Frank a full meter. The man with the fasces looked them over, bowed slightly, and addressed Antonio. – who didn’t understand a word, except he thought he heard “pax”. He waved Frank forward; Oran moved his horse sideways to let the translator in.
“Wow. It’s devolved Latin, with Spanish, and something Slavic, plus some Haudenosaunee words, and some I don’t recognize at all”, Frank announced. “Um... okay; let me try.” He spoke slowly, carefully. Now it was the delegation’s leader’s turn to bring someone up to help.
It became a language lesson. After three or four minutes, Oran acted on a hunch: swinging down, he stepped forward – careful to remain just slightly farther back than Antonio – and called out to one of the twelve, an older man with darker skin than the rest, speaking Haudenosaunee. Eyebrows shot up, as their owner came forward and responded. Intuition suggested his next step: Oran asked if any spoke the language of the Quistadors, repeating the question in that dialect of Spanish. Quickly, another man came forward.
Oran called Cristobal over. “Use your language to try to learn theirs”, he instructed. “Don’t tell them anything about us – nothing. Just try to learn their words.”
Very soon thereafter, Oran and Cristobal were helping Frank learn his way through the town’s language, serving as assistants to the translator. Antonio was mildly amused that they wouldn’t do a two-step translation, or let someone else speak. For all he knew, the guy with the fasces spoke Haudenosaunee and Spanish, too, but was determined to use his own language. He grew bored quickly, though, and signaled for ale to be brought. The leader of the town seemed to relax a little at that sight, and gave a quick call over his shoulder. Just seconds later, girls came trotting out of the larger crowd, bringing wineskins – and cups.
“Oran – can Tepocah take your place?” Antonio asked when he’d started to get bored again.
“Sure – he speaks everything I do.” Oran said something to his counterpart, then turned and whistled, a bit of a complex rhythm and set of notes. Tepocah came at a sprint. Oran took a few seconds to explain the switch.
“Okay, what’s up?” asked Scout Two when he’d joined Antonio.
“These are Romans, right? I mean, it looks like the Romans took over..”
“Looks that way”, Oran agreed. “So?”
“This is taking forever. Maybe we should have the lancers do something that would impress the Romans.”
Oran shook his head. “Or scare them? We don’t know what they’ll think of anything we do. I say we wait.”
“Scouts are good at waiting”, Antonio groused.
“So are hunters” Oran countered. “You’re waiting for your prey.”
Antonio scowled. “I hate stand hunting.” He drank some ale. “Are they even going to let us into the town?!”
Oran recognized the importance of that question. “If they aren’t, we should camp. I think Frank knows enough to ask that.” He went forward and interrupted with that question.
“Not with weapons”, Oran informed Antonio several minutes later. “I say we camp.”
“Yeah.” Antonio resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “How have these people survived out here without weapons?” he asked the sky. “Hey – I’ve got it! We do a Roman-style camp, nice and square, two streets, and everything.”
Oran grinned. “Right across their road. But didn’t the Romans dig a ditch and make a wall?”
“Whatever – tell the captain to do his best.”
That best turned out to be considerable. Some bright officer had decided each man should carry two stout stakes, for a number or uses. They didn’t have enough for an actual stockade, but a good line of rib-high posts went in. Bound by a rope tied firmly to each one, it made a fence that would be hard for any foe to get through – though perhaps the Foe would chew through it quickly. Antonio made a mental note to find a way to test that, as something that would be definitely worth knowing. Tents went up in neat rows instead of their customary circles, With Antonio’s tent just off the intersection. It was a crisp, clean operation, causing Antonio to realize that Tanner must have trained them in it.
When the layout was done and men were stowing gear in tents, one of the local dozen leaders (and/or greeters) approached Oran. He spoke carefully, a mix of Spanish and Haudenosaunee mostly, enough that Oran understood. “He says the camp looks like what the histories tell”, Oran passed on. “He is impressed and wonders if we have Ronam blood.”
Antonio chuckled. “Tell him yes, but very distant – and no one greatly important.”
Moments later Oran returned. “He says he thought he was seeing the blood of sergeants and centurions, ever dependable. He also said some will be upset, but we are welcome to camp there.”
Antonio estimated the distance. “Well, we’re not in any fields -- and we’re out of regular bowshot of the gate, so they shouldn’t see any threat. Not that we are one.”
Oran nodded agreement. “I’m going back to learning”, he declared, and did that.
The camp impressed, but didn’t speed anything up. Antonio imagined himself in a brush blind, the mass of people a herd of something like deer, the dozen leaders an advance group of the herd. Each animal had to be examined and assessed, so he could make his choice as to which had the best qualities.
<hunter waits well> Oran turned at the thought.
Yes, he agreed, seeing Antonio’s relaxed but intent patience.
Hope he doesn’t worry them, he added to himself,
like he’s assessing defenses. Not that the place had any defenses, other than decorative hedges and rows of low trees he guessed were windbreaks.
Finally Frank bowed, then retreated. “Ready to talk?” Antonio asked.
“I wish”, came the reply, with a weary shake of the head. “I’m talented in languages, but I sure wouldn’t want that guy for a professor – he’s picky! And he refuses to actually say things in a simpler way. I have to be up to his standard, or nothing.” Antonio noticed the crowd was already thinning, while Oran and Cristobal also bowed and returned.. “For now, I sleep on it. I’ll teach you a little, but I want dinner and sleep.” He looked at Oran. “Sorry, guys, but in the morning I’ll be ‘way ahead of you – over half of what I learned today will come naturally in the morning. That’s how my talent works – I sweat like mad, and absorb when I sleep. It’s about twenty times faster in this world, though.”
“All sorts of gifts got improved in this world”, Oran responded. “And with gifts come responsibilities, huh?”
“‘And on the third day, Jesus rose again from the dead’”, Antonio quoted. It was the third morning since their arrival. “So are you actually going to talk with him today?”
Frank nodded. “If I don’t screw up the welcome ritual.” He rolled his eyes and looked skyward a moment, then back at his breakfast companions. “These people have rituals for everything!”
“For sex?” quipped Cristobal.
Frank laughed. “Probably. But first the rituals for meeting the girl, then for meeting the parents!” After more laughter he sighed deeply. “Thanks, C-Scout – I needed a good laugh.”
Cristobal considered that. “I think ‘need’ isn’t the right word. But it was beneficial to you.”
Frank nodded. “And a good reminder of how we use words lightly. Oran, I didn’t get a report from you last night. Impressions?”
Scout Two nodded. “Yeah. They’re fascinated by the camp – the Roman-identifying ones are really getting into their history. The elders love us for it – they have trouble passing down traditions to the kids. And I finally got an honest admission that we Scouts make them nervous – not the Romans so much as the d’Aragon. Some are calling it ‘sorcery’.” He shook his head lightly. “The First People think that argument is amusing – they seem to find it very reasonable that talents arise from nature. Really, that’s all that’s new.”
“Everything helps”, Frank responded. “So – are we all ready? By our marks on the shadow pole, we’ve got about fifteen minutes.”
Antonio looked left at the gate of the camp, what had become the assembly area. He’d invented their own ritual, which the Delegation, as they were calling the town’s representatives, had matched: they’d all mount and ride up just like at first, then dismount and bow, exchange polite greetings, and then everyone but six guards and the translation team would mount and ride back to camp. A gate now rose at the entrance facing the town – it gave a backdrop to the daily ceremony – and sheds lined the northwest corner, a precaution Antonio hoped he wouldn’t need. The constant improvements had earned them respect, too. Now lancers were forming up at the gate, and the first rings of a blacksmith’s hammer pealed out from near the sheds. “Yeah, we’re ready. Oran – weapons?”
“None – small knives only.” The Scout grinned ruefully. “But all the banner guys have to do is drop the banners, and those poles become spears.”
The lancers had refused to be without any weapons at all; the knives passed for eating utensils, and the banners were a deception Antonio wasn’t happy with. “Stubborn jackasses”, he muttered. “Cristobal, go make sure they remember my warning.” The young Scout rolled his eyes and took off; he wasn’t sure he believed that Antonio would kill any who let the weapons show. Oran had told him that what Antonio said, he did, but the former Quistador wasn’t convinced. But the warning had an effect: bannermen lowered their poles and pretended to check the hooks for the banners while actually they tightened the false ends.
“Okay, let’s do it”, Antonio declared, tossing back a final gulp of warmed wine. Oran stood slowly, an amused smile playing on his face. “Okay, what?” asked Antonio.
“You know why we’ve been frustrated? Up home, we’re all so used to being able to talk to everyone important. Eraigh and his Hall can bestow languages in days or less. We switch languages and don’t even realize it. But here we’ve got a language barrier.”
“And because of a language barrier, an invisible barrier that keeps us out”, Frank added.
“And a barrier around our camp to say something we don’t have the language for?” Antonio quipped. “Barriers all over. Now move – let’s go break some.”
<two-arch 17th-century type Spanish ceremonial gate>
(Hugs seem to have been "left behind".)
!!](/images/smilies/bang.gif "Brick wall ](*,)")
