Aries Fire (24 page)

Berit obeyed with relief and ran into the meats cellar behind the cookery.

“Vin, ci si, Berit,” Seira called out to her.

Seira needed to clean the knife and asked for wine.  Berit brought her an entire flask. Seira spilled the wine across the blade and wiped it clean with one of her linens.

The baby’s head peeked in and out like a turtle Seira had once seen on the shore of Alexandria.

“Come now little one,” she said, ignoring the cries of the mother.

Seira had midwifed many women and suddenly thought it odd that she had no desire to speak to this mother, who’s face she’d seen for only a moment.

The mother cried out in a thick Germanic dialect as Berit held her hand and spoke to her in a common tongue.

Perhaps this is Berit’s kin, she thought.

Seira was forced to insert her hand into the woman’s vagina to assist the child’s stuck shoulder. One sucking pop and he was out; a boy born in Attila’s house.

Seira quickly examined the boy and cleaned his palette causing the babe to cry out with strong lungs.  His mother groaned and spoke something repeatedly.

Seira began to clean the woman, while Berit took the baby and swaddled him: his mother’s arms already outstretched for her child.

Seira looked up momentarily at the sight before tossing the bloodied sheets to the floor and washing her hands of blood in the remaining water. She stood and respectfully smiled at the mother who grabbed her hand and nodded.

“Eu recunoscator,” she said in her exhaustion.

Seira smiled assuming the woman thanked her.

“It is a pleasure to help,” she said. And added, “Well, that was most unexpected.”

The mother thrust the babe into Seira’s arms and said proudly,

“Attila feu.”

Seira tried to refuse holding the child, but the mother insisted. The name Attila aroused Seira’s attention.

“With apologies, I don’t understand you,” Seira said. “But what about Attila?” she asked.

“Attila feu,” the woman said again and Berit smiled wide and patted the woman’s head.

Seira looked down at the baby. He looked like any other baby to her, endearing but most assuredly, wrinkled and gaunt.  Any child that wasn’t hers looked like any other baby.

At that moment Attila entered the room.

“You are here,” Attila stared at Seira.

Seira stared back. It had been nearly four months since he laid siege to the Roman-held Balkan lands.  Her heart beat a little faster seeing him. Almost forgetting about the child she held snugly in her arms, she looked away and then back at Attila lightheartedly.

“I am here. And he? He is here, too,” Seira laughed in jest.

“A son? Aya!” he exclaimed and reached for him.

The baby cried, the mother laughed, and Seira stood motionless and breathless.  Words eluded her. She heard crashing sounds in her head.

“Your son,” she said plainly, forcing a smile. “And this is?” Seira motioned toward the mother.

“She is Batkhuyag. She is my wife,” he said.

Attila averted his gaze from Seira. 

“Yag is the name she hears best,” he said.

Seira shot Attila a look that held his heart in remorse.

“Your wife,” Seira whispered and turned her head to the side to acknowledge her.

Yag reached for her child and Attila. He handed the boy to her and left the room without touching his wife.  Yag hid her momentary shame and Seira hid hers as well. Seira followed Attila. Yag cursed Seira with one long stare for causing an invidious moment, spoiling her birthing feat.  Attila’s wife was demeaned in her strange new home.  Seira managed to gain an enemy while bringing a life into the world and she chided herself briefly before running after Attila.

“Attila,” Seira flew at him and slapped him on the back.

He was out of the house already and making haste to the outskirts of the village. Attila spun around and squinted in the sun. Sweat glistened on his shoulders.  Dried blood streaked his vestment.

He most likely had not slept in days yet managed to maintain a dignity that Seira could not help noticing. Especially after being slapped foolishly by a jealous woman.

“Bleda has prisoners, they need of a healer,” he said. “Bring your things.”

Seira became incredulous at hearing that vile name over and over in her head.

She screamed, “AHHHH,” and pulled at her hair.

A rush of anger ensued and Seira slapped Attila across the face. Immediately regretting her actions, she felt the need to do it again chancing that it might end her sudden and immature paroxysm.

Her hand swung at his face and his arm shot up and caught her wrist, frozen in the air as they stood face to face.

Attila grabbed Seira by the shoulders and forced her backwards; her back hit hard against a tree.

She cried out with a muffled sound. Her fists flung at him. Catching those with adept speed as though seizing flying arrows, he pushed her hands back and leaned into her.

“I wait for you. For you!” he seethed with rage and simultaneous passion.

This disarmed Seira and she became promptly limp in his grip.

The power she held over him crashed over her like a wave of sand.  A thick wall of tiny coarse and gritty feelings gave her an instant headache. Attila could take her like a common whore, but chose to respect her. Seira felt childish and stubborn, confused in her repressed sexuality.

She knew he had lovers, but out of respect for Seira, he kept them separate from her until now. What a foolish woman she deemed herself to be. The Hun way was to have many wives to create a horde of international heirs that would one day lay claim to the world. But he would declare her as the One wife, if she gave her consent.

Huns have much wives, echoed the words of Aymelek.

Aymelek was Mundzuk’s chosen One, even though he had many other nameless wives, Seira thought.

Attila’s passion and his passionate restraint for Seira suddenly became unfathomable to her.

Of course, she thought, it is too much for him to bear, of course!

Attila heaved breaths and stared at his Rhetman. Seira and Attila both knew that for him to have her, it must be of her own will and with complete abandon.

Seira was afraid.

“You have fear in your eyes,” he said to her, lightening his grip, but not releasing his touch. “I will have you at your will. Yours,” he entreated.

Seira didn’t know why this was happening now.

“Do you love Yag?” Seira almost gagged saying the name.

“No,” he said.

Attila released his hold on Seira. Their bodies within inches of each other, Seira felt his heat and his heartbeat like a drum pounding out an impatient beat.

“Decide.”

“What?” Seira felt out of breath and utterly frightened to commit to any pronouncement.

Why is he doing this? Her head shrieked.

 Attila poured his eyes over her lips. He whispered to them as if they held influence over Seira’s conclusion.

“Whoever the heart loves…” he stopped talking.

Seira closed her eyes and sighed aloud with resignation.

“Ohh,” slipped past her lips and he kissed them.

His mouth was warm.

Not like Bleda.

He touched her nowhere else save for her mouth.

Not like Bleda.

She opened it wider and invited him inside.

Not like Bleda.

As Attila extended his tongue into her mouth, without warning Alexander entered her mind. Conflict routed her. Seira pulled slightly back and tensed her jaw.

Attila retracted and looked at her. They said nothing.  He turned and walked toward the tents. Just then two magpies swooped overhead causing Seira to pause her disquiet.

Ya yikyik ya yikyik yikyikaw, they screeched.

The pair flew in unison and darted beneath a slanted tree branch circling the trunk. A gust of wind blew upward from the ground and Seira’s hair flew as quickly as the birds.

Too many stories had she heard of magpies and their omens. Mongols say magpies are such creatures that have control over weather. A burning chill quivered through Seira’s spine. Her arms wrapped around herself in a stable hold.

In Germania, two magpies portend a fortuitous marriage.

“Huh,” she said.

She was forced to place her thoughts on the prisoners captured and brought in by Bleda’s men.  Seira prepared remedies for their doctoring.  She wondered why Bleda kept captives assuming he’d be quick to cut the throat of every human he seized.  There was so much she still didn’t know about the Huns and it maddened her.

They’ll have me attend them only to murder them, she thought bleakly.

Seira thought the worst of Bleda. He may have killed his own father. No one would ever know. Perhaps Attila, in his wise, aggressive ways, would discern the truth some day.

Seira walked toward the protected tent with medicines for the prisoners.  Summer brought with it large mosquitoes that bit her legs.  She swatted them and thought about Attila.  He was watchful of Bleda, vigilant in Bleda’s presence.  Seira took comfort in that thought.  Bleda took no notice of her.

Seira walked past the thick, hanging trees and nodded to the Hun guard as she entered the prisoners’ tent. There was only one oil lamp.  Flies buzzed.  The stench of blood, moldy earth, and olive oil hung heavy in the air. The light was dim at best. She sighed seeing three men lain out on the floor.

Another Hun guard entered the tent. Seira leaned over one man.  His body was shredded in wounds and blood.  She knelt down but didn’t need to touch him.  She held her hand to her mouth. He already began to smell.

“Dosdo,” she said, informing the guard of the dead prisoner.

The Hun nodded and grabbed the soldier’s ankles.  Limp arms made trails in the dirt as he was dragged out of the tent.

Seira brought the lamp over the to next man.  He moaned intermittently. She spoke to him in Latin, assuming he was a Roman soldier, although for a moment, Seira thought him too old to be a soldier.

“I am Rhetman,” she said.  “Oh, no, what am I saying?” she muttered.

Seira leaned over the man and spoke up. “Medicus, I must examine your wounds. I will not harm you.”

Seira assisted the man in what ways she could.  He would most likely die by morning, but the potion she gave him would relieve his pain somewhat.

She enacted her duty perfunctorily. Her mind drifted to Isaac.  Where was he now? It had been almost fourteen years since she’d seen him last.  She wished she could see him and tell him that he had been kind.  And that she no longer believed that he abandoned her to the Huns.

Her head ached.  She needed to be done with this business of killing and dying. And now with Bleda returned, there would be no safe moments. She wondered how her life evolved to this moment. A woman of thirty-six years was considered matronly.  Seira had never had a lover.  Although, with her assent…

No, I cannot, she thought, stubbornly squelching her desire for Attila.

Bitter regrets were no use now.  She moved onto the next prisoner.  He lay sleeping or unconscious. 

Seira examined his head for wounds.  A small bump atop his crown, no more than that.  They must have hit him hard, yet there was no major injury, no blood.  Seira felt relieved for this man.  She removed his armament and greaves.  The lamplight glided over his body.  Seira saw a small cut near his waist. She prepared an ointment and bandage.  She spoke aloud to break the exasperating silence in the tent.

“Who are you, soldier?  Hmm? What does Bleda have planned for your hopeless life?  I had a friend once.  He was a rabbi.  He used to make me laugh.  I doubt you will ever laugh again and I’m sorry for it,” she said, finishing her task.

Seira arose to stretch and gather her bandages and bowls.

“I’ve a laugh or two left.  And you?” the prisoner said in Egyptian.

Seira, surprised by his alertness, stared at the shadows.  She lifted the lamp in his direction.

“What do you mean? Who are you?” she asked.

“I think you’ve been with the Huns too long.  Where is your girlish charm?”

Seira listened to the voice, struck speechless in her overwhelm.  She believed her headaches created a mental deception.

“It cannot be!” she exclaimed.

She glanced at the tent flap to make sure no one was about to enter.  Seira hurried to the flap and handed the guard a bowl. She sent him on an errand with the dullest of voices. Her body reeled. Her heart exploded in a moment of elation.

“It is,” he said.  “And by the Stars, here you are!”

The man sat up with some effort and held his head.  Seira ran over to him and dropped to the ground.  She stared at him, within inches and gripped the lamplight tighter to keep her certainty on something her mind knew was real. 

“It cannot be,” she whispered.

He put his hands on her shoulders.  A touch so long forgotten, revived in an instant.  With it brought a flood of emotion and feeling.  Seira came alive.  She pulled him to her and held him tightly, afraid to let go her shaking grip.

“I have been looking for you forever,” Alexander said softly, sweetly.

Seira almost collapsed hearing those words.  The lamp fell softly and extinguished in the dirt.

Strong arms held firm.  Seira let her tears roll and tried to control her outcry.  The sound of his voice melted her very soul.  She kept her eyes closed and rocked with him in her arms.

“Alexander,” she whispered. “Alexander.”

Her life could end here and it would have been enough.  She pushed thoughts away to revel in feeling.  Here, in one moment, an eternity of violence never existed. She inhaled Alexander and felt the warmth of his skin. Never again would she take a life, hate her life.

As it was, Seira’s curiosity could never be satisfied. She pushed his shoulders back with a strong grip to look at him.

“It is you.  By the stars, how?”

Her face beamed.  A feminine touch sparked within her.  She caressed his face.  Alexander smiled. His eyes sparkled in the diffused light of the tent.  Seira pulled him to her breast and tickled his ear with the tip of her nose.  Sober senses spoke and she flung her head back.

“They will kill you,” she said.

“Hazaad,” he said and furrowed his brow.  “Well then, there’s no time. Take off your tunic and let me see you naked before I die.”