Island in the Sea of Time (12 page)

 

D
aurthunnicar son of Ubrotarix hid his relief as the last of the ponies swam ashore from where they’d been pushed off the decks; that was safer for their legs than scrambling over the sides of a beached ship. The stocky hammerheaded beasts shook themselves, snapping and kicking as their masters led them up the beach, whinnying at the pair hitched to the chariot in which he stood. Transporting horses across open sea was like a dream sent by the Night Ones, endless toil and danger. He made a sign with the bronze-headed tomahawk thonged to his wrist to avert ill luck at the thought. But they’d lost few of the chariot ponies that were the wealth and strength of the tribe. Lost hardly anything, in truth. One boat swept away and gone when the weather turned bad, no more. He’d feared worse, for his people were not sailors, although they’d dwelt near the shores of the sea a hand and half a hand of generations. Before that they came from the east, from the hills and great rivers and endless forests, and in the distant times of the heroes and gods-among-us they’d lived on the sea of grass where the sun rose.

The two great ships drawn up on the shore were another sign that his luck was good once more, his luck and the luck of his clan and tribe; he’d bargained for weeks to gain the help of the southron traders, offering goods and trading rights. Without them it would have taken a long time to get the whole of his people across the waters to the White Island, if it could have been done at all. As it was, most of the folk and their goods had come in canoes and rafts and coracles of tanned, tarred bullhide. A few now camped in the round wattle huts of the Earth Folk village that had been here before the Iraiina came; the rest up and down the shore in hide tents and boothies made of branches and turf, more than enough in these warm spring days. The traders had their own tents, near the beached ships—a sensible precaution, Daurthunnicar thought, although their leaders had drunk mead with him from a single cup where their blood had mingled, and sworn oaths to his gods and theirs. He put more trust in their need of him, and of the price he’d promised for their aid.

Their leader came toward him, a slight dark man in a tunic of fine Southland linen stained by the sea, with a cloak over his shoulder held by a golden brooch. A short bronze sword hung from his studded belt, and a knife; the men who followed him carried shield and spear, or bows. The traders traded where the local folk were strong, but they were ready enough to raid if the pickings looked good. The chariot chieftain had seen their men fight; they were well armed and well ordered, and their ships were wonders—sixty feet long, with a score of oars on either side and a square sail. Daurthunnicar raised his ax again, in salute, but he kept the advantage of height that the chariot gave him. The young nephew who held the reins kept the restive ponies motionless.

“Diawas Pithair
give you strength,” he said politely, invoking the Sky Father who was the overgod of the Iraiina. “And the Horned Man ward the Night Ones from the paths of your dreams.”

Isketerol of Tartessos inclined his head. “And the Lady of the Horses be gracious to you, chieftain, and make your herds fertile,” he said with equal courtesy.

He spoke the tongue of the Iraiina people well, but with an accent and choice of words unlike anything Daurthunnicar had ever heard. He’d said that he’d learned it not far from the shores of the Middle Sea, where kindred tribes had come to make their camps long before.

“We have fulfilled our oath,” the merchant went on. “All your people are here, safe and hale.”

Daurthunnicar grinned. “Hale when they stop puking,” he said. “And I and the vanguard have begun to make good our word, as well. Come.”

The Tartessian stepped up into the car; the wicker floor gave slightly under his weight, but the framework of light wood beneath was strong, and a chariot could hold three at a pinch. The driver chucked his tongue and leaned forward, and the shaggy ponies broke into a walk, then a trot. Daurthunnicar stood effortlessly erect despite the bumping of the unsprung wheels over rut and clod and root, knees and balance keeping him so with a skill learned since he was barely able to toddle. Isketerol did well enough for a sailor, only needing to lay one steadying hand lightly on the leather bucket that held javelins when the war-car was rigged for battle. The merchant’s men trotted after, along with a half-dozen of Daurthunnicar’s own war band, younger sons and such who had sworn themselves to his personal service. Men hailed the chief as he passed through the encampment, through the smoke of fires and the smells of cooking, sweat and horse dung and damp wool. It didn’t stink too badly, despite the sprawling disorder; the chief and his clan leaders and the heads of household saw to that, and they wouldn’t be here much longer anyway. Women and
diasas—
slaves—bowed low as the chariot went by, sun winking on ornaments of bronze and gold studding the wicker sides and the harness of the horses.

His driver drew rein before a rough pen of woven saplings. Inside were a score of captives; Earth Folk, natives of the island, taken prisoner in the month since the vanguard came ashore. Some of them bore wounds, but the invaders hadn’t bothered to gather in any of the severely injured. Guards lifted their spears and cried Daurthunnicar hail as he leapt down.

“Good strong ones,” he said to his ally. “The women are comely—I’ve had a few myself. They and the men will work hard if they’re beaten well, and the children can be raised to any useful task. We’ve taken gold and copper, as well; hides, furs, grain. Your ships will not go empty from our new land.”

Isketerol nodded, appraising the captives carefully through the bruises and dirt that were their only clothing. “The mines at home can always use more hands,” he said.

Daurthunnicar smiled. It wasn’t safe to keep too many unfree males about, even of the rabbit-hearted Earth Folk.
Hmm. When we’ve beaten them thoroughly, we’ll leave the villages that submit standing. They can pay tribute.
Thus had his ancestors done with the Earth Folk on the mainland, and over generations remade them in their own image.

“A fine beginning,” Isketerol went on.

“And only a beginning,” Daurthunnicar agreed.

He looked north and west where the wildwood fenced in sight. Inland were open downs his scouts had traveled, and farther west still were the larger kingdoms of the Earth Folk. There they had once built their circles of standing stones, bigger even than the ones on the mainland. There they had gold, copper, tin, herds. True, they were many, but once he’d won some initial victories to show that luck and Sky Father and the
Mirutha
were with him, he could summon more warriors from across the narrow sea. The tribes were on the move there, pressed by their own growing numbers and by new migrants from the eastern lands; the
Keruthinii
were distant kinfolk, but no less fierce and greedy for that.

Young men would come to pledge their axes to him, and perhaps households and clans after them. His folk would grow strong and spread over the land, and it would be theirs and their sons’, and their sons’ sons’.

The High Chief of the Iraiina smiled at his tomorrows.

 

“Reveille, reveille; heave out, trice up, lash and stow, lash and stow!”

The whistling pipes and the orders echoed through the
Eagle
. On the quarterdeck the officer of the watch nodded and the brass bell was struck, its clear metallic tones echoing across the deck.

“Sir!” the master-at-arms barked. “Crew turned out!”

Marian Alston smiled and cocked an ear at the sounds from the deck above, familiar as heartbeat. Now the mops began flogging the deck; scrub down weather decks, sweep down compartments, wipe down deckhouses. The harsh rasp of holystones on wet teak sounded. She finished her morning routine of stretching and chin-ups on the bar in the corner of her cabin and did a few
kata
—the sort you could do with barely arm’s length on either side—before padding into the bathroom to brush her teeth. 0630 hours, and she was actually looking forward to the fried fish of breakfast; she left the last of the cornflakes to those who really needed them. Seasickness had never been one of her problems, even in the sort of blow they’d had last week south of Iceland: hundred-foot seas and freezing sleet.

And today . . .

“Today we ought to sight land,” she said ten minutes later, sliding into her place at the wardroom table; the commanding officer usually ate breakfast and lunch in the officers’ wardroom and dinner in the flag cabin aft. There was a buzz of speculation among the morning watch. Next the night-watch reports, the ship’s situation-and-condition summary; freshwater consumption, distance to nearest point of land . . . Everything routine, or as routine as it could be under the circumstances.

“I still say Bristol would be a better bet, ma’am,” Lieutenant Hendriksson said.

Alston shook her head, neatly filleting her cod while compensating for the roll of the ship and grabbing a sliding saltshaker in automatic reflex. “The Southampton area has more natural deep water, Ms. Hendriksson,” she said. “What did we run tonight?” Under minimal sail, for caution’s sake.

“Ninety miles, ma’am.”

There was more conversation, passing by her in a meaningless buzz as she lost herself in thought.

“Good morning, Captain.” A cadet stood at her elbow. “Officer of the deck reports the approach of eight o’clock. Permission to strike eight bells on time.”

“Make it so.” She followed him up the companionway ladder and faced aft to salute the steaming ensign on the gaff.

“Captain on deck!”

“Captain Alston here,” she said crisply to the quarterdeck watch, returning their salutes.

Alston strode around the radio shack to the wheel and stood with her hands clasped behind her back. The morning wind was fresh from the southeast, stiffening, and the sky was blue but hazed around the horizon, a last few stars fading as winds and shadows fell toward the west. No weather satellites now; she cocked an experienced eye and made an estimate. The smell was salt and intensely clean. Perhaps it was imagination, but she thought there was a keener scent to it than up in the twentieth . . . the currents and winds seemed to follow pretty much the same pattern as the one she knew, though.

“Looks to me like she’ll quicken,” she said to the sailing master. “But not enough to give us another blow.”

“I agree, ma’am,” he said, stifling a yawn; he’d been up since the relief watch was called at 0345. “Shall we let her run?”

Alston nodded. It was time to resume full speed; they’d made good time across the eerily empty northern Atlantic, under full press ahead day and night. The last two days they’d been more cautious, working south around Ireland and up toward the southern English coast . . . or what would someday become the southern English coast, after Celt and Roman and Saxon and Dane and Norman had come and gone. . . .

“And you should get some sleep, Mr. Hiller,” she said.

The sailing master had been on the ship years longer than she, and he regarded
Eagle
as he might a beautiful, willful, and rather retarded child that had to be watched and cherished every moment.

“Sail stations,” she said, when he had taken his leave. “On the fore, on the main, set uppers and lowers.”

“Uppers and lowers, aye!” Lieutenant Walker echoed her; he was OOD right now. They were a bit overofficered, even without all the cadets’ instructors on board, and she’d suspended the practice of having upperclassmen stand watches for now. He turned and went on:

“Lay aloft and loose all sail!”

Orders ran across the deck. The crew swarmed up the ratlines and out along the yards, or prepared to haul.

“Let fall!”

The crew aloft released the gaskets that held the furled upper sails on the yards. She kept a critical eye on that; if anyone was slow the whole weight of the sail would hang on the unreleased gasket, and it might have to be cut. This time it went smoothly, leaving all the sails in gear, ready to be deployed.

We’re gettin’ a lot of practice,
Alston thought.

“Sheet home the lower topsail. Belay!”

“Throw off the buntlines, ease the clewlines!”

“Haul around on the sheets.”

The white canvas blossomed free, running up the masts from bottom to top. The ship gathered way, a living feeling that came up through the feet and legs as she bounded forward. Alston laid a hand on a backstay to sense the huge strain as the standing rigging passed the force of the sails to the hull.

“Walk away with the halyard! Ease the upper topsail braces!”

Almost done now, smooth curves stretching taut over her head. No need to overhaul, plenty of wind to set the foot of the sails against the weight of the lines.

“A little to starboard, if you please, Mr. Walker,” she said quietly, without taking her eyes off the sails. Her legs felt the heave of the deck and the way the long sharp bows cut the waves, and her skin gauged wind and spray.

“Ease starboard, haul port, handsomely port!” the junior officer shouted over the quarterdeck rail.

The
Eagle
gathered way, heading northeast on a course that might have been drawn on the water with a ruler. The sun still had its lower edge dipped in the water, turning the low cloud there fire-crimson. Alston looked at the polished brass clinometer on the deckhouse. The ship was heeled to eighteen degrees, and they were making a good twelve knots. Excellent, but the wind was favorable, twenty degrees off her stern to starboard. Four cadets were draped over the lee rail, their safety lines snapped on, returning their breakfast to the ocean whence it came, but the rest were settling down nicely. If anything, the enlisted crew were showing more in the way of problems, which was a little surprising. There seemed to be a hump for everyone, when suddenly they stopped just knowing what had happened to them and
believed
it, down in the gut and blood. That was the crisis point, and if they got through it, they were safe enough. Keeping them working, hands blistered and backs aching, helped them over the hump. It reduced the feeling of unreality, of being lost in a nightmare dream.