“You could betray us to them,” she said abruptly. “You could inform the Moors that we are going to attack them, and they would be ready for us. Those who survive would be yours to command. This clan would follow you as they have followed me.” She slipped away from him, keeping a distance between them.
“I do not seek a clan. You know this.” He sighed as he recognized her disbelief. “There is another reason you may believe I will say nothing to the Moors, one you may find more persuasive.”
This extenuation caught her curiosity. “What would that be?”
He took a deep breath. “I will not approach the Moorish soldiers because I am the one they are hunting.”
Text of a report from Karif ibn Azim ibn Salah near Usca to Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq in Karmona.
In the name of Allah, the All-Seeing, the All-Compassionate, the All-Protecting, I Karif ibn Azim ibn Salah, set this down for the use and intelligence of Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq. May I be struck blind and dumb if I misrepresent my findings in any way, or seek to mislead Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq through my report, submitted at the new moon as required.
In regard to the escaped slave, San-Ragoz, we have, in accordance with the orders of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa, your nephew and son of the Emir—may Allah give him long life, weak enemies, and many healthy sons—continued our search for him. We have crossed the Iberuz at Zaraugusta and have learned that a man meeting his description was kept in a cell here some days ago. He said he was fulfilling a religious vow, and had to continue for the sake of his faith. The Imam, Dawud ibn Jumah, saw him and heard him in his court. Because San-Ragoz said he had taken a boat to cross the river in order to preserve in a religious pilgrimage, he was given five lashes with the short whip and released; there was no reason to detain him at that time. The Imam further told us that there was no sign of any brand on San-Ragoz’s shoulder or he would surely have been held in their prison.
It is said that this San-Ragoz is a great physician and if he is able to erase scars, this must be so. We will amend our dispatches regarding him to state that the slave-brands may be missing. However, if San-Ragoz is bound for Usca and the pass beyond—and it is the safest road—he may be far enough ahead of us to keep us from being able to catch him before he reaches disputed territory, at which point our task will be far more difficult. It may be that our horses have brought us here faster than he can walk, but in such mountains, it is unlikely that we shall overtake him if he is still ahead of us.
If Allah wills, our pursuit will succeed, if Allah wills otherwise, it will fail. I feel I must say that it is capricious of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa—may Allah give him long life and many worthy sons—to put so many soldiers at risk for the return of one slave, no matter how accomplished that slave may be. I do not intend to be insubordinate, but for the protection of my men, I am moved to ask you, and the Emir’s son, to reconsider our task. Once San-Ragoz reaches the high mountains—which he may well have done already—our efforts must be redoubled and redoubled again to find him. There are many little valleys and remote towns where San-Ragoz may take shelter. Many of these places are so isolated that years may go by without any outsider coming across them. Some of them were hardly known to the Romans, let alone the western Goths who have held the region for generations. If San-Ragoz has found such a place, we might require a long time to root him out, time that could be better spent in the field under the banner of the Prophet. In searching for this one escaped slave, we may be inadvertently aiding the enemies of Islam. While I do not wish to make decisions for Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa, I cannot help but believe the soldiers of the Emir and the Caliph may be better used than pursuing a single slave.
I have divided my men into three units of twenty each, with a horse-handler for each group, and I have assigned each group a portion of the mountains to search. A few have already suffered injuries and have been brought back to Zaraugusta for care, and we have lost ten horses. So long as it is the will of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa that we continue this hunt, we will do so, but I fear I must tell the Emir’s son that the recovery of this slave may be costly indeed.
This will be brought to you, Timuz ibn Musa ibn Maliq, by courier, and your reply brought back to us by the same.
At the new moon, from the valley east of Usca,
Karif ibn Azim ibn Salah
From high in the branches of an oak, San-Ragoz watched the soldiers set up their evening camp; he had followed them most of the day, keeping well to the side of their march but remaining near enough to listen to them as they made their way toward Canthis. When they stopped to pray, he rested, when they sought out the game trails, he matched their progress while remaining out of sight. He had observed their cursory search of the village, and their departure from the huddled buildings; now he scrutinized their actions as he strove to hear all they said. Now that they were camped for the night and a few of them preparing for evening prayers, San-Ragoz had chosen a useful place as a look-out where he could be supported by branches and hidden by leaves. The wind was picking up and there were heavy clouds piling up against the mountains, both of which made the soldiers restive: scraps of their talk came back to him.
“—have taken some loot from the village,” one complained as he inspected the girth of his saddle.
“Nothing to take besides onions and fruit,” said the man beside him. “The beggars of Karmona have more.”
“The bay mare is throwing a splint.”
“Bandage her leg and let no one ride her for three days.” The leader of the soldiers dismissed the horse-handler with a movement of his hand. “The white-footed grey is going lame, too.”
“It’s the mountains; it wears them out.”
“Would you prefer to ride mules?” the horse-handler asked indignantly.
“—that cup filled with pig’s blood.
Pig’s blood!
The creatures are unclean!”
“Can you spare your whetstone?”
“How can I finish stitching my reins before nightfall?” This was addressed to the wind.
“—his buttock filled my hand—so!”
“Tomorrow I’ll take my bow and hunt for birds; a dozen or so should feed us well,” said the man who had brought back a wild kid for their evening meal.
“We have to refill our waterskins. There are streams here, but we need to carry water with us as well.”
“At least there is game in the forest.” The speaker was busy chopping up squash and dropping the chunks into a pot of lentils.
“Not as much as you would expect; they say malign ghosts drive the animals away.”
“That may be so. I have seen no dogs in the villages, or with the shepherds.” This from a man squatting near the fire, waiting for food.
“May Allah preserve us.” He pulled out a string of onions seized at Canthis and began to peel them.
“—and no woman is worth nine horses, not even if she gives me nine sons! Find me another wife.”
“Move that pot! Do you want sparks in the undergrowth?”
“This wretched country. The mountains themselves are against us.”
“—and then return to Usca in two days.” The second in command sounded bored.
“What will we report? We have discovered nothing of use.”
“That may be useful in itself.” The second in command reached for his wooden water-pipe and filled it with tary, acrid seeds and leaves. “Ah, the consolation of smoking.”
Satisfied that the soldiers were set for the night, and with sunset not far off, San-Ragoz came down from the tree and slipped away through the forest, moving effortlessly at a pace faster than running deer. Soon he was on the treeless crest and hurrying toward Chimenae’s stone house as the last of sunset slid away in the west. New cups of animal blood had been left out during the day, but one arch stood empty, mute testament to the presence of Numair ibn Isffah ibn Musa’s soldiers in the region. The body of the man from Canthis had been taken away before dawn; the stone house preserved its splendid isolation.
Chimenae soon emerged shortly after San-Ragoz arrived, saying as she did, “I wish I could go about in daylight, as you do. I become feverish and listless if I try.”
“That is very puzzling,” San-Ragoz told her. “You are on your native earth, so you should be able to walk these slopes with impunity, day or night.” He frowned. “I have been thinking about it, but I have no explanation to offer you as yet.”
“And if you find such an explanation, will you tell me?” She pointed to his face. “I can see your doubts.”
“You would have them, too, were you in my place,” he said.
“As you have said. But you have reservations because you believe I am reckless. I tell you—although you should realize this—I am careful in whom I choose for my tribe,” she assured him.
“And you allow none of the others to bring anyone to this life,” he said, shaking his head.
“Yes. All the others I do not choose are staked or beheaded. Last night, the goat was beheaded. He was infirm, weak of gesture and slurred in his speech, of use to no one but me. He was relieved to die at last. All the two-legged goats die and only I add to our numbers: that has been the rule from the beginning. This way, I am certain the clan will remain loyal to me and no others.” She smiled at him. “I have thought it out, and I know that so long as it is my blood they drink, they are mine.”
“But you are not theirs,” he said, giving voice to what had been troubling him. “They have drunk your blood, but you have not tasted theirs.”
“And I have not tasted yours,” she reminded him. “What is the trouble with that?”
“You lack . . . reciprocity,”he told her. “There has been no exchange of intimacy, not of the intensity that establishes the link with the living earth as with blood. Perhaps that is what makes it difficult for you to cross running water or walk in daylight—you have not had colloquy with others and therefore cannot benefit from the protection of your native earth.”
“Reciprocity? Colloquy? How can there be colloquy? Or reciprocity between the living and the undead? What ludicrous ideas. What would be the purpose?” She laughed, taunting him with her amusement. “You are so ambiguous in the things you say; you delight in being so, I think. How should reciprocity give me that strength? What could I gain from colloquy?
“I cannot tell you, not in such a way that you would understand my perception that you have not fully embodied the totality of our blood; that is one reason for my reservations: I sense that there is some continuity you have not achieved, and it saddens me. You have tasted my blood, therefore you have me in you, and that brings about the blood-bond and all that it encompasses. I would not obfuscate with you even if I could, which I assure you I cannot, nor wish to. I have not tasted your blood, and therefore I cannot comprehend you as I would wish. I do not know if you wish me to understand you, although it seems you would rather I not.” He saw her derisive smile. “You would do well not to mock the bond, for without it, our . . . humanity is lost to us. It is the same with your tribe. They know you far better than you know them.” He heard a cry from the southern flank of the crest, and a moment later, the first of her clan arrived, rushing up the slope as easily as a goat and twice as rapidly. “If you could trust your knowledge, you would recognize this.”
“And be more like you, I suppose?” Her words were barbed; she smiled as she saw him stand a little straighter. “That is your meaning, is it not?”
“No,” he said. “What I mean is that you would be more like yourself.”
She shook her head. “You delude yourself.”
“Possibly,” he allowed.
“We will speak of this later; if I remember.” She turned her back on him to greet the new arrivals. “I am not satisfied.”
San-Ragoz did not try to dispute her decision; he stood in the shadow of her stone house and watched while she gathered her clan about her as she had done the night before. There was the same ritualistic gathering, the same odd formality. Once again Chimenae bestowed approval and reprimand on those who addressed her directly, and treated the rest with a kind of flirtatiousness that had the others vying for her notice.
Aulutiz brought an end to this. “Did he”—he angled his chin toward San-Ragoz—“learn anything of use to us?” The bluntness of the question made the others pay attention to him. “Or did he fail?”
“I have information. You will decide what use it is,” said San-Ragoz, addressing Chimenae.
“Yes. Tell us what you learned,” said Chimenae in a general display of authority. “I want you to describe for all of us what you saw.”
San-Ragoz waited a moment until he was sure Aulutiz would say nothing more. Then he began: “I followed the soldiers Edic found; they are part of a larger company that has been divided into three groups, at least that is what the leader said. They went though Canthis, killing one man and making free with a number of the women and two of the boys. They ransacked the village, leaving disarray behind for the villagers to set to rights. But they took only food and a length of rope for plunder, and they burned no buildings. Their search did not reveal what they sought and their demands got them no closer to it.” He waited for Chimenae to challenge him on this point; when she remained silent, he went on. ”They left Canthis shortly after mid-day and proceeded in a zigzag pattern through the forest. They made camp for the night about four thousand paces north-east from Canthis.”
“So they are closer to us here than they were,” said Aulutiz, grinning in anticipation.
“They will reach this place tomorrow if they continue as they went today,” San-Ragoz said. ”They will arrive by mid-afternoon—when the villagers bring their cups of blood.”
Aulutiz spoke before Chimenae could. “We must not let them come nearer. We must stop them where they are. It would not be advantageous for them to find this place.”
Chimenae gestured for attention. “We must not let the Moors see the villagers bring us their offerings. That would create questions that would not be to our benefit.”