Chapter 49

Miela swiftly added her own sheaf of arrows to the many others raining down on the camp. There was indistinct sounds of agonised squeals and shouts of pain from injured soldiers, but Corvo noted not a sound from his own warriors. They were there to do a job, and that was it. For women, he was astounded at their professionalism.

John regarded such ability from his warriors as the new normal.

Once Miela had sent her final arrow, John took over.

Thanking Corvo, he passed on the order to retire from the battle. “Thank you, my warriors; now go into reverse and head back the way we came. Corvo, is there a wheelbarrow available for Miela? She has an injured foot.”

Corvo indicated the barrow lined with clothing. “The cushioning was donated by the other warriors, to make her journey easier. As you carried her, John, I shall do the pushing of the barrow for the first while, to let her know that we are all proud of her effort. The ladies know the way back; the trail is pretty well marked now.”

Miela began crying softly. John asked her why she was crying, and she explained, “Now my girls can say ‘My mum is a warrior who has been in battle’, so I am very happy I managed to be part of the team’s final effort. That is why I am crying: it is a happy crying, not a sad crying.”

Without a backward glance, the warriors left on their march to the sea, leaving John still panting softly as he at last recovered his wind after that extended carrying effort. He was almost back to normal, but reflected that it had been a long time since he had carried a fellow soldier in an exercise. This time it was not her weight but the distance he had to carry her. It took its toll in sapping his energy.

He dared to look across at the army camp before he prepared to leave. He wanted to see if there was any sign of their night attack having had an effect. His visual scanning showed him nothing but chaos amid the flickering light of the still blazing campfires. Any tents that had gone up in flames had by now subsided to smouldering smelly piles of hides, softly illuminating the wooden framing that used to hold up the hide roof. There were fewer tents burned than he hoped, but it looked as if soldiers who had come to help put out the blaze had arrived just as the standard arrows came down on top of them. John guessed there had been a lot of injuries, and the sounds indicated that as well.

There was no indication of any organised attempt to repel the attackers. In fact, no-one seemed to know where the attack had come from, as it was completely dark beyond the camp edge and the soldiers were milling about in a daze. The uninjured were either looking around fearfully in case of more arrows, or trying to assist the injured with their arrow wounds. The occasional man moaned with pain from burns sustained from contact with burning tents, but far more appeared to have been hit by the normal arrows.

If the officers had enough of their wits about them, they would ask each injured soldier how he was standing when he got hit, then by looking at the angle that the arrow arrived, that would indicate the rough direction of the attacker. Do that for enough soldiers and you have a generalised pointer to the position of the attacking force. Of course, arrows stuck in the ground might give similar information, but if some of these missiles had rebounded or were diverted from hitting something or someone before landing in soft ground, the indicated direction could be confusing. Injured men usually knew how they were standing: which way they were facing in relation to part of the camp, when they got hit, unless the shock had addled their memory, which is often a side effect of shock tactics.

John guessed that such common sense was most likely missing in the officers, so the search for the attackers would be much delayed.

He took a quick look at the spots where the warriors had assumed their firing positions, then scuffed the grass in random directions to conceal anything indicative of their earlier presence. A good tracker would find them eventually by casting their visual examination further, but if there was nothing obvious to be noted, it would take a fair amount of time to organise a trained tracker and have him discover the essential facts. The trees showed no sign of broken branches or branches twisted out of alignment, so he mentally congratulated his team, and followed them into the forest.

Getting to the junction with the main trail, John noted that the passage of 50 people had left distinct signs of their onward passage in a single direction, so he broke off a leafy branch from a nearby tree and swished it around on the ground in both directions, then tramped and stamped his feet backwards and forwards, all the time keeping his toes pointing away from the coast so that any discernible tracks would appear to point in that direction.

To finish, he walked backwards, always trying to put his heels down first in the direction of the coast to keep up the false impression. He continued for as far as he could put up with walking backwards, then trampled the ground into a confusion of prints at that spot, before moving off in the coastal direction as light-footedly as he could manage. At the very minimum, he should have done enough to confuse any tracker for a while, to slow down any chasing pack.

From there he tried jogging for a while in hopes of catching up with his warrior band. He failed in that aim as running in more or less complete darkness is not easy: so he switched to the slower but surer style, walking in the shielded occasional moonlight under the trees. He eventually reached the beach where a wan light from the moon showed him that the warriors were clambering aboard the returned fishing boats in relief at completing their trek.

The taller Corvo was helping Miela aboard one boat and more warriors at other boats were loading the wheelbarrows which carried their bows. There would be nothing left behind as evidence of their presence except blurred footprints from moccasins and mysterious wheel tracks. The wheel tracks in particular would have them puzzled, looking like soft lines drawn in the sand.

As each boat loaded as many warriors as they could take, it cast off from the shoreline. John was prepared to join whichever was the final boat, but a waving hand revealed Treva signalling him over. John trotted along to the fisher skipper standing in his boat, and asked, “Yes, Treva?”

“Are all your warriors here? No losses?” Treva wanted to know.

“Should be complete. We got no return fire before we left, and there was no sign of anyone getting lost on the way back. That is an advantage of single file: you can’t really get lost if you follow the man or woman in front of you. I was last through the trail, so if you have everyone off the beach, we should have our full complement aboard.”

“Great! Glad to hear it. You can tell me about your attack on the way, but we must get started for home.”

John asked anxiously, “Did you get my request for a boat to remain here fishing for a few hours?”

“Yes. Stop worrying, John. A couple of our men are out in the bay, fishing just now. They are prepared to have a shouted conversation if anyone appears on the beach come daylight, as you asked. Now can we get started before anyone sees us in this moonlight?”

“Sorry,” John acknowledged his error, and climbed aboard as the fishermen pushed off with their oars. Shortly they were out in the bay, and were rowing back north again until they could catch a wind in the right direction for their sail to come into use. Treva told John, “With the moon out, I want to get round the headland as fast as possible, so we are completely out of sight from the beach. Then once we get round the headland I want to go further out to sea to be away from watchers anywhere on land. When we are far enough out, we will just be indistinct boats on the horizon.”

John anxiously replied, “I hope you wont get lost, going farther away from the coast.”

Treva snorted, “We know all the currents and winds on this coast, without having to see land all the while. The flight of birds also give us a guide. We wouldn’t be much use as fishermen if we always had to have sight of land!”

“That is so”, admitted a chastised John. “Do you have a lodestone for guidance?”

“Lodestone?”

“A so-called magic stone that always wants to point to the north.”

“I have heard of such a thing but haven’t seen one. How does it work? Do you need an incantation to power it?”

John tried to explain. “The pointed lodestone has to be fixed on top of a wooden float, inside a gourd of water. The stone always tries to point to the north, so once you know where north is, you know any other direction from that start point.”

“That seems like magic to me”, Treva commented.

“No, it it not magic, for it works for anyone at any time. It is a function of certain stones of iron that have been magnetised – a word for north-pointing stones – naturally. The whole world acts as a magnet, with the north pole at one end of the globe, and so the magnetic stone merely reacts to the attraction of the total world. So, not magic.”

“So says a Shaman! Treva smiled, only half convinced. “Your explanation sounds like magic.”

“Treva, if it works, it works. What does it matter? Magic or natural, you can use it if you can find such stone.”

“I see what you mean: if it works, it is only a matter of a name in how you view it. Now, can I get back to sailing this boat, John?”

“My sincere apologies, skipper. I don’t want to get in your way.”

John settled down for another nap while the fishermen transported the warriors back to the village. He soon slept heavily, and did so until his shoulder was shaken.

“High Chief, we are almost back to the village”, Treva told him.

“Lovely. Any excitement on the way?”

“None. Our sails caught wind blowing north after a while, and it has brought us most of the way home. We lost the wind a little while ago, so all the boats are back to rowing. Do you know how to row? My crew would be delighted if you could take part, and it would enhance your standing among them.”

“Actually, yes. I learned as part of my training as a soldier. What side do you want me to take on?”

Trev pointed to his youngest crewman, who was visibly tiring.

“If you can take over from Brega, he would really appreciate it.”

John climbed over to where Brega was struggling to labour at the oar coming through a hole in the upper bulwark, and tapped his shoulder. “My turn for a pull at the oar. Take a rest, my young hero.”

The young man was too tired to notice the praise; just shipped his oar and moved aside to let John take over; while the other rowers, noticing the changeover, also shipped their oars while the change was completed.

As soon as John indicated he was ready to row, Treva called for the rowers to put their oars back in the water, and used the rudder to direct the boat’s way as the rowers resumed their work. John swiftly fell into the rhythm of the others and left Treva to do the steering. The rowers could not see where they were headed, just where they had been. If they wanted to keep a straight line, watching the wake told them if they were managing to do that.

John recalled being expected to give a battle report to Treva, but by falling asleep, he had forgotten. He must make sure Treva was present if he was reporting to the Headman.

Soon his muscles were telling him that he hadn’t done rowing in a long time, and he was exceedingly glad when they reached the fisher village bay and coasted to the sandy shore. Brega had collapsed in an exhausted sleep, he noticed. The warrior passengers were by this time desperate to get back on land. John was later told that three of the girls had vomited over the side this time, and that four had been sick on the first leg. Not one had complained about the vomiting during the trek to attack, so John was determined to get Chief Numa to congratulate them all, and especially those who had been seasick, or was it partly morning sickness? The ladies involved would know whether they were pregnant or not.

Then John ticked himself off. Only around four or five of the warriors were men, so why assume that those hit by seasickness were women? Too much of the old-style gender assumptions there! He would omit reference to pregnancy, unless any woman brought it up as an excuse for being sick while at sea.

After unloading the warriors and the wheelbarrows with their bows, Corvo took it upon himself to rescue all the clothing from the barrow that had cushioned Miela back to the pick-up point. She wanted to try walking with help on the final stage to home, so the bra-topped ladies came and collected their outer protective wear, telling Miela that if she needed to use the wheelbarrow again, she just had to ask, and she would get the cushioning again. Many of the warriors again congratulated her on taking part in the arrow storm against the invader army.

She told them, “The only reason I persevered was that I promised my daughters that their mother would be a strong warrior in the team of archers. They were so proud of me going off to fight the invaders, so I just could not let them down. High Chief John was a great help with my cut foot. He put a clay poultice on it, and that has eased the pain down to a dull throb. Once we are home, I’ll see what’s-her-name, one of the women that came from John’s old home, and get proper treatment for the foot, but High Chief John said something about some mighty ninnies helping.”

There came a burst of laughter from Gerva, one of John’s wives, who had been listening.

“Miela, the word was nanomites, not mighty ninnies, but they do act like he said. They attack the invisible beasties that make a wound go bad, they keep your wound from festering so you should heal without much trouble, but these herbal treatments from Sheila will assist the healing process for you.”

John came over and suggested that Miela’s wheelbarrow be kept right behind her, so that if she needed to rest her foot, she could do so quickly.

“I’ll ask the local Shaman, Mabana, if he has a salve that would help during the final leg to our home. Give me a little time to do that.”

He rushed to find the Shaman, and was swiftly told he was sitting outside his hut. Getting there, John found him sitting with his leg sticking out with his foot on a small stool, a wet cloth draped over the foot to cool it.

“What’s wrong, Mabana?”

“I cut my foot yesterday, but I don’t have what I need to put on it.”

“You don’t have a healing salve?”

“I used to have such a thing, but I got it from another shaman who wouldn’t tell me the secret of how it is made, and now I have none left. Sorry about that. If you are asking, that means you don’t have such a salve either? Any helpful advice on treatment?”

“True, I have no ointment; at least, no salve with me. One of my wives is an expert on herbs and such, and she makes salves such as you need. She knows the secret. As soon as I get home, I’ll have some salve sent to you for your foot. My advice meantime is keep washing the wound clean several times a day, with water that has been boiled first, until the salve gets here. If you have any honey available, spread that over the wound. It stops bad things getting into your blood and kills some that might be inside the wound. Most salves include honey as an ingredient – that I know.”

“You will have to hurry home, then. With this sore foot troubling me, I am not going to be able to fuck my wives tonight, so when I saw you I thought you had been sent by the spirits to help me out.”

“Sorry, Mabana, not today. I have to get home today, and also your need for salve is greater than their need for pleasuring. If I bring the salve myself, I may be able to give them some relief, but that depends on how much I am needed at home.”

“I understand, my friend. They are both happily pregnant, and now more keen than ever to be fucked, I am glad to say. This foot is an obstacle, and I know I should not be doing exercise if it is becoming bad. The badness could spread, and that can end your life.”

John agreed, “My friend, you have the right of it. You may not fully know why it happens, but you at least know what can happen if you do the wrong thing. I learned from medical experts about festering wounds putting bad things into your blood, so time is very important, as is keeping the wound clean and moist. Catch the infection, with honey spread over the cut, and stop the problem before it gets very bad, and you will probably be fine. Leave it for a hand of days without proper treatment, and the chances are you will die. Time is that vital, Mabana.”

“John? I expect to be cured, but if for any reason I die, I want you to look after my ladies; take them on, please. I am not as young as I used to be, and older people are more likely to die from injuries. Will you promise me that, my friend?”

“Mabana, I am happy to make that promise to you; you have my word on that. I do not expect to have to fulfil that promise, but it will remain a promise that you can depend on.”

“Thank you. Good Shamans are hard to find, so you need to be able to depend on a good Shaman to look after what is important to you. My ladies are important to me, and you are a good Shaman.”

“Can I bring up another matter, Mabana? I talked to the skipper called Treva, and told him about the lodestone for direction-finding. He knew only the barest detail. Do you know of it?”

“Describe it for me, John.”

“A bit of pointed iron metal that always points North, if it has a chance. If stuck on a piece of wood and floated in a container of water, it always swings round and points to the north.”

“Ah – the pointer, we know it as; however, not knowing why it does what it does, we call it the magic pointer.”

“Do you have any examples in the area?”

“No. I have seen one in another tribe, but far, far, away from here. They had a deposit of that iron near them, and found that broken bits that landed on hard ground would spin round then stop, always lined up in the same direction. That is how they found out about the magic pointer.”

John gave a little sigh. “So you don’t know of any iron deposits like that in this general area?”

“No. If I did know of any iron, I would have been there at once, to see if the same attraction worked there. Do you think it would?”

John grimaced. “Not necessarily so, Mabana. It depends of the iron ore, and whether it was magnetised when molten, before it solidified, or not.”

“Oh. It is not as simple as I thought it might be.”

“Most new things are seldom easy, my friend. Ores usually have to be smelted to form the metal, just like some flint nodules have to be chosen with care. Some are better for flaking than others. But for a lodestone, or magic pointer, even a tiny bit of magnetised iron will do the job. Like this:”

John pulled out his knife and pointed to the hilt, where a tiny compass was built-in. “This is a tiny lodestone. It is too small for decent navigation at sea, but for a man simply wanting to know what general direction he is going, it suits me fine.”

Mabana was astonished. “You have a personal lodestone, and you never mentioned it before?”

“Most people neither know about nor can use a lodestone such as I have in my knife, so I keep it secret. Its existence if known would not make anyone any happier.”

“You didn’t use it on your expedition?”

“No. Corvo was our guide, better than any lodestone. At times, it is best NOT to know things, Mabana.”

“I agree.”

John now went on to speak with the Headman. He found him seated with Chief Otempi, and so John asked, “My friend, I can either tell you what we were doing, or not, at your discretion.”

The headman looked round at Otempi, who kept his face bland, offering no help, so he returned his gaze to John.

“Do you think that no-one here should be aware of what your warriors were doing, High Chief? I accept there may be some need for secrecy. If you tell me nothing and anyone asks me, what shall I say?”

John offered, “You make good decisions, Chief. In this matter, your response should be merely that a warrior wanted to take a bunch of trainee warriors on a night expedition as part of their training, and you allowed your fishing boats to take them to the training site. Would that do?”

“That sounds acceptable, John. I shall keep that story in mind, as will my new friend Otempi. Neither of us wants to interfere. Is that not so, Otempi?”

Chief Otempi responded, “High Chief John asked me and my tribe to not see John’s warriors yesterday and today. I think I should maintain that temporary blindness, and afterwards simply repeat whatever you wish to say to any enquirer.”

The Headman smiled. “Excellent, my dear Otempi. We are all Chiefs together, and know when to know something and when not to know something. John can be a good man to know, but sometimes it is better, indeed safer, for you and your tribe, to seemingly not know him!”

John intruded with some information, “I am the outsider, thrust into this world from my own world where things are different. In my actions, I may say or do the wrong thing, and that might put you or your tribe in a bad situation.

I do my best to act honourably, but I am just a man with the failures that all of us men are prone to. You are free to cooperate with me, or turn me away, or simply ignore me; whatever is best for you and your tribe. Being a Chief, a High Chief, or a Shaman makes no difference, for these are mere titles; they don’t change a person’s personality or attitudes to life and other people.

I found myself in a position to alter lives here, and I have chosen to take on a terrible role: that of an instigator of new ideas. These ideas may help or hinder society. I don’t know what will be the final result of these ideas. I can merely hope that I do not harm the common people who live here.

One major change that I am responsible for is introducing the idea of men and women being treated equally. Note that I did not say they are equal; merely that they should both be treated in the same way. This has meant that women are permitted to be hunters and warriors, if they choose to do so. Surprisingly, many have decided that protecting their family and tribe is a worthwhile task, and they have asked to be trained to fight.

These are some of the warriors whose presence, passing through here, you have at my request ignored, and for that I thank you. I and them will be leaving shortly for our own tribe. Your Shaman is injured and needs a herbal treatment that I will endeavour to deliver to him in the next day or two, as soon as I am fit to come back again.”

The Headman at once offered, “May I ask Fresno to go with you and return with the salve for our esteemed shaman? That may speed up his access to treatment.”

John was fully aware of Mabana’s other request, but saw the good judgement and good intentions on the Headman’s part.

“That is a kind offer, and I will gladly take it. I will thank Fresno before he leaves our cave. His presence will allow time for a new batch of salve to be made up if supplies are low.” He added, “I may come back later, to see how Mabana is doing, and whether he needs additional treatment.”

Minutes later, John was following in the footsteps of his team of warriors. Someone had assumed charge of the team, now that Corvo was back with his own family, so John had nothing to do except follow the crowd. One of the guard children was on the outskirts, and he informed John, pointing, “They all went by that trail. Some were not sure of the route, so I told them where to go. Was that all right, High Chief?”

John smiled at such innocuous phrasing that meant something more in his own time, but simply responded, “It was certainly the best thing to do. You will be an asset to your tribe as you get older, young man.”

The boy beamed his delight, and went back to his guard post behind a tree stump, while John hurried to catch up with his warriors.

To his surprise, they had made good time, and he was halfway home or more before he caught up with the stragglers. Miela, once more in the wheelbarrow, was being pushed by Feelia, while Deelia walked in front to check the trail for minor obstacles to the wheels. Feelia told John he could now take a stint at wheeling the barrow.

“Deelia and I have been taking it in turns since Miela’s foot started hurting her again. Are you up to taking a turn, High Chief?”

John gladly accepted the challenge, and so Feelia relinquished the task, saying, “The wooden poles for holding it are fine for a while, then your hands get sore with rubbing against the wood. Can we not get the carrying poles with protective material on top? Something like hide patches, or some of our twine wound round the handle area? It should be enough to get a real grip, but without the slipperiness of bare wood. Brando smoothed the handles, expecting that to help, but that is only suitable for short periods of time.”

“I see what you mean, Feelia. I suppose this is the first time we have had experience of a long distance with a heavy load; sorry about that, Miela; it is not an insult, but just the comparison with simple loads of arrows and bows previously carried. Any human being is a heavy load for a wheelbarrow like this.”

“That’s all right, High Chief. I did manage a few miles before I was forced to give up, and the sisters very kindly took over. They will need a healing salve on their hands when we get home.”

“That reminds me,” said John. “I was expecting Fresno to be at the end of the line; not you girls.”

Deelia tossed back at him, “Oh, Fresno is at the front, as he knows the route very well. He also said he wanted to get there early, as he had to collect some salve for someone at the fisher village. I hope there is enough for him to get what he wants and some left over for our hands. Bows and arrows were much easier to cope with, because archery does not go on for a long time. It is the walking that is the hard part of the operation.”

John found the wheelbarrow no trouble, as his hands had been hardened by years of heavy, slogging, training for warfare in all conditions and environments all the while carrying a 4.98 kilogram SA3 rifle, an upgrade on the old SA80, nearly 11 pounds in avoirdupois measures. That toughens you up, he thought to himself. The arms of the barrow were angled upwards a little, so he could hold the handles at a comfortable height, and if he centralised the balance, the weight was evenly distributed between his arms.

He reluctantly came to agreement with the opinion that the handles should be cushioned, because every imperfection in the wood surface gradually dug into the skin of his fingers. The imperfections always ran toward the barrow and directly back, so that wrappings on the handles would cease or eliminate that pressure.

He managed a fair distance before he admitted that one of the ladies could spell him for a little while, so that his hands could recover. Deelia and Feelia each managed what to him was a few hundred yards before changing over, and then he accepted the barrow again.

Miela could tell that everyone was suffering a little, and wanted to try walking again, but as soon as John took a look at her foot, he refused to allow her to walk at all.

“The poultice has slipped from under your foot; the cut is now pressed against the moccasin, and the blood has stuck the sole of your foot to the moccasin. It will have to wait until we get to the cave and wash it off with clean boiled water, then have salve applied to the cut.”

He looked up at the sisters.

“Deelia, Feelia, you pair of tough ladies, it is up to us to keep the barrow moving, and get this heroine back as fast as we possibly can.”

The ladies accepted the challenge, and while each had a shorter turn at the barrow handles, they all continued wheeling Miela home. At last they met up with Fresno, who was on the lookout for them. He was carrying a tub of salve in an open sack slung over his shoulder, but when he saw that Miela was still not walking, he volunteered to take over the wheelbarrow, and reversed his direction for that job.

He told John, “I have been given salve to take back to Mabana, but Miela’s need is greater at this moment. You three go on and tell the tribe Miela is right behind you, and get your healer ready.”

John and the two sisters plodded ahead, unfettered at last, and made good time over the last half mile. They were welcomed by the perimeter guard, who said, “Everyone is waiting to welcome Miela for her bravery in continuing despite her injury. How is she doing?

John admitted, “She is need of attention for her foot, but otherwise is just tired. Fresno took over the wheelbarrow and is right behind us.

At that, the guard thrust her spear into John’s hands, saying, “Right! You are on guard duty until we get Miela home, sir.”

The moment she had handed it over, she hurried down the trail.

John looked at Deelia and Feelia, and shrugged, giving them a wry smile.

“On you go, girls. It seems I have a job here for the moment.”