Penelope's Secrets

Flashback 200 years

A Short Lesson in Military Etiquette...

Scythia, the rough road ahead.

After four hours of riding Vargas still wasn't used to the new draught around his neck. Part of this, he knew was exaggerated because of the height and speed of riding. Although it had been a few years since he'd last sat astride a horse, his horsiness had come back to him and it now seemed quite natural. But he was still mourning the loss of his beard.

"Won't it seem strange that I'm clean shaven when I get there?" he remembered asking. That had not saved it...

Spartak had paused his first swipe briefly, and deferred to Klepto, who observed that when you're in the army and presenting yourself before an unknown senior officer, it would not be thought at all remarkable that you would show up washed and clean shaven, even if you were stuck in the middle of a desert with no water for a hundred miles around, and everyone else was dying of thirst. It would not go against you for having made the effort to be presentable according to army discipline.

He had received a crash course on everything he had to do in the next few minutes while the last vestiges of his manliness were shaven clean away.

"How will I know which way to go?"

"Just follow the road. The army always camps close by the road."

Swipe.

"What shall I say if they ask me what's happening back in the main camp?"

Pause.

"Just say, you're part of new reinforcements from the provinces, and don't know anything."

Swipe... left cheek.

"What if someone asks what happened to the regular despatch riders?"

Pause.

"They chop and change them all the time don't they?" Klepto nods. "Just say, they got food poisoning."

Swipe... right cheek.

"What if they ask me about something else I don't know?"

Pause.

"No-one ever got booted out of the army for being ignorant." That was Klepto.

"Just say you don't know."

Swipe... chin. And then, finally, it was done. Spartak wiped his swords on a towel, then gave it to Vargas who splashed his face, and felt the unfamiliar naked smoothness of his own face.

The last words of advice he got from Spartak, as he sat upon his horse were along the lines that if all else failed, he should either fall asleep or get drunk. Both being recognized and acceptable forms of behaviour for anyone who had spent the last few days in the saddle.

When they found him it was a lot easier than he expected. One moment there was an empty road, and then he was surrounded. But the faces were smiling, so he didn't even get as far as drawing his sword. The patrols were used to messengers, and there was the merest pause when they gave him a fresh cool drink of watered wine and a junk of bread, before they took away his horse to be rested, and escorted him on foot to the nearby camp which straddled both sides of a track leading to the main road.

The canvas city which he had got used to seeing from the top of the hill not so many days before, had been reincarnated into the same kind of plan here. He even recognized the tent as he approached, with its shaded portico at the front. It didn't seem like a more than a few seconds before he was inside and then back out again. In retrospect his worries now seemed foolish. For the commander, Spirax, it was the message that was important, not the messenger. Indeed he cared as little for the identity of the messenger as he would have done for knowing the identity of the horse which had carried the message. If Vargas were not so relieved, he should have felt slightly affronted by his casual dismissal.

Someone followed him out of the tent and said he should wait in case there was a message to take back. When Vargas asked How long?

The aid merely shrugged his shoulders. Vargas decided his best strategy was to follow the advice from Spartak. Behave normally. Find some food, get something to drink and find a quiet corner and go to sleep.

There were few quiet corners in this camp, but the ride had tired him, and he was surprised how deeply he had been sleeping when, not long after dawn, he was roused by the same aid he'd seen the day before.

This time he didn't even have to go to the tent, but was handed a message pouch by the aid, and led to the other side of the camp where he was given a freshly saddled horse. Tied to the back of the saddle was a bulging canvas bag of food for himself and the horse, and either side hung leather water flasks. Then, a wave of Good luck, and he was back on his way.

He was thinking more about his sore backside than his cool chin in this direction. His legs had been OK yesterday, but now they ached, and so, even though he was getting close to where he had started he was surprised by the swishing sound that seemed to whizz past his ear like an angry mosquitoe. Then he saw a figure come out from the trees waving a sword and smiling. It was Barrak. Vargas realised that he had never seen the almost invisible but deadly thread which had almost claimed him.

"Narrow escape there" smiled Barrak. "Spartak said, any riders coming this way" and he pointed back up the road Vargas had come down with his thumb, "and ..." he wiped his left index finger across his throat. "But he also said, anything coming this way" and he waved his sword in the line ahead of the horse, "and watch out for someone with a shiny chin, because it could be you..."

He looked up at the fresh stubble. "Well it's not so shiny now, that's why I had to wait until you got closer."

"I'm most grateful" laughed Vargas. He turned around in his saddle, and untied the canvas bag. "Here, I brought you a present..."

Later, back in the camp with Spartak and Axil, Vargas was reclining on his side, and trying to avoid sitting. He had tried a few experiments but he wasn't sure if his legs would ever go back together again. It seemed like there was an unusually large bowed gap around the level of his knees.

The message he'd brought back was inconsequential, merely an acknowledgemnt that the orders had been received. But that hadn't been the point of the exercise.

"So you're sure you can find the commander's tent in the dark?"

That would be easy, Vargas confirmed.

"And you'd recognise the commander himself?"

Vargas thought back to his brief encounter with that supercilious personage, and nodded.

"And it's about a three hour ride?"

"I wasn't riding hard. It was about four hours yesterday, less today because you've moved the camp closer and cut the distance so I would say eight hours or so by foot."

"Excellent, that means if we get started soon, we've got enough time to get there tonight."

Vargas tried to sit up and groaned. But walking might help his legs grow back together he conceded, so he stood up. "What are we planning to do?"

"I didn't want to tell you before, in case you were suspected and tortured. But we're planning a little kidnapping party."

Vargas thought back to the horses "I don't understand that. If we kidnap Spirax we can't take him very far before daylight, and then they're bound to catch us because they've got horses."

"We're not going to keep him. we're just going to borrow him for a while to give him a message" said Spartak.

"Another message?"

"This one will be a personal message from us" replied Spartak enigmatically.

The kidnapping party was just Spartak, Axil and Vargas. Any more, Spartak explained would make too much noise as they tripped over each other in the dark later on. Vargas was relieved to know that another shave would not be required, and he could change back into his own clothes. But he was surprised to see that Axil had included a small frying pan as part of his equipment. He didn't think they would have the leisure time to camp out on this raid and said as much.

"I'm sure the commander will have some delicacies in his tent" replied Axil smiling. Vargas hadn't seen him smile before, and it seemed disturbing.

Spartak said "I'll need to pick up my rope from Barrak on the way. I'll tell you more about the plan on the way. Here, grab some supplies and meet us back here in about ten minutes. Vargas didn't worry about the plan. He'd already been into the army camp once and got out again safely with no trouble. Spartak always came up with good ideas. But he wasn't sure where the frying pan fitted in. He knew his own friend Barrak was a greedy pig, but he didn't think that Axil was a gourmand. You could cook a lot of food over an open fire. Maybe he was after delicacies like he said? Or maybe it was just for hitting people over the head? He'd find out the answer soon enough...