Friday, December 25, 2009

Swords for hire - III

A small squad of warriors immediately escorts them, while the larger group goes on with the massacre of the Balearics. They continue walking in the dwindling afternoon light up to a small grove of wild olive and wild pear trees … here the group stops and starts preparing for the night. “We won’t be stopping for long, German … justlong enough to eat and set up some campfires … do you know what Frontinus wrote in his book on military tactics? In the far-away land of Catai military commanders pretend they are setting up a camp, light up fires and build shelters, then they keep on marching rapidly in the night … we shall do so and will leave the Catalans dumbfounded.”
Far away the rumble of cavalry waxes and wanes like the noise of stormy seas … the squad has attracted the attention of the victors. “They are looking for us …” whispers Hanno with his mouth sore because of the split lips and the fly bites. “Oh … they won’t find us … and it will be better for them … it will be neither the first nor the last Hispanic skull that we smash”. The old warrior sits down on a stone and unfastens the leather pannier that he carries around tied to the back of his armour. Two pieces of gray bread appear together with a pumpkin wrapped up in woven rushes, several dried onions, a leather flask. Other soldiers are walking around nearby, chewing on their meals.
At the sight of people eating, Hanno realizes he has a devastating appetite … just like a man that has not eaten the whole day and has endured the weight of his full armour for that whole day. One of the guys approaches him holding up a leather strip upon which several large bread sheets lay, each of them so thin as if made of parchment. “Ne, ndi olisi pani?” with a harsh smile he shoves under Hanno’s nose those dark, ash-speckled sheets. Another guy approaches him with one of those semi-opened pumpkins … it gives forth a strong rancid smell, not unpleasant but powerful. The man thrusts two fingers in and pulls them out covered in a yellow-greenish mush that he puts in his mouth, sucking on it heartily … then he holds the container out to Hanno.
“I suggest that you accept, German”, the old man says, chewing reflectively on an onion, “Bobore, ‘balente’ from Augusta, is quick in taking offense … su kasu martzu ki faghede Tzitza Peppa esti su mellusu de tottu sa Barbazia …” The balente nodded vigorously, a mischievous smile on his face … and Hanno makes up his mind and imitates him … he feels between his fingers the soft cheese and a crawling and soft movement … and when he pulls his fingers out a swarm of tiny white-ish maggots that lively spring toward his face. “Ah yes I almost forgot … the best part of the taste is due just to those maggots … do not let any of them escape.” Hanno eats bread, rotten cheese, maggots, and onions as he manages to, gulping the whole stuff down with a wine so strong to seem liquor.
As his hunger cramps become less sharp, the men stoke the campfires and the squad prepares for leaving the place. “I am Gabinius from Villanova,” the old soldier says, and pointing at the squad “These are balentes from different parts of the island … you have already met Bobore, this is Vissente, this is Marieddu … he comes from the suburbs of Karale, just like me … and has a deadly hate for the Balearics.” The two death dancers of the afternoon clash bowed slightly. “I am Hanno from Hainau … I fight for whomever pays me … I come from Carinthia, if this means anything to you … and belong to a war school, the one of Hagen from Munster … he already brought us to war several times … and this time I thought it was going to be the last one for me … I wonder what happened to my mates.”


(continues)

“Ne, ‘ndi olisi pani?” “Hey, do you want some bread?”

“balente” valiant man

“su kasu martzu ki faghede Tzitza Peppa esti su mellusu de tottu sa Barbazia” “The rotten cheese prepared by Auntie Peppa is the best in the whole of Barbagia”

Barbazia or Barbagia one of the sub-regions of Sardinia

No comments:

Post a Comment

Followers