Chapter 2: Midmorning Statue

Traveling is exciting. Especially when the route is new. The river rolled past us on our left, long stretches of knee-high grass, scattered clumps of brush and trees here and there. The land steadily rose into hills on our right, angled toward us like fingers of the land, pointing at the river. We crossed tributaries of fresh water, through smells of green grass and flowers, surrounded by the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects.

I rode the horse, and it was good practice, but I was unskilled and so was led by Morry. It was becoming easier. Or, well, not easier, but I was getting used to having a large animal under me. Not having the dowager around, I felt stress free, lighter. Under the open sky and free of the stench of the encampment, leaving it behind like closing the door to an outhouse in summer.

We were likely marching toward an enemy army that outnumbered us by three to one. Although they could also be waiting for the bulk of our army to leave the bridge, then cross it and follow us. We left it unguarded, but not unwatched. Sentries waited there, to ride with all haste if the enemy crossed. We had scouts ahead, on our flanks and behind. We were a huge beast, ravaging across the wilderness, our scouts the feelers guiding our way.

Around midday we paused for dinner. Roasted pork, dried fruits, bread and cheese. Ale and wine, but I went with tea.

“Are we making good time?” I asked General Brundle. I was amazed at how fast the troops could march. Much, much faster than I ever walked before waking up in this body. For sure, I thought, we were making good time.

“No.” He looked disappointed. “Regular armies don’t carry full smithies with them. They’re slowing us down. Also, we have a lot of camp followers and servants.”

“Camp followers?” I was guessing sex workers. After all, the arrogant physician had assumed I’d become an orderly to escape prostitution, so the industry was alive and well.

He cocked his head at me, puzzled, “Wives of the soldiers, children, seamstresses, launderers, stablehands, and so on.”

“No kidding. That makes sense.” I had no idea so many noncombatants were in tow. “We’ll have to extend the march beyond ten hours then. Will the camp followers be able to take that?”

“Yes, but neither they nor the troops will like it.”

“Do they like living? We have to beat the Ketzillian army to the next bridge. And they have a head start.”

“Yes, yes we do. The camp followers will adjust to our pace well enough.”

One of the things I liked about the general was that he didn’t constantly use honorifics when talking to me. “Have you picked out advisors yet?” I’d previously told him I wanted the head nurse and the weaponsmith to attend, in addition to advisors from the military.

“I have given it some thought this morning. I’ve chosen several veterans who would make dependable majors and colonels for you.”

“Alright, sounds good. This is going to sound foolish but remind me what a major does again.” I gave him the ‘I’m cute but also really dumb’ look. Or the best one I could manage. Blinking prettily.

“My second and third in command. Each major oversees one part the army. Rand will oversee the cavalry, Gunmack the phalanx.”

“Excellent. Rand and Gun. Uh, you would still be in charge of them, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” I had a lot to learn. Hopefully, being so young looking made them want to teach me.

“Second, while I can understand having the head nurse attend, for she should be informed on the timing of battle at the least, I don’t understand why you require a presence from the smithies.”

“I want to explore, uh,” I didn’t know how to explain this to him, but gave it my best go, “alternatives in weapons.”

“Alternatives?”

“Yes. While I am untrained in military adventures-”

“Adventures?”

“Conquests?”

“Campaigns.”

“Right! Campaigns. Not so much experience in these – and I will be requiring your mentorship here – I have some ideas I’d like to explore with the smithies about, uhm, certain improvements.” How could I tell him that I was from the equivalent of his future and knew a bit about the history of weapons? I mean, these guys didn’t even have crossbows. I probably couldn’t reinvent the handgun, though I’d honestly love to – we’d call it the ‘Gluck’ instead of Glock, for good luck – crossbows shouldn’t be too difficult. And after that, ballistae, catapults and, the core of my ideas, the sarissa.

Alexander the Great’s father, Phillip II, made his pikes longer than his enemies. These longer ones were the sarissa. That change allowed him to conquer pretty much everywhere he went. When you have two opposing phalanx, the guys with the longer shafts win.

Our pikes were about three and a bit yards long – they used yards here for reasons I couldn’t fathom. About ninety percent the length of a meter, so our pikes were roughly three meters. Yards was a point for the game scenario as far as I was concerned, since games often used the old Imperial system for pretend authenticity. Anyways, that length, three and a bit yards, is similar to what non-Macedonian Ancient Greek city-state armies used. Philip’s were somewhere between five and six yards long. Our troops, like those who’d come before Philip’s, also carried a large shield. They couldn’t do that with a very long pike, it’s enormously heavy, so Philip did away with his troop’s large shields, replacing them with smaller ones. And that’s what I wanted to do. Once we did that, enemies with shorter spears wouldn’t stand a chance. But it wasn’t something we could arrange on the move and I knew, I just knew, I was going to have a hard time convincing older, male veterans of the current spear and shield style of combat.

Barclay’s troops, the ones who’d be protecting the gold the dowager stole from me, used smaller spears and were more heavily armored. If I wanted the gold back, sarissa would go a long way in securing it for me.

“What kind of improvements?”

“Not now. I’ll explain later.”

He sat up straighter, slightly moving back, annoyed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, Your Highness, but I’m not entirely sure what, ah, a fourteen-year-old, what experience a young woman such as yourself, I mean . . .”

“Yes, I get it. That’s why I rely on your council, General. Though I hope to surprise you, one day.”

After that, it was sword practice for me until the whole train got moving. It wasn’t long until we were underway, we needed to make good time. This time, I elected to walk alongside instead of on horseback.

***

By midafternoon, we’d come by the strangest sight. An enormous head, carved out of rock and the size of a house, sticking slanted out of the ground. Each eye was as large as a bicycle, its nose would have been nearly as long, but was broken off midway. Remnants of a crown atop its head, curly hair underneath. The tips of its ears were broken off and eroded, looking strangely small and curled, almost like those of wrestlers and judo practitioners.

“Wow!” I ran up to it, “What is this thing?”

“The great statue of Favid. No one knows why it is here.”

“Has anyone tried to dig it out?”

Morry had come with me, “Not to my knowledge. That would be quite the excavation.”

The army walked on, but I went to the statue and placed my hand upon its face. Warm in the sun. Grass growing right up to its neck. There was a little path going around the statue, probably an animal trail, and I walked it.

“Let me guess,” I said, “it’s considered bad luck to touch it.”

“No, don’t think so. Why would you guess that?”

“That just seemed right. There must have been a powerful civilization, probably a big city here, hundreds or thousands of years ago.” I was trying to do the math in my head. If it had a proportional body to match, the statue would have been around sixty to a hundred feet deep. Alright, I couldn’t really do the math and was just guessing.

“Some say the god Hiltonx carved this. He carved it out of a mountain, putting the shavings of his work uphill. One day, when he was taking a break, a giant flood washed all that dirt back onto the statue and Hiltonx couldn’t find his way back.”

“That’s not what happened,” Tread jumped in. “It was Herifsa, the sculpture goddess, who became jealous. She sent Lilipica to bring Hiltonx dinner, and after getting him drunk, took him away from this place. Then Herifsa returned and caused a mountain to collapse and bury the statue. Hiltonx yet wanders these plains in search of his sculpting tools.”

I did a double take. “Tread? That’s the most I’ve heard you speak! Where’d you learn that tale?”

“My father used to take us here when I was a kid. We’d have family picnics and do some fishing.”

Morry laughed, “You’re still a kid.” Then, turning to me, “we should return to the train, Princess. We don’t want to stray too long.”

We headed back, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that enormous statue. It had to be produced by a powerful civilization and now they were gone and likely buried. That’s when it struck me – the hills were so uniform, like the sand in a river. “Hey,” I asked my guards, “these hills, how long do they go on like this?”

“The Rolling Hills? Tens of miles in either direction. All drain into this river. Not level enough for farming, but good hunting grounds.”

“Some people live up there. Wild people.” Tread added.

“Wild people?”

“Legends,” Morry said, “I’ve never seen them.”

“Do they have pointy ears? Long lifespans?”

“Begging your pardon, but what are you talking about?”

“Oh, that’s a relief. At least this world doesn’t have elves.”

“Elves? Those little people who clean up your house at night, while you’re asleep?”

“I think those are gnomes.”

“Brownies,” Tread said, “those are brownies. They never cleaned up my house, though. Gnomes are the little clay men you stick in the garden.”

“Tread, how do you know all this stuff?”

“Farm life. Stories.”

“Why do people make little clay men to put in their gardens?”

“To scare the mice away.”

“Does it work?”

“No. Cats work best for mice.”

“That makes sense.” I bent down to pick up a thistle, give it to my horse later. Had to bond with the beast after all. One of the thorns suddenly pricked my hand and I couldn’t help myself but yelp, “Owe!”

“Princess, why are you picking up a thistle?”

In between sucking on my finger, “To give it to my horse.”

Morry and Tread shared that look I still got from time to time, the ‘did she just ask us what color the sky is?’ look.

Morry answered, “Horses don’t eat thistles. Look at the spines on that bush.”

“But I saw my horse eat a thistle.”

“Not these thistles. Had to be the smaller, green ones.”

“Well, it was taller than my knees.”

“Smaller thorns.”

“Ok, alright. I’m man enough, sorry, woman enough to admit a mistake.” I squeezed a little blood out of the finger, just to make myself feel better about not getting infected. I didn’t really want to find out what their treatment for infection was firsthand. “Well, I’ll go find a green one, then.”

“The horse can find it well enough on its own. Shall we head back before the train gets too far away and you lose all your fingers?”

“Yeah, ok.” It wasn’t like the army train had left us. It was still passing us, but we were getting closer to its end and life was probably safer in the middle of one’s army rather than the head or tail. I took one last look at the enormous head and wondered who could have built such a statue, what happened to their civilization.