My Sister's Song Read Free

in one day and two nights of running, stopping only to
drink. I arrived back at the village mid morning yelling warrior’s
rites to instant assembly.
    The villagers, accustomed
to such meetings from past battles with Mithridates, were quick to
collect in the large central hut. There I told of the battle as
quickly as possible. The remaining two scout groups, the Charmers
and the Melissai sat before me, silent. I emphasized the great
number in the Roman squadron. I explained that we were equally
matched warrior to warrior, but that there were simply too many of
them and they were barely two days behind me. They were headed
roughly in the direction of our village, though they might pass us
in favor of our neighbors to the east. A runner was immediately
dispatched with this information to them and I was silent at
last.
    So was everyone else.
    Finally my father spoke,
“Mithra are you quite certain of the number?”
    I was still panting
slightly from my run, “Quite certain. I know the number seems
amazing but you must believe me.”
    A Melissai spoke, “We must
consider all our options, please offer suggestions. It seems a
direct confrontation is impossible. Even those attacks we have used
against Mithridates are useless.”
    “We could send to
Mithridates for aide.”
    “He would not get here in
time.”
    “We could send to our
neighbors to the north.”
    “They would not believe
that the Romans came in such number.”
    “Then we must trick the
Romans.”
    “If we could convince them
to enter the river, their ranks would break, their armor would sink
them, they would drop their shields in order to swim. Then we could
pick them off with arrows.”
    I sat slumped while they
battered ideas back and forth. Nothing, I felt, could batter such a
menace. Rome was truly a mighty and hungry monster. I forced myself
not to think of my lost scout members. It is a warrior’s place to
loose companions. No one, I noted, had asked for the names of the
dead. Parents wondered, but stayed silent. Right now, it was better
to wonder. Grief would muddle the head, push anger into the soul
when logic was needed. Grief and anger made for bad decisions and
worse strategy.
    Children were not meant to
sit a war council, but somehow Arite wiggled into the hut. She went
unnoticed, or at last unremarked upon. Arite looked to me, my
clothing soaked with other people’s blood, her eyes wide and her
face white. In that instant I remembered picking mushrooms and
hearing her singing. Her face had looked the same as we sat in the
stream and I reminded her of the danger in the honey. Into my head
flashed another image, the Roman leader as he produced a ceramic
pot from his satchel. The delight on the faces of his comrades at
the unexpected treat.
    “Honey!” I spoke the
thought allowed, and into silence. The council had quieted,
thoughtful and sobered.
    My statement startled
them.
    “Honey.” I said again, more
to myself this time, “They love honey. I watched them eat it at
their mid-day meal. You should have seen their enjoyment. We should
give it to them.”
    “Child, our stores are
nearly empty. What nonsense you talk. You think a little honey
would make them treaty? Don’t be silly.”
    “No, the dreaming honey of
the wet spring. Arite nearly ate some the other day. It is a curse
of our lands, the Romans, they wouldn’t know. If we could get them
to eat it. Even if we could get only half of them to eat it, we
would have a fair chance.”
    The council looked
thoughtful. The Melissai grumbled a bit at the use of their sacred
honey for war purposes.
    I ignored them. “Allow the
Romans to get close to the village. Pretend to accidentally lead
them to our store of honey. Perhaps a secret cache in the woods.
They would stop to eat it. I know they would.”
     
    So it was that dressed in
skirts (a peculiar garment worn by the wives of Mithridates and
other women south of our lands) I waited for the Romans at the edge
of the village. I carried a