Esther M. Friesner - Up the Wall

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2024-12-19 0 0 165.32KB 24 页 5.9玖币

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UP THE WALL

Esther M. Friesner

Reading a story like this makes one want to toss out all the old history

texts and let the fantasy and SF writing community have a go at redoing

them for the secondary-school market. Guaranteed you'd have more

students interested in history, and that they wouldn't be bored.

Roman history is particularly fascinating, but all too often shrunken

and curdled into an endless litany of Latin names and places and dates.

The history that's fun to read is history that lives and breathes. "Up the

Wall" doesn't merely breathe, it fairly vibrates with life. Whether it

would be allowed in history texts, it's contextual accuracy

notwithstanding, is another matter entirely. Most such weighty tomes

have perforce had all the life sucked out of them by "review committees,"

whose sole task in life it is to reduce all textbooks to the literary level of

vanilla pudding.

"Up the Wall" adds some spice. It also leaves you wondering who

you'd really like to have standing alongside you in a crisis.

A GUST OF NORTHCOUNTRY air swept over the undulating hump of

Hadrian's Wall, still bearing with it the chill of the sea. The northcountry

was the hard countryeven the starveling sheep had the grim air of failed

philosophers but worse land yet lay north of the wall, in wild Caledonia,

if the word of tribal Celts and travelers could be believed. Two figures in

the full finery of the Roman legions paced the earthworks as dusk came

on. The last rays of the setting sun struck gold from the breast of the eagle

standard jammed into the soil between them. In looks, in bearing, in the

solemn silence folded in wings around them, they carried a taste of

eternity.

It all would have been very heroic and poetical if the shorter man had

not reached up under his tunic and pteruges, undone his bracae, and

taken a long, reflective pee in the direction of Orkney. His comrade

affected not to notice.

Rather by way of distraction than conversation, the taller fellow broke

silence almost simultaneously with his mate's breaking wind. In a good,

loud, carrying voice he declaimed, "Joy to the Ninth, Caius Lucius Piso!

The days of the beast are numbered. It shall be today that the hero comes;

I feel it. This morning all the omens were propitious." He had the

educated voice and diction a senator's son might envy. His Latin was high

and pure, preserved inviolate even here, at the northernmost outpost of

the legions. He turned to his mate. "What news from the south?"

"News?" his companion echoed. Then he placed a stubby tongue

between badly chapped lips and blew a sound that never issued from the

wolf's-head bell of any bucina. "Sweet sodding Saturn, Junie, how the

blazes would I have any more news from the friggin' south than you, stuck

up here freezin' me cobblers off, waitin' on the reliefsee if them buggers

ever show up, bleedin' arse-lickers the lot of 'em, and everyone knows

Tullius Cato's old lady's been slippin' into the commander's bedroll, so he

never pulls the shit-shift, wish my girl'd show half as much support for me

career, but that's women for youonly women ain't so much to your taste,

now as I remember the barrack-room gab, are they, no offense taken, I

hope?"

His Latin was somewhat less pure than that of his hawk-faced

comrade-in-arms.

Junius Claudius Maro regarded the balding, podgy little man with a

look fit to petrify absolutely that fellow's already chilled cobblers. "You

presume too much upon our training days, Caius Lucius Piso. Were I to

report the half of what you have just said, our beloved commander could

order the flesh flayed from your bones." He settled the drape of his thick

wool mantle more comfortably on his shoulders, then suffered a happy

afterthought: "With a steel-tipped knout. However, for the love that is

between us, I will say nothing." He looked inordinately pleased with

himself.

"Right, then," said Caius Lucius Piso. His own after-thought bid him

add: "Ta." He uprooted the Imperial eagle, hoisted it fishpole-wise over

one shoulder, and casually commenced a westerly ramble. "I'll just be

toddling on down the wall, eh? Have a bit of a lookabout? Keep one peeper

peeled for this hero fella you say's coming, maybe kindle a light, start a

little summat boiling on the guardroom fire, hot wine, the cup that cheers,

just the thing what with a winter like we're like to have, judging by the

misery as's crept into me bones. Bring you back a cuppa, Junie?" This last

comment was flung back from a goodly distance down the wall, went

unheard, and received no reply.

The nearest guardroom along that section of the wall where the

ill-matched pair patrolled had once been a thing of pride, to judge by its

size. It was large enough to have housed sheep for whatever purpose. Years

and neglect had done their damnedest to bring pride to a fall. Hares and

foxes took it in turn to nest in the tumbledown sections of the derelict

structure, but there was still a portion of the building with a make-do roof

of old blankets and sod. In the lee of the October winds, surrounded by

shadows, Caius Lucius Piso knelt to poke up the small peat fire in the pit.

The flame caught and flared, banishing darkness. Caius gasped as his

small fire leaped in reflection on the iron helmet and drawn sword of the

man hunkered on his hams in the dingy guardroom. The image of a

slavering wild boar cresting his helmet seemed to leap out at the

trembling Roman. Beneath the brim, two small, red, and nasty orbs

glared. From porcine eyes to bristly snout, there was a striking family

resemblance between boar crest and crest-wearer.

There was also the matter of the man's sword. Caius Lucius Piso's initial

impression of that weapon had not been wrong. It was indeed as large,

keen, and unsheathed as it had seemed at first glance. It was also leveled

at the crouching Roman. The man snarled foreign words and raised the

sword several degrees, sending ripples through his thickly-corded forearm

muscles. Many of his teeth were broken, all were yellow as autumn crocus,

and the stench emanating from him, body and bearskin, was enough to

strike an unsuspecting passer-by senseless. He looked like a man to whom

filth was not just a way of life, but a religious calling.

Caius Lucius Piso knew a hero when he saw one.

"Oh, shit" he said.

"That's him?" Goewin knotted her fists on her hips and studied the new

arrival. "That's our precious hero?"

"Hush now, dear, he'll hear you." Caius Lucius Piso made small

dampening motions with his hands, but the lady of his hearth and heart

was undaunted. She had been the one who'd taught him how to make that

obnoxious tongue-and-lips blatting sound, after all.

"Hush yerself, you great cowpat. Who cares does he hear me? Stupid

clod don't speak [a speck] of honest Gaelic." She smiled sweetly at the

visitor, who stood beside the oxhide-hung doorway, arms crossed. He

appeared to disapprove of everything he saw within the humble hut, and,

without a word, somehow conveyed the message that he had sheathed his

fearsome sword under protest.

"Who'd like a bit of the old nip-and-tuck with any ewe he fancies,

then?" Goewin asked him, still smiling. "Whose Mum did it for kippers?"

"Goewin, for Mithra's sake, the man's a guest. And a hero! He's only

biding under our roof until they're ready to receive him formally at

headquarters."

"[Hindquarters], you mean, if it's the Commander yer speaking of."

"Epona's east tit, woman, mind your tongue! If word gets back to the

commander that you've been rude to his chosen hero ..." Caius Lucius

turned chalky at the thought.

"A hero?" Goewin cocked her head at the impassive presence guarding

her doorway. "Him?" She clicked her tongue. "If that's the sort of labor

we're down to bringing into Britain, just to take care of a piddling beast

you lot could handle, weren't you such hermaphros, well"

"That's not fair and you know it, Goewin. You can't call a monster big

enough to carry off five legionaries any sort of piddler."

"Oh, pooh. Tisn't as if it carried all five off in one go. I've not seen it

anymore than you have, but I know different. You Romans always

exaggerate, as many a poor girl's learned to her sorrow on the wedding

night or 'round the Beltaine fires. Probably no more'n a newt with

glanders, but straightaway you lot bawl 'Dragon!' and off for help you run.

Bunch of babes. And if that piece propping up the doorpost's the best you

could drum up on the Continent" She shrugged expressively. "This

country's just going to ruin, Cai, that's all." She slouched over to grasp the

stranger's impressive left bicep. "Look 'ee here. Shoddy goods, that is.

Scrawnier than"

There was a flicker of cold steel. The man's dagger was smaller than his

sword, lighter, far handier, with a clean line that would never go out of

style. It was almost the size of a Roman legionary's shortsword, but he

handled it with more address. Presently it addressed Goewin's windpipe.

"[Aye], all," said Junius, pulling back the oxhide and stepping

unwittingly into the midst of this small domestic drama. "The commander

is now prepared to greet our noble visitor with all due"

The noble visitor growled something unintelligible and dropped his

dagger point from Goewin's throat. Caius Lucius rather supposed that his

guest disliked interruptions. Junius stared as the blade turned its

attention to him.

"Now just a moment" Junius objected in his flawless Latin.

A moment was all Caius Lucius wished. His wife was safe, but now his

messmate was in danger. Dragon or no, and never mind that Junie Maro

was the biggest prig the Glorious Ninth had ever spawned, the bonds of

the legion still stood for something. While trying to remember precisely

what, he picked up a small wine jug and belted the noble visitor smack on

top of his iron boar.

Junius Claudius Maro looked down at the crumpled heap of clay shards,

fur, and badly-tanned leather at his feet, then gave Caius Lucius a filthy

glare by way of thanks for his life. "You idiot," he said.

"You're welcome, I'm sure," Caius replied. Sullen and bitter, he added,

"Didn't kill 'im. Didn't even snuff his wick."

That much was true. The man was not unconscious, just badly dazed

and grinning like a squirrel. Caius Lucius watched, astounded, as old

Junie knelt beside the stunned barbarian and spoke to him in a strange,

harsh tongue. Still half loopy, the man responded haltingly in kind, and

before long the two of them were deep in earnest conversation punctuated

by bellowing laughter.

"Youyou speak that gibberish, Junie?" Caius Lucius ventured to ask

when his comrade finally stood up.

"Goatish, not gibberish," Junius replied, wiping tears of hilarity from

his eyes. "Gods, and to think I never believed the pater when he told me

it's the only tongue on earth fit for telling a really elegant latrine joke!

Later on, you must remind me to tell you the one aboutbut no. The pun

won't translate, and, in any case, Ursus here says he's going to kill you in a

bit. If our commander doesn't have you crucified first, for nearly doing in

our dragon-slayer."

Caius Lucius gaped. "Crucified?"

His wife sighed. "Didn't me Mum just warn me you'd come to a bad

end. Now I'll have to listen to the old girl's bloody I-told-you-so's 'til

Imbolc. Honestly, Cai!"

"Caius Lucius Piso, you are accused of damaging legion property." The

Commander of the Ninth slurped an oyster and gave the accused the

fish-eye. "This man has been brought into our service at great personal

expense to deal with ourahlittle problem, and you make free with his

cranial integrity." The commander grinned, never loath to let his audience

know when he'd come up with an especially elegant turn of phrase.

Marcus Septimus, the commander's secretary, toady, and emergency

catamite, applauded dutifully and made a note of it.

"Bashed him one on the conk, he did," Goewin piped up from the

doorway. "I saw 'im!"

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UPTHEWALLEstherM.Friesner ReadingastorylikethismakesonewanttotossoutalltheoldhistorytextsandletthefantasyandSFwritingcommunityhaveagoatredoingthemforthesecondary-schoolmarket.Guaranteedyou'dhavemorestudentsinterestedinhistory,andthattheywouldn'tbebored.Romanhistoryisparticularlyfascinating,butalltoo...

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Esther M. Friesner - Up the Wall

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