-
BRASUS SAT AND tried to keep his mind clear of everything. That was never a good sign and he knew it, for the emptiness should come naturally and not be forced. Wise men and old, the truly pure were said to be able to sit or lie and almost at once be empty of worldly thoughts, a vessel waiting to be filled with enlightenment. Once or twice, such peace had come to him, or he thought later that it had, but only when he was weary and a treacherous part of him wondered if that had simply been fatigue.
He opened his eyes and could see the faintest hints of the rocky chamber around him. Dawn was coming outside, the light seeping in from the distant mouth of the cave and soon it would be time to leave this place and take food and drink. His fast had begun two dawns ago, a day before he came to the cavern.
A drip of water plinked into a puddle. He had not seen it when he entered the holy place at sunset yesterday, but all through the long hours of the night the noise had gone on and on. Brasus had not slept, that much he knew, and had only shifted his posture a few times as he sat cross-legged or squatted on the bare stone. He had felt the cold of the rock, his limbs going stiff and then numb, and he had listened to the dripping water while outside the moon rose and the stars turned in the Heavens. Several times he had thought of them and tried to work out how far into the night it was. Some men were said to be transported by their visions into the Heavens themselves and spoke of walking among the stars. His was no vision, but yet more of the thoughts he could not prevent.
Brasus wondered whether he was different, but that was surely vanity, and instead once again wondered whether he was a fraud, pretending to be pure so that others would treat him with honour. The king had been very kind in his words when Brasus had gone to his stronghold, and also in his gestures. He had been permitted to meet his bride to be, the king’s youngest daughter, who had presented him with a tress of her deep brown hair, neatly plaited and tied with a ribbon. One day soon he would learn her name – her real name not the one that was used by others in daily speech – and he would know one of life’s great mysteries. A woman’s path was a different one, but in marriage he would glimpse a little of her world and hope to learn from it.
Thoughts of marriage, of a girl, round-faced with the wide nose and mouth of her family, had come into his mind often, and especially during the night. Brasus was not quite sure whether he had seen fear as well as anticipation in her eyes, and wondered about his own feelings. His father had once said that the best of wives made a man relish this life and cease to long for death and the transformation it gave to the pure. A mean-spirited part of him sometimes made Brasus wonder whether his mother’s death from fever months before the last war had done as much to inspire his father’s stubborn fight and the taking of his own life as his quest for a pure life.
Thoughts were treacherous, and brought doubt and suspicion. Brasus wondered whether the men who claimed to find emptiness lied and had spent the hours pondering one thing or another or whether he was the liar for pretending to be faithful and pure. So the night passed, with the water dripping and Brasus worrying about so many things.
Oddly enough, Brasus had spent less time wondering about the trial to come than other things. He was worried by some of the king’s choices. It was an honour to be tasked with leading the advance guard, the men who were to storm the fort and seize the bridge by surprise. Yet he wondered why the king had chosen Diegis and Rholes to command the main army that would follow. Diegis was said to be a man of great piety, rigorous in thought and life, but was also widely known as a fool who struggled to make up his mind and was sometimes timid and sometimes reckless in battle. Rholes was rare among the king’s advisors, one of the Getae rather than the Daci and a man who wore his hair long and piled into a ball on top of his head so that the cap he wore was tall, like a bag. He drank wine like a Thracian, ate all meats like a Roman, was crude of speech and an open whoremonger. Rholes was also a great warrior and an even greater leader, shrewd in thought and cunning in action.
Brasus wished that Rholes was in sole command and knew that this was wrong, for Zalmoxis would surely guide only the pure to serve his purpose, but Rholes won battles and Diegis led men to needless deaths, puffed up by his royal name. The court of the king was not a comfortable place, for all that most of his noblemen were held to be of the pure. Brasus had overheard some of them talking after the plan was announced, and saying that Decebalus was too wise to trust an army to one man’s command, lest a new hero emerge, just as Decebalus had once made his name in war and been able to supplant the old king. Another surprise had been Diegis’ interest in Ivonercus the Briton, which surely can only have come from the king, since how else would he have heard of the deserter and known his name.
The night had seemed long, even endless, for he felt that every moment had been filled with ideas and confusion. He wondered about marriage, about his bride to be, for he knew that the lust was growing, and he thought of kings and nobles, wars and lies, but most of all he felt hungry, while the dripping water was a torment for reminding him of his desperate thirst.
Far and faint, there came the notes of a horn greeting the rising sun. That was one good practice copied from the Romans, rousing soldiers to be ready. Brasus now had some six hundred warriors, almost a third of the force he was promised, and the latest band were camped just below the pass. Today he would lead them to a hidden place within the woods on the south side of the valley, for until the last moment he wanted to conceal his strength from the Romans. First he would sting them, like the ambush of their patrol several days ago. Ivonercus had helped with that and shown no reluctance to slay his own kin. Deserters could be useful, as could their ideas, although Brasus still felt that this was an unclean way of making war.
Getting up was painful, his body and especially his legs hurting with the movement, and he doubted that he could have stood upright even if the roof of the cavern had been higher. The fast was done, the time of waiting in the bowels of the earth complete. There had been no emptiness, no real peace during the long night, although he wondered whether he would lie if anyone asked him about his experience. Stumbling up the passage, he also wondered whether men had lied to him of their visions and insights. He had been alone and he had thought long and hard and that was all there was to it.
Brasus blinked as he turned around a bend in the cave and saw its mouth, the red light of the dawn appallingly bright to his eyes. The horn sounded again, oddly fainter this time, and it was even more strange that he did not think about anything apart from forcing life back into his painful feet and legs as he tried not to fall or trip. He felt chilled, and draping the cloak he had left near the entrance did little to warm his naked body. His other clothes were outside, and he fumbled with buckles and brooches as he drew them on. The climb down the little cliff was not hard, and by this time he was shaking off the stiffness. After that the walk to the camp was easy and by the time he reached it he felt invigorated. Men stared at him, some nervous, some showing their awe of what he had done and others with no interest. Half these men were deserters, who understood nothing. Brasus did not speak for it was only as he saw these faces that he realised that his mind had truly been clear from the moment he left the cave. This was how it had always been for him, after the long hours of vigil and the jumble of thoughts, ideas and doubts. Afterwards his mind felt stronger and fresher and everything he set his hand to do went well. Whether or not others felt the same he could not tell and it no longer seemed to matter.