One afternoon in the mountains, they chanced upon a tall column of white water that roared from the lip of a cliff into a pool beside a broad, flat clearing in the woods. It was not the first time the expedition had spotted waterfalls on the march, but the ones they had passed previously were miniature affairs bubbling into streams compared to this towering, mist-shrouded giant. It was as good a spot as any to establish camp for the night, not least because it was more scenic than anywhere they had rested before.
Once he had erected their tent, Phameas plopped onto a log and massaged his sore calves while watching Sukamek strike two fragments of chert against each other beside a pile of twigs they had collected from the forest. When sparks shot out and lit the tinder aflame, they let its warmth caress their palms while Isceradin distributed sticks with salted pork on them to cook over it.
“Malchus says we’re running low on rations,” Isceradin said.
Phameas grumbled. “I figured that would happen sooner or later. You want to search for game or berries while we’re out here, Sukamek?”
“It won’t be easy for me,” Sukamek replied. “I’m not all that familiar with this mountain country, so I wouldn’t know what there is to eat. And we might have scared off many of the game regardless.”
“All the gods be damned, then. Shame we haven’t come across too many native villages since we left the lowlands, either. I wonder if they’d have anything to spare?”
“They might, but I don’t think these hills are good for growing most crops,” Isceradin said. “Unless there’s something you can grow on cool mountain slopes that I haven’t heard of.”
The meat on Phameas’s stick had browned and effused a seductive aroma. He pinched it off and gobbled it up in a few bites, washing it down with water from his water-skin and then licking his lips.
“You ever think about your family, Sukamek?” Phameas asked.
“Sometimes I worry that I might have abandoned them,” the Inu’naabe said. “Even if my Lilchpin does find another man for our son to call father, it won’t be the same for the boy. I know it can take a while to adjust to a stepfather.”
“I don’t think there is a single married man going to war who doesn’t fear for his wife and children,” Isceradin added. “My Arishat is expecting another this year. I want to be there by the time it comes, but you never know how long a campaign might drag on. As you know, Phameas, we were in Europe with Hannibal for, what, fifteen years?”
“We can only beg the gods this spat with the Shaawanaki doesn’t last nearly that long,” Phameas said. “Though, like you said, you never know.”
“Why is it that your sachems want to conquer the Shaawanaki, to begin with?” Sukamek asked. “I can understand wanting to drive them away from our lands, but taking control of their lands in turn? Is that not as greedy as they are?”
“I agree, but the way our leaders see it, holding more territory will make us stronger,” Isceradin answered. “You have to understand, it was only a couple of years ago when, on the other side of the great ocean, Carthage lost a big war to the Romans. Our leadership feels that we need to be more aggressive like the Romans in order to better protect ourselves from them.”
Sukamek grunted in confusion. “I would think that fighting wars all the time would make you weaker. You lose more men that way.”
“Well, the way our sachems see it, men’s lives are something you spend away like silver coins for your own ambitions,” Phameas said. “It isn’t fair, but that is how things are and how they’ve always been.”
“So what will they do when they run out of men to ‘spend’?”
“You should ask them,” Isceradin said. “I don’t know the answer anymore than you do.”
Phameas stretched his arms and looked back to the waterfall cascading into the pool. The elephants had all gathered into a herd by its bank to drink from it, with some of the massive beasts wading into the water and spraying themselves with it from their trunks. The moisture on their wrinkled backs glistened beneath the evening sunlight.
It was a scene more magnificent than any fresco an artist could paint on a wall back in Carthage. Phameas sighed with contentment. Sometimes, when enduring hardship like on a campaign, one had to appreciate whatever beauty you could find in the world.
If only his Bodashtart was here to watch it with him.