Chapter 7:
And She Became Meiri
Two-thousand years ago, the city of Ctesiphon lied where today's Baghdad rests on the northwestern banks of the Tigris River. Founded around 120 BCE,Ctesiphon began as an expansion of a military base, which grew into a capital metropolis, merging with the earlier capital of Seleucia, under the rule of Orodes II in 58 BCE. With it's incredible scale for any city of the time and commerce to be respected across the globe,every merchant and general held maps telling them exactly how to get there. The only challenge for the convoy was the large desert that rested between them and their destination.
Following General Agrippa's advice, the commander of the group, a man named Mateus, took a northern route toward the city of Mari, a river trade city on the Euphrates. After leaving the outer sights of Dimasq, Meira was asked to join the commander at the lead of the convoy."It's a good idea for us to follow the river," he said to her as she took a seat next to him on the leading cart. "It takes us two days out of our way, but the river will do the rest of the work once we get there. We should arrive in Ctesiphon within the month."
"Ctesiphon?!?" Meira gawked. "You weren't just yelling out a name to fool those lunatics?!? We're really going to Ctesiphon?!?"
"No," he grinned at her, waiting to see her reaction to the rest of the details, "we're resting in Ctesiphon. We're GOING to Alexandria."
"Alexandria?" Meira tilted her head as her own mental map unrolled in her mind. "Isn't that in the opposite direction? Isn't it in Egypt?"
"Wrong Alexandria," the commander laughed. "You have sixty-nine more guesses."
A contemplative looked swept over Meira's face as she thought. "Wait," she snapped back to the commander, "there are seventy cities named Alexandria?!?"
"Seventy that I'm aware of," the commander laughed. "You're too much fun to joke with," he said. "I'll save you the boring list of ALL the Alexandrias because I'm more interested in the face you'll make when I tell you where we're going. We are going to meet with another caravan in Ctesiphon and, from there, we will be traveling to Alexandria Arachosia."
"I still don't know where that is," she responded, rolling her eyes.
The commander couldn't help himself. He was going back and forth between snickering and full out laughing as he reached for his map with one hand on the reins. "Open this up and hold it out for me."
To Meira's surprise, it wasn't a local map, but one that covered from the Iberian peninsula to the eastern coasts of the Han Dynasty, China. The commander leaned over, running his finger along the route they were taking. "Here we were," he tapped on Dimasq, "here's where we will meet the river," he tapped on Mari, "here is Ctesiphon," and then he dragged his finger slowly along a path to build the suspense, "and here is Arachosia."
She looked back and forth between him and the map, eyes wide and holding her breath. "You have to be joking," she said.
"That's the best joke," he said, maintaining his clever grin. "The best joke is when it's not a joke! That's where we're going."
"Malaka!" Meira gasped.
The commander jerked his head back and looked at her strangely as he began to laugh some more. "Good," he said in Greek through his laughter, "you speak Greek. That will be helpful. What other languages do you know?"
"I don't even know Greek," she responded in the language as her words brought about her own confusion.
"You could have fooled me," he continued in Greek while he looked at her questioningly. "Your pronunciation is perfect. Where did you learn those words?"
"I don't know," she continued in the language as if it had taken over her tongue. "Please, I don't want to talk about it."
"Hmm," the commander's mischievous look came back over him. "Then what would you like to talk about?" he asked in Latin. "I've heard that the General enjoyed philosophical debates with you. Would you care for some sparring?"
"What did you have in mind?" she responded in Latin without noticing as she stared out over the rocky terrain.
"I've always wondered if languages effected how we think," he answered while peering at her out of the corner of his eye. "Latin is very methodical. Each declension of a word explains its use within a sentence. Really, there's no room to be confused over a statement in Latin, so I can't help wondering if that is why Romans are so organized. What do you think?"
"I've never thought of it," she responded. "That makes some sense on the surface, but there are other societies that are just as organized as Rome, aren't there? I mean, it's not just Rome as the pinnacle of society and the rest of the world is nothing but rogues and bandits. Doesn't Rome have it's own crime and vagabonds?"
"It does," he nodded thoughtfully. "What about Rome's expansion? We couldn't have done that without being organized."
"True," Meira agreed, "but so did Greece, so did the Hans, so did the Egyptians, so did Mesopotamia. Do they all speak the same language? I think that, when men want something, it is ambition that drives them,but that ambition can also close their ears and blind their eyes."
"Are you calling the Roman conquest blind and deaf?" he gawked, looking at her in surprise.
"In many ways, yes," she answered. "What was the purpose? What did Rome gain from it? More wealth than needed? Merchants will make money regardless of what country they're in. What does it matter what Rome controls? What Rome is blind and deaf to are the wars it wages and the people caught in the chaos."
"What makes you say that?" he asked her. "Why would you say that Rome isn't aware of the costs of war? What about other kingdoms that have fought for expansion? Are you saying the same of them?"
"Of course I am," she answered, relaxing more in her seat as her mind was taken from her immediate troubles. "You see war, but Rome does not. You see the pain in the people, but Rome does not. The people sending you to war may never see a battlefield. They are too far removed from what is happening to understand the cost of their decisions."
"Oh," he smiled, "I understand now. You're speaking of the politicians and Caesars, not the people, but what if we don't expand? What is our purpose then?" This brought deep contemplation equally between them. As the words left his lips, he inspired himself to think about what he would do if he were not a soldier. "Tell me, Meiri, if you could do anything, what would you do?"
"I want to change how the world works," she groaned without a second thought."Maybe that is my purpose. I feel it in my bones that things are not right. I hate slavery. I can understand working off a debt, but slavery is cruel and unjust: people forced into servitude while losing time to build their own lives and women are lifelong slaves in this world. There is no way for a woman to build her own life."
"That's not entirely true," the commander thought aloud. "There are women business owners in Greece, but I do see how it is much more difficult for them."
"And what businesses do these women own?" Meira looked at him suspiciously.
"Brothels, bathhouses," he went through his incredibly short list and didn't think of the implications behind those woman dominated professions.
"You're asking me to hit you," she glared at him. He looked at her in confusion. To him and the other Greek and Roman soldiers, this was normal. "Are you really telling me that the only thing that women have to offer is their bodies?!?" She had turned to look at him directly with her intense stare as she gripped the wooden bar behind them in frustration. With the sound of the rolling wheels, they couldn't hear the grinding sound her hand was making as it turned over the wood.
With her Centurion's Stare upon him, he couldn't speak. His eyes were locked forward as anxiety formed on his brow in beads of sweat. Once she looked away for a moment, he managed to let out a soft, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?" she asked turning back to resting her elbows on her knees. "You don't even know what is so wrong with what you said."
He took a moment to catch his breath and his wits as they rode in silence for a minute. "Then," his intellect came back to him just enough to tell him that he was missing something important, "tell me what I'm getting wrong. Expansion doesn't always have to be through war. It can be through the mind, too. Don't you think?"
"Women don't have freedom as men do," she sighed. "They don't even have the freedom the slaves do. A slave will eventually be freed from their service. Women are expected to be servants until death. Would you trust a woman selling goods in a market?"
"Wouldn't a woman be more likely to be robbed in a market?" he asked.
"Stultus puer!" she groaned. "Are you saying that women are easy targets? I think it's your perceptions that guide your language, not the other way around. I fought off four of your soldiers, yet you would see meas vulnerable in comparison to one. Why?"
"Women are softer," he answered nervously. "They are more delicate."
"What if it's that perception," she growled at him, "that language that keeps women subdued and 'soft'? Marcus didn't think this way."
"General Agrippa is very wise," the commander responded cautiously. "Tell me: how did your training go with him?" he asked, attempting to change the subject.
It was then that Meira remembered the conversation she had with Marcus: when she asked if men only understood through combat and he merely tapped on his chest-plate. "Do you have your armor?" she asked.
He didn't produce his centurion's armor, but pulled his shield from under a blanket just behind him. "What do you want it for?"
She placed it against the foot rest, holding the top in place as she readied a punch. "Marcus told me that men only understand one thing," she said. Letting loose a couple quick jabs on the shield, she pounded on the shield, startling others nearby. The commander couldn't believe what he had just seen. As she passed the shield back to him, two large dents then nearly bent the shield away from him.
He handed the reins of the cart over to her, noticing a slight mist coming from her right fist as he inspected his shield in disbelief. "Are you the daughter of Heracles?!?" he asked in a hushed astonishment. His response was enough to wash away some of her disdain and replace it with a blush and a light fit of laughter. He rotated the shield in his hands, looking at the damage from both sides before handing it back to her. "Can you bend my shield back," he asked shyly, "please?"
"Now that we've got that out of the way," Meira giggled as she punched his shield back into place, "do you want to tell me, again, how soft women are?"
The commander's eyes shot wide. "Not if it means that I will take the place of the shield," he laughed. "Meiri, I don't know of any MEN that can do that. That shield has taken spears and stones and you just made it look thin and weak! I won't be the first man to admit that I don't understand women, but you are definitely different by the accounts of the gods!"
"The gods," Meira's smile melted away to contemplation. "Tell me what you know about your gods. Would they choose a woman to do their work?"
Thinking that this was such a strange question, he looked her over as she looked back with the same sad hopeful expression she gave Marcus. "Of course," he answered. "There is the oracle of Delphi, The Daughters of Artemis, you already mentioned the Amazons. Why do you ask?"
She didn't answer immediately. The very fresh memories of her people cursing her and yelling that, "God would never choose a woman," rang in her ears. "What if I was chosen?" she asked. "Do you think that is possible?"
"I have no doubt that you were chosen," he gawked, "but chosen to do what?" he asked.
"I don't know," she shook her head. "I can splinter a post with one punch and I can also heal the wounded."
He was skeptical of the last confession and needed clarification. "You know medicine?" he asked.
"No," she answered, "I can heal a wound in seconds."
"With your bare hands?" he looked at her discerningly.
"No," she answered, "with water."
"Just any water?" he furrowed his brow.
"Yes," she answered.
She could tell what he was thinking before he said anything. His eyes moved between her and a water-skin that dangled before them. He then reached for his dagger and said, "Show me."
It wasn't a need to show-off that drove her to display the powers she knew she possessed, but a desire for validation. As miraculous as her newly discovered abilities were, there was a remaining disbelief within herself that she could do those things. Having another, someone other than Marcus or her bewitched parents, to confirm she could perform these feats helped her feel some sense of sanity.
She waited for him to slice into his hand, as her father did, and then used the water from his water-skin to heal the wound before him. As he opened and closed his palm, marveling at the miracle, she conjured the courage to ask, "What do you think of me, now?"
He looked away from his hand, finding her looking at him with fear in her eyes. "Meiri," he said as a soft smile grew across his face, "I don't know what gods your people worship or which gods followed us from Rome and Greece, but I will call you Meiri until my dying breath."
This made her smile, but the fresh trauma of being exiled by her own family left a deep wound. If it was so easy for her parents to cast her out, she wondered, how could this man so easily accept her. "You don't think I'm a witch?" she pressed.
"Maybe you are," he shrugged his shoulders. "What does that matter? Being chosen by the gods doesn't instantly make you good or evil. The gods are capricious, so it is up to you to decide your destiny. It's up to you to decide what you will do with their blessings." This settled really well with her. She smiled in relief as a tear of joy rolled down her cheek. "Are you crying?" he asked. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No," she mocked toughness as she punched his shoulder playfully. He nearly leaped from the cart, fearing that her hit could have killed him, but then relaxed, knowing that she had control over her ability. "It just feels strange, you know?"
"What does?" he asked.
Her eyes drifted upwards towards the stars overhead, looking at the constellations she could recognize. "I feel like I just lost my home," she answered, "but that it was never really my home." She sighed heavily. "I feel this pain that hasn't yet been fully felt, but I also feel like I just set down a heavy load. I don't know how to describe it. I don't understand anything that has happened."
A somber silence filled the air and he could tell that she had drifted back to looking back over their escape. "Where do you think your home is?" he asked, attempting to pull her back.
"I don't know," she sighed as she leaned back against the cart. "I've always wanted to travel. Maybe the road is my home. No face, but all faces come here. Nobody is wrong and nobody is right. We're all travelers here. I like that idea."
"That is a very romantic idea," he laughed, "all faces under one nation. Do you mind if I play another joke on you?"
She glared at him, but smiled in the process. "What are you going to do?" she asked as she sat upright.
"Oh, nothing," he smiled. "Only that you said that you don't know any other languages."
"Right, what about it?" she answered cautiously.
Looking over at her to gauge her body language before speaking, he readied himself for her reaction. "It's only that we've been speaking Latin for the past hour."
"QUID?!?" the word escaped her lips as she finally became aware of it.
All the while, a soft perception grew in Meira's mind that no person belonged to anyone religion, but that they could all be accepted and assisted by any god that deemed them worthy, regardless of how "capricious" the men insisted they were. Meira kept many of these thoughts to herself,though, as she was taught from childhood that the Yehudhi were chosen by the one true god and that no person could just BECOME a Yehudhi. You were either born chosen, or you were not, or that was what she was told.
Learning of the Roman pantheon was merely a taste of the well of human faith for her. She needed more. She became hungry for more knowledge and would have had the men marching day and night to reach their next destination where she might find more "gods" to learn about.
It took them roughly two weeks to make their journey to Mari. During this time, Meira gave demonstrations to the others in their group, gaining their admiration and respect. They all took turns debating various politics and philosophies as well as learning of each others religions. Meira showed more interest in learning the two gods Justus had mentioned: Metus and Pavor, the sons of Mars.
Chapter 8:
Unstable
Within the time it took them to travel to Mari, Meira soaked up all of the information she could acquire from the men on the Roman gods, which led to her questioning her own faith in the process. As they rested each night, she would pull as many as she could into conversations about the gods and what had happened in Dimasq.
Justus made his case for the chaos being of Metus and Pavor's doing, but others added more of the Roman pantheon to the equation, which increased their fears. While it was easy to blame any inexplicable fear and panic on the two brothers, named for the two behaviors: Metus (fear)and Pavor (panic), the commander listened to the arguments thoughtfully until something came to mind that he couldn't keep to himself.
In his studies as a child, he read Homer's Iliad. In it, the two brothers, named Phobos and Deimos in Greek, were present, but there was another, a sister to Mars, and she was the most notorious for creating the level of rage they observed sweeping through the city.
"Justus, Patricius, Lucius," he said to three men who had engaged in a lively retelling of the stories, "have you forgotten about Discordia?"
At the mention of the name, their voices were halted and their eyes lit up with the epiphany that Mateus had shared. "DISCORDIA!" they exclaimed,feeling stupid for not seeing it earlier.
"Who is Discordia?" Meira asked, turning to him as he took the stage.
"She is the daughter of Nyx," he answered, "and is the goddess of hate. I don't remember seeing the people fearful of you and panic makes people disorganized. It appeared as they simply hated you. Hate makes it easier to believe the worst of people, don't you think?"
"Tell me more about her," Meira requested as she leaned in closer, watching Mateus through the flames of the camp fire.
"Homer tells us about Discordia," he began, "but he called her Eris in the Iliad. She was known for being disagreeable and of a foul nature. It was because of her that the Trojan War was fought. Homer tells us that she was not permitted to attend the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, so, being vengeful as well, she threw a golden apple among the goddesses. On it, she had written, 'To the fairest.' Minerva, Iuno, and Venus were all captured by Discordia's magical apple and fell into a rivalry that led to them using Sparta and Troy as pawns in their dispute."
Everyone had given full attention to the commander as he told the story. "Then what happened?" Meira asked.
"Troy was destroyed," he answered. "The Greeks built a wooden horse and hid their men inside it. They presented the horse to Troy as a gift and then pretended to leave. That night, the men climbed out and opened the gates for the returning forces."
"What about, what did you call her, again, Eris?" Meira was focused more on the gods than the details of the war.
"Yes, Eris, or Discordia to us Romans," he answered, nodding to his men. "What did you want to know?"
"What happened to her?" she asked in anticipation. "Could it have been her at Dimasq? Could she have been the old woman? Did any of you know who she was?" she turned to the others. "I never knew her name."
The rest of the men became quiet. Even Mateus returned to his seat in thought.One man, though, broke the quiet contemplation with a scoff and a groan. "Those are all stories," he said, sneering at the rest of them. "Troy was destroyed because Paris stole the wife of Menelaus.The gods had nothing to do with it."
A look of foolishness swept over Meira's face, but Mateus defended her. "I would agree with you, Thadaeus," he began, "but Meira wanted to learn of the gods, so that is what we are discussing." A look of displeasure came over Thadaeus' face. "Do you not believe in the gods?" Mateus asked.
"Didn't Socrates argue against the existence of gods," he threw back at Mateus.
The commander smiled in delight. "I didn't know you were so well educated," he clapped. "We will have to debate more. You're right about Socrates, but recent events would have me question this. I'm not saying that he was right or wrong, but that it deserves more thought. How would you explain what happened or what Meira can do?"
"I can't explain any of it," Thadaeus answered, "but that doesn't mean that we should immediately give credit of the inexplicable to the gods. Is it wise to continue our ignorance by ending our questions with, 'The gods did it'?"
"Well," Mateus chuckled as he retrieved his shield, "how about this? It wasn't the gods." He showed everyone the dents in the metal and then pointed at Meira, "She did it."
"In that case," Thadaeus rose from his seat and walked over to inspect the object, "I would have more of an urge to question Meiri than the gods. Do you know how you did this?" he turned to her, handing the shield to her. "Perhaps the gods do exist, but they could all grant us the strength to do this."
"I don't know," Meira frowned. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."
He nodded thoughtfully as Mateus stood back, curious as to how Thadaeus was going to proceed. "What about your gods?" he asked Meira.
"The Yehudhi only have one god," she answered.
"That's not entirely true, is it?" he asked, a puzzled look in his eyes. "There are still many from your region who speak of the older gods. I believe they are called 'false gods' now. What do you know about them?"
"Not much," she answered, feeling embarrassed. "I was always taught that there was only one true God. Mentioning the false gods would only bring misfortune."
"Yet that is what we are doing," Thadaeus smirked, "unless you believe the Roman gods are true gods, too, but that would negate your belief in only one."
"I'm aware of that," she grimaced at him, "but your gods could be the emissaries of Yahweh. We call them 'Elohim.'"
"So," Thadaeus smirked, "you're saying that there are other gods, but that yours is the king of gods?"
"I think we're getting off topic," Mateus laughed. "Let's not get into religious philosophy. We are all questioning our beliefs at this moment. Let us leave it at that."
"That sounds fair," Thadaeus bowed to the commander. "Then let me redirect: what can you tell me about the Elohim?"
Meira squinted and tilted her head, stopped and started sentences in mid sound, and then admitted, "I don't know how to describe them. Depending on who you talk to, the word 'Elohim' refers to Yahweh, but it's plural, so others say that there are other gods under Yahweh."
"That didn't tell me anything," Thadaeus laughed. "What do you know of the other religions from this region? I've heard the name, 'Ba'al Hadad,'mentioned a few times."
"Who is that?" Justus asked in curiosity.
"If Iupitor visited Syrian," Thadaeus answered whimsically, "he might have been called Ba'al Hadad. Almost the same god, but Hadad wore a helm with horns and carried a club as well as a lightning bolt, just in case he missed with one of them. Where we're going, we might stillsee some people worshiping Hadad, which reminds me: don't kill any bulls."
"Iuopitor won't like that," Justus informed Meira.
"Neither will Hadad," Thadaeus added. "Aside from the helm and the club, I can't think of any real difference between the two. Maybe Iupitor did travel," he said as he scratched his chin. "When was the last time you prayed to the gods for answers?" he asked Meira.
The question caught her off guard. The idea of praying for anything was foreign to her. "You ask your gods for things?" she looked at them strangely.
"What other point is there to prayer?" Patricius asked. "We make sacrifices and, in return, they answer our prayers. It's like business: one thing for another."
"As long as the sacrifice is good enough," Lucius added.
"What do you pray for?" Mateus asked Meira. "What is the purpose of prayer to you?"
Meira closed her eyes and listened to the crackling of the fire. She felt the light breeze moving across her face and the warmth of the fire on her skin. The others sat in silence, watching her as though she was performing something magical before them and waiting for the grand reveal. "I guess," she began slowly, "I don't try to say anything to Yahweh. I try to silence my mind, so I can hear Him instead of trying to get Him to hear me."
"What does he say?" Justus asked, his attention fully grasped by the idea of a god speaking to them.
"Give it a try," Meira smiled as she closed her eyes, again. Every man in the company closed their eyes and followed her instructions. "Rely on your senses to quiet your mind. Feel the wind across your face. Hear the sounds around you. Smell the scents carried on the breeze. Let your mind still itself and wait for the message."
Each member of the group experienced the same response, although their reactions varied. Some were given chills while others felt dizzy and sleepy. Some felt a moment of piece while others became anxious and nervous.What they all experienced, though, was that they were not alone. "What is He telling you," Meira asked.
Being one of the few who were reacting with peace and relief, Mateus answered, "I am here."
This gave the others the courage and freedom to express what they felt. They all felt the presence, but some admitted that it made them feel uneasy, like they were being watched or, worse yet, stalked.
"Just relax," Meira smiled at those who felt anxiety. "He is always near, even when things feel the darkest."
They all tried, again, and, this time, anxieties were lessened, fears were quelled, and each man sat in awe of the experience. As all people do, they tried to understand what they had felt and what they had done through what they were most familiar with.
"Is this what it's like to be an oracle?" Patricius asked. "I remember visiting the Oracle of Delphi and now I can understand why she swayed and looked so dizzy."
"As interesting as this was," Thadaeus thought, "I'm not sure what to gather from it. Does this answer any of our questions about Meiri or what happened in Dimasq?" He scanned the faces of those around him to see only his own curiosity mirrored back at him. "My next question would be: if your god, Yahweh, was always near, why did he allow those things to happen?"
"What if it isn't a Yahweh?" Mateus asked and then saw Meira's face turn to disappointment. "I didn't mean it like that," he backtracked. "Let me find other words." He took a moment to gather his floating thoughts and returned. "We have the concept of the golden threads created by The Fates. They are all interconnected like a web or tapestry throughout our world. What if this presence is us feeling the web? I have to admit that, while I did feel something around me, I also felt more connected to what was around me." Mateus brushed his hair back and looked towards the stars. "That was a very welcomed experience, Meiri. Thank you for showing us this."
While she felt at a loss that the others were not accepting this the same way she did, she was surprised that they had experienced anything at all.Until then, she had believed that only the Yuhudhi could make the connection to Yahweh. If this wasn't the case then another piece of her beliefs was being put to question: What if the Yehudhi weren't chosen through birth, but made through practice. "It isn't over," Meira defended her ways. "The more you listen, the more you will hear."
So began their nightly exercises, guided by Meira. Even Thadaeus, as skeptical as he appeared, joined in without hesitation, driven by a curiosity over what he might eventually hear. After two nights of this, the men reported to sleeping better and feeling more rested the next day.They all felt happier as if each night came with the release of another weight from their hearts. Philosophical debates came easier to them as their minds flowed with the thoughts and they all attributed Meira's form of prayer to her raw talent in debate.
This peace would be short lived, however, as the sights of Mari caused them to tighten their ranks. Riding on the carts and staying close to all their horses and belongings, they entered a city overrun by crime and degraded by neglect.
Mari once stood beautifully amongst the vegetation with the Euphrates running through the middle of the city. Tall buildings painted with vibrant whites and blues jutted from the sands as beacons for any crossing the deserts, but war, corruption, crime, and the fall of societal structure left the inner walls a nest of thieves, smugglers, weapons dealers, and slave traders. Upon entering, Mari's former glory was obvious to everyone in the cracking murals and fading paint that once made the city a visual oasis among the desert dunes.
"What happened here?" Meira asked Mateus as they rode in together.
"I can only guess," he answered, "but I would say that war had come with a heavy cost to these people. They are desperate now, so keep close to us." He reached out and tapped the shoulder of one of the men who had been riding close to him. "Tell the other men that nobody is to wander off. We stay together. I will take a head count when we reach the inn."
"We're not staying here," Meira looked at him in disbelief.
"Just for the night," he answered. "We have been traveling for two weeks.These men need a clean water, hot food, and baths, or has your nose fallen off?" He watched her as she surveyed their surroundings, a look of dread, disgust, and worry mixed and mingled throughout her expressions. "Don't worry," he said. "We will be fine as long as we stick together and, if anything should happen, we have the chosen one to protect us," he smiled as he playfully punched her shoulder.
"Malakas," she said, barely paying attention to his kidding.
"You really like that word," he laughed. "Maybe we should switch to Greek," he thought aloud. "That would be a good idea. I'm worried that we're drawing enough attention just by being here. We should make sure our tongues don't attract more."
They cautiously made their way through city until they found an inn large enough to accommodate Meira and the dozen men who accompanied her. As Mateus discussed the cost of the stay with the owner, Meira noticed a suspicious look upon the man's face as the commander didn't seem to bargain and, without thinking, reached for his coin purse.
"Mateus," she whispered to him, "you need to haggle or else he will think you have more to spend."
Fluidly, as if it was all a part of his style of bartering, Mateus retrieved only half of the amount the owner asked for. "What is this?" the owner growled. "Have you forgotten how to count?"
"Oh," Mateus became sarcastic, "I thought that you had forgotten how much a stay here is worth. You mean to tell me that you were serious?"
The owner scowled at Mateus, trying to gauge his opponent, but then smiled. "Fine then," he said as he pocketed the silver pieces, "but if you want food and bath, it will cost you more."
"Of course, it will," Mateus smiled cleverly. "I was waiting for the hidden fees." He then handed the man a couple more silver pieces. "This should be more than enough for all of my men," he grinned as Meira nudged him, "and the lady."
"Special accommodations for women costs extra," the owner held his hand out for more silver.
"Is that so?" Mateus asked as the owner nodded with a bigger grin. "Then, as payment, we won't cause any trouble. That sounds fair, doesn't it?" he asked the party who all smiled kindly and agreed.
The nights of the quiet meditation had made a lasting effect on their demeanor. How genuinely kind their smiles were and how melodious their tones we reas they called out, "Of course, we won't be any trouble," were so out of the norm for the owner that he became instantly fearful that he had just done business with the worst criminals in the land. He had heard every threat under the sun, seen more murders within his own establishment than he could count, and been robbed more times than his coffers could bare, but it was the display of calm kindness that terrified him. He couldn't even bring himself to argue overcharging them for keeping their horses in the stables. "V-very good," he said as he stepped back towards the doors, "that sounds f-fair."
"Before you go," Mateus stopped him, "could you tell us who we should talk to about finding ferries along the Euphrates. We are going to Ctesiphon, if that makes any difference."
"That will depend on how many more of those silver pieces you have," the owner remarked out of habit, but then became nervous. "Not that it's any of my business how much you have. When do you want to leave?"
"We will be resting tonight and leaving tomorrow," Mateus answered to the owner's relief.
"Then I will put a notice up on the river for any ferries going in that direction," the owner informed them. "Will there be anything else?"
Mateus looked around to the rest of his men as they happily went about their duties. "Maybe start drawing the baths?" he shrugged his shoulders. "I'd rather not be indoors with them until they have scrubbed the road off," he laughed.
"I will stay with the horses," Meira added. "They could use a good brushing and I could use their quiet company."
Mateus waited for the owner to leave before reminding Meira that they needed to stay together. "Nobody should be left alone here," he said.
"I won't be alone," she said, ignoring his concern, "or did you forget that these horses will protect me as ferociously as you would?"
"Meiri," he tried to argue, but she wouldn't hear it. "Fine! Maybe, as you're brushing the horses, you'll realize that I might be trying to protect the bandits from you more so than you from them. Just try not to call any attention to yourself, okay?"
Meira almost skipped her own bath that night, falling into brushing each horse with a calmness that she was fearing she might have lost in the chaos of Dimasq. Even after she bathed, she returned to the horses. For two weeks, she hadn't had a moment to herself, so the occasional huff and puff from the beasts was a much appreciated relief to the seemingly excessive debating the men engaged in every night. It was so peaceful, in fact, that she pushed her limits with the commander further and decided to sleep in the stables, a comfort she was missing.
If not for the fact that she was far from home and in a den of criminals, she would have slept heavily and comfortably, but even the comfort of her horses could not subdue her worries. As she lightly dozed, curled up next to the last horse she had brushed, the light groan of the wooden stable doors awoke her as she heard the scuffing of many feet and the scraping of the dry hay beneath their heels.