Chapter Twelve

NIGHTS, CHARGERS, AND STEVEN set off northward as dawn lightened the eastern sky in the morning. Steven’s pack and staff were loaded on one of the pack animals. He kept his bow and ran at the side of the trotting horses. Without his pack on his back, Steven felt somehow lighter and thought that he could run all day with no weight on his back. In fact, it proved that the horses, loaded with the weight of their own armor and that of the Knights needed to stop and rest more often than Steven did. During the day he brought down a grouse from beside the road and two rabbits. When they stopped to camp for the night, Steven added a duck.

Much to the surprise of the knights, Steven did not spit the animals and turn them over the fire, but used the camp pot the knights brought to create a stew. Into this he cut the meat and added turnips and carrots that grew nearby. He surreptitiously added a pinch of the wisewoman’s herbs to the simmering pot of stew. By the time the knights had finished caring for their horses, the smell of cooking wafted throughout the clearing where they camped.

By the time the food was served, the knights were anxiously stamping their feet on the ground like horses champing at the bit. The stew was thick and chunky and they set to with a hearty appetite.

“This food is better than any served at the king’s high table,” exclaimed one of the knights. “Our dragonslayer is a wizard of the cookpot!” Steven silently thanked the old woman for her herbs.

“Much as I would like to press the dragonslayer for the story of his hat,” said the leader of the knights, “after such a tasty meal it is only fair that we regale him with a tale as tall as the trees that surround us.” The knights wagged their heads in agreement.

“The Battle of Turin Ridge,” suggested one.

“No, The Unknown Soldier,” called another.

“Why not offer the best?” asked the leader. They agreed. And the knight began his tale.

The Unwinnable War

NCE UPON A TIME, when the world was young and a man might walk all day and not see the end of his holdings, there lived a mighty patriarch who had two sons. These two boys were alike in every way, so much so that even when they were born there was so much confusion that afterward no one knew which was oldest an which was youngest. This created enormous problems on the twins’ naming day. No one knew which was which. So the patriarch, despairing of ever knowing which was the eldest drew lots over the boys and gave the first drawn a tattoo on his right hand saying, “This is Dakshina, the right hand of my clan. He shall have the portion of the eldest.” The second twin he tattooed on the left hand saying, “This is Vama, the left hand of my clan. He shall have the portion of the younger.” And so it was established and the boys were ever after known as Dak and Vam, being distinguished from each other only by the tattoos.

Now these tattoos when seen separately were no more than a decorated band on the back of the hand. But when the boys clasped their hands in friendship, the band seemed to entwine the two together. And so the boys grew up, admired by all and feared by some, for they were rowdy children. And all this time people bowed to them, but a little lower to Dak than to Vam. It may seem inevitable, then, that a rivalry grew up between the two brothers, and that no matter how much they loved each other and protected each other, each was slightly jealous of the other—Vam that Dak was more respected, and Dak that Vam was more free of responsibility and could do what he wanted to.

As these little jealousies are prone to do, these turned more serious as time went on. On one occasion the grown boys sat looking over a vast plot of land speculating about who could run to the tree at the end the fastest. Now Dak was known to be strongest, but Vam was often more clever. When Dak proposed a race to see who could reach the tree first. Vam pretended to disdain the idea. “Ah, you will only defeat me and laugh at my weakness,” scoffed Vam.

“If you will race me, I will give you the finest horse in my stable if you win,” Dak encouraged Vam.

“Not for any horse,” said Vam, “but because you are my brother I will race you.” They set off running, but Dak easily outdistanced his brother.

Next the brothers were brought the best of the horses in their stable and went for a ride. “Brother,” said Dak, “let us race our horses to the same tree. You cannot complain that I am stronger, for our horses are evenly matched.”

“Yes,” said Vam, “but you are a better horseman. I will not race you.”

Wanting to compete, Dak coaxed his brother again. “If you race me to that tree and win,” Dak said, “I will give you the finest flock on the mountains.”

“Not for all the flocks of our kingdom,” said Vam, “but because you are my brother I will race you.” The set off at a gallop, but Dak easily won the race.

That night as the brothers sat at the table, Dak said to his brother, “Let us see who can eat the most meat.”

But Vam would have nothing to do with this competition saying, “You have worked harder than I and have a heartier appetite. I cannot eat as much meat as you.”

“If you can eat more meat than I can,” said Dak, “I will give you the most beautiful of my wives and concubines as your own.”

“Not for all the maidens in the kingdom,” said Vam, “but because you are my brother I will eat with you.” The meat was sliced and set before them in equal portions, but Dak had soon eaten far more than Vam.

“Brother,” said Dak, “It it is good that the lot has fallen to me to be our father’s heir. I am faster. I am a better horseman. I have a heartier appetite. Is there anything at which you are better than I am?”

“Nothing, I fear,” said Vam. “I am sure that if we both fetched water from the river and brought it to our father, your urn would have more in it than mine.”

“Now how could that happen?” asked Dak. “Surely this is a competition at which we could at least be equal.” But Vam declined the completion.

“You have beaten me on foot, on horseback, and at the table,” Vam said. “How can you humiliate me more?”

“Brother,” said Dak, boldly. “If you join with me in this contest, I will give you my birthright as heir to our father if he judges that you have more water in your urn than I.”

“Not for all the kingdoms on earth,” said Vam, “but because you are my brother I will carry water from the river.”

Now Dak had been waited on all his life and had never carried water from the river, but Vam had observed the servants in their duties often, and Vam was clever. He gave to Dak a new unglazed pot, but kept for himself an old water pot that the servants had often used. His brother held this as a sign of the high esteem in which Vam held him and accepted the new pot as it were his due; and the brothers journeyed to the river for water.

At the river each had filled their water jug and hoisted it, still dripping to their shoulder. The day was hot and the journey uphill to get from the river back to their father’s palace. Vam sweated beneath his load, but Dak seemed to sweat more. Water poured from his back and shoulder where he carried the jug, but he strode boldly up the slope proud that he could carry such a large jug of water with such ease. Vam struggled behind his brother.

Dak reached their father first and took his cup to offer his father water. But there was scarcely enough water left in his jug to fill the cup, the water having sweated out through the porous clay. Then Vam set his full jug before his father and poured out cup after cup of water.

“Dak!” exclaimed his father. “How can you have done this? For now I must make Vam my heir.” And having so said, their father was so overcome with grief that he died straightaway.

“Now,” said Vam, “I shall rule in our father’s stead.”

Dak was so furious that he raced to his stable and left on his steed with all his wives and concubines following. They set their camp on the far reaches of the little kingdom and his camp grew into a mighty and warlike city.

Vam was content to let the people do as they would in his father’s palace and the people grew fat and lazy, so the day came when the army of Dak rode against his brother and camped without the city. Vam was furious that his brother would make war against him and rode out with his soldiers. The two brothers met in combat.

Dak soon discovered that even though he had often easily defeated Vam in races and riding, his brother was a formidable foe, for Vam had never shown his true strength to his vain brother. Eventually the armies fell back from the field to nurse their wounded, but the brothers remained in front of the palace swinging their swords in earnest.

For three days the brothers fought until exhausted by their ordeal each let his guard slip and the other slew him in a single simultaneous blow. Both brothers lay dead in the field of battle and their armies retreated away from each other.

But both brothers had large families, and each believed the other had taken what was rightfully theirs. In the next generation, one army came at the other and was vanquished. In the next generation the other army had come at the first and was vanquished. The families grew into mighty nations, both claiming the same country as their own. For generations and for centuries, one has fought the other, sometimes victorious and sometimes defeated. But never undisputed. Sometimes a generation would pass in peace and the world would think the war had been won, but in the next generation it is renewed again. For as long as the two nations exist, one cannot abide the other. Neither can surrender and neither can be victorious.

That is the battle we ride to fight this day.

The camp was silent but for the restless stomping of the chargers and the low crackle of the dying fire. One of the knights began a plaintive song and the others joined in. Steven could hear in their music the deep yearning they had for their homeland that was occupied by the enemy. When the song had ended, Steven dared ask a question.

“But Sir Knight,” he began in respect, “if the war is unwinnable, why do you ride to fight in it?”

“Ha ha!” laughed the leader of the knights, “because this time we will avenge our ancestors and drive the usurpers from the land forever. This time it will be different!” The knights cheered and Steven crawled off to his bedroll and slept fitfully as he tried to determine what story he would tell on the morrow.

Chapter 11
Chapter 13