The Moon Worshippers (4 page)

His fearless aggression will be the greatest challenge and his attack training must be undertaken with great care.” After a pause, he asked:

“Does he bark?”

“No, but he prays to the Moon Goddess, like this.” Inaki put his head back and howled.

Aguirre laughed. “Does he pray to the Sacred Oak and the Sacred Sea Octopus as well?”

“No, he just howls when the moon is filled by the Goddess.”

“That is well, for surprise is the most important element in attack. The first lesson,” said Aguirre, “will be to dig on command. You will bury his food at mealtimes until he obeys instantly.”

“By the Gods, what use is that?” Inaki said, astonished.

“For two reasons, in a blizzard, a snow hole can save your life, and then there may come a time when you will need to conceal yourself. A dog can normally dig much faster than any man.”

He had said more than he intended. He had spoken for a long time. It was rare for Aguirre to give way to his feelings or to speak at great length. He was a man of few words and so he and the boy sat in silence. In the days that passed, Inaki and Storm learnt much. Aguirre’s knowledge of animals and wisdom took the breath away. By the passing of the seventh moon, Storm could seek out game, attack on command and track man or beast. Aguirre taught the boy the art of concealment, the most vulnerable parts of the human body and how to attack from behind or in front. Finally, he began weapon training. Particular attention was given to the short-handle, double-headed throwing axe and the use of the bow. Each day hours would be spent in practice with this weapon until the boy was extremely proficient. He learnt not only its use, but also how to make arrows; which arrowhead was best suited for each purpose and how to make his own bow. It soon became his favourite weapon. The only weapon that he had no need to practice with was the sling-shot, since every boy from a young age was well accustomed with this, the simplest of weapons.

After he had left, Inaki’s mother had talked to as many people as she could find who knew Aguirre. She soon learnt that he had been a fisherman and a mercenary. He was highly regarded and some spoke of him with fear. It soon became clear to his mother that he was with one of the greatest living legends of the time and she was pleased.

Inaki had learnt from his uncle not to ask superfluous question under instruction, unless he did not understand. He showed the respect that a pupil gives to a tutor and did not ask any questions that were unimportant. However, as time passed, the relationship between tutor and pupil became closer and Inaki felt confident enough to ask some searching questions. Why, for instance, did his dogs not herd the sheep? Aguirre knew exactly what he meant but he played with his pupil.

“What do you mean?” he responded.

“Well, they don’t walk behind the sheep, but amongst them,” was the reply.

“That’s because, like most humans they are totally confused,” said Aguirre laughing.

“Please be serious,” Inaki pleaded.

“Very well,” said Aguirre, clearing his throat he began.

“As pups they are brought up with the sheep and they think they are sheep. It is not as stupid as it sounds, if you think about it. When the wolves attack they don’t often see the dogs until it is too late, because they are concealed amongst the sheep, and the dogs think they are protecting their own kind.”

That simple question, like simple questions sometimes do, led Aguirre into his own personal philosophy. As the great man’s soul took flight, he soared over a number of wide-ranging subjects.

He began with: “They (the dogs) live an illusion, like most men. As Basques we worship nature, plants, animals and the great Gods in the heavens, but we are surrounded by men who believe in only one God. To the south we have the Moors with their prophet Muhammad and their God Allah, while of greatest importance in the east and west is the Holy Roman Church and their God, Jesus Christ. Both religions preach that their God came to earth to save man and yet they are mortal enemies! How many have already died in the name of God? Thousands have been killed, and they will torture and kill thousands more in the His name.

Religions are like slow acting poisons that enter the body and minds of men. You cannot reason with them. Once they take hold there is no antidote. Each has a carrier that causes the infection; the Moors have their mullahs, the Christians their monks. Of these the Benedictines are the most dangerous, for not only are they polluters of minds, but Charlemagne’s spies as well. They are sometimes called the Black Monks and it is a name that suits them well. They have already infiltrated Navarra, and look what has happened there! No longer is the Navarrese Basque a free man, some of them have become Christians and what is worse, they now have a king!”

“Is that why we despise them?” asked Inaki.

“Of course, we will never pay homage to a king. We are free men.”

Aguirre continued in full flow, the anger barely contained.

“Why do you think I live alone in the mountains?”

Inaki was about to answer, but kept his mouth tightly shut.

“Amongst all the animals, man is the only one that kills his own just for fun. Give him religion and there is no stopping him. Man is a naturally born killer of his own kind.”

“How will it all end?” asked Inaki in a small, frightened voice.

“Our Gods and reason must prevail. Every man, woman and child must be allowed to live as they wish and be free,” was his simple reply.

Aguirre looked at the boy’s face and saw the despair.

“Look,” he said, clearing the ground with his hand. He picked up a small stick and began to draw. “This is Charlemagne’s empire. He rules France, Germany, most of Italy and here in Spain, a small but significant part near Navarra. Have you heard the tun-tun drums at night?”

“Yes,” said the boy, “but, sometimes I can’t make out what they say.”

“They have not stopped for four nights. They say three things. One is that Hruodlandus, sometimes known as Roland, has been told to gather the largest force that he can in the north. This is where Hruodlandus has power, since he is the Prefect of Brittany and the northern provinces. He is Charlemagne’s nephew and his favourite. He possesses a great sword called Durandel, who all fear and they say that when his battle horn, called Oliphant, sounds the whole earth shakes. The tun-tun drums say that Charlemagne is gathering his forces in the south for battle, but will eventually come north to meet Hruodlandus. However, it is the last part that is most important to us. Charlemagne has come into Spain several times before. His reasons are twofold. First, he wants to destroy the Moslem Empire, his religious mortal enemy. Secondly, he wants to expand his empire. Charlemagne is already the most powerful monarch in the known world and our most deadly enemy, for if he takes Spain, he will conquer us. We are small in number, but we pose a danger to him because we hold these mountains. We are very vulnerable. Our survival is dependent on our enemies remaining at each other’s throats. If one succeeds in defeating the other, we could be lost. The tun-tun says he has made a pact with the Devil. They say that he has been making a pact with the Moslem governor of Barcelona. The governor has promised him Zaragoza amongst other things. If the pact succeeds, it will open the gates of the fortress city of Zaragoza. With a sure base in Spain, he can then move south and north and take the country. We, the Basques, must stop him taking our land.”

“How can we do that?” said Inaki, “he has more men, has he not, and a great and powerful army undefeated in many battles?”

“Yes he has, but we have some things in our favour,” said Aguirre. “First, we hold the mountain passes, and our mountains are like fortresses. Then we have time, it will take Charlemagne a long time before he can gather such a force, equip it, and raise the money to pay them. Finally, he has to send the monks to prepare the way and spy. War will not come this year. Its time has passed. It will take him many lunar months to prepare. He has other enemies to defeat and will not move until he is ready.”

Inaki stared despondently at Aguirre. “When is it the time for war?” he asked in a low voice full of fear.

“Just after spring, during the summer months. Men have to plant and sow before they go to war and have time to come back to reap the harvest. War cannot be pursued at any other time or everybody would starve. Even the great Charlemagne!”

Aguirre stared at the boy, and said: “What do you think all the training has been for?”

“Do we attack them as they come in over the mountains?” said Inaki.

“No, that is not our way. We wait and remain vigilant at our borders.”

Inaki, at the age of thirteen, had found the father he had never had. The year was 772 AD. The snows came late that year. As they stood watching the sheep moving slowly up the mountain, grazing peacefully, Storm lifted his head, sniffed the air and growled.

“Snow?” Aguirre had asked the dog. The dog growled, showing his white interlocking teeth.

“Thank you, oh Hairy One,” said Aguirre. The dog growled once again. The dog had not forgotten the well-aimed stone he had received the night before.

“What did you do that for?” Inaki had said in anger. “You threw him food and then you hit him!”

“He must learn never to accept food, even from those he knows, except from your hand. Otherwise someone will poison him,” was Aguirre’s reply.

“You’re playing with your life,” Inaki said tersely.

“I’m saving his,” he replied sharply.

The next day, as the dog had predicted, they were hit by a snowstorm and they started their descent into the valley below.

Chapter Three

The Visigoths

In the Benedictine monastery on the French side of the Pyrenees, near the Roncesvalles pass, the old man continued to relate his tale in a rambling fashion. He suffered bouts of delirium mixed with periods of clarity. At times the monk had difficulty understanding what he was talking about. In deep delirium, he would speak in a tongue that he did not comprehend, but he encouraged conversation since it seemed to help the old man and he was becoming interested in the tale that was unfolding. Listening to the old warrior broke up the routine of monastic life and anyway, his story was interesting in many parts. It was the second day of his coming and he was talking about his race and what seemed to be a small part of the Basque history. It seemed unrelated to his main story, but the monk did not interrupt or question. The old warrior had been talking about his people’s hatred of the Visigoths with the monk. They were a tribe that had been pushed into a corner of Spain, to the west of the Basque provinces, by the Moors. The Basques distrusted and hated the Visigoths and had good reason to do so. The Visigoths were a people of an amazingly quick temper and aggressive ways. They lived in fortified stone villages and buried their warriors with their weapons in stone tombs. The Basques found this strange since they, like all pagan people, cremated their dead.

*

After a long pause the old warrior spoke again. “They have a most warlike disposition and kill without much thought or reason,” he had said to the monk.

He continued by saying the Visigoths had, at one time, ruled most of Iberian, establishing their capital at Toledo. A long time ago, perhaps as much as 200 years, they invaded the Basque country. They did not succeed in their invasion, but they did construct a fortified border to suppress and keep the independently-minded and rebellious Basques inside its fortifications.

“They tried to suppress us,” said the old man, “by building two great fortress cities. They called one Victoriano and the other Recopolis, and placed them on our borders. Of the latter, hardly a trace remains. We sacked and destroyed it many, many years ago. What is more, the Visigoths are an unstable people, forever rising up against their own kings. They cannot be trusted. Even amongst themselves there has been continuous rebellion between their nobles and the fierce, unbridled passion of these men has often led to brother killing brother and father killing son.”

He fell silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts and then continued: “Do you know that it was a Visigoth noble that invited, yes invited, the Moors into Spain? Eh? He did it so they would help him in his war against his brother. He wanted to kill his brother, his own brother no less!”

The old man spat on the stone floor and then started chuckling. “However, they got more than they bargained for and what’s more, the Moors stopped them bothering us.”

“How did the Moors do that, brother?” asked the monk.

“By cutting the Visigoth armies to pieces and killing large numbers of them. The Moors turned on those that had been their paymasters. They saw an opportunity and took it,” he said with a sigh and a smile as if he took comfort from his words and the thought of so many dead Visigoths.

“They came as hired help and ended up as owners, masters and conquerors of the country,” the old warrior rasped.

“You seem to know a lot about the Moors,” the monk said.

“I was a mercenary in my youth, paid by Moors, for ten years,” he said sharply.

“Do you know what the Moors are? Would it surprise you to learn that they are just a collection of nomadic tribes?”

“You were paid by the Moors? I thought they did their own fighting?” said the monk.

“They did at first. When they came out of the African desert they were hard men, but the abundance of the land and the wealth they found in Spain made many of them soft over the years. They got used to the soft living, particularly around Cordova and Granada. So they began to hire men like me to do their fighting.”