(Part II) - Zarek ben Nadin Chronicles - A Warrior's Courage - Chapter #5

    Zarek mastered his training, and because of his effectiveness on the drill grounds, he was assigned active duties.  Most days, he patrolled along the wall with Eparan and his division.  He welcomed these opportunities to see more of Nineveh, and also to leave behind the rigors and pressure of training on the field.

     However, with each passing day, Zarek found the charms of Nineveh slowly fading into the dull backdrop of his life.  It was true, that the clothes of city dwellers were bright and colorful; and that the food was still much better than he had had at home; but the constant surge of energy and beauty failed to enchant him.

    He began to miss his village by the seaside.  The sound of waves crashing against the rocks or washing on shore, the scream of gulls, and the sharp smell of salt in the air. 

    The peacefulness of village life, was a far cry from the city.  In Nineveh, the calls of merchants and people bartering, assaulted him daily, giving him a pounding headache at night.  The stench of cheap perfumes and body odors, rankled him.  And instead of the soft, blended earth tones he was accustomed to, were the constant onslaught of color, precious stones, and metals, which drove his dizzied senses to madness.

    His body and mind had hardened during the course of his training, but his nerves had become edgy.  At times, he feared he would suffocate; like he was changing too fast and too much.  Zarek wondered if his old friends would even recognize him, and the fact that he hadn’t been able to talk with them since their arrival fueled his fears.  He missed Natan’s comfortable companionship more than ever.

    His inward fears and his homesickness, went unnoticed by his new friends.  Eparan had even declared that he had never met someone so completely detached from the old way of life.  He had observed that Zarek had slipped easily into what the new one offered him, and that no one would have ever guessed he had hailed from the seaside village of Issus.

     Based on his treatment and interaction with those in the city, Zarek guessed Eparan’s outside observations to be true, since one more than one occasion, he had been mistaken for a native of Nineveh. 

     In effort to distract himself, he kept company with Eparan, Gabri, Husia, and Malicu.      He learned what he could from the seasoned warriors and they came to like him for his uncanny ability to transform knowledge into action.  He had only to see or hear something once to be able to utilize it.  He worked well with this tight-knit group and was often chosen by the unit’s officer to pair with them on assignments and patrols.

     He went with them anywhere willingly, with only one exception.  Zarek refused to accompany them to the local inns to drink on the nights they had no assignments.  On the rare occasions they badgered him to join them, he refused any wine.

     On one such particular night, Zarek found himself sitting across the table from Eparan.  The men were on their eight skin of wine, and Zarek considered aloud, the reason for their heavy drinking.

    “When you have seen what we have seen, and done what we have done, you will drink too,” Eparan murmured.  Even though his words were sluggish, Zarek could tell that the older warrior’s mind was still sharp.

     Eparan’s dark face brooded over the cup of wine, and his eyes glittered back glassy and bright.  He took another long swallow and called for his cup to be refilled, before resuming.  “War is a terrible thing, and what one does you can never forget.  But… you can find relief occasionally.”  His voice sounded tired.

    Zarek said nothing.  He had seen and done his share of evil; things he wished to forget but had not found a source of relief yet.  And he was sure that it could not be found in a cup of wine.  The silence lengthened between them as Eparan drained the cup dry and slumped against his chair. 

    Before they all became too intoxicated to walk, Zarek roused them and herded the straggly band of seasoned warriors back to the barracks, each laughing and singing loudly in effort to outdo the other.  Shaking his head, Zarek knew their present relief would be a short one.  Morning would come, and there would be plenty of headaches, sour stomachs, and sore tempers flaring to go around.

    For his part, Zarek made sure buckets were readily available, though there were not always used.  The smell of sickness and vomit hung on the rancid air, and would have made him gag if he was ever present to witness it.  However, he made himself scarce when they woke.  He had already endured enough abuse from his father’s drunken stupors to be wary of the others.  He would return in time for roll call, to see them sober if not irritable.

      Though Zarek’s nature called solitude, he forced himself to stay with his group of allies.  It provided some measure of safety and precaution, even from their own.  No one could be trusted.  Political betrayals were rampant and no one could be sure of loyalty.

     Even though he was forced to remain in a group, he was often detached in conversation.  His temper had ceased to explode in the regularity that everyone had become accustomed too, instead it simpered into a sullen, unapproachable silence.

    Zarek glumly wondered if he would ever find a place he truly belonged.  He felt only, that he existed out of necessity, and the thought served to further depress him.  Several evenings later, they were again excused from patrolling duty.  Zarek had intended to locate Nathan and visit, but found out that his friend was away, patrolling the outer walls.

    This news irked him, and so he was in little mood to resist Eparan’s invitation to join them for a night at the inns.  Husia, Malicu, and Gabri went along, with Zarek trailing them reluctantly in the end.  He was the only one to notice that Eparan’s usual manner was hindered more weightily by a shadow of sorrow.

    Something was different, Zarek knew that this night was significant to Eparan in some way and if he were to guess, it was the anniversary marking the loss of something or someone of great value.  They reached their destination with the mystery untouched, and Zarek sat in his usual place, close to a window and in the shadows.

     Eparan sat across from him where he remained visible by the dim light of a fire burning in a nearby hearth.  He watched his friend drain his first cup, and without ado, start on the second.

    Cup after cup was drained, and when another came, Zarek gently and cautiously pulled it away from Eparan’s reach.  “Don’t you think you’ve had enough Eparan?”

    Eparan leaned forward and jerked the cup toward him, the abrupt movement made wine splash over the sides and run down the table.  Eparan muttered a curse and refilled it before taking a giant swallow, “Leafff me be, Zarek,” he slurred.  “I want to be leff alone.”

    Zarek straightened, alarms went off in the back of his head, but he was convinced something was wrong.  He wouldn’t leave, his respect for the older warrior was too great to leave him haunted by burdens and alone.

    Zarek watched him quietly for a moment, then asked, “Why do you drink my friend?”

   “To for-forget.  I tol-d you already.”

    “What is do you want to forget?”

    “M-my wi-fe, my children I-I lost.”

    “What happened?”  Zarek dreaded the answer, hadn’t even known his friend had had a family, but was too concerned to not try to ease Eparan’s burden.

    “Th-they weree killed.  I wasn’t always an s-s-soldier.  I had a farm, a f-family.  Our city was destroyed by fire.  I was away when it happened.”  Big tears splashed on the table, as the man dragged a thick hand across his eyes.

    Zarek’s stomach clenched.  “Who was it?”

     “Israelites,” Eparan spat.

    Somehow, Zarek knew that would be the answer.  Eparan hated the wandering nomads.  Anything he spoke of them always ended in a curse.  In times past, they had had no country to claim as their own and had established themselves by taking over cities and dwelling in them after they had killed the inhabitants.

    Eparan had spoken scornfully in times past about how they spared neither women nor children.  Zarek had remained silent, then, not even arguing the logic of it.  They, after all, had built their empire on basically the same ethic.  The victor takes all, and destroys what he will. 

     Still, he had heard of the Hebrews, or Israelites as they called themselves, how their God had commanded for all enemy cites to be completely wiped out and how sometimes one stone was not left on top of another.  The Israelites had wiped out whole cities, slaying everything with the edge of the sword, from human beings to all the animals.  They had sowed the fields with salt and polluted the wells.

      In Zarek’s opinion, the Israelites were not honorable.  They attacking at night, or tricked the cities into letting them in.  To know that Eparan’s wife and children were also among those slain by the Semites, fueled the hatred he had long felt for their old enemies.

     Eparan slumped over the table, weeping bitterly without shame in a slobbering mess, that had Zarek not known the circumstances, might have felt a moment of scorn.  He was suddenly aware of the man owning the establishment, walking toward them with a frown.  “You there!” the man snapped, his beefy face reddening at the disturbance.  “Take your friend and get out, you are upsetting my customers.”

    Zarek felt a hot flash of annoyance.  “We are customers too, what right have you to tell us to leave?”

    The man crossed his arms.  “Your officers will hear from me if you do not leave immediately.  I have the right to make this place of business off limit to you soldiers.”

    Zarek reluctant stood to his feet, and scowled before moving to get Eparan to stand.  His friend was even less inclined to be compliant.  “Leave me alone!  I haven’t finished my drink yet.”  Zarek kept his temper in check and tried pulling his friend up again, hoping that the wine would settle in shortly and make the man more compliant.

    “Let’s get you back to the barracks Eparan.  You’ve had too much to drink already.”

   “No.”  Eparan jerked away from him and turned to glare at the innkeeper.  “I have a right to stay here and finish my drink.  I paid for it.”

    “Take your drink and finish it outside then, but I can’t have a drunken fool crying over the table and disturbing my costumers.”

    Eparan used his arm to wipe away the hot tears that covered his cheeks.  “I am more of a man than you’ll ever be.  You’re a pathetic example of human life, scraping dishes and weaseling away coins from honest men.  Men who fight in the battlefield, rather than hiding like a coward behind a serving table.”

    The man’s red face turned purple.  “How dare you insult me?!  Get out before I have you thrown out!”

    Eparan’s temper snapped and a big, meaty fist connected with the innkeeper’s jaw.  There was a sickening crack, and Zarek moved quickly to stop Eparan from finishing the fight.  As he was struggling to get his friend under control he saw a patrol making their way toward them.  His heart sank.  Husia, Malicu, and Gabri were backing away in alarm, leaving him and Eparan in the center of the nearly cleared room.

    The officer on duty placed them directly under escort back to the barracks.  It all happened so quickly that Zarek had no time to protest, and Eparan must have realized any resistance on his part would get them both in serious trouble, because he followed without complaint.

     Upon their arrival to the barrack they were both confined to the stockade.  It wasn’t long before one of the officers came in.  Zarek stood to his feet in attention and tried not to grimace when Eparan attempted to do the same thing.  The wine had finally taken affect and Eparan seemed incapable of standing straight.

    The officer came to the point.  “You have both been brought to the stockade for unruly behavior and violence.  Witnesses said that one of the soldiers threw the punch that broke the innkeeper’s jaw.  Who was it?”

    Zarek glanced at Eparan, and bit hard on his lip.  “I did.”

    The officer’s eyes narrowed, “The witnesses seemed to agree that the man who threw the punch was drunk.”

    “I wasn’t drunk; I just lost my temper.” 

    “By your own mouth then, you have admitted your guilt.  You are hereby sentenced to fifty lashes.  To be carried out immediately.”

    Two soldiers brushed passed the officer.  Zarek tensed as they grabbed his shoulders and propelled him past an unmoving Eparan. 

     It was dark in the courtyard.  Zarek gritted his teeth as his tunic was torn from his back and he was tied to the whipping post.  The light from the torches fell on the whipping master who tapped the cat-o-nine tail whip against his side.  The cold, metal barbs pricked his skin, when the strands rested across his back before it was lifted for the first strike.

     Despite steeling himself, he was unprepared for the first whip.  It tore across his back so quickly that he had no time to cry out.  The second whip fell quickly.  It felt like his skin was being ripped from off of his back.  Blood ran from between his teeth from where he had bit his tongue.  Each breath was torn from his chest so at the end of every blow all he could do was gasp.

    Again and again the whip fell across his back, Zarek’s knees buckled and he lay limply against the post.  Everything turned from startling clarity to a dull faraway event.  He heard the sound of flesh tearing, felt the splatter of blood across his face and arms but it seemed like it was happening to someone else.

    At last it was over.  His body quite jerking after every whip and he curled to the ground when his wrists were released.  He was dragged to the barracks and left there on his cot.  Dazed and exhausted, Zarek drifted to unconsciousness as he lay across his stomach, with his face buried in his blankets.

    When he awoke, someone was leaning over him and wringing a warm rag out on his back.  He jerked away.  The quick movement sent fiery pain across his back like so many licks of fire.  A strangled scream echoed in the barrack room, before Zarek realized that it came from him. 

     Someone gripped his wrists and Zarek forced his eyes open.  Gabri was there, and Husia behind him.

      “The wounds need to be cleaned and tended to.  We don’t want it to become infected,” Malicu explained as he handed a basin of water to Husai.

    Zarek squeezed his eyes shut again, and kept still as blood was sponged away.  At length, he tensed when Gabri started to clip away strings of tattered flesh.  Tears dripped from his eyes and soaked into his blanket as he buried his head in his arms.

    “It was a brave thing you did,” Zarek thought he heard Gabri say.

    “More like foolish.”

    That came from Eparan.  Zarek lay quietly.  He would not argue.  He wasn’t quite sure why he took Eparan’s place.  Perhaps he had felt some sort of obligation after all the man had tried to befriend him and had spoken up about the incident with Rarrok.  At that particular moment, he didn’t care. 

     Zarek was relieved when they finally took the torch with them, and left him to sleep.