Chapter 5. "Behold the days are coming', says the LORD, that the city shall be built for the LORD from the Tower of Hananeel to the Corner Gate…And the whole valley…all the fields as far as the Brook Kidron, to the corner of the Horse Gate toward the east, shall be holy to the LORD. It shall not be plucked up or thrown down anymore forever." - Jeremiah 31. 38-40
Casilevatates was twiddling her thumbs while she sat on the bank of the Dankole River, a narrow but cold, deep and fast-flowing flood which she and the others must cross sooner or later. Since decamping from the city of Rosen, aside of course for Jasmine's emergency appendectomy on the second day, and a few other things, they had made easy and uneventful progress for nine days. Then they reached the bridgeless Dankole River. It was bridgeless because Hibernian guerillas had sabotaged the bridged which had been there. Now on the afternoon of the 10th day out of the city of Rosen they decided to wait until the next day to get the 4 horses to swim the cold swift-flowing flood. It took very little time to empty the wagon. But it would take lots of time, perhaps an entire day, to gather enough logs together to build a big raft, something which wouldn't capsize when it was loaded with their gear, and when it was pulled across the river by the horses on the far shore. The key was to get the 4 horses across without losing any of them. On the first day they unloaded the wagon and had begun to chop down some trees. They had only 4 axes so only 4 of the women could be lumberjacks at one time. Casilevatates didn't have an axe so she twiddled her thumbs, and then she began writing a letter to her mother-in-law, informing her how it was that Al Mancini had escaped from them, had run off in the middle of last night, evidently they made a mistake in not keeping him loaded with chains. He left them a little note saying he had to get away before he went crazy, as he was really fed up with all the little indignities he had to put up with. Fetch this for me Al! Fetch that for me Al. He was glad to see that Jasmine was healing fine with no infection but he was still fed up! Al didn't even admit in his little note that he liked cuddling up with the beautiful warrior women, being all warm and cozy with them under the eiderdown blankets on the cold winter nights. After all, he was told that most of the men in this parallel universe had been killed off in the interminable wars. And he was told that men of his sort were therefore in high demand. So, Al, putting two and two together, as he explained in his note, decided there was a good chance that he could become both a free man, and, still have lots of woman chasing after him, which, he had to admit, was better than being a slave to the warrior women, though they were beautiful, and just his type, that is, they were just his type aside from him being their slave and they being his slave masters.
Sleeping under the stars was no hardship as all 31 of them knew how to stay warm in the wilderness. They had eiderdown blankets, wool blankets, cagules, canvass tarps, anoraks, wool sweaters, wool pants etc. Everything they required to stay cozy during the long winter nights and in the gales which would soon be blasting them with arctic fury could be found in their possession. But, at the moment, the winter sun was shining down on them and warming the world. The intoxicating scent of wood-smoke filled the atmosphere as they lounged by the campfires on the banks of the scenic Dankole.
If Al Mancini could find food and shelter he ought to survive somehow, and Casilevatates wished him well, having no animosity toward the man, her former lover, though she thought he played the martyr card with a little too much self-pity. She dared not express any sentiments saying she was glad Al had escaped when Commander Seraphinaria was listening, or for that matter when Mirabrasantes, Navorrasicaa, Misevasundia and Sevaladelia were listening, as these warriors and former lovers of Al Mancini were the ones most likely to get violent toward anyone they suspected of urging or helping Al to escape. Valmyristarsis had announced not many minutes ago that she was glad to see Al gone, and she went on to add that she didn't think his brains were anything special. She walked right into the meat-grinder with that comment because Misevasundia was quick on the attack: `No woman with any brains cares if a pleasure-slave is brainy or not. All that matters is a few things things : Is he attractive? Does he have some charm? Is he fun to be around?' To which Valmyristarsis responded with the standard line / running joke they all used whenever they felt themselves seriously insulted: `I'll just bide my time and then I'll cut your throat, bitch, when you're not expecting it.'
Seraphinaria was actually not bad at keeping discipline among her ranks. She encouraged her girls to speak freely and honestly, but to try to be as diplomatic as possible, and to use the running joke if they absolutely had to vent any rage welling up inside themselves because of any real or perceived insults. She wanted the wrath vented through words not sword thrusts. So far no one's throat had been cut, and perhaps it would have been impossible for any commander to keep such willful warrior women from clawing each other some. When you enter a shark tank you're lucky if you can get out with just a few long gashes and deep wounds. But Seraphinaria's girls were much more civilized than sharks! It's just that they got bored easily, and morale was always better when tall dark and handsome men were available for them to cuddle up with on the cold winter evenings.
Casilevatates was still twiddling her thumbs while sitting on the bank of the Dankole River, the narrow but deep inundation which she and the others must cross eventually. Casilevatates looked on, while, not far from her, also on the banks of the river, Seraphinaria was slowly pronouncing some words to help her 3-year-old son, Jay-Jay, learn them: `No more MAN-see-nee. MAN-see-nee go bye-bye. He gone. He is a LIE-ing SCUM-bag. He is a Big LIE-ing SCUM-bag.'
Casilevatates, her gorgeous honey-blonde tresses catching the sun and the slight breeze, decided she would do something productive. It was wintertime but she was still warm and comfortable enough under her huge woolen cloak. So she began shaving her legs, and, at the same time - perhaps to test herself to see if she was any good at multi-tasking - she also began writing a letter to her grandmother. At one moment she looked up and asked a question of those close to her.
`Say, what do you think, which is grammatically correct, is it `I smote?" or is it `I smited?"'
`It's most definitely "I smote",' said Navorrasicaa.
`On no, trust me on this one, it is "I smited", said Misevasundia with a good deal of self-confidence and vehemence in her tone.
Navorrasicaa dropped the matter because, though she knew she wasn't wrong, she was coming round to the conclusion that either form was acceptable with the grammar cops, or at least with a large minority of grammar cops.
Soon enough, Casilevatates began to pre-fabricate some letters after she had finished shaving her legs and everything else which needed shaving. Seraphinaria was big on stressing to her girls that they not let themselves go, to not look like homeless savages. Seraphinaria was big on having her girls make sure they wash often, and use make-up if they wanted, and certainly not to hesitate to use some perfume, stressing that she didn't want the wilderness to cause them to degenerate into grungy chicks, because that condition is bad for the self-esteem of beautiful warrior girls, plus it is a health issue. If a girl got lice in her hair they would have to shave her head, and certainly none of the beautiful warrior girls wanted to be bald.
About these pre-fabricated letters Casilevatates was writing, it stood to reason that when the weather turned really nasty, or when their food supply was pinched, she would not be in the mood for writing letters, so she was writing letters in advance. Plus, she reasoned, she would be better at perfecting turns of phrase when she was comfortable rather than when she was freezing to death, so this was another excellent reason to prepare letters in advance. She could always date and sign and make minor alterations to them later. And it never hurts to write letters of literary quality. If she and the others died on their mission, she might attain some lasting fame via her literary style. And if they succeeded in their mission, they would become celebrities, and she wanted to be all that she could be as a celebrity, and if she coul
d impress people with the literary quality of her letters, then she could be all that she could be as a celebrity. One of these pre-fabricated letters ran as follows:
To Her Highness, Her Majesty Queen Dr. Rabbi Brittany Cohen-Schwartz, the Beautiful, the Benevolent, the Most Merciful Queen of Avallonia, The Supreme Representative on Earth of God and God's True Church, The Sovereign of the Northern Marches etc., etc., B.A., Ph.D., MBA etc, etc.
Greetings Your Majesty,
This week the elements have proven to be our most ferocious enemies. For instance, this very morning, day broke cold and bleak, exceedingly cold and bleak, because of the bitterly frigid winds which were blasting us as we huddled beneath our blankets. It is a wonder and a miracle of Providence that no one froze to death from the severe frost, from the cruel winds which gusted across these treeless northern plains. Winter has descended upon this remote region of Avallonia with all of her remorseless cruelty, with all her naked hostility - shorn of every last vestige of mercy, of every last pretense of gentility. Here, in the barren northern wastes, Man and Nature fight an eternal fight - a ceaseless combat where no quarter is given on the frozen tundra to any wretch finding himself having to beg for mercy from God and from God's ferocious blizzards and savage beasts. Once we leave your blessed Kingdom of Avallonia entirely, and steal as spies into the land of our enemies, as you know, I won't be able to post any more letters to you. So wish us well! And be assured that we are becoming hardened in mind and body. We are being transformed into powerful warriors through and through. We are elite soldiers who will do our best to triumph in our mission for our beloved Avallonia. One of our soldiers in particular amazes me with her strength, courage and single-minded tenacity. I mean Misevasundia of course. She is an exotic-looking beauty as well as a fearless warrior who seems to thrive on hardship and the rigours of warfare. No doubt her love for Queen and Country fuels this heroic determination inside of her. I must keep this letter brief because the brutality of the winter tolerates no extravagant expenditure of energy, because all of my remaining resources must be concentrated on getting some rest before I take up my bow and head out on the hunt for meat. Would that a great woolly mammoth or an enormous cave bear should cross my path! If one did we would soon have meat aplenty, for I am lethal with the longbow. I pray that we shall soon have nourishment to defeat the famine and find the strength to fulfill our mission in fighting the enemies of Avallonia. Farewell Your Majesty! Whether I should return alive from my mission or not, know that my memories of Avallonia and of our beloved Queen will be treasured in my heart for as long as I live!
Your humble and devoted subject,
`What do you think of this letter, Misevasundia?' asked Casilevatates.
`It's quite good. It's neither sycophantically over-the-top nor is it too timid, too aloof, or too wordy. And I think that, just as the praise I have given to you in my letters could never be construed as part of some self-serving plot for our own aggrandizement, the understated praise that you give to me, in this letter, could never be construed as part of a cheap two-bit quid pro quo self-promotion scheme that exists between us.'
`That was my assessment exactly. But I don't think we should write any more letters where you praise my bravery, tenacity, patriotism and heroism, and I praise yours, as I suspect we might be getting pretty close to being over-the-top.'
`Yes,' said Misevasundia. `I can see the wisdom in that. Less is more, though sometimes more is more.'
`Sometimes, but not here,' said Casilevatates. `Here, less would be less, but more would also be less, because in this circumstance, given the letters we have already pre-fabricated, not more, and not less, are both more. But less, and more, are both less.'
`Yes,' said Misevasundia.
`This letter will be either the last or the second to last cynical self-serving letter that 1'll send. No doubt it would be best for me to date, sign and post it from one of the Avallonian villages on the furthest section of the frontier.'
`Absolutely.'
`That would be weird,' began Casilevatates, `if it actually turned out to be an honest letter when I post it. I mean, it would be weird if the weather really was brutal, and if we really were starving, and if I really did have to kill something with lots of meat on its bones in order for us to survive…
`And if I really was filled with heroic determination….'
`But you are. Just because we're writing a few letters to promote ourselves doesn't mean everything in them is a pack of lies. You are filled with heroic determination! And everyone knows that the term "exotic-looking beauty" is not over-the-top praise of you, as it evokes images of a glamorized plain-Jane, images of some chick with a big nose. You know that I'm down-playing, I'm diminishing your beautiful good-looks, to create verisimilitude.'
`As long as it creates verisimilitude! I was going to call you on it. Hey, what do you mean by saying I'm an "exotic-looking beauty"? Where the hell do you get off insinuating that I’m ugly, that I’m an “exotic-looking beauty”, when you should be saying that men die of longing just to gaze upon me? Anyway, you in all honesty, are "a gorgeous warrior-girl who shoots the bow and arrow with deadly aim", just as I wrote of you in one of my letters, as you know.'
`I appreciate your sincerity. And thanks for not getting catty by taking offense at my "exotic-looking beauty" comment. I have been purposely packing on some pounds in case we run short of food when crossing the mountains. So if you wanted to write a few more letters you could say in a catty way that I'm not as slim as I used to be. It creates verisimilitude,' said Casilevatates.
`Excellent,' said Misevasundia.
The struggle to cross the Dankole River was proceeding, but not quite according to plan. The day after the next day 8 warrior women swam with the 4 horses across the flood, while dragging a rope with them. They threw on every garment of wool that they had to insulate them from the frigid water. Then, 4 of the women swam back to the other side, pulling themselves across with the aid of the rope, which was now firmly fixed to both side of the flood. And then they began the process of ferrying kids and provisions across the river via a raft. The whole operation took longer than expected. Indeed it took two full days and part of a third to get everyone and everything across. The most arduous jobs were in chopping enough trees to make a useable raft, and then reducing those trees to logs, and then transporting those logs to the water's edge. Seraphinaria made sure everything was taken at a slow pace to make sure no one got hurt, and dragging lots of logs weighing 200 lbs each could strain the muscles of even the most assiduously trained warrior girl.