“I serve the Barca! Release me!” He cursed wildly, jerking his arms and thrashing with his legs to unbalance the man that pinned his thighs.
One of the warriors spat in his face. “Best get on your knees then. The son of the man you killed is here.”
“Which man would that be?” Dubgetious ripped a hand free and struck the warrior across the ear, sending him rolling.
Dubgetious twisted and kicked free of the second warrior and hurled a handful of dirt and pine needles at his face. Springing to his feet, he came to an abrupt halt.
Hannibal, son of Hamilcar Barca was kneeling beside the stiffened body of his father. Slowly the young Carthaginian ran a hand over the stub of an arrow that protruded from Hamilcar’s back. “This was not your kill. I know this Dubgetious of the Bastetani. Yet, here you are, alone with the body of Carthage’s greatest general. My father.” The voice was that of Hamilcar’s son, the tone was that of a man with ice in his veins and fire in his gut. Hannibal nodded at a grim-faced warrior.
Dubgetious tensed, but the warrior tossed an object to him. It landed at his feet and he blinked at it. His falcata, secure in its scabbard, now swollen with river water and splitting at every stitch.
“The sword over which you took an oath to fight for and protect our general.”
Dubgetious nodded. “An oath I held to.” He saw his mother’s face. “An oath I stood by.” He heard Tucsux deep voice. “An oath I failed.” Saw Cenos mouthing her last words. “I laid his body there. The body of Hamilcar Barca whom I dragged from the river.”
There was silence. The warriors around him stood like rocks, hands gripping their blades.
Hannibal rose and faced him. “Dubgetious of the Bastetani, where is the cloak I gave you?”
“Like as not, wrapped about the shoulders of some bastard Oretani.” Dubgetious eyed Hannibal’s cloak. “Mine?”
Hannibal’s lips moved, but no smile grew. He threw a handful of sticks onto the embers of Dubgetious’ fire, stirred them and gave them air until they burned. “Bring the others. We camp here.” He turned dark eyes on Dubgetious. “You fought at my father’s side to the last?”
Dubgetious shrugged. “I saw you fall from your mount and I managed to get to Hamilcar before the enemy reached him. It was by fortune I could follow him from the battlefield.” He shuffled closer to the fire, his eyes smarting from the smoke, but eager for the warmth. “He was struck by an arrow at some point. I helped him beyond the hills and hoped to rejoin the army which was within sight, but on the wrong side of the enemy.”
Hannibal prodded the fire with a stick, eyes distant. “We retreated south, but when I heard my father was unaccounted for, I forced Eshmun and Abdmelqart to make a stand.” The young Carthaginian held a smile for just a blink of an eye. “The Oretani did not like that, but by then they had no more surprises for us.” He looked hard at Dubgetious. “There is a look in your eye that speaks of more pain than is justified by the death of Hamilcar Barca.”
Dubgetious rubbed his face, smearing new ash into skin washed pale by the river. He thought of the warrior from Sucro and his shock at seeing Lyda killed. Dubgetious sensed a dark truth in the man’s reaction.
Hannibal grunted into the long silence that followed. “We found a woman.” He shook his head. “A Bastetani.”
Barely hearing, Dubgetious saw his mother in his mind’s eye. Her long seasons away from home. Her restiveness through the winters confined to their village and land. His eyes trailed the sparks rising from the fire into the forest canopy.
“My mother. She was not with us when your father took our village. She came after me.” Dubgetious felt his throat tightened. “Her wish was to end Hamilcar’s life.” He picked the broken stitching from the scabbard. “I defied her and then saw her die. That was when I fled with Hamilcar into the river.”
Hannibal nodded, his eyes bright. He lifted his hand and extended it to Dubgetious. “You defied your mother for the life of my father, your people’s enemy?” Hannibal croaked, overcome with emotion. “Did you kill her too?”
Dubgetious’ hands shook. “I would not have been able to do that. Even on an oath.” He dropped his chin to his chest.
“There are few with honour as steadfast as yours, Dubgetious of the Bastetani. I will see that you and your clan are rewarded handsomely.”
Dubgetious smiled and gripped Hannibal’s arm in return. “No more war between us would be a good start. Like all good things though, very difficult to make real.”
Hannibal barked a laugh. “Ha! Spoken like a Greek.” He fell silent and released Dubgetious’ arm.
Dubgetious watched Hannibal’s eyes flick to the outlines of warriors carrying torches through the forest. The Carthaginian looked uncomfortable and for a moment he wondered what it was that Hannibal was thinking. His eyes narrowed with a sudden apprehension. “You said you found a woman?” He turned to peer at the approaching figures and then spun back to Hannibal who nodded.
“Yes. My healers have treated her as best they could, but…” He held his hands out, palms up. “She speaks your tongue and has said your name many times.”
Dubgetious rose slowly to his feet, seeing ‘Renza fall and her lingering death. Cenos hacked and bled dry. His mother’s brutal killing. There had been another figure in the shadows before the Oretani attacked. Eppa? Why then call his name as she lay dying?
Two men stepped from the trees, carrying between them a litter on which lay a ragged mess of furs and linen, dyed red and ochre. The bundle quivered, and a hand slipped from under the covering so that its bloodied nails dragged through the carpet of pine needles. Dubgetious halted the pair of servants with a gesture and lifted away a length of linen to stare at what lay beneath.
Not Lyda nor Cenos nor any other warrior woman. The woman Hannibal’s scouts had found was another. He pressed his palm to her cheek made round and discoloured by swelling and then traced a finger along the swirls of inked scars at her brow.
“Herb Queen.”
His words were a faint whisper, but her eyelids fluttered and opened. For a long moment she gazed at him through eyes dulled by pain. A tear formed at the corner of her eye and Dubgetious lifted it to his lips.
“The pup is gone, I see.” Her voice was ragged, but firm. Her hands closed on his forearm. “I see instead a warrior and a man.”
Dubgetious, smelled her blood and tasted her salty tear. “Will you live?”
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, wincing. “The Oretani blade bit deep, but I will heal.”
“Who is the warrior from Sucro?” His voice was heavy with dread.
Her eyelids lifted and her gaze burned into him. “The brother of a king. The brother of your true father.”
Dubgetious clenched his teeth and nodded. “Did Venza know?”
The Herb Queen shook her head and coughed. A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder as Hannibal stepped to his side.
“She needs to heal. Come away and let her rest.”
Dubgetious pulled the matted furs to her chin. “Yes, there is a great need for healing.” He turned to Hannibal. “Will your army continue as it has?”
The young Carthaginian dipped his chin. “Tanit has guided this Herb Queen here to where you and I stand by the body of my father. Is this not a sign? A sign that it is a time to heal?” He smiled solemnly. “I am no General, Dubgetious, but I promise I will do all I can to carve a tablet of peace between our people.”
The End
Brief Historical Note
When Hamilcar Barca of Carthage invaded Iberia in 237BC, he used his veteran Libyan and Numidian mercenaries to crush the proud Turdetani tribe in the south around the modern day city of Cadiz.
Keen to lay his hands on the rich silver deposits in the mountains we know today as the Sierra Morena, he turned his eyes north and west, subjugating clans and levying their warriors into his mercenary army. Not without battle though, for the Turdetani were a fiercely proud and wealthy people. Istolatios of the Turdetani re
sisted with help from other tribes, but was quickly defeated and part of his army incorporated into Hamilcar’s own. Indortes of the Turdetani then raised 50,000 Spears to challenge Hamilcar. Mismatched in every way, they folded and fled Hamilcar’s veteran army of ruthless warriors and war elephants. Frustrated with the continued resistance from the Turdetani, Hamilcar made Indortes’ death an agonizing one, first torturing and then crucifying him. No doubt, he meant for the Iberians would take the message to heart.
Within two years, Turdetania was thoroughly subdued with the best of their warriors dead or forced to fight as levies for Hamilcar.
The Turdetani were just the first of the Iberian people to feel the weight of the conqueror’s heel on their necks. The smaller Turduli were swept up and then the western Bastetani and southern Oretani.
From 235 to 231BC, Hamilcar expanded his dominance east. Brave and resolute, the Iberians contested the expansion hotly. Grudges between clans and tribes were put aside as the Iberians allied themselves against the deadly invader.
Hamilcar’s forces were blunt instruments of destruction and they even antagonized the Bastetani enough to make this usually peaceful tribe take up their spears and fight.
Rise of the Spears is set in the year 228BC, and follows Hamilcar leading his forces north-west and deep into the heart of the Oretani lands. This would be the great Carthaginian general’s last campaign for the father of Hannibal Barca would perish in the autumn, the manner of his death changing from one source to the next. The consensus seems to point to a battle in which Hamilcar was slain or drowned.
The main character in Rise of the Spears, Dubgetious, is fictitious, but he speaks for all those unwilling levies forced to fight in Hamilcar’s army.
The story is a prequel to the Sons of Iberia series which covers the 2nd Punic War fought between Carthage and Rome. Dubgetious features in the 3rd title in the series, Gladius Winter.
Also by J. Glenn Bauer
Sons of Iberia:
Warhorn
Maharra
Gladius Winter
The Runeovex Secret
Von Steiner’s Gold
(Written with T. J. Hobson)
About Myself
As a child, my playground was the wide-open veldt with the blue African sky high above my sun-bleached hair. Jungle gyms grew naturally from seed and were shared with the wildlife. I wore shoes under protest and then only to school or church. I needed a bath every single evening.
I served as an operational medic for two years in the late eighties and treated all kinds of trauma from arrow strikes to gunshot wounds. I’ve swum in the crocodile-infested Okavango and seen entire villages succumb to malaria. I have hunted poachers and listened from my sleeping bag to lions prowling and roaring beyond the firelight.
Life is a little tamer now. I live with my wife in the English countryside travelling the canals and rivers of England in a Seamaster named Weybourne. Who knows, you might, if you take a walk along a towpath, see me on deck tapping away at my keyboard as I write about the very ancient past and the heroes of those times.
As always, happy reading!
Rise of the Spears Page 15