Warhorn

by J Glenn Bauer

  “I have arranged two rooms near the warehouse. We can stay there, and the owner has promised us a fine feast tonight. We should head over there soon. Nerea, Ilimic are you able to join us?”

  As the four companions approached the cantina the smell of food and sounds of conversation from inside was inviting. It was still noisier inside and Caros noticed it was filled with all manner of sailor, merchant and trader. They spied a good spot at a low table occupied by two of the off duty city guard. These two greeted them politely and invited them to share the table. Neugen quickly got the attention of one of the serving boys. “Bring us a flagon of ale son and not the sour stuff.”

  Before the boy could leave Caros added. “Tell Jarich that Caros and Neugen are here with two friends and we’re hungry.”

  The boy nodded and darted off to come back shortly with the ale and take the required coppers from Neugen before running off to the kitchen again. Neugen offered ale to the guardsmen who nodded their thanks.

  “Busy in here. Is it always?” Neugen asked.

  “Yup, just the faces and moods that differ. Last night it was full of Carthaginians and tonight it’s all Greek and Sicilian. Oh and a table of Romans, lest they look grumpy enough to be Romans.” One of the guardsmen answered.

  Caros could tell the different nationalities apart easily enough, but Neugen was nonplussed. Caros laughed, “My friend here is from Tagilit and has never seen a Roman, but he could track a lynx a week gone.”

  The guardsmen nodded approval and Nerea rubbed Neugen’s arm happily.

  “Well who the hell is who?” Neugen took a long swallow of ale from a red clay cup.

  Caros lifted his own and tipped it in thanks to the buyer. “Let’s see. See the six sitting there nearest the door? They are Greeks.”

  “I see. Big lads. Odd looking noses though, eh? Makes you wonder...”

  The two guards guffawed at the innuendo and Ilimic and Nerea smirked. Caros felt the cold, sweet ale strike his stomach and instantly kindle a small glow deep in him. It was a strong brew. He got more comfortable, “Oh and the Sicilian men are easy enough to tell apart.”

  “Right then, do not tell me... those chaps over there?” Neugen nodded at three men in a corner. “The ones which look like they are drinking vinegar and dog piss?”

  Caros eyed the men. He could not tell where they were from, but Neugen’s description was as accurate as a slingshot. “Nope, the Sicilians are on the opposite side all dressed in white linen and green capes.” He looked at the guards. “Who are the sour looking chaps then, the Romans?”

  The guards looked at one another and laughed. “How did you guess? What is it about Romans, eh?”

  Caros took another long swallow, eyeing the Romans. They were as unhappy a trio as he had ever seen. They wore grey tunics with no breeches, just leather sandals on their feet.

  Neugen eyed them speculatively for a moment and then quipped, “Well I hear the Romans consider breeches are only worn by savages, so I would hazard a guess that a lifetime freezing your balls off would make anyone sour.” The company doubled up laughing.

  Recovering Caros turned to Ilimic. “So Marc is family?”

  “He is my uncle. My mother died two winters past. Her chest... the coughing fever.”

  Caros took her hand and rubbed it, feeling her distress intimately. “Marc is as an uncle to me as well. He saved my life when I was just a little rat.”

  The serving boy returned bearing a board piled with bread, olives and cheese. Behind him an older girl followed, carrying two smaller boards with crisp pork strips and stewed apples. Caros sat up straighter. The food looked and smelled enticing. The guardsmen downed their cups and said thanks and farewell. Neugen already had a handful of succulent meat in his mouth, so he just grunted, juices dripping through his beard. Caros bade them well and then also attacked the food. When the meats were gone and the serving boy had brought them another flagon of ale, their pace relented. They sipped and picked at the remains of the meal slowly while talking. The crowded room had thinned out, however the volume of noise had increased as most of the remaining patrons were drinking thirstily and becoming drunker. Caros noticed the looks being directed at the two women and caught Neugen’s eye. “I think it’s a good time to take our visitors home. This lot are getting boisterous.”

  Outdoors, a swathe of stars that sparkled in the sea and glowed off the whitewashed buildings, lit the night. With his cloak over Ilimic’s shoulders and her in his arm, they walked slowly towards the walls of Baria, enjoying the closeness of their bodies. Caros looked forward to many days here in Baria with Ilimic at his side. In time she might want to become his wife. His heart throbbed with excitement at the prospect. He whispered thanks to Cabar, goddess of the moon, love and marriage.

  Four days of planning the purchase of the ore and getting permission from the village chiefs who controlled the mines sped by. This was just the first phase. They would then need to negotiate the price and convince the miners to deliver. Caros rubbed his head to clear his thoughts and the nagging ache behind his eyes. He would have struggled without Marc’s knowledge of the various chiefs and what their price was. He stood and stretched the kinks from his shoulders that brought to mind Ilimic. He was blessed to find her. She had a similar sense of humour and they laughed often. He felt buoyed by her presence and was becoming more and more certain she would become his wife if he asked. He had asked Marc why she was not yet someone’s wife at the age of sixteen years. Most girls were wed at fourteen and at sixteen were with their first child.

  Marc had nodded sadly, “Her mother, my sister died young and left Ilimic to grow up with my boys. She got it in her head she’d only wed when Cabar gave her a sign.”

  “What sign?” Caros asked with a falling heart.

  “How would I know? It’s a woman thing I’m sure so why try understanding it, yes?”

  “Hmmm.” Caros responded, wondering if Nerea might know.

  Night had fallen and Caros and Neugen were enjoying their cups at the cantina. Caros managed to get the serving boy’s attention and soon enough they had a third cup. Neugen was talking about the ambush on the Arvenci, “Always the same pattern. That is their downfall. I wonder why they bother. Raid, plunder, make off with too much and a day or two later, we catch up with them and it is off to feed Saur’s dogs.”

  “Well, what would you do? Seems the whole point is to get as much plunder as possible.” Caros asked.

  “Aha, what good is it if you cannot get away with it quick enough though, eh? I would go after the good stuff. Gold and gems. Once I had a bag full I would be off, and nobody would be able to catch me.”

  Caros laughed. “Not much gold or gems in the villages though. Cattle and horse herds; that is their treasure.”

  “That is why I want to campaign. A real war where we sack enemy cities. Plenty of riches in a city.” Neugen stared away dreamily.

  Caros wondered what would happen if the Barcas did make war on Sagunt. He had been there and seen the defences. It was an old city, so old it had three walls, well two walls and an inner castro.

  The outer wall ran along the edges of a rocky promontory. Towers rose at intervals along the wall and the defenders were able to fire all manner of missiles down on any attackers grim enough to come close. Even if the outer wall was breached, there was a similar wall to overcome before reaching the castro built on the east side of the hill. It would take tens of thousands to breach the walls and the castro. It did not seem possible and yet cities had fallen before, many times. What manner of Commander would it take to order men to attack such a fortress? He fingered the amulet he had received from the Masulian, Massibaka. Would he be able to charge a sheer wall under a rain of javelins, arrows and slingshot? He shuddered. Would that he was never in such a battle and yet... there was something compelling about the idea.

  Neugen was losing his battle with the fourth cup of ale. It was their final night in Baria and on the morrow they would set off for Ortiz. From there
Neugen would continue to Tagilit to rejoin Alugra’s column. Caros blinked sleepily. Wondering where the fourth ale had even come from, he sat up and peered around. Many of the patrons were slumped across or between the tables. The trio of Greeks still sat hunched about theirs, talking animatedly, but the fire was burning low. He rose and staggered, almost toppling head first across the table. Neugen snorted.

  “Saur’s dogs, this place has strong ale.” He needed to empty his bladder badly. He walked determinedly to the door and reached it just as it burst inwards narrowly missing him. A party of Turdetani horsemen surged in, bringing with them the smell of horse and trail. Caros backed up unsteadily as they glared at him and sauntered over to a table.

  The sailors sitting there glared drunkenly at the Turdetani, who said nothing. A sailor made to stand, a knife suddenly gripped in his hand. The violence lasted a heartbeat and when it was over the sailors were groaning in the dirt. The Turdetani swept the table clear of half empty cups and sat. A single sailor still sat slumped forward, head resting on the table, his hand clutching his ale. A warrior sat down in the newly vacated spot next to the oblivious man and smiled at his fellow warriors. He pulled the cup out of the man’s hand and emptied the ale over his head. Spluttering, the man sat up bleary-eyed. Before he could react, a powerful hand clenched around his throat and lifted him off his seat. A forceful shove sent him toppling into his fellows where they had struggled to their knees. The Turdetani warriors roared with laughter and began to shout for ale.

  Caros watched through blurred eyes until his bladder reminded him that he had urgent business outside. When he returned, he found that the sailors had regrouped and were on the way out. As Caros stepped through the door, he collided with the first of them. With a growl, the man swore and shoved Caros backwards. Seeing an opportunity to vent his anger at being kicked off his seat, the sailor then threw a roundhouse punch at Caros. He saw it coming and managed to dodge the blow, but the other sailors were crowding forward now as well. Caros kicked out as the first drew back his fist, catching him between the legs. The man choked and doubled over. Then a flurry of blows struck Caros, and he was forced to cover his face as best he could to avoid them. A fist struck his ribs under his arm, sending a flare of pain through his chest. The pain cleared his head and he lashed out. One, two, three powerful blows, all into the center of a sailor’s weathered face. The man’s lips split and blood gushed from his nostrils. A flagon shattered over another of the sailor’s heads, dropping him to his knees and rolling his eyes into his head. Neugen had finally noticed Caros’ plight and come to his aid. Caros yelled in delight and Neugen whooped. In a moment, both were punching and kicking with everything they had. They quickly gained the upper hand, catching the sailors by surprise. There victory was short-lived for they were soon out of breath and outnumbered. A blow from the largest of the sailors sent Caros tumbling. He slammed into one of the seated Turdetani, knocking the man’s cup from his hand.

  “Shit!” Caros spat, sitting up and rubbing his jaw, eyes spinning. The Turdetani growled and stood. Shit, shit, shit. The big sailor was charging towards Caros like a maddened bull. As the sailor passed the Turdetani, the horseman slammed his elbow into the sailor’s throat, stopping the onrushing man in his tracks. Wheezing and clutching his throat, he staggered out of the inn with the rest of the sailors backing off and following.

  Neugen rose unsteadily from where he had gone to ground in a corner and slumped onto a bench that had somehow escaped being upended in the fighting. A growl focused Caros’ eyes on the Turdetani who loomed over him.

  “My apologies and my thanks. Let me buy you another drink.” Caros was doubtful the warrior cared for apologies or spilled ale, yet it was worth a try. The warrior stared hard at Caros and then sent a lightning fast kick at his head. Caros dodged the kick and rolled below an unoccupied table and out the other side. As quick as a lynx, the horseman hopped onto the table, kicking cups and scraps aside. Caros managed to stagger to his knees just as the man pounced. Again, Caros avoided him and this time he rolled to his feet. Sober now, he was becoming tired of being punched and beaten. The horseman roared and swung a massive fist at him. Caros bent his left arm and swung his elbow at the oncoming fist. He timed it so that the point of his elbow struck the warrior’s wrist. The impact numbed the man’s arm and he grunted an oath, his only concession to the pain. He threw a punch with his left hand and Caros past it and drove his forehead into the center of the horseman’s face. The warrior’s nose folded with a snap, and he staggered backwards before going down onto a knee, head hanging and blood foaming from his broken nose.

  “I apologised. You should have left it at that.” Caros growled as he stepped forward to deliver a kick of his own. A bellowed command stayed his leg.

  “Enough!” A bench was bowled over and a figure loomed into Caros’ narrowed vision. Tensing, he turned to the new threat. “I said enough. Strike my man again and I will eat your liver, boy!” A grizzled warrior strode to the side of the kneeling man and grabbed him under the arm, hauling him to his feet and shoving him back to their table.

  Neugen staggered up to Caros and stood beside him, but the grizzled warrior just smiled and stalked back to the table shouting for more ale. The rest of his men glared balefully at the two men.

  “Come on,” Caros mumbled, his jaw already swelling. “I do not like the stink in here.”

  His friend grinned, never taking his eyes off the warriors as he followed Caros to the rear of the building. At the entrance to a passage at the rear of the room, a reed of a man stood twisting a club nervously.

  “Are you alright Caros?” The man’s eyes flicked over Caros’ bruises.

  “Few bruises, but better than the other. Sorry about the mess.”

  “Never mind that. I own a place on the harbour, these things are part of the business.” The thin man turned and stalked down the gloomy passage admonishing the serving boy on the way. “Back to your tasks and get that room cleaned up. Where is your sister anyway? She should be helping.” Then thinking better of sending the serving girl to the front room he quickly added, “In the kitchen, make sure she stays in the kitchen. Out of sight, hear!”

  Caros thought that was a wise decision, “Who are those fellows anyway? The graybeard is a cold bastard.”

  Jarich blanched but forced a thin smile. “I have not seen them before.” Sighing, he continued, “At least they are allies. I get many strangers visiting from strange places, but of late there are many more warriors.” He shook his head in consternation. “It is all this warring by Hannibal. He rides against tribe after tribe. First the Olcades then the Vaccaei. Have you heard the tidings from Sagunt? Madness! The whole Edetani people are rising against Hannibal.”

  “Why would they wish for war?” Caros asked. His father had taught him the value of information supplied by men like the innkeeper. They heard every rumour and tale from across great distances thanks to the kinds of people that frequented their establishments. While much of what was said was hearsay and rumour, there were often nuggets of information that were at least based on truth and could be leveraged.

  “Ga, they have grown strong on trade with Rome and the islands. Their strength has made them boisterous. Now they want more. It is said they have made peace and pacts with the tribes to the north and west. They will not rest while a Barca lays claim to trade rights with any of the Iberian people.” The innkeeper suddenly shrugged and looked guilty, “I am keeping you from your rest.” Then he surprised the two men and winked and smiled before returning to the front room.

  Outside, Neugen had stripped to his undergarments and stood soaking wet, examining his newly acquired bruises. “I tell you Caros, your company is great, but it is hard on the body.” He flexed his elbow. “That little tussle did not do this any good.”

  Caros snorted and gave Neugen’s back a resounding slap with the flat of his hand.

  “Saur’s dogs!”

  Caros laughed, hauled off his tunic and threw cool water o
ver his head and back. He rubbed his face vigorously, his body ached from the battering, but he felt good. The ale induced fog had faded and he looked forward to a good night’s rest and an early start.

  Neugen yawned and belched. “Time to sleep. Not sure which I dread hearing most in the morning; sparrows or gulls.” He grabbed up his clothing and climbed the ladder to his room.

  Caros drew another bucket full of water from the well. Considering how close to the shore the inn was, the water was sweet. Holding his breath, he upended the bucket over his head, relishing the cold. He rubbed the water out of his eyes and recoiled surprise. Standing before him was Ilimic, wearing a wide smile.

  She laughed at his expression. “Caros, If I were you, I would close my mouth.” She pointed at the two lanterns burning and darting moths that fluttered above them.”

  His mouth snapped shut and she giggled. “Good man. Mother always said they were few and far between.”

  He laughed, his surprise turning to joy. “Ilimic! What are you doing here?”

  “Why Caros, it is good to see you too!” She murmured. She stepped close to him, her body just a thin film of cool water away from his. He could feel her warmth against his skin. “You will never guess what I found today?” She whispered quietly into his ear.

  His eyes popped wide open. With all the ale he had consumed, he had forgotten the gift he had purchased. He had commissioned the town’s best silver smith to make a moon amulet to hang on a fine silver chain. After collecting it this morning, he decided to leave it among her belongings at the bathhouse as a surprise.

  Caros laughed, “I am not sure! Perhaps something bright?”

  CHAPTER 8

  BERENGER SHIFTED SLOWLY on his mount to eye the lowering sun over his shoulder. It hung behind a patchwork of thin cloud, still more than a hand’s breadth off the horizon. He gave a satisfied grunt, knowing the wagons would pass before nightfall. There would be plenty of time to do his work.