Ugar continued. “We sent a message to Baria and Marc has responded. He too is searching for news.”
Caros groaned, wondering how Marc fared. There was one other person whose fate he needed to know. He almost baulked at asking, afraid to learn of how complete his failure was.
“Ugar, my friend Neugen? Did he... does he live?”
Ugar smiled at last, for once glad to have better tidings. “He is well. He returned to Tagilit just days ago. I saw Tarren in the village and he let me know.”
Julene set two clay bowls down in front of the men and then returned with her own. Caros ate slowly and was grateful he did not have to chew the meal as that action set off the pain in his temple. “How is the repair work?”
“Better than I had expected. Some parts of the walls need rebuilding, but for the most part they are sound.” Ugar wolfed down his meal despite his earlier protestations that he had already eaten.
Julene giggled when Ugar dropped his spoon into the clean bowl and then belched. “Right, that will keep me young while I work. I have some rocks I need to square before setting.”
Once Ugar had left, Caros pushed his half-eaten meal aside. Julene gave him a look of concern which had him gritting his teeth. All the damned pity for him and it was Ilimic who was missing.
“Caros, I must return to our home today. Mother needs me there and you are no longer unable to move. I hope that is alright?”
Caros felt a wash of relief. He needed time alone to sort out his feelings and make plans. “You have been very kind. I owe you a great debt for tending me.” He found the words to thank her at least.
“I will visit and bring fresh bread and there is food for a few days in the root cellar.”
He had not thought that anybody would be working on the burned homestead when he had returned here. The men repairing the house had been coming early and working until mid-morning before going off to attend to their own farms and trade. In that time, they worked hard and already a lot had been cleaned and repaired, including the roof. When they had finished their tasks that morning and left, Caros was amazed to see the piles of scorched and blackened wood they had managed to tear up from the floors. They had worked quickly. He had been little help and had kept out of their way.
Caros picked through the debris the men had cleared from the house, recognising burned and smashed goods from the home. A familiar piece of pottery or an item of clothing, trivial things, yet somehow seeing these items consigned to the heap made him melancholic. He stood a long time before the pile of rubble and fragments, not aware of the day passing or much else beyond his crushing sense of loss. The sun finally burned him back into the present.
With a chaste hug and kiss, Julene had returned to her home after their morning meal so at last he could be himself and think about Ilimic. He shifted and rolled his shoulders slowly, fearful of enraging the monster in his head. Slowly he shuffled over to the water trough to drink. His stomach growled with hunger and he filled it instead with the water. Sated, he opened the corral gate and allowed the mare to roam the yard and graze on the fresh grass growing alongside the soggy ditch. Caros sat on the edge of the trough listlessly. Everyway his mind turned seemed to be blocked by a grey wall of hopelessness. All the times in his life he had ever felt angry, fearful or unhappy seemed to be times of sunny joy compared to what he now felt. He both envied and despised his former self who had no real consideration for life’s genuine hardships.
He walked stiffly to the shade in which the mare grazed and then stopped in surprise at the sight before him. From the undergrowth an old hen had appeared, trailing behind her a line of three bright yellow chicks. The hen, clucking motherly, led her brood on what was clearly a first expedition into the world beyond their nest. The old goose had stashed her eggs away from the coop. While raiders had killed the rest of the flock and everything else that moved in the yard, the old hen had sat silently hatching them in the thorny undergrowth. Her silence ensured that her life was spared along with those of her soon to be chicks. Caros watched in amazement as the little chicks bounced, rolled and stumbled their way along behind their scraggly old mother. Every time she scratched the ground a billow of dust and grass would blow at least a couple of them off their little webbed feet. The old hen focused her attention on the mare and kept a beady eye out for insects flushed as the horse cropped grass too long for the hen to scratch through. Her experience was rewarded as grasshoppers and bugs scattered from before the mare.
“New life.” Caros muttered bitterly
He cursed when he opened the root cellar. It was days since Julene had left and the only food remaining were some shrivelled roots. The flat bread had turned black and he had eaten the last of the cured meat the night before. He did not have the desire to journey to the village for more provisions. Looking around the root cellar, his mother’s domain, he recalled her complaining that it was too small for their needs. His father had argued that it was new and the same size as the old one. Caros wondered if his mother had used the old one as well if this one was too small. The Arvenci may well have missed it as it was unintentionally hidden beyond a mound of saved stone.
He crossed the yard and skirted the pile of stone. He would mention these to Ugar who could possibly use them. The larder door, weather-beaten and warped, could have passed for an old, disused door tossed onto a mound. Caros grinned and pulled on the door, but it was warped firmly in place. He had to jerk and lift the thing before it would open. How had his mother coped? The difficulty in opening the door worried him. Perhaps the larder had been empty for a long time after all?
He stepped into the dark and missed the first step, his foot thumping into the second, jarring his back and head. Sweat rolled from his brow until the pain at last ebbed.
The morning light shining through the door was enough to allow Caros to see a row of large clay bottles along the floor of the left wall. Above those hung all manner of dried herbs, onions and beets. On the right, three large oak barrels stood sealed. Caros knew they would contain milled grain. In smaller vats on the shelves above these he found the meat. Pickled and smoked. There was enough ham to feed a family for weeks. Caros rejoiced at not having to go to the village. This was a real boon and he would start with a good meal and then get some more sleep.
A shelf at the far end of the root cellar held rows of clay jugs. Curious, he lifted one. It was well-sealed and appeared to be fill. He tore at the stopper until he could finally get a good grip and then yanked it from the spout. The scent of ale rose to greet him. Without a thought, he lifted the jug to his lips and drank down a long swallow. He had to use both hands to lift the large vessel. The ale gushed down his throat like a mighty cleanser and Caros felt his gut glow with new strength. Wiping his hand across his mouth, he belched. With the jug in one hand and a cured ham under his arm, he kicked the door to the larder shut behind him and strolled back to the house.
CHAPTER 13
BERENGER RODE AT THE head of his column of raiders through the city gates with a feeling a lot like relief. The city guards teemed at the gate and Berenger noted their increased numbers. The outer walls too, were carrying many more warriors than usual.
Josa overcame his sulk. “Seems like the city has doubled the guards.”
“Doubled or more. Maybe we have poked the hornet’s nest a little harder than they thought we would, eh?”
The riders clattered through the gate in the outer of two walls encircling the city. Within the outer walls were the homes of the lowliest of the city’s inhabitants. It was also where the butchers bought and slaughtered livestock, tanners cured hides and slaves were held in corrals like other livestock. The stench was a thick fog and had so many levels that it made the eyes of newcomers water. It was also where his riders would be billeted and their injured would receive treatment. As his men peeled their mounts away from the column Berenger gestured to Rudax. The warrior trotted his horse to Berenger’s side, his two companions holding back expediently.
�
�Remain here with the men and tell them to be at the Red Bull at sunset for their share of the takings.”
Rudax inclined his head and trotted off.
After seeing their horses stabled, Berenger and Josa led Ilimic through the gates of the second wall into a more urban environment. He noticed Catalon and some of his kin carrying an injured fellow into the inner city. He could not blame them, they had clearly come for superior care and attention for whatever the fellow’s injury was. This part of the city held homes doubling as places of trade. Families lived above or behind inns, shops or workshops that they owned and traded from. Vendors also filled side streets and alleys with baskets of produce, trinkets and other wares. The noise of thousands of voices bounced constantly between the wood, adobe and stonewalls. Animals were not permitted within the second wall, not that Berenger would have been able to force his stallion through the crowds of people surging up and down the main roads. Battling through the throngs, Berenger felt claustrophobia settling over him. A young man stormed past, barging Berenger with his shoulder without a glance.
Berenger snarled in anger. “Where did all these goat turds drop from?”
Josa battled alongside him, dragging Ilimic behind. “I have never seen so many people. Look at all the sods.”
“There can only be one reason there are so many more people here.” Berenger paused as another man hurried straight towards him. He had caught the man’s furtive eye, so he knew the bastard had seen him, but he still managed to barge into Berenger’s shoulder. Unfortunately, he did not see Berenger turn swiftly behind him and tap his ankle as he passed. Josa guffawed as the man sprawled onto the dirt and cobbles. Berenger had not bothered to watch, but he felt better for hearing the man tumble onto the road.
“I am beginning to think that maybe a lot of these people have fled here from outside the walls.”
Josa grunted and squinted around him. Berenger could swear the burly man was actually enjoying shoving people out of his way. Beginning to adapt to the hot press of the crowds, he began to bat men and women aside rather than step around them. Angry curses were all any of the goat turds would dare muster.
He rounded a familiar corner and strode through slightly thinner crowds to a large black doorway set in a large adobe building. No sign decorated the building front. The proprietor needed none; their location was well known to their customers and what they sold could not be taken away. It was known as the House of the Crow.
Berenger thumped once on the door and it was opened quickly from inside. He pushed through the doorway into the gloom beyond. Josa followed, dragging a mute Ilimc behind him.
The sallow faced warrior who had opened the door mumbled a greeting as he shut the door behind them. Berenger ignored him and walked purposefully into the depths of the building. Inner walls and flooring of heavy timber muffled most sounds and the gloom was pervasive. Through familiarity, Berenger knew where to go and quickly made his way to the kitchens, a sheltered area in the cramped rear courtyard. Berenger swallowed apprehensively as he entered. A hulking woman named Rose ruled the house and she could most often be found cursing and beating the kitchen slaves. Standing taller than Berenger and at least twice as thick, she was like a boulder. Nobody other than the high priestess of Catubodua, The Battle Crow, knew if she was free or enslaved, but all agreed that since the day she had arrived she had never left the house. Her subjects, young women all, were like fairy children flitting about attending, not so much to the kitchen duties, as to orders issued by Rose.
Berenger stood just inside the courtyard and studied the giant woman who at that moment was kneading a lump of dough. Her thick fingers twisted and hammered at the mixture more as though it had angered her than that it would become food that evening. Her stout legs were set apart and Berenger shuddered when he saw the discoloured flesh overhanging her ankles. Her body showed no definition of hip or shoulder, but rose as a thick column, crowned with dome-shaped head covered with sparse black hair hanging in greasy ropes down her back. Balding patches of scalp showed through in places with an oily gleam.
Berenger took a breath. “Greetings, Rose!”
The mountainous woman turned and glared Berenger’s way. Her eyes took in Berenger and Josa before settling on Ilimic. Berenger watched her dark eyes glinting malevolently and for a heartbeat he pitied the girl. Rose thumped the pulverised dough one last time and then turned and lumbered across the courtyard.
“Berenger. Done yourself some hunting in the hills and back now for your little rewards, eh?” Her voice whipped and snapped like a candle guttering in the wind. As she approached, her eyes drifted reluctantly from Ilimic to Berenger who smiled coldly.
“As the gods permit.” He grunted. The woman stopped in front of Berenger who sensed Ilimic flinching behind him.
“The gods permit what they see fit upon the most dutiful. Are you dutiful?”
“I trust you already know that answer.” He would have said more but the odour leeching from the woman before him lodged at the back of his throat and he closed his mouth with a snap. If he were dutiful, he would put his great sword through the beast in front of him and the world would be less odious for sure. Instead, he smiled thinly, suppressing the urge to gag.
Rose swivelled her eyes towards their captive. “Hmm.” She grunted, obviously impatient to get to the meat of the visit.
“The gods blessed us with sharp eyes and swords. Our enemies have bled and their women too. Their children are dead and their dogs. It is fitting that we give thanks with the finest our enemy have to offer.”
Josa dragged Ilimic forward, sending her stumbling into the big woman’s arms. Fast as a viper, she grabbed Ilimic’s hair and with a merciless wrench, pulled her head about so to inspect her face. Ilimic cried out in pain and terror, her eyes wide, tears coursing down her cheeks. Berenger watched with morbid fascination as Rose forced the girl’s mouth open, inspected her teeth and sniffed her breath. There were still ribbons of dough caught in crusty scabs on the woman’s knuckles. Satisfied with what she found, she then peered into Ilimic’s eyes for long moments. Berenger’s lips curled as the lump that was her nose flared, taking in the girl’s scent again. He stepped back involuntarily and glanced at Josa who widened his eyes to show he understood.
A sudden ripping jerked Berenger’s attention back to the two women. Ilimic was stifling another scream. Rose had ripped her tunic from her body, uncaring of the burns this caused the girl. Seeing the girl’s nakedness so stark, Berenger suddenly wished he had not consented to this. She was stunning and clearly Rose thought so as well. For the first time, her bulging lips parted in what Berenger guessed was a smile. A wet tongue darted between them as she took in the terrified girl’s form. Rose pawed the girl’s breasts, kneading them like she had the dough earlier and leaving white trails of the stuff where her bulbous fingers dug into the soft flesh. Ilimic sobbed quietly and screwed her eyes tighter when she felt the woman reach lower.
A snarl issued from the woman. “You have taken her!”
Berenger scowled at the woman who had noticed the bruising. “She was taken by the men who captured her. Their leader died by me.”
“Still, how do you expect to make an offering of this?” She screeched, spittle flying at Berenger.
He stood his ground despite the wet projectiles. “Clean her up. Purify her. Make her presentable. It is what you do is it not?” He glared angrily at the woman, having had enough of her presence.
“It will cost you, Berenger. The priestess expects only the best.”
“How much?” Berenger’s voice shook with suppressed fury.
Rose pursed her lips and her eyelids drooped in folds over her eyes as she considered how much she could win. “Ten staters.”
“Ten... Saur’s dogs! I would rather gut her like I should have.” He stepped forward angrily, playing the game expertly.
Rose muttered and pulled Ilimic possessively toward her. “Oh, not so hasty. That would be a bit of a waste. Perhaps not ten then, may
be just five?”
“Two and make sure your priestess knows who delivered her.”
Josa stepped forward and flicked two staters at the woman. She caught one greedily in a meaty fist, but the other tumbled off her body onto the cobbles. “Pick that up, girl!” She threw Ilimic heavily to her hands and knees after the coin.
“Sure, that will clean her up and heal the bruising.” Berenger shook his head at the grotesque woman. He spun around and elbowed Josa out of his way as he stormed through the building and out into the narrow street.
In the eastern corner of Sagunt stood the heart of the city; the castro, forum and basilica. Leaving Josa at the House of the Crow, Berenger approached the castro in a sour mood after his encounter with the high priestess’ hag. Someday he would cut her open just to hear her beg for mercy. Something she never offered any of the unfortunates that were taken to her for sacrifice to Catubodua.
He reached the forum and turned to the castro gate. There he was recognized and greeted by the guards who nodded him through. He knew his way and was soon climbing stone stairs to a short passage leading to a heavy wooden door. He pounded on the thick planks and heard a scrape as the doorstop was pulled free. Entering the surprisingly large room, he scowled briefly at the slave who had opened the door.
“Berenger! Excellent timing. I had expected you would show up soon.” The speaker stood beside a narrow window built into the stone walls. He was silver haired and gaunt, yet his voice was strong and when he turned to Berenger, he showed a face of angled planes, as though hewn from a stubborn cliff.
“Come sit. You have much to report?” The man limped to a high-backed stool and sat with a grimace. “Wine, Gustos!” He barked at the slave.
Berenger approached and took up a seat opposite the city’s military Strategos, Jimeno Abarca. The Strategos looked drawn and on edge although he did well to cover it. Berenger’s esteem for the Strategos grew with each turn of the road for Abarca walked a dangerous path in this Greco-Iberian city. The city was allied to Rome, yet the Barcas of Carthage were growing in power in the lands all around the enclave of the Edetani people. The Barcas were far from satisfied with what they had. Daily their armies were forging deeper into the Iberian heartland. The rich iron and silver mines were now almost all controlled by the Barcas or tribes allied to them. The oligarchy of ruling elite in Sagunt saw their coffers dwindling and watched in fury as trade went south to ports at Baria, Abdera, Malaka and Gades. Unable to stand this state of affairs and fearing the outcome, they had decided upon a course of action that would lead to certain war. To guide them on their course, they relied on the Strategos.
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