Warhorn

by J Glenn Bauer

  The comment surprised Caros, who thought that if anybody were up for the challenge, it would have been Alfren. Looking at the city walls overlooking the steep sided hill, Caros could understand the man’s mood though.

  The following day they made their way onto the plain surrounding the city. Caros had never before seen such a mass of humanity. There were countless thousands of warriors, many from peoples he had never encountered before. There were many warriors from Iberian tribes to the south. The more exotic warriors were swarthy complexioned and after a moment studying them Caros guessed they were Libyans.

  “By all the javelins of Runeovex, who are all these warriors?” Unlike Caros, Neugen had never been beyond the shores of Iberia and until they had gone to Baria, he had never seen the sea. It followed that he had rarely seen peoples other than those of Iberian descent. Now, seeing an army that consisted of warriors from many of the peoples that populated the shores of the Inland Sea, he was amazed. Caros had to admit that the many tribes arrayed around them made an impressive sight.

  Alfren may have been impressed, but his face did not show it. Instead he shook his head, “Looks like a grand cock-up. There is no order to any of their positions. They are camped around outside the city like they are waiting for an invitation inside.”

  They were walking their mounts ahead of their column that streamed out behind them. The men had moved far and fast and they wanted to get them camped up and rested as soon as possible. Caros had to agree with Alfren. For all the show of iron and leather, a closer look revealed that there was no hint of military organisation. This did not bode well for a battle against a city with defences as tough as those of the city before them.

  “Seems we should have let the men rest in the hills. This place is quickly becoming a cesspool.” Neugen gagged. Caros felt his eyes stinging as the wind veered and blew the scent of unburied shit to him.

  Alfren pulled his mount up angrily. “This place is filthy, they must be shitting everywhere. I’m not having our men sleeping amongst this lot.”

  “Want me to take them back?” asked Neugen hopefully.

  “No! I want you two with me. Get one of the other Captains to lead them back to last night’s campsite. They may be there awhile so tell the Captain to designate an area for latrines. Preferably downwind.”

  Neugen was back moments later and the entire column was shuffling around in surprise. “All done! Now what do we do?”

  Alfren hawked and spat as though trying to rid his mouth of the stench filling his nostrils. “We find the headquarters of this Barca fellow and see what’s going on is what.”

  The trio established from a Turdetani horseman whom they waved down as he galloped by that the headquarters of the Carthaginians was to the northeast of the city. They were directed to cross the shallow river that flowed east and then turn towards the coast. The headquarters of the Carthaginians was midway between Sagunt and the coast.

  “Well that helps. Good thing we asked him, it would have taken all day to ride around looking for the place.” Neugen commented dryly. The trio trotted their horses around the besieged hilltop, through camp after camp of infantry and horsemen. The further they rode the more disorganised things looked. It became apparent that while the Carthaginians had brought a great army, they held very loose command over the varied components within the force.

  Passing an encampment of these foot soldiers, Alfren shook his head in wonder. “How the hell do these Carthaginians win any battles with this rabble?”

  Caros ventured a guess, “I think they rely on speed and shock. One day you’re sitting pretty on your hilltop admiring your harvest and the next morning you’re surrounded by tens of thousands of warriors.”

  “That would work on a place like Baria or Althaea, but the Saguntines don’t appear too worried.” Neugen said as he eyed the steep and rocky hilltop with its high walls encircling the city like a crown.

  “Hannibal can throw all these warriors at those walls as often as he likes, but unless he starves them out, he is not getting inside that city.” Caros responded.

  Alfren growled, “He can throw his warriors at those walls, but he’s not throwing the Bastetani at them unless he has a decent plan.”

  Neugen smiled and winked at Caros. They did not doubt Alfren’s bravery, but they were relieved that he was not going to sacrifice Bastetani warriors needlessly.

  They found and forded the shallow river and then progressed east along its northern bank. The river was fetid with the waste from the thousands of warriors and horses that used it for both drinking and washing. All along the bank, gangs of men were filling water skins or washing and some were even swimming in the shallow water. Caros squinted through the dust raised by countless marching feet and the drifting smoke from a thousand fires. In the distance he saw a white sheen. The sun reflected off metallic objects around the blister that shimmered on the horizon.

  “Looks like the headquarters.” He said pointing in that direction.

  The men rode on and before long reached a perimeter guard of forty or fifty well armed warriors. Caros eyed the warriors and noted their dark complexions, shining cuirasses, helmets and heavy spears. They all carried swords sheathed at their waists in addition to their spears. This was an honour guard; there was no mistaking it. The trio were halted with a curt command thrown at them by a tall, well-built Libyan who blocked their path with confidence.

  “State your business.” He commanded them brusquely in Greek.

  Caros, the only one of the three who spoke that language, responded, “We wish to report to the General, Hannibal Barca.”

  The warrior eyed them in silence for a moment. “You have the watchword? The General does not receive reports from the ranks.”

  “Shit! We need a watchword or we don’t pass. What do we do, tell this chap and expect him to pass the news on?” Caros asked Alfren.

  Alfren glared at the warrior, “Tell him the watchword is tens-of-thousands-of Carpetani-up-his-arse if he doesn’t let us pass.” Neugen laughed and Caros chuckled briefly until Alfren’s glowering dried his mirth up.

  The warrior was becoming restless and more of his men were gravitating towards them. “Look, make your report to me and if necessary the General will hear it. Start by telling me who you are.”

  It did not sound like a request to Caros and he chafed at the dismissive tone the warrior used. “Very well. My Commander is Alfren, who has brought a Bastetani army as allies of the Carthaginian people.” The warrior cocked his head, unimpressed. “We have brought six thousand warriors to contribute to Hannibal’s army.” Caros went on. “But we also have news of a large Carpetani and Oretani army approaching Sagunt. We believe they are allied with the Saguntines. This is a serious threat which is why we would prefer to speak directly to the General.” Caros stared hard at the warrior and then looked beyond him to the pavilion that formed the headquarters.

  The warrior cursed aloud at his predicament. If he sent them away and their information proved important, he could lose his position or worse, his life.

  Hedging, the guard asked, “What is the size of this Carpetani army?”

  “Carpetani and Oretani.” Caros stressed. “The last figures are upwards of fifty thousand warriors and as many as a third of them are mounted. They are no more than a few days away.”

  The Libyan was quicker now. “You have seen them or is this just rumour?”

  Caros clenched his jaw in anger at the insinuation. “We have fought them!” He then realised Aksel had probably already reported the enemy army to the Masulian General, Massibaka. “The report can be corroborated by a Masulian leading man. His name is Aksel.”

  At this last, the Libyan relented and nodded. “I know him. He arrived two days past. Look, I believe you. You understand we cannot just let anybody through to see the General. However, I will pass him the report. You fellows wait here and I will see if the General will admit you.”

  Caros translated quickly for Alfren who nodded. To the Libyan
he said, “Thank you. We will wait.”

  The Libyan grinned. “Make yourselves comfortable. I will be as quick as I can, but it could be hours as I do not exactly have the General’s ear. Have some food and drink. We get plenty of rations, one of the perks of being the honour guard you understand.” He winked as though he was Caros’ greatest friend and then shouted to one of his men to show the trio the food and drink before mounting a gelding and making for the headquarters.

  The three Bastetani dismounted and strolled over to where a Libyan was gesturing to them. They had a thick carpet unfurled amidst an outcrop of rocks that the men used as seats. Several baked clay pots held the Libyan’s rations. Dried dates, figs, goat cheese, raisins and boiled yellow cereal, a staple food of the North Africans. Neugen chuckled at seeing all the food and sighed contentedly.

  “Does not take much to keep you happy does it?” Caros ribbed his friend.

  “I am what I am. What would be great would be to see what type of womenfolk these fellows have. Have you ever seen skin that colour? Like a gold coin!” He shovelled a fig loaded with couscous into his mouth and continued. “Hmm, not too bad. So, what do you reckon? Their women shiny like gold as well? Imagine that eh!”

  “You are talking with a mouth full of food about women you have never seen – probably never will see – and spraying food everywhere.” Alfren sighed. “With this we must win a war.”

  Neugen assumed a hurt look and dropped his jaw open, allowing yet more couscous to spill down his tunic. Caros laughed and Alfren glared at him.

  “You are encouraging him.”

  A couple of the Libyans watching them smiled and shook their heads, laughing. Alfren saw this and glared darkly at them, which they did not seem to mind at all as they continued chuckling.

  “See, even they are laughing at him.”

  “I could explain to them how he would like to get together with their mothers seeing as how they are so ‘shiny’.” Caros smirked.

  Neugen swallowed. “Hold on there! They are big bastards and I am not in the mood for a fight. I am still eating, it would be rude.” He smiled. “How about asking if any of them brought their sisters along though?”

  Alfren grabbed a waterskin from where it hung in a pail of water to keep the contents cool. He uncorked it and sniffed cautiously.

  “Smells like piss.” He said, but promptly chugged down a goodly swallow. He wiped his chin and smacked his lips. “Bit light, but I guess if we do see the Barca fellow it would not do to be all squint-eyed.” He offered the skin to Caros who held his nose to the spout suspiciously. It smelled of weak ale. Caros hesitated for a moment and then took a small swig. It washed the food down nicely. Neugen grabbed the skin and took a long swallow, smacking his lips appreciatively.

  “Ah, good. Now unless you have other plans, I am going to get some rest. We could be here awhile.”

  “Nope.”

  “What do you mean ‘nope’?”

  Caros pointed. “Nope, here comes the guard and he is coming along fast.”

  It was true the Libyan returned a lot faster than he had left. His face serious, he did not dismount, but spoke quickly to Caros.

  “Come along! The General wants to see you right away. All of you.”

  They left their mounts with a slave who led them away from the pavilion entrance. Caros stared at the lime washed walls of the pavilion. It was made from the hides of an animal he was unfamiliar with. The Libyan hurried them through the entrance. For a moment they stood shuffling within the doorway, blind in the sudden dim light. As his sight adjusted, Caros began to notice details. There appeared to be a large rectangular floor area covered with thick, richly coloured woollen carpets. Low couches constructed of polished wood and heavy cushions were arranged to form a seating area in the centre of the large room. Caros took all this in and then noticed the five men standing around a large table beyond the seating area.

  The Libyan cleared his throat and spoke. “General. These are the Bastetani. Should I remain?”

  A young man with an open, clean-shaven face looked up at them. “Yes, stay please.” He walked over, staring at them with quick, intelligent eyes. It occurred to Caros that this man, barely older than he, was in fact Hannibal Barca of the Barca family of Carthage. He stepped forward and immediately felt a restraining hand on his left shoulder. He looked back and started. He was staring into the hard eyes of a huge, bearded warrior. It made sense of course that Hannibal Barca would have bodyguards to protect him. Hamilcar Barca, Hannibal’s father, had been slain in Iberia through the actions of a traitorous Oretani chief and Hannibal himself had come to be General after an Iberian warrior had assassinated the previous general, Hasdrubal.

  “Welcome. If you would remove your weapons and leave them with the guards.” Hannibal smiled.

  Caros translated for Alfren and Neugen as Hannibal had spoken in Greek. The three removed their sheaths and left them at the door.

  “I apologise for that, but as you can expect, every precaution must be taken. The rulers of Sagunt have mastered the art of deviousness and dishonour.” He explained amiably.

  Caros swallowed. “No need to apologise, General. We have heard of the killings in Sagunt. These are not the actions of an honourable people.” Caros touched the fingers of his right hand to his brow and dipped his upper body forward in the traditional Carthaginian greeting of respect. Hannibal’s eyebrows rose fractionally in surprise and Caros smiled to himself. No doubt the Carthaginian expected the Bastetani to be unaware of Carthaginian etiquette. Caros had learned well in his father’s merchant business the importance of displaying knowledge of other’s customs. It often stood you in good stead when the bartering became sharp. “Regrettably General, my fellows speak little Greek or Carthaginian. However, I am able to translate if you wish.”

  Hannibal smiled at Alfren and Neugen and greeted them in fluent Bastetani. Caros cringed inwardly at having presumed he was ignorant of their language. Hannibal led the trio to the other men in the pavilion. Here were the men of Hannibal’s command, the leaders of his army and governors of Carthaginian territory in Iberia. These were Hannibal’s brother, Hasdrubal and Mago, both of whom commanded forces within the army. Others present were Bomilcar, who commanded the Carthaginian navy and Prince Massinissa of the Massylii, son of the Chieftain Gala.

  Caros was awed to be in the presence of such powerful men and greeted each with the respect due. He was grateful of the opportunity to step back beside Neugen once the greetings were done and allow Alfren to deliver the report to the Generals. Caros studied each man while their attention was turned to Alfren who showed no sign of being intimidated.

  Hannibal Barca had eyes that spoke of a quick understanding of people and situations. Hasdrubal was the tallest man present and wore his dark hair plaited and had cultivated a beard, coloured a deep red and cut square. Beside him was the youngest Barca brother, Mago. Unlike his eldest brother, Mago had nondescript features. His height and frame were also of an average size. He was the type of person one might underestimate, until you noticed his penetrating, blue eyes, which at that moment were locked on Alfren. Caros expected the younger brother too, had a quick mind. It was little wonder that the sons of Hamilcar held such power as they did in Carthage and Iberia.

  Bomilcar, the Naval Commander stood beside Hannibal. Here was an older, more weathered man and given his maritime occupation this was no surprise. His heavy chest and thick waist were sure signs of fondness for rich foods and he wore an air of lethargy about him.

  Standing on the furthest side of the table was the final figure present, the Massylii Prince, Massinissa. Caros inched surreptitiously forward to get a better look at the man. He was tall with ropey muscles visible on his forearms. His black hair was long and tied at the back of his head with a knotted scarf. He was dressed simply in a flowing, white tunic tied at the waist with a belt of plaited leather from which hung a curved dagger in an ornate sheath. The Prince looked young, very young. Caros estimated he was prob
ably younger than twenty years. His coppery skin glowed in the subdued light of the pavilion and he stood proudly while he watched Alfren deliver the report. Caros thought of Aksel and decided they were nothing alike these two Masulians. The Prince seemed to sense Caros’ eyes upon him and he turned his head to Caros. Their eyes met and then the Masulian saw the amulet hanging from Caros’ neck. He marvelled at the import of an amulet that caused even a prince to stare.

  Alfren finished his report and Caros turned to Hannibal who was nodding his head slowly while rubbing his clean-shaven chin, deep in thought.

  Hasdrubal was speaking. “Since we are not invested here we could move back to Cartagena.”

  Silence fell and Caros began to feel uncomfortable. The only sound in the pavilion was the rasping breath of Bomilcar.

  Alfren ended the silence. “We attack them. Give me a large force of horsemen and we take the battle to them.”

  Caros watched the rest of the room. If anyone was surprised at Alfren’s brashness, it was Alfren himself. The Generals all looked at him and then Hannibal smiled.

  “What do you say Massinissa? The Bastetani want to take only horsemen to the hills. Is this possible?”

  The Masulian Prince studied Alfren for a heartbeat and then nodded to Hannibal. “It can be done. One would need only choose the right moment and the horsemen of my people can destroy an army ten times their size.”

  The words were delivered in a mater-of-fact tone. Caros thought the Prince was either a sycophant or remarkably confidant.

  Hannibal smiled broadly at Alfren. “You said you had what, two or three thousand mounted warriors, yes?”

  “Two thousand, but well equipped General. Good mounts, five hundred spares and the men all with good leather and iron armour.”

  Hannibal looked animated. “In truth, we received news of this oncoming army some days ago. The last report was from the leader of a minor Masulian clan. We have sent out patrols to locate this army, but it appears to have disappeared. We had begun to doubt the veracity of the original reports.”