Warhorn

by J Glenn Bauer

  Cractas narrowed his eyes and glanced from left to right. “Hannibal will not lead Iberian horsemen and if he’s not with the Libyans alongside the river...”

  Berenger nodded knowingly while the others who had been only half-listening paused, wondering what they were missing. Cractas swivelled to look deeper into the hills away from the river’s course.

  “Then if Hannibal is indeed on the field, he has their right flank. He chooses the flank that has the most options for retreat!”

  Berenger winced. That was one view. “He may be concealed deeper in the hills to strike our flank when we commit our forces to attacking those two hills.”

  Cractas looked disgusted. “It is time we flushed him out! He is not going anywhere with the Oretani coming down on him from the hills.” The Carpentani blew long on his decorated warhorn. From the rear, Berenger heard the roar of the greater part of their forces. These now surged forward, following Cractas who led the charge.

  Berenger watched the leading men flow after Cractas. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the comfortable early morning warmth on his face. A clip-clop of hooves behind him signalled the approach of Josa.

  “It is done.”

  Berenger nodded in satisfaction.

  Caros established a line of mounted warriors away from the riverfront, hidden behind the denser, riverine growth. Under strict orders, no horsemen were to be seen on the open slopes above the river.

  Caros wanted to establish where the Masulians were as soon as possible. This was of overriding importance as only with their added numbers would they still be able to spring the trap.

  Neugen held up a waterskin for Alfren to drink from. He sat bare-chested on his horse while a warrior tied a dressing over the shallow, but wide wound.

  “There are others who have lost their mounts or are injured, some seriously. It may be prudent to have these men start back to Sagunt now.” Caros offered.

  “Yes, yes. Glad somebody is thinking. The lightly injured can escort them back.” Alfren grunted as the dressing was tied off.

  “I will arrange it.” Caros backed his horse up until it could turn on the narrow game path threading through the thick growth. He began passing the word on to get the injured back. He knew of a small settlement just a short ride from their location and had the injured gather there. He walked his mare between the men, many suffering wounds caused by arrows and javelins, some so serious that he wondered how they had come this far. Others sported broken limbs from falls taken during the skirmishes and in the desperate ride off the hillside.

  The last of the wounded trickled in and Caros informed them their battle was over and that they should now leave for their camp outside Sagunt. Their relief was palpable, and many shouted their thanks. Caros waved them down and as he did, he saw men turn to look beyond him. Following their stare, he saw a small column of men racing towards the settlement. Men murmured angrily, supposing the band was either an enemy raid or deserters from their own force. They were neither. Caros recognized the distinctive style of riding and the mustard tunics. He spurred his horse towards the band and waved. The Masulians galloped almost right up to him, before bringing their obedient mounts to a halt.

  Caros waved the dust from his face and saw a familiar smiling face at their head. “Aksel! By the gods I did not know you were here!”

  Aksel laughed. “I was wondering where you were as well my friend. Then to my astonishment, I saw a lion roaring on a hill and charging his enemy!”

  Caros laughed. “You saw that! I was not thinking when I did it. Expect I will have a few nightmares about how that could have turned out.”

  “Your war-name is well given Caros the Claw!”

  Aksel raised his voice and addressed the Bastetani warriors watching from the shade thrown by the flimsy town walls. “Mark this man warriors of the Bastetani. He whom we Masulians call Caros the Claw for he is a warrior to weave legends about and we are glad to know him as our brother!”

  The Bastetani stared wide-eyed at Aksel, many not knowing what he was talking about. Some though had seen Caros’ charge on the hillside for they had been injured in that last flight. Now in the relative safety of their position, they recognized Caros as the blood-mad warrior who had torn past them and waded into the Carpetani, giving them time to escape. The word rippled through the warriors and they began to cheer him. Embarrassed, Caros turned to Aksel and shrugged. Warriors boast when filled with ale and wine, it is well known and even expected. Some few boast at the wrong times and are called arrogant. When a warrior performs brave deeds and remains humble and modest though, that is when others begin to boast for him, for there is no hero more heroic than a humble, brave warrior. The warriors saw Caros’ shrug and they began to love him. They cheered all the louder and someone began to chant ‘Caros the Claw’. Others took it up and soon all were cheering Caros. Curious faces appeared over the walls of the settlement. The frightened inhabitants drawn out by the sounds of cheering which they no doubt deemed infinitely better than the screams of battle.

  Caros saw them peer over their walls in amazement and he realised the din being made would carry across the river. He held both hands up and waved the warriors quiet.

  “Thank you, but it is time to leave. Those with lighter injuries or without mounts are to assist the others. Do not leave anyone behind unless his shade moves on. We will meet again before we storm Sagunt and I will expect you each to buy me an ale!”

  The men laughed as they rose and began their way back to the Bastetani camp outside Sagunt.

  Caros and Aksel hurried back down the riverbank as Aksel explained where the Masulians were and Caros pointed out where the Bastetani sheltered behind the trees and thick bush growing alongside the river. They found Alfren and Neugen by a giant willow tree. Alfren sat resting against the trunk in its deep shade while Neugen had climbed high into its limbs to observe the Carpetani the far bank. There had been no pursuit by the enemy which was unsurprising as they had been strung out and exhausted after racing to cut the Bastetani’s escape off. They would soon regroup though. The problem was that Massibaka and his Masulians were downriver, hidden beyond a natural ford. They had been told the Bastetani and Libyans would cross there and draw the pursuing warriors after them at that point in the river.

  When Alfren heard that he cursed. “I asked where we would cross, but Muttines just said to follow the Libyans.”

  “Did you see where they crossed or even if they crossed?” Aksel asked.

  “Neugen saw them, or at least some of them, they seemed to have been driven back inland, away from the river.”

  Neugen called down from the treetop. “Lots of dust downriver!” The men held their breath and heartbeats later he shouted again. “I saw them! Just for a moment and it looks like they are making for the ford just as Aksel said!” Twigs and willow leaves rained down and next Neugen swung out of the tree, landing lightly on his feet.

  “What in the name of Runeovex did you see?” Alfren blurted.

  Neugen’s eyes were bright. “I saw the Libyans riding like Saur’s dogs were after them. They are going to hit the river downstream.”

  Aksel spun his horse around without a word and galloped away through the growth. His men joined him in the distance as they made their way back to Massibaka’s position downriver.

  Caros looked at Alfren. “Do we go?”

  “No, we wait here. If they had planned this better we would know where we ought to be, curse them.”

  “If Hannibal’s Libyans cross the river at the ford then that is where the Carpetani will follow. Should we not at least help Aksel’s fellows?”

  Alfren grinned. “They will be fine. Sometimes you can have too many spears.”

  Berenger, accompanied by Josa and his column of two hundred, followed in the wake of the skirmishes where they came upon the hillside the Bastetani had first held. Just where it started its gentle incline they passed the first of the Carpetani casualties. Berenger estimated near five hundred men lay dead or inju
red here. Small groups huddled together tending their injuries. Fathers bound the bloody puncture wounds of sons, brothers stripped dead siblings, preparing them for the pyres and sons gave water to their fathers. It was ever the case that the tribes of Iberia fought as kin and clan against their enemies.

  Only once they were on the hillside did they encounter any Bastetani dead. These were few and any injured had already been dispatched when the mass of Carpetani had surged up the hill. At the summit, Berenger paused the column to take in the lie of the land. To their left; a steep sided ridge ran parallel to the river. To their right, the land fell away to the banks of the Tagus.

  “The Bastetani have crossed. We have only the Libyans before us now.” Josa remarked.

  Berenger eyed the Libyan lines. They had withdrawn after their first contact with the Carpetani, long before the Bastetani had broken away. Berenger was surprised they too had not fled across the river unless they were hoping to link with Hannibal’s column. Berenger looked to his left where the dust of battle hung above Hannibal’s column and it skirmish with the Carpetani right flank.

  “Cractas is driving them back, but he struck too soon.” Berenger would have fumed at the premature attack led by Cractas, but he was well versed in the ways of the Iberian warriors. Even the best of them lost their heads when they smelled battle. Unfortunately, all the attack had accomplished was to drive the Barcid columns out of range of the flank attack by the Oretani.

  Josa exclaimed and pointed. “They are doubling back. See, they have skirted the ridge!”

  Berenger too saw the dust rising from beyond the ridge. The Carpetani warriors would never be able to climb the steep slopes in time to trap Hannibal’s column. The Libyans to their front were also moving now, trotting their mounts forward towards Carpetani warriors who were strung out over the rough terrain. While they numbered in the thousands, they were too widespread to halt the oncoming Libyans. The bulk of the Carpetani warriors had turned to follow Cractas, smelling fresh blood and not realising that the Libyans holding the left flank were still on the field. Berenger looked at Josa and the men reached an unvoiced agreement. They turned and led their column downriver. He had anticipated Hannibal’s plan and had just the remedy.

  Caros rode his mare along a deep ravine and then turned up a goat track that curled to the top of the steep hill to his left. He could not sit at the river’s edge and simply wait for something to happen and hoped the track would take him high enough to get a look at what was happening across the river. His doughty mare stumbled a little on the rocky path, but quickly found her footing and kept going. Near the crest, Caros halted her and dismounted. He ran to the top and flung himself down so he could watch unobserved from across the river.

  It was difficult to see clearly through the dust and rising heat of the day, but Caros watched the thickest clouds and presumed these were raised by the Libyan horsemen. A breeze shifted the sun scorched grass before him and thinned the haze allowing Caros to see the glint of armour and weaponry. His eyes focused on the distant melee as the muffled thunder of hooves grew louder. There came the distant neigh of horses and a warhorn blew from across the river. A lone riderless horse galloped into view and then out of the murk that shrouded the northern banks, came two columns of horsemen in full retreat.

  Both the Libyan columns were moving swiftly and Caros jumped up and cheered with relief. Feeling somewhat foolish, he crouched again and saw the white pennant decorated with the symbol of Tanit, mother goddess of Carthage, streaming above the horsemen. Both columns emerged from the clouds of dust and into the valley through which the Tagus flowed. Their prey flown, the Carpetani were now regrouping in the hills beyond the river. With Hannibal and his Libyan horsemen now crossing to the southern banks, the Carpetani would be certain to follow in pursuit. Caros smiled in anticipation, but it faltered as he imagined the bloodletting to follow.

  Berenger led his men across the Tagus far downriver. Emerging on the southern shore, muddy water pouring from their leggings, they rode up between two hills onto a flat shelf of land. Waiting for them there were the Carpetani and Oretani horsemen. The very same horsemen Cractas thought he had persuaded Berenger to send with the Oretani. Berenger’s column dismounted and rested while he rode on to where the leading men and graybeard rested under a copse of oak trees.

  “Berenger! What news? Have Barca’s horsemen stood to fight?” A graybeard shouted. Another laughed and added that there had better be some left for his men to hunt down.

  Berenger brought his mount to a halt. “Their horsemen have run from skirmish to skirmish. They are baiting the Carpetani warriors, not closing with them.”

  One of the graybeards swore. “What are we doing here then? They cannot run from us!”

  Berenger glared at the man and silence quickly fell. “Hannibal is outnumbered by our warriors, but he plans to spring a trap and even now is doing so. We will be the iron spear of the tribes upon which his trap will break. That is why I requested that you remain here with all your warriors.”

  The leading men glanced at one another. “What trap is he planning?”

  “Shove a spear into a wasp’s nest and the wasps fly about angrily, yes? This is what the Barca has done and our warriors are the angry wasps. Even now, his horsemen have crossed to this side of the river with these angry wasps buzzing behind. They will rush the river and that is when cunning Barca will spring his trap. The warriors will be struck down as they cross the river.”

  “Well I would rather be an angry wasp than sit around here like a lazy fly! We need to ride to their aid!” A scarred leading man shouted angrily and others called out in support.

  “Yes, we ride, but we strike Hannibal from the rear while our warriors hold his attention on the river. That way, he will be trapped and we will smash his horsemen and send him weeping into the land of Saur to join his father!”

  “Hannibal and the Libyans have crossed the ford where the Masulians are in waiting. Should we not go to aid them, Alfren?”

  Alfren was lying under the willow tree and Neugen looked to be asleep in the crook of two branches above them. “Look, this is not a race, it is a battle. Each unit has a role and a place. Hannibal gave us our role which we did the best we could.”

  “But...”

  “But nothing. What was the role assigned to the Masulians?”

  “They were to keep out of sight and then ambush the warriors who gave chase when they tried to cross the river.”

  “That is right. That is their function. Let them do this. If we try to assist we may well hamper them.”

  Caros spun and kicked a piece of driftwood into the river. He understood Alfren’s reasoning and it made sense, but he could not help himself. He wanted to be there to see the outcome. He could not just sit here; he would only end up irritating Alfren who was in clear pain. Caros would have never expected that the Alfren he had met could be so calm while a few stadia away his comrades were in a pitched battle. He hopped up onto his mare’s back.

  “Where by the gods are you off to now?”

  “Up to the settlement. I want to make sure all the wounded have left.” He walked the mare back up the ravine, conscious of the work the mount had already done that day. The sun hung midway up the eastern sky. Time had seemed to slow since this day began. The distant clamour of the Carpetani warhorns came constantly now from across the river. This was the final battle and it seemed the Bastetani were not to be part of it. War, he had to concede, was chaos.

  He reached the settlement to find the gates open and the homes deserted, the inhabitants having departed with the Bastetani injured. Considering how many angry Carpetani and Oretani were roaming these hills, this made sense. A dog growled at Caros and his mare before slinking away. The deserted settlement held an air of foreboding and Caros turned the mare and headed for the gates, eager to be gone from there. Frustrated, he turned the mare downriver. In the near distance he heard warhorns and beneath their strident song, the roar of many warriors. Across the r
iver the hillside swarmed with the enemy who were now advancing south.

  Caros urge his horse forward, tracing the easiest line to bring him out above the ford where the Masulians would be meeting the attackers. The hillside had numerous goat tracks and he opted to take a route near the top to better view of the bend in the river where the ford lay. As the trail rose, the ford appeared and beyond it, the massed Carpetani warriors, now joined by their allies the Oretani. His heart lurched at the numbers of enemy warriors plunging into the river in waves. Warriors were forced to hold their shields and weapons above their heads to make progress against the current. Overeager warriors hurtled into the river, knocking those before them off their feet and in places warriors thrashed to keep their heads above water. Already a handful of limp bodies could be seen partially submerged and drifting downstream along with scattered shields and personal effects. More warriors were abandoning their shields on the far bank, noting the difficulty others were having with them in the river.

  Further up the trail Caros got his first view of the near bank of the river. The Libyan riders with Hannibal were milling around in confusion, no effort being made to form a line against the oncoming foe. Caros pulled his mare up and watched wide-eyed as the river became a mass of warriors boiling towards the Libyans. The water had been turned foul and muddy by so many feet stirring up the riverbed.

  A shrill note sounded from the thick vegetation far below Caros followed by loud ululations that lifted the hair on his arms. The riverbank erupted with movement as thousands of mounted Masulians appeared from the dense foliage. They charged swiftly across the wide shingle beach and in the blink of an eye the air filled with their throwing spears. The front ranks of Carpetani were stumbling out of the river when the Masulians struck. To a man, the Carpetani were felled and already more spears, thousands more, were flying at the next rank. In the river and on the furthest bank, the Carpetani and Oretani roared in anger at the sight of the Masulians and they plunged forward with no regard for those in their way. Caros felt a cold wind steal across his neck and his urge to join the battle faded. He saw clearly the fate of the enemy from where he sat. Hannibal had their measure and had planned this battle based not on his strengths, but on his enemy’s nature. Caros grunted as the enemy warriors lurched forward, sprouting spears from their chests, waving their blades and screaming defiance.