“To arms! To arms, Bastetani!” He knew the sounds of battle too well by now to mistake them. He flung himself into the tent and cursing in the dark, grabbed for his armour and weapons.
“What is all the racket about?”
“Sounds like the Saguntines have led a sortie out of the walls!”
“Saur’s dogs, I hear it!” Neugen exclaimed as he too tumbled from his cot.
The ringing of metal on metal and cries of battle echoed faintly, but unmistakeably from the walls of the city. Neugen bounced out of his cot and quickly began pulling on his armour.
Caros cinched his belt and sheath onto his waist. “Hurry! We need to get up there!” Caros cursed their fumbling. They should not have been caught so unprepared. They had grown complacent, but that would change he vowed. Around him, the Bastetani camp was slowly coming awake. Caros had brought his father’s warhorn and now lifted it to his lips and blew. The sound of the warhorn tore through the camp like a great wind. Warriors were taking up the cry and finally the Bastetani were moving. Caros blew again and again. He turned towards Sagunt and sounded the call to charge, before sprinting to the horse enclosure. At the gate, he whistled for his mare and heard her whinny in response.
“Good girl! About the only one here who is awake aren’t you!” He let her out, gave her a pat and leaped astride. More Bastetani warriors were running towards the horse enclosure, led by Neugen.
“Neugen, get the men mounted up and ready them. We are not charging that hill in groups, we are doing this as one.”
“Yup, aw shit! Look at that!” Neugen pointed towards Sagunt.
Caros whipped about on the horse. Along the base of the city wall fires were flaring brightly. Caros knew then they were too late and again cursed their apathy.
Angrily he spat, “Get the men mounted!”
CHAPTER 23
THE STINK OF FEAR LIFTED above the incense and perfumes the richest of the city used to smother their scent.
”The Romans must come. What news from them?” Anicetus’ voice trembled.
Berenger watched the oligarchs as they absorbed the news he had brought. He had escaped the carnage at the Tagus together with Josa and a handful of his original two hundred men. These had melted away that first night on their journey back to Sagunt. None of them wanted to be trapped in the city and endure a siege; especially after somehow living through the battle they had just survived. Berenger listened as they slipped away in the dark and restrained Josa from starting up after them. His leading man had given him a questioning look in the wan moonlight. Berenger was glad they were going. With fewer men, they were more likely to slip undetected through the enemy lines into the besieged city, using the hidden trail the messenger had described to him. In the end, the two men had easily been able to gain entry to the city as the besiegers lay intoxicated after their celebrations.
He had wondered if returning was a wise choice, but he had secreted away almost all of his wealth within Sagunt and he was not about to start again with barely a stater to his name. Besides, if he could gain access to the city, there was every chance he would be able to escape it as well should the need arise.
“They will come! We pledged allegiance to them.” The whine came from Glauketas who sat peeling grapes and slurping them through his stained lips. The High Priest looked toward the Priestess of Catubodua, his own sister, seeking validation for his faith. She stood at the window that opened out to the east and the Inland Sea. The afternoon breeze rustled her raven black tresses and flattened her sheer linen tunic against her firm body. Berenger could see the shadows of her areola and her sex, prominent between her hips, through the white garment. With little left to the imagination, Berenger’s blood only flowed colder as he watched her. As though reading his thoughts, she walked deeper into the room and smiled at him. He felt the hair at the back of his neck rise every time she looked at him. This woman fed off the fear that she sowed among the devotees of the ancient goddess, Catubodua. He felt a bead of perspiration at his brow and looked away.
“These are distressing tidings you have brought to us. You are certain the tribes have left us to fend off the foreigner and his lackeys on our own?” Her voice had the rasping quality of locusts’ wings.
Of the oligarchs, Abarca alone had no fear of the Priestess. “Berenger has spoken so you may as well believe it.”
The Strategos looked strained, but there was a new fire in his eye. The Priestess spun on the Strategos scowling. Berenger cringed at the malevolent depths of hate in her green eyes.
“You sound pleased, Strategos! This was your plan and for it you have used silver from the temples. Now what have you to show for it?”
“Nothing! Strategos has nothing!” The man-child clapped his hands in delight at the fury his sister showed. Juice sprayed from the grape crushed between his sticky palms.
Abarca stood his ground. “This is war Priestess and in war even the victor knows he is one step from defeat and a leap from victory.”
“Clever words Strategos, but words will not stop Hannibal!”
“The walls will.” The Strategos returned. The Priestess glared at him, taken off guard. He went on, “Look at his army. Thousands upon thousands and what does he have that can knock down our walls? A few battering rams? It will take him months to crack the outer walls alone. The man can buy warriors, but he cannot take Sagunt.”
“Yes! This is true. The Olcades with their mud walls and ditches held him at bay for a season.” Anicetus reasoned. The merchant’s confidence drained away and he lowered his eyes at Carmesina’s sneer.
“So, this is the great plan? Hide behind the walls like children behind their mother’s skirts?” She hissed.
Berenger winced for Abarca, in another place and time the Strategos would have struck her down for the insult.
Instead, the Strategos smiled coolly. “They buy us time. Anicetus is right; Rome will come to our aid. In the meantime, I also propose we offer a truce to Hannibal.”
The Priestess considered this and then smiled. “While you offer him terms, I will offer the goddess the blood of maidens to ensure our warriors are victorious.”
“Blood! We will offer blood, Strategos.” Glauketas’ voice had now taken on a deep baritone and Berenger suppressed a shudder. The creature was possessed, they both were. It may be time to leave this hellhole. First though, he would see to some business and then retrieve his wealth before slipping away. As he pondered how best to do this, he only half heard the Priestess describe the ceremonies she had in mind to bring Hannibal to ruin.
Once the doors closed behind the departing oligarchs, Abarca fell into his seat and Berenger came forward. He thought the fire in Abarca’s eyes had died somewhat.
“It is like trying to do battle against an enemy before you and a foe within. That pair are barking mad. What do they know of battle, eh?” The Strategos poured a cup of wine and gestured to Berenger to do the same.
“You are in command of the garrison and all the allied auxiliaries. Surely you have the power to sweep her and her brother aside?”
“Oh, how I have thought about it. How do you think a creature like Glauketas ever became a high priest? His family is powerful and have so many eyes and ears about that I reckon half my leading men are in their pay.”
Berenger pondered this as he drank. This was an ominous portent for a besieged city. Any hope of survival lay in a unified defence. Abarca was fighting the battle with one hand tied at his back.
The Strategos sighed. “This is what I meant when I said a foe within. Also, it diverts my attention from the real battle, from planning an effective defence.”
“Well, you... we are still in a powerful position here and it is true that Hannibal does not enjoy much success in siege.”
“Hmm, that can change with one good victory.” The Strategos smiled at his own grim joke. “It is true, but I will not rely on Hannibal being poor at conducting siege warfare. I need to be able to take the battle to him on more levels.”
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Berenger’s eyes creased in thought. This was the Strategos he knew. One who could take any small opportunity and turn it into a victory.
He smiled coldly. “How about we burn those cursed rams then? They make sleeping a chore.”
The sounds of battering reverberated through the city as though the hill itself had a beating heart. In the still hours before dawn, while the citizens and the refugees slept, Berenger led several hundred battle-scarred warriors to the west walls. They were armed with swords and wore leather armour and helms. They reached the western gate after threading their way through the reeking gutters and shacks that made up this section of the city. Berenger brought them to a halt and sent Josa up the wall. He would command the archers and javelin throwers who had congregated on the battlements. Their role would be to harass any counter-attack by the warriors guarding the rams.
Josa whistled softly when he reached the parapet in the darkness above. Berenger just made out the whistled signal above the thud and crunch of the rams just the other side of the wall. He hawked and spat a gob of phlegm into the filth around his sandals. The air here was thick with dust raised by the constant battering against the walls. He drew his large sword and smiled grimly as he flicked it, feeling the tension leave his muscles and wrist. In the dark of the night he heard a crack and rumble of rock. Moments later, he heard distant yells and shouts. His first thought was that Hannibal had attacked the walls. The warriors around him began murmuring and milling about. Then the sound of sandals flapping wetly through the muck reached him. Rounding the corner from behind a stable, a young warrior appeared. He skidded to a stop in front of the warriors and half raised his spear. The warriors scoffed at him. Berenger cut his sword through the air silencing them and addressed the spearman.
“You, what was that noise?”
The young warrior approached him hesitantly. Berenger realized he was just a youth, wearing homemade leather armour, padded with raw wool, over his threadbare tunic.
His voice shrill, the youth stammered, “A ram has broken through the wall. It is cracking and shaking fearfully. I was sent by our graybeard to alert the barracks.”
“The wall still stands? The enemy have not entered the city?”
“No, but it will fall though, it started crumbling as I was leaving.”
Berenger dismissed the young warrior and considered if he should continue with the attack. He was planning on tedium and the time of night to be his ally, but the enemy would be awake and excited at this breach. He made his decision and forsaking the quiet he had insisted upon, called to the warriors.
“Now! You know what to do. Do it fast and do not linger to loot or you will find yourselves locked out!”
A line of guards threw off the locking bars and shoved hard at the gate, pushing the heavily reinforced structure outwards, slowly and quietly. Berenger charged through the moment he could fit between the gates. Behind him, Sagunt’s warriors streamed out in single file, then in pairs and then a broad front which broke left and right along the walls. Berenger hurled himself into the gloom beyond the gate, towards the closest ram. It appeared as a shadowy mound before him and he charged towards its open rear.
The glow of embers warned him of a campfire just paces ahead of him and he leaped it just as a startled guard sat up. A pale oval of a face, mouth open wide in surprise, looked up at him. Berenger thrust his sword down, feeling the resistance of flesh. Then he was past, leaving behind the sounds of a brief scuffle as his warriors silenced the rest of the guards around the fire. The thick leather walls of the ram were in front of him and he charged to the rear access, sword before him, ready to receive any attack.
He had expected it to be darker than Saur’s cave inside, but the team working the ram had hung several lanterns along the walls. In their oily glow, he made out the huge ram being heaved forward towards the wall. As he watched, men jumped away from the speeding trunk and flattened themselves against the leather walls of the ram. The sound of the impact against the wall was physical in the confines of the leather walls. Berenger used the crunching boom to mask his attack and in moments killed three men with slashes to their unprotected throats. Finally, he was spotted and a cry of alarm rose, but for the men of this ram it was too late. Saguntine’s warriors blocked their only path to escape. They fled to the front of the ram, where it butted up tight against the city wall, shouting in panic as Berenger approached, bloody sword ready. His warriors charged past him and with howls of rage, fell on the men as they pressed against the wall they had been trying to smash through.
Berenger backed away, shouting to still more warriors crowding in. “Come, these are done! To the next one, come!”
There were two more rams to dispatch and they raced to these. The hillside was coming alive as the guards realised that Saguntine warriors were amongst them and wreaking havoc. Those guards close by were overrun, still reaching for weapons or armour. Others fled, giving the alarm. His men began to bellow on their warhorns. The loud braying rattled over the hillside, sowing fear and confusion through the warriors Hannibal had set to guard his rams. They encountered the next team as they were fleeing the ram. He hacked at one man as he sped past and the sword sliced through his arm at the elbow. Screaming, he sped even faster downhill. A javelin suddenly planted in his back, threw him tumbling into the rocky hill in a billowing pile of cloth, blood and dust.
Berenger did not enter that ram, but just kept going to the most distant ram on the south west of the wall. Here the team had already fled, but a wall of guards was approaching from the south. Berenger led his warriors hard at the few guards. They had obviously come hurrying to their comrades’ aid, expecting to bolster the numbers already here. Too late they realised they were the only cohesive force left guarding the rams. Berenger could almost read their minds from the posture of their bodies. Shoulders tensed in readiness, then drooping at the realisation they would not see dawn and then squaring as they determined to make their last fight a good one. He smiled in appreciation. Good men! He hoped whoever commanded them would know of their bravery. He roared and charged at their center, picking a swarthy looking warrior with a thin beard trailing from his chin. The warrior hitched his shield and lowered his left shoulder behind it. Berenger kicked the shield and swiped away a thrust of the warrior’s falcata. His larger, heavier sword hacked at the man who nimbly bounced back. Berenger had foreseen the move and threw himself at the shield, blocking another slash aimed at him. He crashed into the shield and the force knocked the man to the ground. Without missing a step, Berenger kicked the downed warrior between the legs and then drove his sword through the warrior’s throat. Around him, the Saguntine warriors were in amongst Hannibal’s men and their numerical superiority ensured the fight was brief. Berenger nodded with satisfaction as his men doused the ram with oil. A torch was flung onto the structure and in moments it was crawling with flames.
They had accomplished their mission and it was time to retreat to the city gates. The warriors were boisterous and trotted back happily, shouting abuse down the hill to where the remnants of the guards had scattered.
The Saguntines fought an easy withdrawal against the warriors who had come too late to save the rams. Caros and a few hundred of the Bastetani reached the hillside just in time to watch the last of the Saguntine warriors retreat into their city dragging the gates closed behind them. They had left every ram burning fiercely in their wake. The smell of burning flesh was everywhere as the slaughtered teams roasted and burned away inside the battering rams. The hillside was strewn with dead guards.
“Whose lot were they?” Neugen asked pointing at a group of five men lying dead in their sleeping rolls.
“Not sure. They are Turdetani, maybe Gualam’s men.”
Neugen nodded sombrely. “Well this will wake everyone up.”
Caros looked morosely at the burning rams. It would take days to get more up here. They had reserves, but the effort and cost in lives just to place them was a high price for letting down the
ir guard. In the flickering firelight he caught sight of an oddity alongside the wall as it curved to the north. Peering through the murk and smoke, he realised what he was seeing and smiled. Some good out of this at least and now he knew what had awoken him.
Within the walls, with the gate drawn fast behind them, the Saguntine warriors crowed with victory. Berenger walked amongst them, handing each man his reward, courtesy of the city’s war chest. They would soon be drunk and bedding the city whores. He was curious to see the damage that had been wrought on the outer wall before they had set out and made his way to the scene. He found the small breach in the wall made by a ram. The wall had collapsed on itself and out down the hill leaving a dangerous pile of jagged rocks heaped in the breach to the height of a man. Still defensible, although a sure promise of what was in store for the future.
A column of nearly a thousand warriors had been drafted to guard the breach against a possible attack. Berenger could have told them none was coming. It would take nimble warriors to cross the loose, sharp rock and then they would be sitting targets as they crested it. With only four or five men being able to pass through the narrow gap at a time, they would be funnelled into a killing field.
He climbed the nearest stairs to the parapet to survey the ground beyond the breach. In the east, he spotted mounted warriors approaching. They milled about in the half-light and as he watched he saw the group break up and riders making off for the plains. A pair of riders remained and in time they walked their horses around the walls. He guessed these were leading men come to view the damage to their rams. They edged closer still. Were they idiots? They were getting close to the maximum range of a skilled archer and did not show any sign of backing off. His eyes suddenly grew bright and he jerked his head about to see who else was watching from the walls. A good many warriors stood on the parapets on either side of the breach, talking and laughing. They occasionally glanced beyond the walls, but he guessed they were bored to death of the view.
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