A figure materialised beside the little man. Tall, slender and dressed in the sheerest linen he had ever seen, with the firelight silhouetting her body, he could see the curve of breast and hip. Her head and face appeared out of the shadows and Caros spat to ward off the taint of the evil shades she possessed. It was she who had shot him and she was deftly nocking a new arrow while smiling at him. He took his blade in his left hand, his right hand numbed from the injury. He would never reach her before she fired, but he would not stop now. Calling on his gods to give him strength, he balanced the falcata in his hand and started towards her. Her smile remained as she lifted the bow and stared at him down the arrow shaft. He guessed the man beside her must be the high priest, the insane brother Berenger had mentioned. The brother, his member in one hand and his knife in the other, smiled malevolently at Caros.
The sacrificed woman groaned and Caros was horrified to realise she still lived, despite her injuries. Her groan drew the attention of the high priest who leered and leaned over the woman. With a snarl, the man clamped his teeth into her throat and worried her like a starved dog.
She cried out weakly. “Papa non zauden, papa where are you?”
She was just a young girl and these monsters had torn her from her family for this! Caros gritted his teeth, almost overcome by rage. His head wound flashed white and he reeled for a moment in agony. Recovering, he looked up to see the high priest lift his blade and plunge it into the girl’s throat. The priestess smiled and loosed the arrow at Caros. In the same instant blood pumped from the gash inflicted to the girl’s throat and sprayed the face of the priestess. Caros felt the arrow slide past his cheek and then he sprang.
Already the priestess was darting away into the shadows, dropping the bow and leaving the priest who realised his danger. He shrieked and jumped a foot into the air, his arms flailing madly, but going nowhere. With disgust, Caros swung his falcata and the wicked edge took the man in the belly just above his crotch. Caros dragged the blade up as he ran past the shrieking monster until he felt it strike the bone of his chest. He did not look back, but hurried into the deeper shadows beyond the firelight. He slipped and skidded in the partly congealed blood that was pooled here. Flies buzzed hideously about his face, disturbed from their feeding. He heard movement and began to make out bodies lying contorted in death rigors. The corpses rested where they had been unceremoniously dumped after serving their purpose on the sacrificial altar to the ancient war goddess Catubodua.
He steadied himself and wiped sweat from his eyes. The air was filled with smoke, insects and the stink of corruption. A whimper came from the dark and Caros froze, listening. He heard it again, coming from a pile of corpses nearby. He heard other sounds of life and realised many of the women were still alive.
“Ilimic!” He shouted. “It is Caros Answer me, Ilimic! Are you here?” He went to the nearest body and reached to roll it over, but one touch of the icy cold shoulder told him the woman was dead. Wary of another attack, he moved from body to body, calling Ilimic’s name.
A voice spoke from the dark. “Óc! I know this one. I know this your Ilimic. Please here help.”
Galvanised by the foreign voice, Caros sprang up. “Where are you? Is Ilimic here?”
“Here! Here quickly please to save us. They killing us all. Please!”
Compelled by the urgency and fear in the girl’s voice, he pressed into the shadows. A small knot of women lay huddled together, bound and naked. He could see the whites of their eyes as they stared up at him with fear and hope. There were at least a dozen here that were uninjured. He wondered where they came from, as many were fair-haired. He began cutting the rope bindings from their wrists and ankles and they whimpered anew as blood flowed into their limbs.
“Where is Ilimic? I have come to help her and take you all from this evil. Where is she?”
A girl nearby tried to sit up. “Ilimic. She fight too hard. They beat her.”
Fear turned Caros cold. “Where is she?”
“She here. They hit her the head. She not speaking now. Look.”
Caros scrambled past cringing women, past caring where he put his feet and knees as he scrambled through them. Ilimic! She lay beside the wide cheeked, yellow haired girl whose call had first alerted him. Bound and breathing with difficulty, Ilimic lay with her eyes closed. Blood had dried in crusts across her brow and down one cheek. Caros grasped her and gently lifted her, ignoring the pain that bloomed in his shoulder. He blew on her eyes in the gloom and called her name over and over, but she hung limply and unresponsive in his arms.
Neugen found Caros sitting with Ilimic cradled in his arms. Tears ran down Caros’ cheeks and he was murmuring quietly to Ilimic.
“Caros! What is wrong with her? Is she breathing?”
Caros looked up at his friend. “They have beaten her and Cabar knows what else. She does not open her eyes.” He said desperately.
“She is alive at least. You have found her! She needs fresh air.” He jumped up and pulled down a curtain draped behind the altar. Caros took it gratefully and wrapped her with it. All around him, men were seeking the living amongst the dead and cutting away their bonds.
A warrior with his arm bleeding through a makeshift binding, called from the smashed doors at the end of the temple hall. “Commander! The flames are getting closer. We do not have much longer.”
“Quick!” said Neugen, “Get her out of here, we will bring the others.”
Caros rose with difficulty and only then did Neugen see the broken arrow shaft jutting from Caros’ shoulder.
“You have been wounded! Here, let me carry her.”
“No! I will be fine. I broke the shaft off. I will go ahead and see you outside.”
Knowing better than to argue, Neugen acquiesced and directed the rest of the warriors to remove the survivors. The smoke was even thicker outside the temple hall and Caros could hear the crackle of flames as some part of the castro burned fiercely. He staggered back the way they had come, struggling to breathe through the smoke. He must have missed the stone stairs leading to the eating hall and kitchens because he next stumbled into an unfamiliar passage with large open slits in the outer walls. Here the smoke was less dense and Caros lowered Ilimic gently to the floor, needing to pause and catch his breath.
Warriors emerged running from the end of the passage, carrying buckets of water. He stopped the first and demanded one of the buckets. The man peered uncertainly at the bloody warrior crouched beside the shrouded woman.
“I am Caros of the Bastetani, I need that water man!”
The warrior nodded and placed a pail beside Caros before following after his companions. Caros soaked a corner of the curtain in which Ilimic was wrapped and wiped her dirt and blood encrusted face. He then dribbled fresh water onto her lips and saw them part as she swallowed.
His heart leaped. “Ilimic! Can you hear me?”
Ilimic opened her eyes and gazed groggily at him, then lifted a hand from under the shroud and traced her fingers across the livid scar circling his right temple.
“Caros, they have hurt you too. Why?” Tears spilled from her eyes and coursed down her cheeks. “Why did you come here? This is an evil place.”
He smiled at her voice and his own tears dripped from his eyes to run with hers.
“I could not live without you, Ilimic. I thought you dead. When I discovered you were alive, no walls or army could have stopped me coming for you.”
Still weeping silently, she shook her head sadly. “I am not the same, Caros. You should have let them kill me. You must leave me. I am not the same.”
Caros’ heart tore with grief. “I do not care, we are together again. We return home and leave this place to burn.”
The smoke thickened and a wave of heat washed over the couple as a wall collapsed somewhere inside the inferno engulfing the castro. “I must fetch Neugen. Lay still here and drink some more water.”
Ilimic smiled and hooked her hand in his cuirass to pull him to her. They
kissed gently, deeply before he rose unsteadily. “I will be back in a heartbeat.”
Men dashed past and he stumbled out of their way and back into the smoky passage. The fire seemed to be everywhere now.
“Neugen!” He shouted for his friend.
A warrior appeared, one of his own Bastetani. “Caros! Neugen is in the kitchens. He sent me to look for you.”
“Good, come give me a hand.” Caros led the man to where Ilimic lay. The folds of curtain still lay there beside the pail, but she was no longer there.
Caros dashed forward, fear clutching at his heart. “Ilimic!”
The warrior ran up the passage searching and Caros staggered in the other direction. He saw smoke pouring from a doorway to his right. She would not have gone in there, but he looked anyway. Fire ran along the wooden beams of the ceiling and the heat was intense. Caros froze. Ilimic was standing in the center of the room.
“Ilimic! What are you doing?” He held his good arm up to ward off the heat and pressed into the room. Ilimic was looking up at the ceiling, but at his voice her gaze slowly settled on him. A sad smile played around her mouth even as tears dripped from her beautiful eyes. “Goodbye my love.” She pressed her fingers to her lips and then held them towards him. The ceiling groaned and fell in a deluge of fire.
In a heartbeat, she was gone, engulfed by the blazing beams. Caros fell back, his cuirass scorching his neck and his tunic smouldering. He cried out in anguish and tried to push forward, but a firm hand pulled him back. Wrestling him out of the room, the warrior pulled him into the corridor and out of the intense heat. Caros stopped flailing and slumped against an outer wall.
EPILOGUE
THE CASTRO BURNED THROUGHOUT that night. The merchants who had staged the war, thinking that their alliance with Rome would save them, could never accept the terms Hannibal had offered. Abarca had known this when he walked back through the gates. Instead, the city’s oligarchy burned their wealth rather than surrender it to Hannibal. Many of the men and women threw themselves into the all-consuming flames. Others died in their rooms and in halls and passages from the poisoned air.
Hannibal’s men desperately dragged as much plunder as they could from the reach of the fires. In the end, they did recover the majority of what wealth Sagunt had left. Enough to satisfy an army double the size of the one he commanded at Sagunt.
Hannibal’s rage, shared by his brothers and the entire army, was manifest the following day. The remaining populace of the city was drawn up on the plains. Surrounding them stood the whole, vast Barcid army. Hannibal ordered his men to single out all the wealthiest survivors. Men, women and children alike were all dragged screaming to the banks of the dry river. He then also ordered every male over the age of fourteen to be brought forward and placed on the riverbank.
Neugen sat his horse before the Bastetani contingent and watched. His orders to assist had been received and he had nodded politely and dismissed the messenger. When his leading men asked what their orders were, he replied. “Remain Bastetani and sleep with a clear conscience this night.”
Just after noon Caros appeared on his mount and pulled up beside his friend. Neugen regarded him with a disapproving frown.
Caros dismissed the look. “You are not assisting?”
“Would you?”
Caros did not reply. Searching his heart, he felt only anger and sorrow. In truth, he thought he might have wielded a sword himself. Nevertheless, he remained beside Neugen as thousands of Saguntines were executed. The river was a bloody sewer when the last Sagunt warrior toppled to the ground.
“Did you find either?”
“No.” Neugen shook his head. “The warrior, Berenger, used the smoke and flames to hide his escape. The priestess...” He spat to ward off her evil, “...disappeared into tunnels and has not been found.”
“I would not have killed him. Even though he killed one of my men. He led us to the temple and I gave him my word.” Caros looked at Neugen who shifted uncomfortably, knowing Caros’ next words. “I also gave my word to the deserter that I would spare his life in exchange for telling me what he knew.”
“Before he was a deserter he was a murderer, a taker of women. I killed him where he lay bound and dazed on the street and I do not regret doing so and neither will I apologise for killing him.”
Caros looked back at the river of execution, his face pale and beaded with perspiration. “You do not have to explain and you owe no one an apology.” He smiled wearily at Neugen who sat grim faced, staring stonily at the remaining captives. “If Rome comes, will you fight with Hannibal?”
After a long consideration Neugen looked at Caros. “I was once eager to capture a city and make myself rich. I dreamed at night of bards weaving great tales and songs of my bravery and daring. I will never think along those lines again after what I have witnessed here, Caros.” Neugen’s voice was choked with emotion. He looked down and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “If they come, I will ride as a Bastetani warrior to defend our people.”
Caros took Neugen’s arm and embraced him. “My friend. Take our warriors home to their families and may you find your place and your peace.”
Riding away, he glanced up to see a figure, resplendent in a silver cuirass, astride a magnificent white horse, approaching. He pulled up his mare and the Carthaginian halted before him. Caros inclined his head in greeting.
“It has been a hard time for you, Caros. I have a new wife, if...” Hannibal Barca shifted uncomfortably and swallowed. He began again. “You are a credit to your people, Caros. The world is changing and men with your qualities will be needed tomorrow. You will always have a place here in my army. In the meantime, thank you and I pray to Tanit that you find fulfilment.”
Caros had kept his gaze on the distant hills, now he looked the Carthaginian General in the eye and he could see Hannibal’s feelings were heartfelt and sincere.
“Thank you. May Tanit bless your wife with many healthy children and may Rome stay far from our shores. For my part, there is a tomb I must visit. There I will listen for our gods’ wisdom and that of my ancestors and one day I may see a brighter future. Farewell, General.”
One last companion intercepted him as he rode west. That usually carefree warrior of the Masulians, sat his mount beyond the plain, his shoulders bowed.
“Aksel. Your warriors have gone north.”
Aksel nodded once, his eyes sombre and dark. “I feel I will see you again my friend. Go well and return when you feel you are ready. We will race our mounts in distant lands, fill valleys with our shouts and strange cities with our laughter.” With brimming eyes, he pulled an amulet from under his tunic and thrust it into Caros’ hand. Then with a click of his tongue, he sent his mount racing away to the north with a last shout over his shoulder. “Until then my brother!”
Caros sat watching the already distant figure merge into the dust on the horizon. Unclenching his fingers, he looked upon the figure, newly carved from the tooth of an oliphant. A shade of a smile played across his face as he stared at the figurine. He pulled the leather cord it dangled from over his head and settled it around his neck. He rubbed the carved figurine of a boar before tucking it under his tunic to hang beside the another.
Looking towards the north, he whispered. “May we one day hunt the wild boar together, you and I.”
The lynx hissed and spat in defiance. A wolf was bigger than most and in his prime, snarled, hackles raised. It was clear he would not back down from the angry display shown by the mother lynx. Her cubs had fled and she prepared to make her stand to give them time to find a safe refuge. The wolf lunged and the lynx screamed and lashed out with her claws. They joined in combat until with a final, mighty crunch; the wolf snapped the neck of the lynx. He stood over her carcass, bloodied and torn, but victorious and surveyed his new domain.
THE END
HISTORICAL NOTE
THE IBERIAN PENINSULA describes the landmass of current day Spain and Portugal. The people of Iberia were Ce
lts and Pre-Celtic Iberians and the landmass was divided among many tribes.
These people had for centuries been trading with Phoenicians, Greeks and Carthaginians who had begun to establish trading ports along the Eastern and Southern coastlines. Under the rule of local kings and chieftains, tribes such as the Bastetani and Edetani both fought and traded with one another.
Hannibal Barca’s father, Hamilcar Barca, still smarting from the loss of Sicily to Rome in the 1st Punic war (264 to 241 BC), set about expanding Carthaginian control of Iberia through the subjugation of these fierce and independent tribes. Hamilcar gained control over strategic gold and silver mines in the Sierra Morena and expanded Carthaginian territory up the east coast where he established the city Akra Lueka (modern day Alicante).
Hasdrubal the Fair succeeded Hamilcar Barca in 228 BC and was less belligerent, tending to establish control through treaties rather than force. In 226 BC he signed the Ebro Treaty with Rome, which forbade Carthaginian expansion north of the Ebro River (Rio Ebro) and Roman expansion south of the same.
Through all this the Iberian tribes were either aligned with or against Carthage. Hannibal succeeded Hasdrubal the Fair in 221 BC and immediately set about subjugating the Olcades and Vaccaei tribes south of the Ebro.
By 219 BC the life of the Iberian tribes was about to change profoundly. The oligarchy of the Greco-Iberian city of Saguntum, located 100 miles south of the Ebro was split between a pro-Roman faction and a pro-Carthaginian party. The more powerful pro-Roman faction called on Rome to be arbitrators in an internal matter. The Roman arbitrators supported the execution of leading members of the city’s pro-Carthaginian party. In addition, Saguntum was engaged in disputes with neighbouring tribes and were accused of massacring Turdetani settlers.
Hannibal Barca could not ignore this powerful pro-Roman city in the centre of the eastern Iberian seaboard and in 218 BC he laid siege to the heavily fortified city. Lacking any advanced siege craft, Hannibal was forced to resort to a protracted 8-month assault against a heavily fortified city perched on the top of a steep sided hill.
Warhorn Page 39