Howl of Blades

by J Glenn Bauer

  Sweat beaded on Caros’ forehead.

  “We have far to go. With your permission we would like to leave now.”

  Mardlux’s lips twitched though not with the beginnings of a smile. “I think I was too hasty with my gratitude. You are almost certainly spying for the newcomers. Romans, yes?”

  “The Romans have come to your lands?”

  Caros was surprised and Mardlux noticed.

  “Yes, and they have perished slowly and with much screaming.” He looked meaningfully at the hill-warriors.

  “We do not spy. We fought the Romans alongside warriors of the Vascon and wish to visit with those same warriors.”

  Mardlux stared hard at Caros before allowing a smile.

  “I have given you your freedom. Go, Azmulox will guide you.”

  Chapter 12

  The season of rebirth was close. Great flocks of birds arrowed through the heavens; their honking ceaseless. The winds changed and changed again, as though testing the air for the right moment. In the meadows, hares went to battle and on the high slopes, eagles gorged on newborn kids.

  Caros took a deep breath and held the scent for long moments.

  “Tell me you smell a flagon of ale.”

  Maleric snapped a clutch of twigs and shoved them into the previous night’s ashes.

  “Close. This summer’s barley.”

  Neugen snorted and groaned as Rappo hissed at him to be still. Carefully, he snipped the last of the stitches in Neugen’s belly.

  Maleric paused his moaning to watch as the Masulian squeezed bloody puss from the stitch holes.

  “Does not stink too bad. You might live after all.” Maleric boomed before swiveling his eyes to give Caros a baleful glare. “Barley a whole season away from being brewed into ale is far from close.”

  “Then I guess you are not interested in visiting the village of the people that tend the barley fields over there.”

  Maleric’s eyes narrowed for a moment before he sprang to his feet. Cursing a thorn that stuck in his bare foot, he hopped across to where Caros stood.

  Through a break in the trees, a long narrow field showed the first tender shoots of the cereal.

  Maleric whistled and slapped his forehead.

  “It is too early for planting! We have not even had much snow yet!”

  Azmulox had followed the exchange and he dipped his chin grudgingly to Caros.

  “It is true. We are close to Vascon lands and one of their villages is nearby. I shall leave you when we sight it, my obligation fulfilled.”

  The warrior had proved taciturn throughout the trip, making no effort to learn anything about Caros or the others.

  Maleric’s eyebrows rose.

  “You mean you will not stop and have a friendly drink with your Vascon neighbors?”

  Azmulox’s lips turned down and he crossed his arms.

  “The Vascon are weak. Their men do not know how to plough and so their women cheer when we come raiding.”

  It was the most the warrior had said to them in one sitting and their astonishment silenced them. Maleric was the first to begin laughing.

  Before noon they caught sight of the smoke haze that hung over the village in the distance. The Celtiberi was showing increasing signs of nerves.

  “I think we can find the Vascon village ourselves, Azmulox. If you would like to turn for home now before any of their women see you and begin to cheer, we will not mind.”

  The young warrior snorted with indifference. “I will leave now, but only because rain is coming and I wish to shelter in a cave I know.” The man turned his horse and began to ride away.

  “May all the gods smile on you too.” Neugen scoffed at the sudden parting.

  As though hearing him, Azmulox halted his mount and pointed to the north. “The upright wolf can only save you if you wish it.”

  They watched him ride away and then spat in unison, their lips pale at the thought of an upright wolf. A moment later, a gust of wind lifted their cloaks and brought a scatter of cold, fat raindrops.

  “Bastard was right about the rain.” Maleric rumbled. “Let us hope he…”

  “Do not speak of it. That way it cannot find us.”

  Caros clutched his amulet bag and mouthed a prayer to Endovex, the god of healing and good.

  “Then I suggest we ride hard for that village.” He lifted his nose and scented the air much like a wolf.

  Caros gave him a filthy look. “Your jest may turn out to have teeth.”

  Maleric laughed. “Sorry, thought I smelled ale.”

  Born to them from the mountains, on the same wind that carried the rain, came a long and mournful cry.

  Neugen and Rappo hissed at Maleric who had gone deathly still.

  The village was welcoming enough after the initial barrage of questions from a strong force of spearmen.

  Maleric went to work establishing where to find food and ale for immediate consumption. Rappo took the horses to the horse yards to clean their hooves and find a salve to ward off biting flies. Two of the mounts had suffered especially and their ears were edged with bloody scabs.

  Caros asked the graybeard who had led the spearmen if he could recommend a guide to lead them Iruna.

  “Iruna? You do not need a guide. The road east will take you there and riders have come that way since the last moon so I know it is passable.”

  “That is good news. How many days is it on horseback?”

  The man pulled at his beard, distrustful of too many questions from strangers. Caros held up a palm and dipped his chin.

  “We are seeking a warrior who fought with us against the Romans at Cissa. She lives in Iruna.”

  The graybeard closed one eye and considered him carefully.

  “Not too many Vascon answered the Barca’s call. Most who did never returned.” He released his beard. “Well alright, you look honest enough; Iruna is no more than four days from here on horseback. May you find your friend well.”

  The roads surrounding the principle Vascon town were busy with traffic of every sort. Numerous flocks of goats filled the roads at intervals as the shepherds brought them down from the hills where they had overwintered.

  “Fresh milk!” A wizened old man called to them from where he crouched beside a nanny goat and coaxed steaming milk into a wooden bowl.

  Rappo sprang from his pony and knelt next to the old man, a clipped copper between his thumb and forefinger.

  Cupping the bowl with both hands, he drank it dry before passing it back to the shepherd with a nod. He sprang atop his mount and grinned at the others, unaware he now bore his first mustache.

  They circled around herds of cattle, threaded between villagers pushing carts of wizened roots and sacks of watery cheese, and nodded to mounted warriors as they made their way to the gates of Iruna.

  The town had been overwhelmed by part of Hannibal’s army the previous spring, but the walls of rock topped with wooden palisades had largely been repaired. The Vascon could hardly be haphazard about their security with Celtiberi to their south and warlike clans of Gauls north of them.

  Spearmen guarded the gates and from their constant chatter to the travelers, it seemed they knew all those passing back and forth. They had noticed Caros and the rest, but continued their banter until he was before the gates at which point their leading man, stepped into the road and held up a hand.

  Caros reined in and nodded at the sentry.

  “Greetings, friend. I am Caros of the Bastetani and these are my companions.”

  The spearman’s dark eyes were shaded by a sturdy iron helmet which he wore low on his brow.

  “Greetings. You are a long way from home.”

  “We hope to visit with a warrior who fought with us at Cissa. We are also known to Knurlad, a leading man of the Vascon.”

  The warrior swore suddenly, startling Caros’ mount and causing him to reach for his blade. He held his right palm out placatingly.

  “I remember you! You are Caros the Claw.” The man
smiled at his fellows who clustered at his shoulders, eyeing Caros. “So you fought the Romans? From the way you spoke then I thought you were going to show the Carthaginians how to defeat them.”

  Stung, Caros glowered at the warrior who chuckled back at him unperturbed.

  “I guess the warrior you are here to visit is Beaugissa?” Still angered, Caros inclined his head in assent. “You will find her north of Iruna. You want to go to a place called Long Songs. Her home is there.”

  After passing through the gates of Iruna, they stopped in the town’s crowded marketplace. After so many days of travelling through the wilds, the sound was akin to being in a battle. Traders advertised their wares at the top of their voices, trying to outshout their competitors. Buyers bartered for what they could, roaring their indignation while haggling. Smoke churned from the forges of three smiths whose hammer blows clanked monotonously through the din. From everywhere came the bleat of goats being milked, being turned onto their back to be slaughtered, and being exchanged for other commodities.

  They paid for bowls of mutton stew and thick crusts of bread to eat it. Standing aside from the main bustle, their mounts flat eared at their backs, the four ate while their eyes tracked the chaotic mass of people and animals.

  Maleric spat a bone from his mouth and laughed as it was snatched from the air by a lurking hound.

  “Feels strange seeing so many faces again.”

  Neugen had a wistful look that signaled he was thinking of his wife.

  Caros sponged the last of the oily grey stew from the wooden bowl with a chunk of bread and nodded.

  “They do not seem too worried about tax collectors either.” Swallowing his last bite, he passed the bowl back to the woman who had sold them the meal.

  “Long Songs. I like the sound of this name.” Rappo tucked a large portion of his bread into his pack. “What does it mean?”

  Caros shook his head and the others shrugged.

  They found their way out of Iruna and circled to the north. At a prosperous looking stead near the road, Caros asked a group of women spinning yarn for directions. None spoke Bastetani but one young woman knew the common Greek patois. She flushed when the others teased her, and with a wide smile, pointed at a range of hills ten stades further north.

  Caros returned her smile, attracted by her lively eyes and open friendliness. Unwilling to wave farewell, he asked her another question.

  “What is the meaning of the name Long Songs?”

  Her smile faltered and her eyes grew round.

  “Have you never heard of the black wolf?”

  “The Black Wolf? No.”

  She leaned towards him, a frown between her eyes.

  “The black wolf is jealous of his feast and on nights when there is danger about, his calls are long and reach all the ears of innocents. If you are traveling or outside the walls of your home when you hear the long song, you risk being taken.”

  Back on the road, Neugen grinned at him.

  “I think she liked you.”

  Maleric sniggered.

  “Until he asked her what the name meant you mean.”

  Caros shook his head and urged his horse on ahead of the mocking. They passed a cluster of stone beehive huts set atop a hill. Since the sun was lowering, there was no one visible outside the encircling wall. The hills the young woman had pointed to loomed above the riders and the road petered out into a rough track. Long shadows thrown by the hills made the path gloomy and Caros felt a momentary pang of apprehension.

  Neugen urged his voice forward and peered north along the trail.

  “Caros, it will be dark soon and I do not see this Long Songs. Should we head back and start out early tomorrow?”

  Maleric said nothing and Rappo nodded which Caros took to mean they agreed. He pulled up beside Neugen with the others where the trail faded to darkness in the deepening shadows. Looking over his shoulder, his eyes widened. Hidden by the shoulder of the steep hill on their left, was a sheer cliff of granite so high he had to crane his neck to see the top. Doing so, the hair on his neck stood on end as he spied the furtive skulking of a large wolf.

  Clearing his throat, he was about to agree with Neugen when a low mournful call began. The others started and their mounts whinnied nervously, stamping their feet in alarm.

  “There was a walled settlement further back. We can be there before sunset.”

  The others nodded eagerly and quickly urged their horses into a gallop. Caros, leading them, saw a lone rider coming up the road and turning towards the little settlement he had seen earlier.

  The rider heard their hoofbeats and looked up the trail towards them. Caros waved his hand, palm wide open to reassure the rider they were not raiders.

  He breathed a sigh of relief when the rider reined in and waited for them to arrive. Not many people would show such courage, especially as darkness fell, a notoriously bad time for malicious shades to roam.

  “Greetings!” He kept his hand up and far from his sword or spear. “My companions and I got a little lost and ran out of daylight.”

  The rider sat straight and stiff, a thick woolen cloak draped across her shoulders and arms to ward of the evening chill. A light breeze lifted a tress of long hair which the melting sun fringed with glowing red.

  Caros’ mouth went dry and he abruptly reined in his mount causing it to neigh in protest.

  Although her face was in shadows and her figure silhouetted by the sinking sun, Caros knew with a certainty borne of deep longing who sat before him.

  The rider shifted atop the horse and raised a hand to a figure watching from the walls of the village.

  Turning to Caros, she spoke.

  “You would have chided me had I treated a horse so roughly.”

  Caros’ heart swelled on hearing her voice. It had been a long cold season, but only a season and yet seemed like an eternity since he had heard her voice.

  He slid from his mount.

  “It makes me glad to hear your voice. Come down from your horse so I can see you better.”

  He detected a hesitation in the way she moved and so was relieved to see her dip her chin and lift a leg to slide from her mount.

  For a long, breathless heartbeat they looked at one another, gauging their feelings and matching their memories.

  Beaugissa still held herself like the warrior she was; her back straight and her stare defiant, but there was a softness now to the set of her jaw and the creases in her brow.

  She also still moved like a warrior, her long legs and rounded hips graceful beneath homespun chiton.

  He grew hot in the face and stepped towards her, breath tight in his chest.

  Beaugissa blinked at him, her lips parted and she stepped into his embrace. Her body melted against his and her breath warmed his throat while the scent of her skin and hair flooded his senses.

  Hoofbeats rattled and she clutched him tighter while her lips moved against his skin.

  “Beaugissa!”

  Rappo fairly launched himself from his pony, his face alight with joy.

  She pushed away from Caros and laughed in delight as he caught her hands, kissed her cheeks and dancing her in a circle.

  “Rappo! You have looked after these idiots well and grown taller and stronger still!”

  The young Masulian flashed a wide grin.

  “It is good to see you looking well!”

  “Oh, and the Gaul has not drowned himself in ale yet, I see!”

  Maleric grinned and dropped heavily from his horse and took two long strides to wrap her squealing in a great bearhug. With a booming laugh that echoed from the craggy slopes, he lifted her off her feet and spun her as a father might a daughter.

  “Greetings, Spear Heart.”

  Beaugissa threw her head back and laughed as he set her down.

  “Greetings, Maleric. You have new clothes and did someone cut your hair?”

  “They were new before I had to ride across all Hispania looking for you.”

  Ne
ugen stepped forward and slapped Maleric’s shoulder.

  “Caros showed him a bathhouse in Qart Hadasht and now a cold mountain stream is not good enough for our tame Gaul.” He too, took Beaugissa’s hands, kissed her cheeks and gave her a warm embrace.

  “You are hurt.”

  “A scratch. Rappo has been practicing his horse healing on me.”

  Beaugissa smiled warmly at Rappo and looked back at Caros whose eyes had remained fixed on her.

  “You came to find me? Is there news I should know or did you just miss the wisdom of a house woman and mother?”

  Caros flinched at her meaning. Beaugissa was the wife of a warrior champion, mother to two children by him, and had always remained faithful.

  “We got into a little trouble.”

  “Hasdrubal?”

  Caros admired anew her quick intelligence.

  “The whole regime, but we will tell you about these things later. For now, is it possible to find a place for us to sleep?”

  “Of course. For how long?”

  Caros shook his head.

  “Until summer perhaps?

  Beaugissa frowned, but Caros was sure a flush bloomed in her cheeks.

  They were given two huts to share between them and their horses joined with the small herd owned by the wealthiest Vascon.

  “Who do these homes belong to?”

  “No one. These families moved away.” Darkness had fallen and Beaugissa touched her torch to the unlit one Caros held. “Tomorrow we will sort out a cauldron, lamps and oil for your use. In the meantime, wash at the well and when you are ready, come to my home. I will have a meal ready.” Beaugissa smiled nervously at Caros.

  “Will we meet your family?”

  Beaugissa nodded, her smile growing.

  “If Maleric promises to behave!”

  Maleric ceased scratching and withdrew his hand from his armpit, his face all innocence.

  Torch lighting her path, she left.

  Maleric and Rappo claimed one dwelling and Caros left Neugen arguing with them to push aside the door curtain of the second. Holding aloft the torch, two pallets were revealed beneath a clutter of odds and ends the villagers had deposited in the building. Spiderwebs hung thick and large parts of the thatching was dark with mold. The telltale squeaking of mice reassured Caros that there were no rats in residence. Mice at least did not gnaw on fingers and toes.