Hurrying the others along, Caros stripped at the well and washed the trail filth from the limbs and the stink of sweat from his body. The water was icy, making him gasp for breath as he sluiced it over his head.
Once they had dried and dragged on cleaner tunics from their packs, they proceeded up the narrow street, following the sound chatter of village women, men laughing and children shrieking.
Emerging from the dark of the street into the firelight, Caros saw Beaugissa almost at once standing beside a graybeard seated on a bench. Beaugissa looked up at that moment and directly at Caros. A half heartbeat later two young girls dodged between the legs of men and women and clinging to Beaugissa’s chiton, began an urgent conversation with her, presumably about a rag-doll. Her daughters. She laughed as they tore off after a trio of boys and beckoned to Caros.
“Greetings, Caros of the Bastetani, Claw of the Lion.” Beaugissa’s voice silenced the villagers. “Greetings Neugen of the Bastetani. Greetings Maleric of the Boii. Greetings Rappo of the Masulians.”
The men dipped their chins and Beaugissa placed a hand on the seated graybeard’s shoulder.
“Artur of the Vascon, son of Artur, warrior champion and leading man of our village.”
Beaugissa’s husband sat with trembling hands resting atop the stained wooden table, veins prominent and spotted with the blemishes and scars. In them, Caros saw the large hands of a once hard warrior. From beneath the bushy white eyebrows, the man’s gaze was sharp and challenging.
“Greetings, Artur son of Artur.”
Artur regarded him in silence for the space of several heartbeats before motion for him to sit.
Caros sat on the bench across from him. A flagon and two cups were placed on the table by a young boy. At the same time, Beaugissa ushered Caros’ companions over to the men of the village leaving Caros alone with Artur.
“Thank you.” Caros gestured about him. “Thank you, for allowing us to stay.”
Clearing his throat, Artur pointed to the flagon. “Pour.”
Caros lifted the flagon and half-filled both cups before placing one before Artur and taking the other. The smell told him it was watered vinegar. He lifted his cup and smiled. Artur slowly wrapped his in a bony grip and raised it to his lips, his eyes unblinking.
Sensing the scrutiny, Caros wondered if the man thought he had lain with his woman. He sipped the drink, felt it settle him.
Artur sipped and sighed.
“Caros. We have heard of you. The Bastetani favored by Hannibal son of Hamilcar.” He made a sound that sounded like a curse to Caros. “I understand you flee the Barcas. Is not Hannibal ruler any longer?”
Beaugissa returned bearing a wooden board piled with steaming roots, roasted ox heart and scorched liver. She sat and placed the food between them.
“Hannibal is the appointed General, but he is away visiting war upon Rome. His brother, Hasdrubal, is less favorable.”
“You have come a long way to escape this Hasdrubal.” His speech had begun to slur and both hands trembled as he spoke. “Will Hasdrubal’s Spears be here soon?”
“No… I do not think so, Artur. We told no one where we were going.”
The old man growled deep in his chest and Caros could imagine the warrior he had been, standing toe to toe with his enemies and slaying them in droves.
“I pray the gods that is so, Caros. We have few enough warriors and more than enough enemies without adding more.” He turned his gaze on Beaugissa. “You fought side by side with my woman, Caros.” His dark eyes flickered. “You gave her a war name.”
Caros nodded. “I did and Beaugissa earned her war name in a battle against Rome’s warriors. Those they call legionaries.”
Artur’s thin lips stretched thinner.
“Speak her war name.”
“She has surely told you…”
The man’s bony hands clenched into fists and his brows drew down over his eyes.
“I want to hear you say the words.”
Beaugissa’s eyes had widened and her face paled.
Caros drank the last of the watered vinegar and set the cup down gently.
“Very well. I named your wife Spear Heart.”
Artur breathed in deeply, as though savoring the words. He inclined his head and placed a hand on Beaugissa’s and with his other, reached out for Caros’.
Unsettled, Caros glanced at Beaugissa and saw her cheeks were damp. He stretched his hand out and Artur’s fingers curled tight around it.
“I am not a fool, nor am I blind. Be patient, I will soon begin the journey to join my ancestors.”
He released Caros’ hand and rose stiffly with Beaugissa’s help. Even then, bent and withered, Caros saw the mighty warrior he had once been. He understood too, why Beaugissa had become his wife; she had proven to be as fierce a warrior as any Caros had fought beside.
Chapter 13
She paused her foraging, small hands deep in a thick mat of moldy pine needles. A squirrel scolded her from above, but she did not notice. Instead, her eyes were fixed on the coppery glow that lit the base of the tall pine tree. Forgetting the mound of pine cones she had collected for their nuts, she pulled aside a sapling to see a twisted bronze link, shorn from a chain. She smiled. Her mother would pass it to the hunter who would give them meat to eat with the roots and wild grain they lived off. Her hand closed on the treasure. Behind her, a twig snapped and above her, the squirrel fell silent.
A golden eagle circled above the cloud that fluttered pennant-like from the high eyries, her outspread wings playing the winds as deftly as a lyre player caresses the strings. Her call was echoed from the east where another circled. A large male with a wingspan greater than a warrior’s outstretched arms and talons as fearsome as any short sword, he coasted higher and called again.
“Every spring they renew their bond as though they had not spent all of last spring and summer raising a pair of hungry eaglets.”
Caros lowered his gaze and blinked spots from his sight. It was a good day for riding made better by Beaugissa’s presence. It had been just a handful of days since he had arrived and already he felt he had made a mistake coming here. He could do nothing here to regain his honor and any day now the Roman army could take to the field. He dreaded missing a battle against the Romans more than anything else. He chided himself for letting these concerns deflect his attention from the woman that rode beside him.
“My brother and I once tried to rob an eagle’s nest. It did not end well. All I got for it was a fever that nearly boiled my brains.”
Beaugissa punched his thigh.
“You were lucky to be spared! Taking an eagle’s egg!”
Caros laughed and rubbed his thigh.
“You still punch like a Gaul. Can you ride like a Masulian as well now?”
He raked his heels down his mounts flanks and was away with a cry of challenge. Beaugissa whooped at his back and charged after him. They rode at a wild gallop along the edge of a field of bright green barley, plunged through an icy cold stream and tore up a goat track onto a ridge.
On the far side was a meadow alive with wildflowers and bordered by a dense stand of trees. The still mountain air was golden with spring pollen. Bees buzzed diligently and water played a merry tune over grey rocks stained orange with lichen.
Caros slowed his mount and allowed Beaugissa to haul him in on the far side of the pasture nearest the water.
He slid from his mount and slapped its rump sending it off to do its best at levelling the knee high grass.
Beaugissa reined in and circled her mount, its hooves crushing the fresh grass and adding to the sweet scent in the air. He marveled at how the sun turned her dark hair blood red and the profile of her raised chin on her slender neck.
“Why did you stop here, Caros?”
He lifted his hand and gestured at the scenery.
“Is it not a peaceful place?”
Her nose creased and deep lines formed between her eyes.
“It is a
place where the sap of the earth runs close to its skin. Here new things are discovered. Desires and needs.” She brought her horse to within arm’s length of him and leaned towards him. “This is a place for lovers. This is what you want, Caros? To make love to me?”
His pulse was already thundering and at her words, the way her lips moved when she spoke them, he felt giddy with want. Yet her eyes held no promise, only sadness. When he spoke he scarce recognized his voice.
“You know it. Yet… it is hard. Say it is not hard?”
“It is the nature of our lives. No more than that, Caros.” She turned her mount, using her knees as Rappo had taught her when they had ridden together against the Romans. Her thigh was before him, smooth skinned and supple. She leaned towards him, and set her hand along his cheek, her thumb tracing the skin beneath his eye. “Artur would know. More than that, we would make something wonderful less so.”
He placed his hand on hers and drew it to his lips, closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her skin.
Voices echoed over the song of rook and bee, drawing their attention. They had ridden far enough away from the village that it was unlikely to be anybody from there.
Caros whistled softly and his horse snorted and lifted her head in disbelief. He grinned and pulled dried fig from a pocket in his tunic. The mare nodded and came.
Beaugissa snorted.
“Ha! You bribe her! How like a man!”
Caros sprang astride the mare.
“I have some more here if you would like?” He dodged her Gaelic punch with a laugh.
The voices had fallen silent so Caros put a finger to his lips and the two walked their mounts into the shade beneath the trees, eyes tracking for movement.
A flash of light caught Caros’ attention and he pointed to where a man dressed in roughly cured leather was cupping water and lapping it from his hand. Beaugissa tapped Caros’ shoulder and pointed to her left, a little upriver. A pair of women, one heavily pregnant, foraged for fresh mussel, crab and other morsels. She leaned close to his ear to whisper.
“Gauls from the north. After hard winters they come farther south to forage. Our people will kill the men and take the women and children.”
“Just one warrior. They must be desperate.”
“Must be, but I expect there are more scattered along the river than we see.”
“Then we should go. Desperate people are more dangerous than a cornered lynx.”
She began to nod but stopped, her eyes focused east to where the river poured across a lip of rock and tossed wildly for a half-stade. On their side of the torrent, a child knelt on a rock slick with spray, reaching for some object close to the rushing water. Beaugissa was a mother and her instinct to protect was well honed. Her eyes widened and even as she started to call a warning, the child fell.
“No! Caros!”
He had seen the child hit the water and thrash briefly before disappearing into the white turbulence. Without thought, he was away, urging his horse to a gallop, clods of soil flung high behind him.
The Gauls on the other bank sprang up in alarm, their foraging baskets thrown aside and pitiful contents lost in the river. They began to flee before realizing one of theirs was missing. The warrior shooed the women on and turned to run upriver, calling the child’s name.
Caros kept his eyes on the water as he rode, hoping to spot the youngster. He held little hope that he would and rode his horse onto the shingle that edged the rushing water. A crush of debris locked between sun bleached branches blocked his path and he was about to go around when he spied a pale face in the river.
The child clung to trailing vines, her hair plastered to her skull, hands bloodied by thorns.
Caros sprang from the horse, pulling the reins and bridle off. The child was under the water more often than above it, but clung on tenaciously.
“Hold on! I will pull you free!”
He cut the reins and retied them into a longer length of hide, but it was still not sufficient. Beaugissa galloped her horse from the meadow and tried to urge it into the water, but it baulked and pranced away.
“I need the reins!” Caros caught the horse by the bridle and pulled the reins from Beaugissa who leapt to the shingle. “This will reach her.” Caros quickly split the reins and joined them to make a longer trace. He sprang up with a shout and grabbed Beaugissa’s wrist to prevent her leaping into the wild river. “No!” He ducked as she swung a clawed hand at him. “The gods!” He thrust the end of the reins into her hand. “Hang onto this!”
Relief spread on her face and she grabbed it tight.
“Go, Caros. The cold will numb her hands. Go.”
Caros, bridle in hand, stepped cautiously into the water and hissed. The cold was like a hammer blow. He gritted his teeth and, one hand on a slick branch, took another step. He immediately sank to his armpits in the freezing torrent and had to cling desperately to the branch.
On the opposite shore, the Gaul ran into the river as far has his knees and stopped, terrified.
Caros struggled to take a breath and willed his legs to move, sliding his feet along the rocky river bed. The child’s grip slipped for a heart-stopping moment and Caros realized she was screaming. He looked over his shoulder at Beaugissa who nodded and sank into a crouch, prepared to haul on the reins. Caros took a deep breath and pushed towards the girl.
His abrupt motion rocked the branch and loosened the vines. The whole structure of ensnared branches shifted and began to break apart, threatening to sweep him and the girl to their deaths. Water engulfed him and for a heartbeat he was submerged. When he burst from the water, the girl went under, dragged down by a long uprooted sapling.
Caros cursed and plunged after her, his hand closing on her hide skirt. For a heartbeat it held and Caros dared to hope. The river seemed to gain strength and his efforts were as nothing as it sucked him under, the leather reins tightening painfully about his arm. Something rammed into his neck and he groaned as stars burst behind his shut eyelids.
The young Gaul’s will to live was still strong and she clutched his wrist to drag herself up his arm. Her legs cinched tight around his thigh and his shoulders ground over the river bed. His eyes shot open and he gritted his teeth, thrusting off the rocks with his heels. Again, he pushed towards the shore. The reins tightened on his arm helping him to lift his head from the water and gasp for air. Pulling on the reins held tight by Beaugissa, he got his feet under him and stumbled out of the embrace of the jealous river with the girl in his arms.
Caros fell to his knees as Beaugissa pulled the frozen child from his grip. He pulled off his clothes laboriously, unable to feel his fingers and his limbs uncoordinated. Naked, he fell shivering uncontrollably to the rocks while Beaugissa held the girl close to her body, warming her with the heat of her body.
When next Caros opened his eyes, Beaugissa was holding him and a fire burned close by.
“Does she live?”
Beaugissa smiled and kissed his forehead.
“Yes. Her family crossed and took her. They built the fire and left some food.”
Caros nodded, pleased. About to fall asleep, he realized he was lying naked in her arms. His eyes snapped open and his cheeks burned as his body betrayed him.
Beaugissa rolled away from him and stood.
“No clearer sign that you are recovered is needed. Very well recovered!” She giggled, but did not look at him for which he was thankful in the extreme. “Your tunic is hanging beside the fire. I will remake the reins.”
Caros sat with Artur in the afternoon sun. The Vascon was keen to talk about his days as a young warrior and his adventures raiding the Tarbelli to the north and Celtiberi in the south.
“There was a time when I never gave the sun a thought. It was just there, clouds or not. A fire was good enough to warm me if it grew cold.” He blinked slowly and blew his nose into his hand. “Now. Now the only warmth my bones crave is from the sun.”
Caros had quickly grown to like and respect th
e old warrior. He also knew Artur liked to begin a serious conversation by raising something totally unrelated.
“You say Hannibal Barca has won some great victory against the Romans in their land.”
“This is what I heard. At a place named Trebia.”
“Tre…bi…a.” Artur rolled the unfamiliar name on his tongue. “Just so. Why then have the Romans north of the Ebro remained?” It was a sound question for which Caros had no answer. Artur cracked a grin, spittle gumming the corners of his blue lips. “They have tasted victory here and want to keep it alive in the hearts of their people in Rome.”
“You mean if they returned to Rome, it would signal their fear of Hannibal?”
“That is my thinking.” Artur rapped a fistful of knuckles on the bench. “Hannibal Barca. Your friend?”
Caros waved his hand.
“Hannibal has a gift of making people feel he is their friend. Better to say we know one another.”
Artur smiled crookedly.
“That is a true talent, but my thoughts were of your future.” He nodded, cocking his head to listen to the squeals of Beaugissa’s daughters approaching. “Why did you not go to Hannibal? You could have given him a truthful account of what happened.”
“I left in a hurry, but since arriving here I have come to see this is the only door left to me. If we leave with the new moon in two days and find a willing ship’s captain, we can be in Italia before the next.”
Artur wiped his lips and adjusted his cloak. “Then I will prepare to deal with a very unhappy wife.”
Caros was saved from embarrassment at Artur’s candor by the arrival of the two girls who squealed and leaped onto their father’s lap.
The older girl by a year, Alaia, had Beaugissa’s high forehead and deep brown eyes. Lorea had light brown hair and her father’s strong chin. Both were boisterous and roamed the village at will, even going beyond the walls to pick wildflowers and chase butterflies. He had even seen them play-fighting with tiny wooden swords carved like falcatas.
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