Howl of Blades

by J Glenn Bauer

  “I was not planning on taking horses onboard. The prices here are the best you will get anywhere within a moon of sailing. Sell these here and buy others when you get to your destination. You will turn a nice profit.”

  “These are well trained and we will not have time to train others when we arrive.” Caros gave Zantalius a level stare. “Are the pirates becoming bolder?”

  The change of tact took the captain by surprise.

  “Since this war began the horizon has become a menace of strange sails. It has brought out the worst in men and the very worst of them drift to piracy.” He spat viciously over the rails. “Forty silver staters for you, your horses and your blades should I call on you.”

  “What route are you travelling?”

  “From here up to Massilia where we pick up furs trapped over winter and brought south. Then down to Trapani in Sicily and over to Fufluna. All told you should be there in no more than thirty days, perhaps if the gods are kind, just ten.”

  Caros pulled a coin bag from inside his tunic and emptied twenty staters into Zantalius’ calloused palm.

  “Twenty now and twenty when we arrive.”

  “That is the way to do it. You have sailed before?”

  “Yes. In another life.” Caros held onto the captain’s hand. “Can you put us ashore somewhere where Romans will not have swords waiting? Some fishing village or such?”

  Zantalius’ stare straying to the rippled scar that wound along the side of his head, testament to violence.

  “I know of such a place. Be here midday tomorrow. I want to catch the afternoon winds as they turn north.”

  The following afternoon, Zantalius met them on the makeshift jetty, glaring at the horses led by Rappo and Beaugissa.

  “The deck has been readied for them.” His lips curled appreciatively as he studied the mounts. “They look calm enough now. They had better stay so if we run into foul weather or I will have them dragged overboard.”

  Rappo, a fist clenched in his pony’s mane, lifted his chin.

  “They will be calm.”

  “That one you have there, I do not see its bridle?”

  “It does not need a bridle.”

  Zantalius bristled.

  “It does if I say it does. It might only be a half horse, but I have seen what they can do to a man’s head with a single kick.”

  “She crossed from Africa to Gadiz just so. She knows ships and trusts me.”

  Zantalius’ face turned from nut brown to deep red and he thumped his chest.

  “There is just one captain. Me!”

  “I can vouch for his pony. It is better behaved than the Gaul standing behind me with a finger in his nose or ear.”

  Beaugissa favored the man with a dazzling smile.

  Zantalius growled, knowing he was being manipulated yet powerless to resist Beaugissa’s charm.

  “Be sure you clean their shit up. My sailors have enough to do as it is.” He stomped off to the bow to curse the pair stationed there to fend off the attentions of a Gyptos galley tied alongside.

  Rappo grinned at Beaugissa and quickly took charge in leading each mount up the planks and onto the swaying deck. Their enclosures were nothing more than roped off pens.

  Maleric stood aside as the others boarded and only ascended the plank when a sailor laughed at him. His thin smile was a poor disguise for his nerves and Beaugissa’s eyes flashed. She looked away to hide her grin.

  Standing beside Caros, her shoulder brushed his arm. Caros tensed, savoring the fleeting warmth of her first touch since Artur’s death.

  “When do we sail?”

  A galley nearby was backing away from the jetty amid bellowed commands and loud oaths. Oars clattered together and the sailors on Zantalius’ ship jeered and threw insults at their fellow sailors.

  “Zantalius said he wanted to catch the afternoon wind so we will probably leave as soon as they are out of the way.”

  “Then I will go fetch our swords.”

  Since their arrival in Empúries, they had kept their blades wrapped up and out of sight. This was necessary as the Romans executed anyone found carrying a sword. Zantalius had ears like a bat and overheard.

  “Not yet. We must wait on some petty Roman official to give us permission to leave.” He shaded his eyes. “That is him no doubt.” He muttered some unintelligible obscenity under his breath as he watched the Roman official walk up the gangplank and drop onto the deck.

  Zantalius approached the Roman, a thin pale haired man with sweat dripping from his prominent nose and crusty sores at the corners of his mouth.

  “You! You are the captain of this galley?” Without waiting for Zantalius’ confirmation, the Roman continued in his haranguing tone. “You were to leave in two days. Why the sudden change?”

  “My crew is back to full strength sooner than I expected and I have paying fares to Neapolis.”

  The Romans white toga flapped in the afternoon breeze which carried the Latin’s sour scent to Caros. Perhaps his face showed his disgust because the Roman official turned his red-rimmed eyes on him.

  “You, I presume are the paying fare. What is your business in Neapolis?”

  Caros would have liked nothing better than to kick the foul smelling Latin into the bay, but dipped his chin instead.

  “I wish to buy as much of this year’s wine as possible.”

  “A wine merchant, eh? Be sure to bring me an amphora of the best or you will find the taxes can be crippling.” He sniggered at the weak innuendo for a heartbeat. “What of these others?”

  “My wife and our servant and bodyguards.”

  The Roman raked Beaugissa with the stare of a predator and Caros felt her shudder.

  He approved Zantalius’ departure after a one-sided negotiation and a fistful of silver coins disappeared into his toga.

  Their voyage to Massilia proceeded smoothly and without mishap. There, as Zantalius had said, was a season’s worth of exotic furs from creatures Caros and the others could only speculate at. Four bales of these were brought onboard, each bale the weight of two men. On the dock was a hill of furs and hides. Walking between the bales on which loose furs were displayed, Beaugissa’s fingers trailed over the soft and luxurious coats. She picked up one that brought a sigh to her lips and Caros’ heart tripled in his chest when she draped it over her shoulders. The snow white fur was made more striking by a stippled brown pattern. She spun on her heel and laughed gaily, her hair lifting to float about her head. Fur dealers and haggling buyers alike, paused their bartering to gaze at her in admiration.

  Caros raced back to the fur traders as Zantalius was making ready to cast off and without bothering to barter, gladly paid him three staters for the fur.

  “Fit for a queen that fur. It should be, it was peeled from a leopard that had killed a prince of some tribe that lives in a land of ice and rock.”

  The trader dug a horny thumbnail into the metal of each coin and nodded in satisfaction as she related the fur’s providence.

  The following night, he pressed Beaugissa to walk with him along the beach, leaving the rest sitting around the night’s fires.

  He pulled the fur from beneath his cloak and unfurled it with a flourish. Beaugissa gasped, her eyes widening as he leaned into her to drape it over her shoulders.

  “It is the fur of a leopard that dined on a prince. Now it is yours.”

  She clutched it close around her throat, running her fingers through the soft fur. When she looked up at him, her eyes were pools of reflected moonlight.

  “Oh, Caros. You are… my, my heart is still raw. Thank you for this and know that one day I will be ready.”

  Leaning forward, he placed his forehead against hers and smiled gently.

  “I know.”

  Seven days later, as they neared a walled town overlooking a bay on the island of Kyrnos, a heavy fog rose, obscuring the coast. They were not engulfed, but would be if they tried to make for the shore. It was apparent that Zantalius was not keen on enter
ing the fogbank. Before he could decide on an alternate heading, a lookout called a warning.

  “Sails in the sun! Sails!”

  Zantalius growled and cast a look over his shoulder. Men scrambled for the railings to spot the sails and Caros lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the low hanging sun.

  “This lot seem a little worried.” Maleric joined Caros. “Could be our chance to gut a few of these pirates everyone seems terrified of.”

  Zantalius bellowed to his crew to get to their benches. He glared accusingly at Caros who approached him at the tiller.

  “Pirates?”

  “Hard to tell with the sun behind them.” The captain spat over the rails into the flat sea.

  “Them?” Caros squinted again and spotted a second sail trailing the first. “That makes it more likely they are.”

  Zantalius growled and glared at the fog bank.

  “They will have a hard time of it trying to catch us in that mess.” He grinned unenthusiastically. “I have been sailing these waters long enough to have learned a trick or two.”

  The pirate ships dropped their sails for the wind had died with the rise of the fog. Instead, their oars now flashed beside their hulls, driving them swiftly closer.

  Zantalius order his crew to do the same and Caros hoped the captain’s confidence was not unfounded.

  A new cry went up from the lookout and the crew cursed as one when they spied a ship break from the fogbank ahead of them. It was near enough that Caros could see the face of the man gripping the tiller. He gaped for a full heartbeat at them before noticing the fast approaching pirates. Screaming orders to his crew, he pulled the tiller hard aside. The crew scrambled to their benches, knowing their lives would depend on speed. Oars bit into the water down one side of the vessel, slewing its prow around. The oars on the opposite side began to sweep, backwards and forwards, further dragging the ship about.

  The crew onboard Zantalius’ ship heaved a sigh of relief that it was a trading galley like theirs rather than a pirate vessel. It completed its turn and both banks of oars swept the ship into the fog.

  Roars and bellows sounded from the two pirate ships who were gaining on Zantalius’ vessel rapidly. Men pressed against the railings of both, naked blades catching the sunlight.

  “There are a lot of them.”

  Maleric’s fist clenched around the hilt of his sword, but his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

  Caros estimated fifty men between both ships against Zantalius’ twenty crew and he and his four companions.

  Arrows rose from the decks of the pirate ships, reaching high before turning toward their target.

  “Shields!” Caros roared, lifting his own and crouching behind it. A heartbeat later, the arrows fell upon the ship, drumming like piercing hail into the timber. Two crewmen rowing side by side were struck. One man grunted and clutched his thigh in which the arrow had buried itself. The other flopped over onto his back and screamed in fear, the arrow having sliced a shallow trench through his scalp before sticking into the deck.

  The first tendrils of fog closed over the prow and Zantalius roared at the crew to row harder. He had steered his vessel into the wake of the ship which had fled before them and was peering grimly into the depths of the fog.

  The pirate ships disappeared as the ship entered the fog fully, even their shouted threats and curses fading.

  Caros heard the panicked splashing of oars from the other fleeing ship and even the hoarse panting of the men pulling at its oars. It was uncanny how the fog distorted the sounds.

  Zantalius called an order and a crewman seated at Caros’ back grunted.

  “Brace yourselves! We are about to turn.”

  Caros grabbed the rail with one hand and clutched Beaugissa’s arm with the other. “Hold on!” He shouted to the others.

  The same crewman hissed at him.

  “Shut your hole or we are dead! Not a sound.”

  Caros felt his balance fail as the ship turned sharply, timbers groaning and oars raking water.

  Legs spread wide, Zantalius raised both arms and the crew lifted their oars from the water, their eyes bright and lips clamped tight.

  Caros caught the eyes of his companions and lifted a finger to his lips. From their right came the sounds of the fleeing galley, oars whipping the sea, men heaving and cursing, and timber creaking. From the pirate vessels came the low hum of talking and the rhythmic creak and splash of oars. They were hunting by sound and Caros now understood what the wily Zantalius planned.

  The fog beaded on his helmet and the chain of his armour as the ominous sounds of stealthily approaching ships grew. Easing his grip on the railing, he made to stand and as he did so, his sword sheath rattled against the timber of the ship. Cursing, he froze and when he looked up, every eye was on him. He swallowed and stayed still, half crouched as Beaugissa, shoulders shaking and head held low, eased his sheath away from the side of the ship.

  Concerned, he placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. He looked beyond her to Neugen who was sitting against the ship’s side. His friend had a hand clasped to his mouth and his eyes were streaming with tears.

  Caros frowned, confused. He looked around at Maleric who wore a wide grin and Rappo among the mounts who was also shaking. The bastards were laughing at him.

  A man called out on the trading vessel. His meaning unclear as he spoke his mother tongue rather than Greek. In the next heartbeat, the pirates were roaring, their oars no longer silent and their arrow strings strumming.

  They had discovered the trading vessel. Silence reigned still on Zantalius’ ship as they listened to prey and hunter beating away to the east. In time, those sounds grew faint and finally died away.

  Rappo’s pony chose that moment to let lose its bowels, dropping a day’s worth of horseshit on the deck followed by a steady river of steaming piss.

  Neugen collapsed onto his side, laughing so hard he made almost no sound. Beaugissa sat crouched forward, her elbows tucked into her sides as tears streamed down her cheeks. Caros shook his head and glared at them and the others. Many of the crew were smiling and chuckling as well.

  Zantalius glared at Rappo’s pony.

  Rappo grinned and spread his hands.

  “She waited till they were gone. I told you she was well trained.”

  Chapter 18

  Great flocks of birds wheeled in the sky above the marshes and lakes that lay beyond the dunes. Summer had painted swathes of countryside with brightly colored blossoms through which buzzed numberless honeybees. A doe lifted her head from the greenery on which she grazed and flicked her ears. At her side a fawn, spotted and ruddy, nosed its mother’s teats. The doe’s muzzle quivered and she froze for a heartbeat before stamping a hoof. As one, the herd was away, bouncing across the water meadows and over a hill.

  Caros watched them for a moment before looking back and gesturing to his companions.

  “Looks like a good road ahead. We should soon find the next town or village.”

  The others turned from the game trail and rode through lush grass, raising the scent of crushed foliage in their wake.

  “Let us hope the next villagers have at least heard of Hannibal and his army.” Neugen scowled back over his shoulder at the thatched huts of the fishing village they had passed through earlier. “That lot were as helpful as a blind archer.”

  Zantalius had let them ashore that morning on a seemingly uninhabited stretch of coast to avoid Roman patrols. They had happened upon the fishing village just after midday. When asked for news of the war, the sullen villagers had shaken their heads and claimed to have never heard of Hannibal Barca or Carthage.

  Caros jumped his horse over a gully, landing on the hard-packed surface of a road. It ran north to south and he wondered in which direction he would discover Hannibal’s army. The only clue he had was the name of the place Hannibal had defeated the Romans. Trebia.

  To the north, at the point where the road ascended a gentle hill, stood what looked like a wall.


  “We ride north. A road as well-kept as this one must lead somewhere.”

  Maleric breathed in deeply, as though savoring a pleasing scent. His words were at odds with the smile he wore.

  “There is butchery in the air. I can smell it.”

  Neugen gave him a leery glance, one eyebrow raised high.

  “And this sudden power of divination you have acquired, does it show us, in particular me, surviving?”

  “Oh, we are late to the feast. You will get to live awhile longer yet, unless the gods will otherwise.”

  Rappo pushed his mount on ahead others, from his expression, he was keen to escape the morbid talk.

  Caros fell in beside Beaugissa, who brought up the rear.

  “We will find Hannibal and gain justice for the wrongs committed in his name.”

  Beaugissa rode her mount leisurely, her body at rhythm with its plodding steps. Her eyes, while half shut against the brightness of the day, were alert.

  “If he defeated the Roman army in the winter past, then would he not now be in Rome?”

  “I think if he were close to Rome the legionaries in Empúries would have left to go to their city’s aid. No, he is still in the north; perhaps gathering Maleric’s people and other Gauls to his name.”

  A butterfly fluttered around her, rose high and then returned to alit on her wrist.

  “Is that a good omen do you think?”

  Her voice was wishful and he smiled without replying.

  The wall he had seen earlier was a shrine to a local god. They pulled up alongside Rappo who sat eyeing the carved stone image of a woman and a wolf.

  Beaugissa slid from her mount and drew her short blade. Spitting on it, she polished the metal with the hem of her chiton before opening a vein in her wrist. Making a fist, she turned it so her outstretched thumb funneled the dripping blood onto the head of the stone woman.

  “May the blood of this Latin bitch’s kin soak the earth and the cries of ten thousand Latin widows rend the heavens.”

  Unease crawled across Caros’ shoulders and snaked through his gut. The sun blazed yellow and the trees hung green, but there was a strange quality to the light. He spat on the shrine.