Gladius Winter

by J Glenn Bauer

  The handful of warriors still watching, growled and rapped their shields, their chins lifting with pride at the words.

  Only the thickset warrior remained unmoved, his eyes like pools to the black at the edge of the world. He hissed and spat, “You are a Barca lover, but what of your own people and kin?”

  Knurlad snapped at him, “Caros the Claw will be my guest and his companions too. They have travelled far and I am curious to hear their tales.”

  “Just like that you invite our enemy to eat our last food?” The warrior was on the edge of violence, his face discolored and knuckles white on his spear.

  The remaining warriors turned to leave and a pair tried to cajole the burly spearman to back away with them. One reached to take the man’s arm. The spearman twisted and slammed his spear shaft into the other’s leg. In less than a heartbeat he had his spear blade up at the throat of the warrior. He was screaming incoherently, tears washing in waves down his cheeks. Yet, his spear was at the throat of one of his own and suddenly others were pulling swords and spears were levelled.

  Knurlad roared at the burly warrior. “Simnon! You fool, what will you do now?” The Vascon leading man strode towards the sudden focus of every warrior’s attention.

  “Take the reins.” Caros passed them across to Maleric.

  “They have been at the druid’s mushrooms. This is a good time to just ride past them all.” Maleric shook his head.

  Caros smiled and dropped from his mount as two warriors stepped in front of Knurlad. Their hands gripped sheathed blades and their brows were creased. Knurlad stopped abruptly, robbed of words by the shock of finding his own men standing against him.

  Caros tossed aside his shield and helm and they clattered to the earth. The spearman forced the warrior on the point of his spear to turn so he could see the cause of the noise.

  “Simnon. You have poor eyes spearman. That is a Vascon on the end of your spear. You want to be using that big pig sticker on Romans.”

  Simnon’s face grew thunderous at Caros’ words and other warriors hissed. “You think killing Romans is like hunting pigs eh Caros the Claw? Have you ever even seen a Roman?” He slapped his chest. “I have! They butchered my son, my brother and his sons.” He was white-eyed and his voice breaking. He had driven his spear point through the skin of the other warrior’s neck and a thick line of blood dripped steadily from the weapon. Even those warriors that had some sympathy for Simnon now looked undecided.

  Caros saw the blood and knew another outburst might be the end of that warrior. “I am here, let your friend there go before you cut his shade loose.”

  Simnon was fast. Caros had barely uttered the words when he whipped his spear from the warrior’s throat and lunged at him. Caros was inside the spear thrust in the blink of an eye, his elbow lifted and ready to drive into the spearman’s throat or ear. Instead, the silent and bleeding warrior that had stood unmoving as the spear cut at his neck, drove his heel into Simnon’s knee. The spearman grunted and went down. Caros had the spear in both hands the next breath and then both men were on their knees, chest to chest, straining to claim the spear.

  Caros matched the power of the Vascon spearman and withstood it. Then his arms grew taut as he in turn overcame the spearman’s strength.

  As he did so, he spoke. “I returned to stand against the Romans with the warriors of our peoples. I learned of the Romans’ coming by tearing the flesh of a legionary from his bones while he babbled.” Sweat was beading his brow and his muscles screamed.

  “You tortured a Roman deserter. That does not make you any more a warrior than a shade-stealer. A murderer.” Simnon’s breath was short, his words gave vent to his hate and specks of froth spewed into Caros’ face.

  “It is why I returned and while traveling here, I and the warriors with me killed every horseman of a Roman column who thought to fall upon us.” Caros felt the newly healed wound in his forearm begin to open. Every Vascon warrior was present, their breath held tight at the show of strength on display.

  Simnon wrenched hard, sending the two men into a moment of heaving effort, the spear still held equally.

  “They did not stop Simnon. They still hunted us and just when we thought we were free of them, they fell on us with their legionaries.” Caros raised his voice. Wanted them all to hear and understand. “I fought beside the Turdetani. I, a Bastetani. Together we killed, and we died. First their spears broke our shields then their legionaries came with their shields and swords. Opening our warriors’ guts.”

  Simnon heaved and twisted the spear in vain. Caros timed his final move, waiting for just the right moment when Simnon relaxed his effort. With every muscle and sinew protesting, he bore down on the spear until Simnon’s great strength was brought to nothing when his wrists bent backwards. Caros ripped the spear from Simnon’s grasp and drove the shaft into the man’s gut, but his ability to withstand the blow surprised Caros and he almost managed to grab the spear shaft again. Caros planted the heavy bronze ferrule fixed to the end of the spear shaft in Simnon’s midriff with more force and was rewarded with an exhalation and pained wheeze from the powerful warrior. For good measure Caros drove his elbow into the man’s hard skull and sent him crashing to the ground dazed. His muscles burned and his hands were numb from the strain of wrestling the Vascon warrior, nevertheless Caros drew himself upright as he delivered the end of his tale.

  “And when the Romans were as death stalking us, the rest of our warriors came out of the marsh to fight at our side. Oretani warriors and Masulian horsemen from Carthage’s shores against Rome together with Bastetani and Turdetani warriors. We went from dying to killing and we sent many shades to their ancestors.”

  The Vascon warriors, rapt at the tale and circumstances, whooped and stamped their feet. Their hardened expressions changed for a brief moment to warriors that saw some small sliver of hope.

  Maleric caught his eye and shook his head slowly, his smile growing as he did so. Rappo sat open-mouthed before he joined the whooping, his young voice and unfamiliar war cry causing the Vascon to laugh and cheer him.

  Caros became aware of the warrior who had endured the pointed end of Simnon’s spear. The man stood bent with one hand on his knee, his face obscured by thick black hair that had sprung free of the decorated leather braids that bound it. Blood dripped slowly from between the fingers the warrior pressed against the wound in his throat. Concerned, Caros tore a sleeve from his battle-stained tunic and pressed the linen into the warrior’s hand. Murmuring his thanks, he took the cloth, fumbling it into a ball and pressing it to the wound before standing upright and sweeping his hair back from his face.

  Blood had stained the warrior’s tunic down to the leather belt at his waist. The skin of his chest was crimson with blood and sweat. Caros blinked at the swell of breasts he saw through the ripped fabric.

  Shifting his eyes to the warrior’s face, he was greeted by the face of a woman, her teeth white between dark lips and her eyes dark with a brooding anger.

  He felt a lightning bolt surge through his blood when her eyes met his. She was of his age and almost his height. Her shoulders were strong and waist narrow. She had the physique of a warrior, likely not yet having pushed a child from her body. Her lips moved and Caros listened.

  “Truly?” She asked. “This is what you have done? You have killed and defeated Romans?”

  The hope in her voice was a profound need and Caros wondered at the cause.

  He dipped his chin in confirmation. “We killed them, yes. Defeated them too. They are flesh and blood, just like you and I.”

  The corners of her lips lifted, not with a smile, but the shadow of a snarl. “Flesh and blood.” She repeated his phrase. Like a storm covering the sun, her expression shifted and her eyes clouded with cold ferocity.

  Knurlad led them south, to a Vascon town sited on a hill and fortified by an earthen rampart that encircled the homes, storehouses and animal pens.

  “Iruna. Our principal city.” Knurlad look
ed with pride at the city of the Vascon.

  Caros took in the formidable defenses and compact habitation. The signs of battle were still fresh and Knurlad’s face betrayed his emotions when he saw Caros notice.

  “Many of our warriors were with the Ilerget, fighting the Celtiberi when the Carthaginians struck.” He clicked his tongue and shrugged.

  “You fought?” Maleric asked bluntly.

  A small nod. “I did. In truth we knew we were defeated the moment we saw the beasts. Oliphants.” Knurlad spat as to ward off some evil. “My father was a leading man and a great warrior, but too old for this war. I fought beside him and saw him gravely wounded in the battle. He died two moons past.”

  Caros had wondered at Knurlad’s position as leading man. It was obvious the warrior was unused to wielding authority and the Vascon warriors only followed him out of deference to his father’s memory. Unless the warrior grew into his role quickly, he would be surpassed by another.

  “Your horses will be here for you when you leave.” He called to the youths playing a game of sticks beside a precarious looking stable. They dropped the sticks and ran to take the five horses.

  Caros and Maleric hauled their equipment off the horses’ backs, keeping the boys at bay until they had grabbed the heavy packs off the two spare mounts.

  If Knurlad noticed the weight of the packs, he made no mention of it.

  Adjusting the stiff leather pack across his shoulder, Caros smiled at the boys and released the reins to them. They paused when they approached Rappo, confused that his mount had no bridle or reins. The Masulian glanced at them and the stables, doubt evident in his expression.

  To Caros, “I will see that the horses are looked after properly.” He spoke his native Numidian language, knowing the Vascon would not understand.

  “Fine.” Caros turned to Knurlad. “Rappo will settle the mounts. Where can he find us?”

  “Show the warrior to my home when he is done.” Knurlad ordered the stable boys.

  That evening, Caros told a throng of warriors of the battle Hannibal had fought on the Rhône against the Gauls there. Food and ale was passed around as it became ready on the nearby cook fires. Maleric was as usual, drinking the Vascon dry. Rappo was nearby, showing the stable lads and their friends his throwing spears.

  “You fought in this battle?” Simnon mellowed by a tankard of ale, asked.

  Caros told of how he had accompanied Mago’s force and attacked the Volcae from the rear, turning the battle.

  “This was Hannibal’s plan?” Unnoticed, the warrioress had pushed in amongst the rapt audience.

  Maleric burped and clapped Caros across the shoulders, answering loudly. “Huh! That was this one’s own idea. Saw some waking dream. Moon touched like a druid.” He quipped before quickly spitting.

  Caros shrugged and smoothed his beard. The woman looked steadily at him and nodded at some unshared thought. “Now you go to the Carthaginians? To help them fight the Romans?” She asked suddenly.

  Caros noticed the warriors around her shuffling their feet and unobtrusively making space.

  “I do. While Hannibal leads his army to Rome to destroy them there, I wish to rid our own lands of them before they gain strength here.”

  Simnon spoke, venom back in his voice. “They have already grown in strength in the short time they have infested the land east of here.” He glanced uncomfortably at the woman.

  “How far have they come then?” Caros asked, curiosity overcoming discretion.

  Not wanting to be overlooked, Knurlad answered quickly. “Their legions came ashore at Empúries…”

  “Greek traitors welcomed them with open arms!” Growled Simnon.

  Caros absorbed this news. He had bypassed the old Greek settlement and come through the northern mountains. Detouring around any aggressive bands of warriors and there had been many. The northern tribes may have been broken by Hannibal’s large force of warriors, but they still retained their hostility to other tribes.

  “Has Hanno confronted the Romans yet?”

  The Vascon looked at one another and Beaugissa spoke for them. “He has not. He came east, then went to ground.”

  Simnon clenched his fists in anger. “If he had, we could have pushed them back into the sea and sent them running to Rome.”

  Caros was appalled. “You tried?”

  Beaugissa snarled at him. “Of course we did not! With what spears?”

  He lifted his hands to acknowledge her. “I mean no disrespect, but these Romans make war in ways we have never. That is why I must reach Hanno as soon as possible. To warn him what to expect.”

  They eyed him warily as their anger abated until Knurlad again tried to assert his authority. “This is not our war now. We have lost too many…”

  Simnon and Beaugissa both turned on their leading man.

  “You stay here then.” Simnon growled. “I will go with the Bastetani and join the Carthaginians.”

  Beaugissa spat, her face pale with anger. “I too. Knurlad, know this, your father was a good leading man, but you are far from walking as he did.” She turned her fiery eyes on Caros. “You think what you know of the Romans will help the Carthaginian to victory?”

  Caros stared at her unblinking for a long heartbeat. He rose slowly and drew his falcata, dragging the vicious blade clear of the rotten sheath. Holding the sword upright before them, he twisted the blade first one way then the other, caching the dancing flare of firelight in the swirls and patterns cast in the metal. “What I know and what I carry will help us defeat the Romans here.” His voice carried his conviction. “We must stand together and fight as one, like never before.”

  Beaugissa’s eyes were locked on his and for a fleeting moment he thought he saw a spark flash in their depths.

  Beside her Simnon smiled. “Spoken like a true Vascon. We have all heard of your battles, Caros the Claw.” He shrugged and for the first time let a smile warp his lips. “Indeed, I know from experience your actions match your brave words.”

  Chapter 8

  Numbering five, they entered the land of the Ilerget people which lay east of the territories of the Vascon. They had left Iruna at first light and ridden hard through the day to reach this far. Neither Beaugissa nor Simnon were horse riders, but they had clamped their lips and endured the discomfit that had spread through their bodies. Now they sat their horses to gaze across the mountainous land, their long shadows cast over the rough ground before them.

  “This is the land of the Ilerget. From here we must be on our guard for their warriors.” Simnon shifted his bulk on his horse, trying to ease the cramps and chaffing.

  “Not much different from where we have just come.” Maleric observed.

  The land was a series of sweeping hills carpeted in thick forest. The trail they rode, twisted out of sight amongst the trees that grew up and over it. There would be little warning if the encountered hostile warriors. Caros could only hope that the Ilerget had massed on their western borders to guard against the Romans coming from the east. Or at least were friendly.

  “We have daylight left. We should make as much distance as possible.” Caros still hoped to reach the Carthaginian forces or at least some element of them before nightfall.

  “The Carthaginian is a guest of the Ilerget’s most powerful leading man, Indibilis. His stronghold is south. This is where we need to go.” Beaugissa pointed her spear down a rough track that branched away to their left.

  Caros turned his horse that way and Rappo quickly trotted his pony down the path ahead of the rest before riding it off into the trees above the trail.

  “He rides as though he were born with that horse between his legs.” Beaugissa said bitterly as she squirmed on her mount.

  “Do not start Caros on tales of the Masulians’ prowess. He will talk your ear off.” Maleric warned. His eyes played over the lithe form of the Vascon warrioress. Beaugissa caught his stare and Caros was surprised to see the big Gaul snap his eyes back to the trail.

&nb
sp; She glanced at Caros with no hint of humor nor smile lurking at the corner of her lips. He imagined the woman would have a beautiful smile if she ever shared it.

  “His people are slaves of the Carthaginians?” She asked.

  “No. The Carthaginians pay good coin to warriors with exceptional skills. The Masulians are such warriors.” Caros explained.

  “Where are the rest of them? Why does he ride alone with you?”

  “Most accompanied Hannibal across the Rhône. Those that returned left for New Carthage to board galleys back to their homes in Africa.”

  The following day they encountered the first of the Ilerget. Sullen men and women who retreated from the track and stood with shields raised and spears bristling. Children peered from between their parents’ legs and spat at them.

  In return, Caros called to them and held up an outstretched palm to show peaceful intent. The Ilerget bristled and batted their shields.

  Simnon sketched a gesture in the air and the Ilerget returned the insult with gusto.

  Beaugissa hissed. “They are curs and likely know nothing. We waste time.”

  “Mongrels.” Simnon cursed the Ilerget and turned his back on them. Rappo brought up the rear as they filed off and he eyed the Ilerget with distaste. He turned his face away from them and a heartbeat later a slingshot struck his mount’s hindquarters. The mare whinnied and reared.

  With uncharacteristic anger, Rappo howled and spun his mare. Caros turned to shout after the Masulian, but the young horse warrior was already hurtling towards the Ilerget.

  “Oh, this is bad.” Maleric moaned.

  The Masulian covered the ground in heartbeats, the Ilerget bunched tighter, their spears lifting to impale horse and rider.

  Caros wanted no battle here, not against people who should be fighting together against the Romans. He made to go after Rappo, but both Simnon and Beaugissa blocked him.