The pavilion sat proudly in the center of a ring of beaten earth. Slaves swept the ground with brooms made of stiff rushes tied to handles. Others polished armor, groomed horses or ran other errands. Caros stopped before the closed entrance where a phalanx of guards stood proudly.
Thumut signaled for them to move aside and they parted smartly, armor rattling. Dark-skinned servants drew aside the heavy drapes and Caros drew himself upright before entering.
The gloomy interior was thick with the aroma of roasted meat, grape and sweat. Fresh from the trail, Caros quickly detected the underlying scents of incense and perfume.
“Caros!” Hanno’s voice greeted Caros even before his eyes could adjust to the dim light.
He blinked and dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Greetings Commander. Tanit’s blessings upon you. I bring you orders direct from General Hannibal’s hand.”
Hanno stood up from where he had been sitting on a stool at a table covered in parchments and surrounded by two older men, both dignified by the gray of age as well a large woman.
Caros did not recognize them, but Hanno he knew well from the long siege at Sagunt the summer before.
The Carthaginian was older than Caros by some years. His face lined and drawn, but less than it had been while fighting at Sagunt. Caros sensed that the burden of responsibility for keeping the northern tribes in order sat well on the man.
“By Ba’al, Caros. You have come straight from the trail?” He grinned and came forward, arms outstretched. Embracing one another, Hanno slapped at his back until dust circled their heads.
Hanno fell back, his hand waving through the dust motes reflected in beams of sunlight. “You stink of horse, but never mind it suits you!” He gestured to servants standing inconspicuously in the shadows. “Water and perfumes! And wine!” To Caros. “Have you heard that the Romans dared to land at Empúries?” He followed with a laugh that sounded unconvincing if it was meant to portray indifference.
Caros opened his palms and nodded. “I had heard.” He wanted to know what Hanno was planning, but niceties were at play here and so spent time answering Hanno’s questions about Hannibal’s battle with the Volcae on the Rhône.
Water was delivered and Caros took a moment to wash his hands and face after which a servant set to on his un-sandaled feet. The wine arrived along with platters of olives, figs, dates. Decorative bowls filled with bright red cherries and dark grapes were placed beside a large jug of wine. It was the harvest season and Hanno’s stores were still receiving supplies.
The other men took places of ease on the thickly scattered cushions and plush carpets.
“Do you know Farnnut? No? Farnnut is commander of the African warriors.”
“Greetings Caros. We look forward to your news.” The man, built of wide shoulders, a thick neck and bald dome was a veteran who had fought with Hannibal’s father, Hamilcar. He looked like a warrior through and through as he would have had to be to rise to command the warriors from Africa which included the Libyans.
The second commander had elected to sit upright, his body as straight as lance. “Commander of the horse. M’hatmu’s riders are our eyes. The Romans cannot drop a turd without us seeing thanks to M’hatmu’s horsemen.” Hanno beamed.
“Greetings Caros. Your name is renowned among the Masulian. It is a privilege to meet you in person.” M’hatmu’s voice was as deep and soothing as the cool of night after a desert storm.
Caros could well imagine the man a capable leader of warriors eager to please.
The third figure was the only woman and Caros struggled not to shudder at her cold, protruding eyes. Caros saw her face twist with venom at M’hatmu’s words.
Hanno’s hesitation was barely perceptible. “Ensillia speaks for Indibilis of the Ilerget in his absence. Her voice carries weight among the leading men of the Ilerget and our northern Iberian allies.”
Caros nodded in turn to each while wondering why the Barca’s most influential tribal leader was absent.
They fell on the food and wine, poring and eating as Caros talked of the crossing of the Rhône. He talked of an easy victory and high spirits among Hannibal’s army. In truth the victory had been hard won and after it many of the smaller clans of Gauls had taken what loot they could from the Volcae and sped homewards.
Hanno grinned happily as Caros spoke and fingered the sealed message tubes.
Caros strained to follow the small talk, so great was the ecstasy he felt when the servant began to wash and rub scented oils into his feet.
“Thank you, that is as much as I can endure.” He dismissed the servant and as soon as he did, Hanno demanded to know of the passage back to Iberia and particularly about the clashes with the Romans.
The others puffed out their chests and grinned knowingly as Caros described each victory. Here he made pains to stress how hard these small skirmishes had been against the Romans. Farnnut’s eyes narrowed while M’hatmu frowned. The woman, Ensillia grunted and made knowing expressions that had Caros arch his eyebrow in surprise. He wondered if the woman was ill of mind and kept by Hanno as some sort of hostage for Indibilis’ continued support.
When he had told them all, Hanno puffed out his cheeks and clapped Caros’ shoulder in appreciation. “These are tales to tell the children and grandchildren one day, eh?” The Carthaginian threw back more wine and belched. “Would that I could take to the field once more as I did in my youth.”
Ensillia grunted and spoke over Hanno, “Yes, you did well to return, but could the Romans have been so thorough? It is not even their land?” The large woman was nodding and making the appropriate noises, but her shoulders were rigid and her lips thin bloodless lines.
Caros squinted at her and cocked his head. “It is as I described it.” He looked to Hanno with a questioning frown. To have his words questioned by the woman in front of the Carthaginian commander was insulting to both Caros and Hanno.
“Yes, the Romans have no concern about whose land they plague. As we well know.” He flicked a hand over his head in a derisory gesture and flashed Caros a warning look.
Surprised, Caros’ eyes drifted unwillingly back to the woman whose eyes held a shrewd look. He wondered anew why Indibilis of the Ilerget was he not here with his commander? Were the Romans even now filling his purse with gold. If the Ilerget turned, it could spell disaster for Hanno’s combined forces. The leading men of the other tribes would falter and take their lead from one of their own above the Carthaginian.
At length, noticing Caros’ exhausted posture, Hanno bade the others to take the good news of Hannibal’s successful crossing of the Rhône to their officers.
The large interior had darkened and servants lit three large candelabras. Hanno kicked off his sandals and crossed his legs on the thick carpets strewn over the rushes laid on the floor.
“You must have many questions of your own Caros. I will tell you how things stand here, then you can ask them, yes?” Hanno held the unopened message in his hand.
“The Romans surprised us. It is no lie that.” He looked pained. “How could we know they would send so many warriors away from their own lands while under threat from Hannibal’s army?” He smiled then. “They cannot know our General very well and that they will rue.”
Caros agreed. Hannibal Barca would strike Rome like a lightning bolt from the heavens, cleaving and splintering the city to its very roots. He said so and Hanno clapped at the metaphor.
“In the meantime I have twenty thousand enemy camped on our coast, subverting our allies.” He growled, his blood up. “Hasdrubal will be here before the next full moon. Ten days. Combined, we will advance on the Romans and force them to treat with us and return to their ships to leave this land forever.”
Caros was underwhelmed, a fact that was plain to see even as he kept his lips pressed tight.
Hanno shrugged. “They are as fleas on a dog. The sheer foolishness of landing on this coast. When they our numbers they will come to their senses.”
The ma
n was talking out of his ass. He must know the Romans, especially twenty thousand of the bastards, would not simply retreat.
“They are no fleas, Hanno. They will bite as one and they will chew through this entire land.” Caros’ voice rose. He was beyond tired and should have held back. “They must be destroyed. This is what Hannibal’s written word is.”
Hanno’s eyes flashed. “I see it differently and Hannibal is far away. The Romans occupy a small village of Greek prostitutes and some land around. Once they see their efforts are wasted, they will board their triremes and galleys and go home to their burning city.”
Caros was sure it would take more than a simple show of force to send the Romans back from where they came. They would fight and they would advance. Hasdrubal would hopefully have more sense than Hanno.
“What of Indibilis?” Caros was curious about this Ilerget leading man.
Hanno frowned and rubbed his face. “He is loyal to Carthage and brings some three thousand warriors.”
“Then nearly a third of your army is Ilerget, yes?”
“He is loyal, Caros. He wants to see the Romans gone as badly as us.”
Caros finished off the dregs of his wine, exhaustion pulling at his mind. Yet, he had not imagined Hanno’s voice rise as he defended the Ilerget. He must know how important it was to hold Indibilis close and ensure he was not baited and tempted by the Romans out of sight of Hanno or the Masulians.
Hanno glanced at the message tune in his hand. “If you will excuse me. Go get some rest. We will talk again tomorrow.”
The following morning, Caros woke from a deep and for once, untroubled sleep. He lay for a moment, listening to the quiet snores from his fellow warriors filling the tent. The scent of hide and wax vied with the smell of their bodies and smoke. Rising from the pallet of tied rushes covered with a rough woolen blanket, he stretched until his spine popped. Stepping out the tent, he felt the chill of the autumn morning cut through his tunic and bring him to full wakefulness.
The tent was close to those of the Libyan warriors and some of these men were up, preparing morning meals for them and their comrades. Rappo lurched through the tent flap behind him, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Good sleep?” Caros laughed at the bleary eyed youngster.
“I dreamed of my village. I could feel the sun and smell my mother’s cooking.” He grinned. “Also there was a girl.”
Caros threw his arms heavenward. “Of course there was!” He grinned. “We should go see to the horses.”
“That is where I was going. Are we riding today?”
“Not if I can help it. The horses need rest and feeding as much as we do.”
“I will make sure they are well fed and ready for when needed.”
Their horses had been put with the Libyan mounts in a corral fenced with laced branches reinforced by timber uprights. As only a few of the higher ranking Libyan officers were mounted, there were less than two dozen horses all told.
A pair of Libyan warriors on watch challenged them and when Rappo gave them their officer’s name, they were let through the gate into the corral.
Since his father had raised horses, Caros had known horses all his life. Still, his knowledge of the animals nothing compared to Rappo’s.
The youth whistled and his small pony nickered from among the herd and quickly made its way to him. The two greeted one another affectionately as Rappo rubbed the pony’s neck and forehead. They inspected the other mounts and Caros was gratified to see they carried no lasting injuries.
They exited the corral to see a young woman, dressed in a tunic of costly flax and a shawl of combed wool approaching. Following a few paces behind her was a scar-faced warrior who was studying them coldly.
The woman, no older than Rappo, also gave them a long look. Her interest a different sort and Caros noticed Rappo’s eyes light up. He held back a grin and nodded a greeting to the woman. She responded politely although her attention was on Rappo rather than Caros. Then they were past.
“Eish, Caros! I think the white-nosed mare needs work on her hooves.”
“She does?” Caros was working hard now not to smile. “Yes. Very well, do what you need to.”
Rappo smiled gratefully and turned back to the corral, eyes alight.
Turning at the end of the line, Caros saw Rappo talking to the woman. He was pleased to see she was smiling and nodding. He wondered briefly whose daughter she was before hearing a shout of anger from his own tent.
There was a knot of warriors struggling in the dirt between the tents. Caros recognized Maleric as the Gaul stepped from the tent and roared at the warriors. Caros increased his pace and arrived as Maleric wade into the warriors. Maleric grabbed a warrior and tossed him bodily to land several paces away with a gush of expelled air.
Beaugissa ran into view from around the tent. “What is happening?” She shouted, a dagger in her hand.
Maleric had another warrior by his hair, pulling the man’s head down, he drove a knee into his face and knocked him groaning to the ground. Two men were left grappling, one of them Simnon.
“No idea, but your friend Simnon’s involved.”
Beaugissa shook her head. “He becomes angrier by the day.”
Caros glanced at her, seeing an expression of helplessness on her face that made him ache.
Maleric was struggling with the two men now and Simnon landed a heavy blow in the Gaul’s stomach.
Caros darted forward drove a fist into the second warrior’s lower back, dropping him with a howl of agony.
Simnon threw a fist at his head which Caros trapped with both hands. Using his strength, he twisted sharply and Simnon was forced to his knees lest his wrist snap.
Maleric snaked his arms under Simnon’s shoulders and knotted his hands behind his neck, forcing the straining man’s head forward to his chest.
The three warriors were struggling to their feet now, anger and pain livid in their faces.
Caros turned to them with a menacing glower.
“Enough! Now tell me what in Oroc’s name is going on here?”
His tone and expression froze them, but their anger was still palpable.
“Ask him!” One of the warriors snarled. “We were passing by when like a snake striking there he was, tearing into us.”
Maleric cursed. “We are to believe he attacked you for no reason? Do we look like idiots?”
The furious warrior blew blood and snot from his nostrils and pointed at the stained ground. “Perhaps he is possessed by wicked shades!”
Caros stepped into the warrior’s face. “You must have said something. Speak!” The warrior backed away a step, eyes slipping to his fellows.
“We were talking and I mentioned the Romans have had it easy since the only warriors they have fought are the…” He looked suddenly uncomfortable.
Beaugissa finished for him. “Vascon.” Her voice was tight. “That is what you said. You who have not seen a single Roman, let alone fight one.” Her voice was rising.
Caros shot her a look and to his relief she clamped her mouth tight. He turned back to the three.
“We are all together against the Romans. This man and woman have fought them and seen loved ones killed by them. You do not think that is difficult enough?” He eyed their now sullen expressions. “Look, he should not have attacked you, but he did so because you insulted his people and the memories of the dead. Each of you would have done the same, yes?”
They nodded reluctantly and stepped back. Caros glanced at Maleric who still had Simnon locked in his meaty arms although the man appeared limp.
“Simnon, can we let you up? Are you done?”
After a brace of heartbeats, the man grunted. “Yes, damn you! Let me free.”
Maleric lifted an eyebrow in question and Caros nodded, hoping the man was true to his word.
Maleric released Simnon and stepped back smartly. The Vascon warrior rose to his feet and lifted his chin. His eyes were baleful as he stared around him at Car
os, Maleric and the warriors he had attacked. Beyond them others had gathered, roused from their tents by the commotion.
His expression twisted and he gripped his hair before turning to run off between the tent lines.
Beaugissa cursed and went after him. Caros was tempted to follow, afraid for the warrior woman, but Maleric shook his head. “She saw what he saw. She will talk him down.”
Caros grimaced. “I hope so. He is not doing well.” He looked at the three warriors. “Is this the end of it or do we find him stabbed and come seek you out?”
They flushed red. The one who spoke for them shook his head after a heartbeat. “No. We will not lay a hand on him.” He spat. “Best set that one on the Romans because he seeks an end to this life.” He spun and stalked off, taking his companions with him.
“That could have gone a lot worse.” Maleric sighed. “Thing is, they are right. Simnon is looking for a path to the ancestors.”
Caros cursed. “He will cope and we must offer what we can.”
“Where is the lad? I expected to wake to a meal, instead I get punched.” Maleric moaned looking about.
Caros grinned. “He has eyes for some camp follower. Doubtless, food is the last thing on his mind right now.”
Maleric broke into a broad grin. “The little bugger. You reckon…”
“No. Light the cursed fire already, someone has to cook.”
Maleric just grinned wider as he bent to blow on the embers of the previous night’s fire and quickly coax it to life.
Beaugissa returned with Simnon beside her, his head hung low. She squeezed his shoulder and whispered to him.
Shame-faced he stammered. “I… sorry. Their flapping tongues sowing lies…” His eyes had grown large and color swamped his cheeks. Two slow breaths later and he calmed a little. “I will restrain myself.” His eyes were distant and his voice flat.
A ripple of unease pass through Caros, but he grinned nevertheless. “No harm, friend. It has been a hard few days. Some food in your belly will even your mood.”
Gladius Winter Page 11